This is My Story

I think one of my favorite stories in all of scripture comes toward the end of Genesis.  Joseph, his father’s favorite son, has been sold into slavery by his brothers.  He is taken to Egypt where he works his way up the success ladder in short time.  He experiences a few setbacks, but because of his character and perseverance he ends up being the second highest official in all of Egypt, second only to the Pharaoh.  A famine comes, and his family, back in Canaan, are desperate for food so his father sends his brothers to Egypt for a share of Egypt’s stockpile (this stockpile was to Joseph’s credit as well).  To make a long story short, Joseph’s brothers end up standing before him, and they do not recognize their brother.  He looks like an Egyptian.  But Joseph recognizes his brothers.  After a little jeopardy and intrigue, there is a grand reunion of Joseph and his family.  It is a marvelous story.

One of the characters that is “absent” from the story though, is God.  God is rarely mentioned in the story of Joseph.  But for God’s people, we know that God has His hands all over the story.  God, although not named (at least frequently), is leading and protecting and sustaining and saving His people.  When Joseph wanted to see God, all he had to do was look back at his life.

The same is true of us.

Over the next year we will have a theme at May Memorial, “This is My Story.”  We will hear stories from people in our church family how God has protected, and sustained, and guided, and saved.  Some of these will be familiar stories, some will be stories that you may have never heard.  But the theme will be the same, in all of our stories, God has been present.

If you have a story you want to tell, let me know.  If you know of someone else who has a story, let me know.  When we hear each other’s stories we are encouraged, strengthened, and community is built.

And what we will find is that not only is it “my story,” it is also “God’s story,” because even if we weren’t able to name it at the time, God is the unseen character in all of our stories.

This is My Story…

This is God’s Story…

Why I Went to the Police Department While at Montreat

Last Sunday, June 25, my family and I left immediately after worship for a conference in Montreat, NC.  We drove two cars, Beverley and I in front, our three girls following behind us.  Worship began at 7:30 that evening in Anderson Auditorium, so we were not wasting any time.  We stopped for an early dinner about 90 minutes from our destination, and we were on track to check in and quickly get to worship.  All was good.

But as we got closer to Montreat (which is only about 4 miles off of Interstate 40), I began noticing a pick-up truck that had apparently “joined” our Edwards’ procession.  At times the truck would move into the passing lane, speed up, and as they were beside Anna, Sophie, and Laura, I would think, “thank goodness, they are going to pass us.”  But then, the truck would slow back down and get behind the girls again.  I thought "bad driver.”  This happened for a good twenty-five miles.  We finally got to exit 64, the Black Mountain/Montreat exit, and when we began to exit the truck, from the center passing lane, came across all lanes of traffic and continued to follow our girls.  On the exit ramp, Sophie (who was in the passenger seat) called Beverley, in a panic.  Come to find out, each time the truck pulled up beside them on the interstate, the two men inside were pointing for them to exit off the interstate.

These men (I think) didn’t know that our girls were following Beverley and me on the interstate.  These men also didn’t notice as they followed them that I had driven directly to the Black Mountain police department parking lot.  Before I could get the car in park Beverley was out and running back to where the girls were.  The men in the truck, putting it all together (that Beverley and I were with them and that we were in the police department parking lot), sped off down the road.

The following day we were at a restaurant and there was a police officer at a table beside us.  I went and sat down with him, told him what had happened, and asked him what he thought was going on.  Of course he told me what Beverley and I feared.  Most likely, an attempt for human trafficking.

The more we thought about it, the more frightened we became.  Beverley and I began thinking about all of the “what-ifs.”  It was scary, eye-opening, and it made me realize that there is a very real risk out there for women, especially young women, when it comes to human trafficking.

I thought a lot this past week about those men in that truck.  I also thought about others who bring harm, especially those who harm children.  I don’t have to name the examples, they are all around us.  I thought about my desire for justice, for punishment, and how too often the punishment (time spent in prison) just does not seem to match the crime.

I also think about how God’s forgiveness is for everyone, every sin and every crime.  I think about how my forgiveness is (at times) not that limitless.  I also thought about the reality that even though God forgives, there are consequences to our actions, and that churches must, as we do at May Memorial, take steps to protect those who are a part of the family.  God’s forgiveness does not mean that we should “let bygones be bygones.”

Through the week I heard a lot of scripture.  I read a lot of scripture.  And even though it was not a part of worship, Bible study, or the theme for our conference at Montreat, the one text that kept coming to my mind was Matthew 18:6…

But whoso shall offend one of these little ones…it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea.

Woe to those who harm children.  Woe to those who, in their selfish and ungodly desires, take innocence and leave lives scarred for decades.  Jesus calls them to beware.  In fact, he says that it would be better that a millstone be hung around the neck and tossed into the sea.

