Little Boy Blue

Please permit me a very personal reflection on a very special day in my life 46 years ago today. On March 30, 1974 a very special person came into my life. He wasn’t very big but quite impatient, demanding to be let out of his solitary confinement ASAP. His mother and I barely had time to arrange for childcare for our daughter and get to our designated meeting place once we got his urgent call to meet him.

We didn’t know it at the time but he was in distress, having a hard time breathing; so we were very glad it was a Saturday and we didn’t have to deal with much downtown traffic. I saw him first and was scared because he was so short of oxygen his color was really bad. I feared he might not live and was terrified that if he did there might be brain damage. I don’t think I had time to process all those feelings before the doctors and nurses whisked him away behind one of those MEDICAL PERSONEL ONLY doors.

We were at the old St. Ann’s Hospital in downtown Columbus because it was then the only hospital in town that was allowing father’s in the delivery room. At that moment I wasn’t sure I wanted to be there. The OB doc had told us the umbilical cord was wrapped around our baby’s neck, and we needed to get him out fast. He urged my wife to push, and thank God for Lamaze classes she could and did. I wanted to believe the nurse who told me “He’ll be fine,” but even though this was my first ever experience of childbirth I knew babies weren’t supposed to be blue– unless they were Smurfs! I certainly wasn’t in any shape to crack wise about such a possibility at the moment. I was too worried about what to say to my wife. I think I was even too scared to pray. I’m sure it was one of those moments Paul had in mind when he said, “Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words.” (Romans 8:26)

Fortunately, in a few minutes, which seemed like an eternity, the nurse came back with our now pink bundle of baby, and handed him to his greatly relieved mother; and I was able to breathe again. I didn’t look in any mirror, but I may have been bluer that Matt had been when he made his hasty entrance into the world.

Even though I am a pretty good wordsmith I have no words that can adequately describe how proud of the man, father, husband and genuinely good human being Matt has become. I have been blessed way more in life than I deserve, but my greatest blessings of any kind are a distant second to how grateful I am that both of my kids have grown into loving, caring, kind and responsible human beings.

Matt’s older sister’s birth is also an interesting story, but I’ll save it for her birthday in July. For now, Happy Birthday, Matt. Thanks to our pandemic we can’t eat cake and celebrate as usual, but even good, old COVID-19 can’t stop the goodness you have brought into the world.

Pastoral prayer for March 29, 2002

Scripture today was from John 11, the raising of Lazarus from the tomb.

Merciful God, Sometimes we feel like Mary at her brother’s tomb.   We are grieving for so many things that are missing in our lives now – things we have just taken for granted till somebody turned our world upside down.  We’re trying to stay positive, Lord, but sometimes we feel like “if you had been her none of this mess would have happened.” We feel like the psalmist who cried to you out of the depths of despair asking, “How long, O Lord, how long?”

Like Lazarus’ tomb this crisis really stinks.  We believe, God, we really do, but please help our unbelief!  This season of Lent has been like none we can remember.  We are only 3 weeks from Easter, but it seems so very far away.  Remind us, O holy one, that every Sunday is a day we celebrate resurrection because it was on a Sunday that our Lord and Savior escaped forever from the bonds of death.

We see an Easter preview when we watch Lazarus emerge from the tomb.  Out of a season of weeping come tears of joy, but before we can experience the joy of resurrection we have to be unbound and set free.  And so we pray today, O God of Glory and Grace, to be set free from any and all things that have us bound up – cut us free from guilt and sin, from doubt and fear, from fatigue and loneliness.  Unwrap our troubled souls from the chains of regret and grief.  

On this first day of the week send your Holy Spirit among us all, even as we are physically apart from each other but united by the ties that bind us forever to each other, to the great cloud of witnesses who have gone before us, and most of all to our Lord and Savior who calls us to “come out;” to come out from the darkness into the light of resurrection faith. 

