Smore Summer Please!

Summer has officially started and life has changed… at least for me. I am a horrible friend/relative most of the year. I work six days a week, as I know many of you do, and my day off is filled with chiropractor appointments, grocery shopping, tedious errands and time with our three beautiful grandchildren. But that’s about it. Moms, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, and cousins, not to mention good friends, get left by the wayside for months and months at a time. And then summer hits. My husband’s birthday always lands near Memorial Weekend so it becomes the marker that if I want to live as anything other than a workaholic recluse who has estranged herself from every family/friend she ever had… then I better kick into summer gear. Summer gear for me means “take time for people” gear. As a pastor, I take time for my congregation throughout the year: weddings, funerals, birthdays, babies born, elders ill, families broken, children learning, youth gathering. But in all honesty, I don’t take that same care of my extended family or friends. But summer is different. Last weekend a friend from Haiti was in the States to visit her family and came through Michigan to spend some time with us. We had a blast. I rearranged my schedule so we could spend time wandering through art galleries and second hand stores in Jackson. After stopping back at work for a few hours to finish up the “musts” there, we headed back to Jackson for a family/friend picnic at the Cascades. Little did we know there would be fireworks to add to the color of the evening. Our kids, their wives, and the grandkids all rendezvoused at a picnic table near the basketball court eating fried chicken and homemade strawberry shortcake. A good friend from the Detroit area drove over just to hang with us for the evening. It was a great surprise as we saw him walking from a distance with one of our sons and his family. Three trips to the porta-potty and two elephant ears later, we went home well satisfied. Another friend drove over from the Irish Hills area on Sunday and joined us for worship. Two others, a retired couple my husband met through his handyman business, showed up to worship with us also. We celebrated ten graduates and allowed tears to flow as we remembered those who gave it all that we might worship freely. Our tummies were filled from the delicious breakfast we were served earlier that morning in honor of our graduates and all their families. After worship, I slipped into the car, picked up a friend who needed a ride to the hospital to see her husband, and spent a couple hours visiting and praying with three others who spent the holiday weekend in a hospital bed. After a good, solid, and comfy two hour summer nap, I gave an hour or so to my good and faithful garden plants, all struggling to get an ounce of my attention, as well. After saving a few and praying last rights over a few others, it was time to run off to spend the evening with a bunch of cousins and their kids. They have owned property in the area for a couple generations but we hadn’t meshed our schedules well… before now, anyway. We cleared out the night… so there we all sat, around a raging campfire in the middle of a tree grove about 10 acres deep in a 20 acre parcel. We smored it and told stories, laughing so hard, our visits to their porta-potty seemed rhythmic. Friends came and went, kids were turned into their sleeping bags and tent flaps eventually folded over. We drove home refreshed, renewed and realizing that summer isn’t about sun, water, and parades. Summer is about reworking our schedule in a much more healthy way that not only allows for, but demands priority of, greater things. Best of friends feel they were never apart, and deepest family ties are bound even tighter. I hope you got the cue sometime this past week that summer has begun. If you can’t remember the last time you cleared out a calendar for that second circle of family, or even the first… If you only “see” your friends on Facebook to talk about “old times” instead of today’s times… turn off your TV and computer and go enjoy summer. My mother-in-law is planning to barbeque dinner for us a little later today, so I’ve got corn to shuck. See you around sometime soon… if we all make time for what really matters most.

SOUND CONTROL!