Serious business.

What I Learned at VBS

When I was growing up Vacation Bible School was a part of my yearly schedule.  I attended the morning VBS at the church where my family and I were members, but the more memorable VBS I attended was at a Baptist church which was closer to our home.  Emmaus Baptist Church had their VBS in the evenings, and they had a reputation in that southern Wayne County community for a memorable VBS experience.  There was nothing “over the top” in their VBS—no smoke and laser light shows, no live band, not even any inflatable slides—it was simply a consistent, well-planned program by a good group of adults who genuinely cared for children in their community.

            The first reason I think VBS at that country church impacted me because it taught me that I could find ways to lead in church.  I’ll never forget the excitement I had when I was told that I was going to be able to carry the Bible in the procession that started the closing service of VBS and then lead the congregation in saying the pledge to “God’s holy word.”  We routinely have children lead in various ways in worship at May Memorial, but when I was a child it seemed that most churches were still in the “children are to be seen and not heard” mode.  Being able to lead God’s people in that simple routine told me that I had something to offer the community and that the church would embrace me in that role.  I felt like I mattered.

            I also learned in those days from that church that missions mattered.  To their credit, Emmaus Baptist followed the exact plan for VBS that the Sunday School Board produced which included a focus on a different missionary each night.  I remember bringing my offering and learning about the Baptist men and women who were carrying good news throughout the world and how my offering was a part in making that possible.  I remember learning about Lottie Moon at VBS, I heard about the Southern Baptist “Bold Mission Thrust” campaign that encouraged giving and cooperation so that the over-arching goals of God’s kingdom could be accomplished.

            Last, and most important, I remember the crafts that I made at VBS.  Growing up in church I’ve made a lot of crafts, but I remember these crafts as the best.  One year a group of men decided they would do the crafts (or perhaps they were volunteered by their wives?) and each child was able to make a wooden sign that carried their last name.  As a little boy I was ecstatic when I realized that I was going to be able to operate a router and engrave all seven letters of my last name into a 1x6 piece of lumber.  The next night we took strong smelling oil-based black paint and colored in the letters. Before the week was over our signs were complete with a stained finish covered with shellac and ready to be hung on the outside of our houses.  It was a great craft, but what is most memorable about it was the men who took the time to carefully guide us children in the making of it.  Most of the time it seems that VBS is up to the ladies, and with only a few exceptions they staff the entire VBS week.  But I remember those men who helped with VBS.  They took us to see the goats in the field beside the church one night.  They impressed us when they took our dares to touch the electric fence.  And I remember them carefully and skillfully guiding our hands as we held the power router.  I was blessed by seeing men lead in VBS, and their willingness to be the craft leaders demonstrated to me that gender-specific roles in the church are only barriers we have erroneously allowed to occur.

            I learned much from VBS, and I pray as children are flocking into our church this week they are learning some of the same things.  Our four days of VBS may seem like a small thing in light of an entire childhood, but God uses small things to shape lives.

A New Opportunity for May Memorial

In October of last year May Memorial’s leaders were approached with an exciting and unanticipated opportunity.

Kountry Kid’s Daycare, located across the street from the church, has served our Powhatan community well for many years.  Wendy Goodwyn owned and operated Kountry Kids most of those years, and she offered quality childcare for hundreds of children who went there daily and found nurture, good instruction, care, and loving community.  A couple of years ago Wendy, ready to retire, sold Kountry Kids (the business and the property) to a local couple, Nathan and Heather Nuckols.  The Nuckols wanted to see the quality childcare continue, and they also wanted Kountry Kids to be faith-based with the influence of a good church.

The Nuckols knew that May Memorial was the church they wanted to be a part of Kountry Kids.

When this potential opportunity came to May Memorial, the Leadership Council appointed an ad hoc team to explore this opportunity.  Serving on the ad hoc team were Christina Fredette, Juston Sanudo, Constance Deal, Jackie Lindsey, Kemper Baker, and Carlisle Davidhizar.  They worked hard, met with the Nuckols and Wendy Goodwyn, talked to other churches and leaders of day cares and preschools, and pulled together a lot of information from Kountry Kids.  After months of work they brought a recommendation to the Leadership Council and Board of Directors that May Memorial take ownership of Kountry Kids daycare.

The Nuckols have offered May Memorial the “business” and equipment that is Kountry Kids.  The Nuckols would retain ownership of the building, which May Memorial would rent from the Nuckols (the Nuckols request a lease agreement that would be renewed yearly).  The same staff would stay in place, and there is one (or two) long-time staff member who would potentially serve as the director.  