Empower us to serve you in new and creative ways for the needs of this time and place. Roll away the stones of our excuses and set us free as agents of your unstoppable grace and mercy, for we truly believe in the one you sent into the world to redeem all of creation. Christ has taught us that those who mourn are blessed for we will be comforted; and so we trust that you will turn our mourning into a morning of Resurrection and new life. Forgive us when we falter. Remind us that we all fall short of your glory, but that failure and even death no longer have power over us because we are one with the risen and living Christ, and in his name we pray. Amen

Waiting and Renewing

Back in the 1980’s when I was going through one of several mid-life crises I found great stress relief in running. My routine often included running 3 or 4 miles a day, and I participated in road races several times a year. In those days 5 mile races were the most common, and I had run several of those in or just under an 8 minute per mile pace. That was usually around the 50th percentile for my age group, and I was pleased with that given my below average height. Guys with long legs took many fewer steps per mile than I did, at least that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

But I remember very well the first 5K race I ran. It was a small, local race in my neighborhood; so I knew the race course well. It was “only” 3.1 miles after all, and with fewer participants I for some reason figured I could do better than my middle of the pack finishes in longer races. So I took off with the faster runners at a much faster pace than usual. The good new—I ran the first mile in 6 minutes, 30 seconds, the fastest mile I had ever run in my life. The bad news—I had burned up way too much energy and had to walk part of the next mile which was, of course, up hill. It was a classic tortoise and hare situation.

In the end my average time per mile for that 5K was about the same 8 minute pace I always ran. So what’s that ancient history got to do with anything? Well, this pandemic is not a sprint. We’re in this for the long haul like it or not. And that reality is setting in as it did for me when I realized I had shot my wad in the first mile of that 5K. We need to pace ourselves and practice good self-care during this enforced sabbatical from our normal lives.

For too many of us “normal” life is a rat race, and while this new reality is awkward and weird it can provide an opportunity to hit the pause button and reflect on other aspects of life that we too often run past or away from. It’s not easy, and I’m having a hard time not feeling trapped by this situation. We’re over a week into this marathon and the reality that we’ve got many miles to go is hitting some of us like marathon runners hitting “the wall.”

Isaiah 40 says, “Those who wait for the Lord will renew their strength.” But it doesn’t say how long we have to wait. Most of us are busy active people. Even my retired friends all comment about how busy they are and don’t know how they had time to work. We stay busy having lunch with friends, running errands, going to doctor appointments, socializing and enjoying recreational or volunteer activities. All of that has come to screeching halt, and we’re finding doing nothing is exhausting.

So we are learning how to wait, and it’s a choice how we wait. Are we just waiting for this pandemic to be over or are we waiting in a way that renews our strength? For me it’s all too easy to get frustrated with this waiting game. I’m in that older generation. I know I don’t have that many “good” years left in my life and I feel cheated that I’m being robbed of things I want to do. March Madness and the Masters golf tournament are my favorite time of the year. Gone. Lent and Easter as I’ve always known them, Caput! Trips we want to take, on hold. Spending time with my grandkids, Nada!

So what to do with those frustrations? I had a long talk with God this morning and got some of them off my chest. Don’t be afraid to let God have it when you get to the end of your rope. Much better than taking it out on your spouse or kids. God can handle it and understands. After all our Bible has an entire book devoted to complaints about terrible circumstances. It’s called “Lamentations.”

It’s ok to complain, but don’t stay there. Then we move on to figure out how to wait creatively. It’s true that necessity is the mother of invention. We’re learning how to live in a different reality in so many ways. We’re staying connected on line and practicing physical distancing. Teachers and parents are re-inventing how to do education. Churches are figuring out ways to be the church in new and marvelous ways.

We need time to rest and pace ourselves for the long haul, but waiting does not mean hibernating till this blows over. We are called as people of faith to keep caring for the most vulnerable among us; to stay in contact with those who are most isolated and with each other for moral support. Waiting means time to reflect on what we’ve lost in this situation, but also to be grateful for what we’ve gained and what we’re learning.