A new basket sitting on the welcome table in our church’s lobby is filled with little orange and purple squishy foam ear plugs and has a sign that reads “VOLUME CONTROL”. They were a simple and inexpensive solution to a much larger, complex problem. Concord United Methodist Church is by nature a contemporary church. For more than 20 years now and three pastors, God has been leading this church to move outside the normal traditional genre of rural churches and dabble across the lines of creative, media filled, metaphor embedded, contemporary worship. So we have gone exactly there, but not without bumps. It’s an incredible congregation filled with a variety of backgrounds, educational levels, and worship backgrounds. There are elders who were raised in the prayer chapel just down the hall, two story stained glass windows on either side of the wooden carved pews (bench seats) and an organ on the riser. There are middlers who were raised in the same chapel, as children, while others were drawn to the church by a contemporary service on Saturday nights filled with drama, praise songs, and a more relaxed atmosphere. Still other young people, youth, and even some middlers and elders, were not raised in the church at all. Their parents never attended, or they attended periodically but not with any regular consistency. There is also a group of those who once attended, but for many reasons stopped, and have now returned either to the same or a different church. Did I mention some are university professors, while others are farmers, students, machinists, or fast food workers? We are a varied bunch. Then there is the different denominational backgrounds. We have Pentecostals who are led to raise their hands to the heavens during worship and Catholics who prefer to show the sign of the cross before receiving Holy Communion. Then of course we have many with backgrounds in the Lutheran, Presbyterian, Community, or Congregational Church who now attend our church regularly and call it home. The days of remaining faithful to one denomination or attending worship services weekly consistently seem to be diminishing. But desiring a personal relationship with a God who calls each of us toward himself, well, that doesn’t seem to be diminishing at all. In fact, I believe that desire has done nothing but grown in a world where stuff, self-absorption, and addiction to entertainment have burgeoned in our lives. There seems to be a growing desire to simplify our lives and find meaning that goes deeper than working to get a paycheck to consume to work to get the next paycheck. Yet the reality remains that many of us have been programmed to shorter sound bites, interactive visuals, and attention getting advertisements. So God is no dummy. God has never been behind the ball when it comes to wisdom, knowledge and knowing what it takes to get the attention of his people. He used plagues when fear worked as a compelling motivator. He used miracles when magic was a draw. And he surely has used more uplifting and lively music when a few generations have felt depressed and without life. So yes, we have a full band and have for almost two decades. Yes, with three guitars, a full drum set, a grand piano, a keyboard, and several vocalists, it can get pretty darn loud. Yes, we do use humorous, thought provoking, or artistic videos most every week and yes, our lyrics and prayers are printed up on the wall instead of in a bulletin or book. But we are still worshipping the same God for all the same reasons. We want a personal relationship with the One who created us and we want our lives to have deep and purposeful meaning. So don’t leave if it’s too loud or feel like your voice isn’t being heard. Just pick up some of those brightly colored ear plugs and pop ‘em in. Your ears will thank you, and so will those who finally found a place they can call home.

2012 1/2

I just realized the other day that we are nearing the halfway point in the year… already. How did that happen?! I remember writing my goals for the year and BAM! Next thing I know a brood is graduating and we’re working on Vacation Bible School backdrops. [sigh] I’m tired just thinking about it. But it is what it is and I, and you, have to deal with it. Time doesn’t stand still, no matter how many poems or songs say it does. It moves at an ever faster break neck pace as our bodies lean forward into the wind. The strain on our necks and calves is incredible and we’re never quite sure if we can keep up the race. But we do. My second grandson turned one this past week, just to add salt to the wound. It seems like yesterday we were all sitting in the hospital waiting to hear he had been born. Instead, my son came out with a sullen face and said “Still nothing.” He waited several long seconds and then broke into his infamous smile and said “Just messin’. He’s here!” The little guy sported a Mohawk for the occasion and ate more cake than anyone should be allowed at age 10, let alone age 1. It was one night we were glad he went home with his parents. I started thinking about my goals for 2012 earlier this week. I began to wonder how I was doing with them. I mean, I knew the answer, but I began to wonder why I had wandered so far from them. The reasons I had chosen each of them had not changed. I still need to get up earlier. I have succeeded at moving my alarm from 7 am to 6:30. But moving it that last half hour from 6:30 to 6 just hasn’t happened… yet. I read the line about allowing the still small voice of scripture and devotions to whisper louder than the shouting voice of emails and Facebook messages. Scripture has won out but devotions needs to pick up the pace. Some days it gets in, some I just plain run out of time. Additional spiritual reading closed the book about a month ago. I was doing so well and then… well, you know the story. Then there was the biggie. This goal was so big it needed bullets to define its content. It was all about returning to my “Fit at 50” plan. Still eating too much sugar. Still not working out. Still watching the big 5-0 turning the corner and wonder if anything will be different by then. It would be easy to get all discouraged and simply decide to eat what the heck I wanted, pick up a new set of larger clothes at the Free Store, and call it a good year! But I know I won’t. Darn. Instead, I won’t quit quitting. That was my motto for smoking for years and I’m a true non-smoker now. If I had gotten discouraged and given up, I’d still be coughing with red hot fiery lungs and wheezing a whistle. So instead I am reminded only half the year is over and there is still plenty of time to quit again… and again, if needed. Quit whining about time flying by. Quit focusing on the year being half over. Quit moping about the weight I haven’t lost or the sugar I have found and start celebrating life, before it’s over. Did I mention we have ten incredible youth graduating from our church family this year? Did you see the pics I put up on Facebook of my grandson’s Dr. Seuss birthday party, complete with a Thing 1 and Thing 2 photo op? Did you happen to read one of the scripture verses I shared on my profile? I love it when God’s Word is right on for the day ahead. Yep. The year is nearly half over. But what a half year it has been!