The “normal” rat race we were living a month ago wasn’t all perfect. What a tragedy it would be if we when this is all over we just go back to living the way we were. Take time to observe what’s better about our new normal. Journal and make notes about how you want to be on the other side of COVID-19. I know that’s not easy when you’re just trying to figure out how to survive this crisis. But remember, we have more time now – time we would have spent commuting to work, time we would have spent this weekend watching hours and hours of basketball and watching our brackets get busted.

How will you use this gift of waiting time? Use it wisely to take care of yourself physically, mentally and spiritually, and remember “those who wait for the Lord will renew their strength.” With God’s help we will get through this and come out better and stronger. Amen

Prayer for a 55th Class Reunion

Gracious God, two score and fifteen years ago to the surprise of our teachers and relief of our families the class of 1964 walked across the stage at Wapakoneta High School. Just five years later our fellow alum, Neil Armstrong, walked on the moon. Now some days we struggle to just walk across the room. The circle of life seems to spin faster each year like a spaceship re-entering the atmosphere as it returns from space.

But we are here together again tonight, and we give you thanks for the chance to renew friendships, to reminisce about old times, to complain about our ailments, to brag about our grandkids or to exercise a little poetic license and make up some stories.

We are a class that will never forget where we were seventh period that November day when we heard about President Kennedy’s assassination over the school PA system. But we also cherish memories about decorating for prom, band shows, musicals, FAA projects, cruising through town on Friday nights, or our senior picnic. For it all we give thanks, even the painful breakups and the embarrassing moments. We survived our mistakes and learned important life lessons from them; and we’re forever grateful we grew up before cell phones and social media could record and spread around our stupider activities.

We remember the thrill of getting a driver’s license, of picking up a class ring that we were anxious to share with our “steady.” We also know there were some immature cruel and unkind ways we treated some of our classmates. Forgive us those indiscretions and help us now in 2019 to find ways to promote civility and understanding in our badly bruised and divided country and world. Remind us that how we live our lives every day does matter, even and especially as the elders in our society.

Many of us are now the matriarchs or patriarchs in our families. Help us embrace that role, to celebrate the freedom that comes from retirement. We are no longer responsible to bosses and careers and that’s liberating. We have more time to do good in small and large ways, to commit random acts of kindness wherever we are. Hold us accountable, Lord, to be the best we can be each and every day you give us to keep walking on spaceship earth. We graduated a long time ago from high school, but we are still students of life and mentors to those who walk behind us.

Yes, Lord, we have walked many miles in the last 55 years, but we aren’t done yet. We don’t know how many more reunions we have yet to come, but we know we have this one. Help us make the most of this present moment—to rejoice and laugh together again over things we took too seriously back then, including ourselves.

We want to pause and remember our classmates who have “graduated” into the higher education realm of eternity. We pray your blessing on them and on those who are unable to be with us tonight for whatever reason. We give thanks for those who gave of their time to organize this reunion. We give thanks for the food we are about to share and ask your blessing on it and on the fellowship we share as we break bread together.

As our alma mater says, “Wapak High School we (still) adore thee and we’ll guard thy sanctity. Our gratitude we offer as we roam through many lands.”

Amen

As Tempus Fugits

I started writing this piece on May 29, and the fact that it took me a week to get back to it is exactly what it’s about. Each month when the calendar says we are near the end of another month my sense of urgency/panic about where time goes and how fast the circle of life is spinning comes around again like Haley’s Comet, only much more frequently. Aging certainly changes one’s perspective on time. I remember clearly being impatient with the plodding of the clock when I couldn’t wait to be 16 and able to drive. The summer I was 15 I was only a few months away from that magical age of freedom and responsibility that comes with a driver’s license.

That summer of 1962 was worse because I was one of the youngest in my class at school. My birthday is in October, but way back then one could start kindergarten at age 4 if your 5th birthday came by the end of the calendar year. That age difference didn’t matter for me at age 4 or even 14, but when all my classmates and friends were driving months before I could the age discrepancy seemed like an unbridgeable chasm.

I also had my first serious romance that summer. That was exciting. But the fact that Marcia lived 5 miles out in the country not so much. I was in great physical shape that summer because I rode my one-speed Schwinn out to see her about once a week; but that was the extent of the advantage of my long-distance romance. While my friends were dating and cruising through town on a Friday night I was dependent on my dad to drive me and Marcia to and from the local movie theater.

I do remember one of my very best one-liners from that summer. One night after I had walked her to the door I returned to the car and on the way home my father asked if I had kissed her. When I proudly said “yes” he, perhaps reliving his youth vicariously through me, asked “where.” And without missing a beat I replied, “On the front porch.” I don’t think he ever pried into my love life again!

I took two years of Latin in high school, and one of the few things I remember from that dead language is “Tempus Fugit” which means “time flies.” I know the earth has been rotating at the same speed for millions of years, and each day contains the same 24 hours give or take a few milliseconds. In more poetic form that means “525,600 minutes, how do you measure a year in a life?” according to the lyrics of “Seasons of Love” from the musical “Rent.”

But no matter what kind of arbitrary numbers we create to mark the passing of time we all know that sometimes tempus does fugit at supersonic speeds and other times it flat out crawls. When a four year-old is waiting out the last few days before Christmas it is not the same time for the child or parents as it is for two lovers away from all other responsibilities luxuriating in the mystery of real intimacy, even though by clock time they are the same.

I used to love amusement park rides that spin at high g-force speeds. There was one called the “Tilt-a-Whirl” and another where the floor dropped away when the ride got up enough speed that centrifugal force plastered the riders to the wall. I don’t remember the name but it was essentially a human centrifuge. I don’t do thrill rides anymore, partly because real life is scary enough, but also because I am feeling like my life is spinning too fast already for me to keep up with it.

Just for fun I took the number above from “Rent” and multiplied it by my age. I didn’t add in extra minutes for leap years, but the number is plenty big enough already. I have lived or at least existed in this life for something over 1,314,000 minutes! I’m sorry I did that calculation. (Note: a friend just checked my math and corrected this number. It’s really 38,106,000!). No wonder my body feels like its warranty has long since expired! But that important question from “Rent” seems more important each day. How do you measure a year in a life or 40 years or 72.5? We humans seem to have a propensity for wanting numerical values on such things.

In Academia there’s a constant tension between quantitative and qualitative research. That distinction shows up currently in the overemphasis on test scores in primary and secondary education and in the priority given to STEM schools (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math). Those skills are obviously important in our postmodern world where employment and most of life depends on technology. Case in point: the friend who corrected my math above is an engineer. But if the STEM curriculum is overemphasized at the expense of education in the humanities where critical life skills are learned about social sciences, human history, interpersonal skills, the arts, and cross-cultural competencies just to name a few, we do so at our own peril.

Human beings are more than human doings. We are more than complex human computers that can be upgraded solely through a mechanistic and quantitative approach to the relationships between minds, bodies, individuals, societies and eco-systems. We are spiritual beings made for each other, to be in community, and there are no mathematical formulas for how to do that.

The answer “Rent” gives to how to measure a life may be simplistic but is nevertheless true on a fully human and spiritual level. The “Seasons of Love” song concludes as the title suggests by asking “how about love?” and concludes with the refrain “Remember the love, give love, spray love, measure your life in love.”

At 38,000,000 plus minutes and counting I am still trying to more fully and abundantly learn how to “give love, spray love. Measure your life in love.” Sounds a lot like Jesus doesn’t it? The only quantitative thing about Jesus’ teaching is that he summed up the whole Judeo-Christian philosophy in three short phrases: “Love God, love your neighbor and love yourself.”

Christchurch

Note: my wife and I have been traveling in New Zealand and Australia for almost a month. That and a keyboard malfunction have kept me from making many posts here. But because we are in this part of the world I wanted to share these brief thoughts about the recent massacre in New Zealand.