He Said It Was Cheese!

There are some moments in life that rise above others in importance and meaning. They touch us at a deeper level, reminding us of a greater meaning to life than the daily grind of our often mundane existence. This moment falls under that category. A month ago or so, my youngest son shared with me that my 3 year old grandson had taken Holy Communion for the first time. He knows who Jesus is and knows that Jesus loves him. Before my grandson could even walk, I would tell him about Jesus. If he came to work with me, as we were getting out of the car I would always tell him we were going to see Jesus. On our way up the walkway, I would point to the cross over the doors and say “There’s Jesus’ cross!” And once I fumbled with my keys with bags on one shoulder and a 30 lb. lug hanging on my other, we’d enter the lobby of the church and then into my office. There on the walls would always be at least a couple of paintings of Jesus, here, there, and everywhere. So again, I would say “There’s Jesus!” as I would point to each one, one at a time. It didn’t take long before he began to do the same each time he visited. Whenever my husband and I eat a meal, at home or in public, we most always give thanks to God before we begin. The only time we don’t really, is when we are with others who are not professed followers of Jesus and rather than making them feel uncomfortable, we simply give thanks quietly within ourselves. So our grandson has learned to pray with us, being asked to hold back from beginning to scarf down whatever is in front of him for just a moment, as I tell him, “Let’s tell Jesus thank you first”. I used to get a dirty look and a forceful folding of the arms, making his point that he was not taking part. I pray each morning for each of my kids and their kids and had added to my list of desires that my grandson would learn to love praying. At Easter dinner this year at our home, with all the commotion and excitement of having all 9 of us around the table, we hadn’t started praying yet. It was at that moment my grandson said “Grma, do our praying thing first” as he put his hands down and prepared himself to give thanks, as well. Since each of my grandchildren were born, I have rocked them to sleep for naps or at night with loving arms, a warm heart, and a couple of songs. I always start with “Twinkle, Twinkle” and back it up with a tender version of “Jesus Loves Me”. If I ask at bedtime now, would you like me to sing you a song, 9 times out of ten the request is for “the Jesus song.” So when my son told me that his son came to the altar and requested to take Communion with his mom and dad, my heart was strangely warmed. The pastor offered the bread first with the words “Because Jesus loves you.” After dipping it in the grape juice and returning to their seats, his mommy asked him if he liked the bread. My grandson responded “But the guy said it was cheese!” I guess “Jesus” and “cheese” sound a lot alike to a 3 year old! But this Sunday they were all worshipping at my church. And when they came forward as a family to receive Holy Communion, my grandson did his best to slide over into the line gram and papa were serving at. My son pulled him back by his shirt sleeve and offered him the opportunity to take receive from the two laity serving there. But I watched. I stood with cup in my hand saying the words “The blood of Christ, poured out for you” to others as I watched my grandson reach up and tear off a piece of bread, dip it into the Cup of Salvation, and then place it in his mouth. Time stood still. He would no longer be thirsty. He would no longer be empty. He would no longer be naked or imprisoned, for he had allowed Jesus to fill him in all ways that he would ever need. He knew the difference between Jesus and cheese. One filled all appetites, one left you needing more.