All acts of terrorism are painful, but the killings in Christchurch New Zealand are especially so for me. My wife and I were just in New Zealand last week and commented on how happy and carefree people there seemed. We speculated that their small island nation was somehow isolated from the fears and problems of much of the rest of the world. We were wrong. Today reminds us again that evil is part of human condition and that we must all do our part to stop it. After New Zealand we visited Port Arthur Tasmania, the site of a mass shooting in 1996 that inspired Australia’s sweeping national reforms of gun ownership. As I weep with the people of Christchurch tonight both of these examples from the other side of the world remind me of our common humanity. Christ have mercy.

Know When to Walk Away and When to Run

“If that house will not welcome you shake the dust from your feet and walk away.” Those words from the Gospel of Matthew kept running through my mind as I followed the struggles of the United Methodist General conference last week. Leaving a significant relationship is never easy, but sometimes it is the best choice to make. I have been an ordained United Methodist pastor for almost 50 years. For all but 3 years of my entire ministry my denomination has been arguing over LGBTQ acceptance.

Like Charlie Brown I dared to hope that just maybe this time the General Conference wouldn’t pull the ball away before Jesus could kick a field goal. It pains me greatly that once again my denomination has failed to be the church. Isn’t 47 years long enough to wait for the UMC to produce good fruit? Far too many good people have been damaged by the judgmental policies of our church. Far too much time and precious resources have been wasted fiddling with this unwinable debate while the world burns from hunger, poverty, climate change, racism and rising nationalism.

The world is in desperate need of authentic ministry to the marginalized, the immigrants and oppressed, and a church that cannot even accept its own LGBTQ children so we can all join hands to care for God’s children is not a a church worthy of Christ’s name.

I will of course pray long and hard for everyone wounded again by this rejection and for the rejectors. But I will also be praying about my future relationship to the UMC. My decision may be easier because I am retired. It will be a much harder choice for others.” in active ministry. I will wait to see what last week’s vote for an even harder line rejection of my beloved sisters and brothers actually means. Like Congress church politics are messy and convoluted. Even those who were in Indianapolis at General Conference are not sure what the so-called “Traditional” plan means. Parts of it were apparently declared unconstitutional by the Judicial Council before the vote which probably means the battle will continue, and even more LGBTQ people and their progressive supporters will be alienated from Christ and his redeeming, inclusive love.

Even though we don’t know what the future holds, these things I do know for sure. God isn’t finished with us yet. For people of faith resurrection always follows death. It may feel like Friday, but Sunday’s coming! The Christ I have come to know and love says, “Come to me ALL (not just those we deem worthy) who labor and are heavy laden.” And in that verse from Matthew where it says to shake the dust from your feet, listen to Jesus’ final warning to those who refuse to welcome God’s blessed ones: “Truly I tell you, it will be more tolerable for the land of Sodom and Gomorrah on the day of judgement than for that town.” (Matthew 10:15)

Whatever emerges from the coming schism I for one am ready to shake the dust of judgement and rejection from my feet and align myself with those who are welcoming and inclusive. I don’t know yet what that looks like organizationally, but Jesus knows it’s not the name on the church door that matters. It’s the hospitality inside the fellowship of believers that makes us a church.

Belated Giving Tuesday

Giving Tuesday is a great idea, but it’s the wrong Tuesday. Why do we wait until after the madness of black Friday (which has turned into an entire black week) and cyber Monday are over to think about charity? In the spirit of Christmas shouldn’t giving to those in need come off the top of our resources instead of the leftovers?

But as they say, “better late than never.” So give today-not because we have to, not because we feel guilty for what we spent on ourselves, but because it’s the right thing to do.

Grass Not Always Greener

Whenever we travel by air my wife and I do anything possible to minimize the time we spend in airports. We rarely arrive at the airport much before boarding time, and we always try to take direct flights or ones with short layovers. So it is the height of irony then that we have lived the last four days in the Orlando airport—and yes we even did it on purpose. The two pictures above are the view from our hotel room in the Hyatt Regency at MCO. That’s the airport code which I’m guessing means Mickey Central Orlando? The first picture is of a beautiful fountain in the main atrium of the terminal, and the second is a closer shot of the security lines in the upper right of picture one. TSA has multiple security lines on both sides of the entrance to the hotel so it is impossible to forget where we are. I feel like the Tom Hank character living in the Charles De Gaulle airport in the movie “The Terminal.”

The app for the airport says that 45,000,000 pass through here every year, and I believe it judging the number of people in the food court each time we go there to eat. That number computes to an average of approximately 123,000 people per day; or the size of a small city, mostly frazzled folks dragging luggage and grump kids as they rush from one terminal to another. Sounds like a great vacation getaway, right?

So why you ask in the name of Donald Duck are we living in an airport? No, this is not one of those internet scams where we are asking family and friends to send money so we can afford to come home. And no it is not because some airline stranded us here among all the little fans of Disney princesses. We are here because Diana is attending a conference which offered a great rate on 4 star hotel, and I came along to hang out, relax, read, write and it turns out do a lot of people watching, the primary indoor sport at MCO.

I have enjoyed the relaxation and time to work out, swim, read, etc. but I’ve also learned a very important life lesson. I have often said, yes I admit like a broken record, and that I am ready to be done with yard work and move into a condo or high rise apartment. For the record I’m still not crazy about yard work, but I have learned this week that I really do miss green grass, birds singing, and the great outdoors. My only ventures into the outside world this week have been an uber ride to the grocery and even a couple walks “outside” where the arrival or departure vehicles drop passengers off or pick them up.

The other part of that life lesson is that I’ve often pondered the reasons I’ve been attracted to and married two women who love the outdoors. I’ve sometimes thought it was just God’s sense of humor at work, but now I know that in spite of all the complaining I’ve done over the years about the chores that go along with country living I too need my space and some natural beauty. Now I know I will probably forget when I get home and find my grass is deep enough to bail hay, so I’ll email this to myself as a reminder.

In the meantime I can check “living in an airport” off my bucket list.

Prayer for Wisdom and Courage

[As we sang “God of Grace and God of Glory” at an alum gathering at the Methodist Theological School in Ohio last week I was impressed with how prayerful those lyrics by Harry Emerson Fosdick are; and those lyrics inspired my pastoral prayer for today.]

God of Grace and Glory, please listen to your people praying.  Pour your power upon us as we pray for the healing of brokenness and suffering everywhere – in our own hearts and minds and in relationships interpersonal and international in scale.  You have planted the seeds of love in every human heart, but those seeds are threatened by draught, wild fire, earthquake and the ravages of unbelievable storms.

Please let our time of worship nourish the one true seed of your loving presence in us and in those we hold up in prayer.  We feel surrounded by the forces of evil and long to be free from fears that shake the foundations of our faith.  Send your Holy Spirit here to the church on the hill to free our hearts to praise you and serve you.  Giving you the glory, let us not hide the Good News of your Salvation under a bushel, but let this congregation on the banks of the Scioto be a beacon of hope to a broken and discouraged world.

Lord listen to your people praying.  Empower us to set an example as peacemakers to a world too long enslaved to war and violence as our only response to conflict and threat.  Let us be leaders in finding ways to beat our guns into plowshares and our nuclear weapons into technologies to feed the starving masses and to power our planet with clean renewable energy.  Instead of rattling our sabers let us put on the whole armor of God – righteousness, truth, peace, faith, and salvation to win the struggles within us and around us with selfishness, greed, injustice, and all that divides the very oneness of creation.

Strengthen us please, O God within each of us, to not lose hope when illness or despair sap our human energy.  Remind us again that we can flip a switch with a simple word of prayer to connect to the one true source of hope that never fails us.

Lord, listen to your people praying and grant us wisdom and courage for the living of these days.  We humbly ask these things in the name of the one who is the way and truth and life as we unite in one voice to pray the prayer he gave us……