Let Us Pray, Let Us Pray, Let Us Pray

“Let’s pray…” I can’t count how many times I have used that phrase in my 14 years of ministry. Between meetings, counseling with families, and worship opportunities, it’s a pretty familiar phrase around here. It’s a simple way to ask others to join me in prayer. It’s easy to wonder how many lost opportunities there would be if leaders did not offer that phrase. Would people think to pray or just get to work in meetings? Would people think to ask God for guidance, or just start sharing their family problems? And would people come to worship to sing and hear a good message, while forgetting to bow their heads and share their hearts with the One who quiets all of heaven just to hear their voices? As a nation, we have been inviting others to join us in prayer since our inception as a baby. Our leaders’ first call to prayer occured in 1775. The Continental Congress asked the colonies to pray for wisdom in forming a nation. Lord knows we need continued wisdom and guidance as a nation today! Thank goodness for opportunities to do just that. “Fasting and prayer are religious exercises; the enjoining them an act of discipline. Every religious society has a right to determine for itself the time for these exercises, and the objects proper for them, according to their own particular tenets; and right can never be safer than in their hands, where the Constitution has deposited it.” Thomas Jefferson, 1808 I am always amazed when people begin spouting about separation of church and state. It seems some believe that phrase means our constitution prohibits any religious expression in public and it should be kept hidden in our private homes, churches, mosques, and synagogues. A clear reading of this historic document states that every citizen of this great land has the freedom to choose and express their own religion without the government interfering. How easy it is to forget our heritage, birthed out of a nation that declared as law how religion must be lived out in our lives. It’s true, that does not give us the right as individuals, to press our beliefs on others. But it does not mean that we cannot express our own beliefs for our own sake. Because of the faith of many of our founding fathers, public prayer and national days of prayer have a long-standing and significant history in American tradition. The Supreme Court affirmed the right of state legislatures to open their sessions with prayer in 1983. I bring all this up this week because the National Day of Prayer is fast approaching. Thursday, May 3 will be set aside by an entire nation to gather together, Christians, Muslims, Jews, and more… to pray for a nation in deep need of just that. Face it, things aren’t going so good. We have more people in poverty today than any other time in recent history. We have a wider gap between the ultra-rich and the uber-poor that doesn’t seem to be stopping any time soon. We have one politician after another getting caught up in lies, adultery, blackmail, coercion, personal financial gain, and improper sexual liasons, just to name a few. Not a surprise when you look at the greater public… caught up in lies, adultery, blackmail, coercion, personal financial gain, and improper sexual liasons. A nation does not land far from its citizens. So let’s pray. Let’s pray for our leaders, our nation, and ourselves as citizens, to do our part… and God will certainly do his. “If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land” (2 Chronicles 7:14).

Don't Worry, Be Happy Now

I often wonder why it is that Christians don’t seem very happy. Now I realize I am generalizing, but with the number of Christians I’m around on a regular basis, this observation is generally true. Our God loves us enough to chase after us, dropping hints at every corner that we might respond and realize just how much He cares. Our God intercedes on our behalf, protecting us from unseen enemies, averting chaos we never realized was reaching our front door, and encouraging our own selves to make decisions that are holy, loving, and honoring to God and neighbor. Our God realized just how difficult it is for humans to set aside our selfishness, our self-centeredness, and our downright meanness, and yet still wanting to be in a personal relationship with us, came to earth himself as Jesus, to live as an example of all we could be if only we would grab his hand and allow him to show the way. Not to mention, God chose to die for us that we might live a life of abundance here on earth, as well as the life we are afforded into eternity through his Son Jesus. We should be jumping for joy!! I certainly realize that life can be tough. Some of us have loved ones that are struggling with disease. Others are having a very difficult time keeping their heads above water due to the past several years’ economy. I get it. But why do we allow those temporal things to take away our spiritual reality? We have a God who adores us! Plain and simple. We don’t go it alone. We never have and we never will. Our Father in heaven is so very involved in our daily lives here on earth, it is unfathomable to even comprehend. But it’s the truth. We are loved so very deeply… especially when we’re struggling, especially when we’re hurting, and especially when we find ourselves seemingly out of hope. So here’s my point: if we, who are children of a loving-living God, are rarely happy, is it any wonder others aren’t really interested in following Christ with us? Seriously. If I see a friend who goes to an event and time after time comes home just as down, weary, and cynical as before she attended, I would be in no hurry whatsoever to join her. In fact, I would do my best to avoid her so I wouldn’t have to depress her even more when I declined joining her misery. I hear so often from the un-, de-, or yet-to-be-churched that we Christians don’t seem to enjoy our lives, so why should they be compelled to join us? Great question. Maybe some better questions for the rest of us who do follow Christ are these: why are we so darn depressed? Why are we so serious? And why is it we come across to the world as a sad people just waiting to die so we can finally have a good life in heaven? Maybe we aren’t tracking our blessings the way we could. Do you list at least 10 blessings each day before laying your bed to the pillow? Not a bad habit to start. Maybe we get so caught up in the little mundane stuff that we actually miss the big stuff. I am always amazed when someone gets offended because I wear jeans to worship or use the word “crap” but those same people don’t seem to be bothered that there are so many hungry seniors in our own community or young couples struggling to keep their utilities on. Maybe another good habit to get into would be adding a list of things we believe are heavy on God’s heart each day and doing our best to put more of our thoughts, conversations, and efforts into those, instead of what seems to bother us so easily. Or maybe it’s just me. It won’t be the first time I’ve been called silly, an optimist, or a dreamer. Doubtful it will be the last.