After the ad hoc team brought their recommendation to the Leadership Council and Board of Directors, these two bodies began working to gather necessary information.  This information includes a sample lease agreement, detailed financial information from Kountry Kids, legal documents, enrollment records, etc.  Our church treasurer also has spoken to an attorney who would help with several aspects of this process if it moves forward.  With two CPAs in our church being a part of this process, the financials have been thoroughly examined.

At the last meeting of the Leadership Council and Board of Directors, it was unanimously approved to make a recommendation to the church that we move forward and take Kountry Kids (the business, not the property) as our own.  This is a motion that will be made at the quarterly church business meeting in June.  Before that meeting a packet of information will be made available to church members so you have time to read and consider all of the facts before the vote is taken.

Much more information will be presented closer to the business meeting, but here are a few things that are important to know:

First, this will not impact our church budget.  There will not be any additional line items in our budget for the daycare.  It has been and will continue to be fully self-supporting.  This business has turned a profit for many years, and it will continue to do so.

Second, the Board of Directors has spoken with our insurance agent and the Board is fully aware of the necessary insurance coverage that is required.  Again, this will not be a part of the May Memorial budget, but will continue to be a part of the Kountry Kids budget.

Third, a LLC will be created for our day care ministry, creating a safety wall for the church and limiting our liability.

Fourth, conversations have been held with parents and staff and they are very excited about the possibility of May Memorial taking Kountry Kids and it becoming faith based.

Finally, it is important to know the reasons as to why the ad hoc team, the Leadership Council, and the Board of Directors are all unanimously in favor of this.  First and foremost, this will be a ministry of our church.  Children will be taught about Jesus and about God’s love for them.  This will happen as the children of Kountry Kids are included in Vacation Bible School, Kingdom Kids on Wednesday afternoons, children’s events through the year, chapel services in the Kountry Kids building and in our building, Bible story time with Pastors Michael and Carlisle, and many more.  

This ministry will continue to provide working parents with quality childcare where their children are valued, cared for, provided safe space, and nurtured as they grow.  Kountry Kids has filled an important spot for families for many years, now May Memorial can ensure that will continue for families in our community.

All persons involved from May Memorial also have a “holy wonder” if this could also be a way for God to connect our church family with young families in our community.  There is a prayerful hope that through this more families with children will become a part of what God is doing at May Memorial.  This is a demographic we have not been most effective in reaching, and we pray that saying “yes” to this opportunity is a step in reaching more families.

Packets of information will be available several days before our meeting on June 14, and a great deal of information will be presented from our Board of Directors and Treasurer at the meeting.  I hope you will speak to me, Carlisle, Gerald, Sandy, or Juston if you have any questions that you feel are important to be answered before you can offer an informed vote.  This can be a great opportunity, it is also a big step for our church.  Your input, questions, and thoughts are valuable to us in the process as we follow God’s Spirit in how we can continue to reach out and minister in this wonderful place where God has put us.

Storing Pentecost in the Attic?

When we were preparing to move from North Carolina to Powhatan we decided that we would move all of the contents of our attic to our living room in an effort to get rid of unnecessary items before the movers came.  What followed were several ads on Craigslist and a Saturday morning yard sale.  In cleaning out the attic we were amazed at several things we found.  We were most happy over one find—a Bach Stradivarius trumpet that Beverley’s parents had given to her when she was in high school band.  We had had not seen the trumpet in years and had given up on ever seeing it again.  There were other finds in our attic, things we were happy to see and things that our children really thought were amusing, but when we moved you will never believe what we did with those things.  As the movers were carrying the boxes in that contained our “attic contents” we directed them to carry them straight up the stairs, up the “fold down” ladder, and place them in the attic.  All of those wonderful finds—the trumpet, the pictures, the high-school yearbooks, are now packed back in the attic; it was a joy to see them all, but now they are right back in the same place.

            Many Christians do the same thing with Pentecost.  You know the story—early Christians had gathered together 50 days after the resurrection, and suddenly a mighty wind filled the room, flaming tongues of fire rested over their heads, everyone heard the gospel preached in their native tongue, and the Church was born.  It was an experience in which the Christians lost control and made a spectacle of themselves.  It was over the top, excessive, and powerful.  It is a good story and a story we love, especially if we can just take it out about once a year and then get it back into the box.  We treat it like those treasures in our attics.  It is good to bring them down once in a while, let it warm our hearts, and then get it stored back into the attic.

            This coming Sunday we are going to bring this story out of the attic, take it out and focus on it during worship.  We are about 50 days past Easter, and this is a fitting time to look at it.  I would like to make a suggestion as we celebrate this Pentecostal Power this Sunday—maybe we shouldn’t put it back in the attic when we are finished.  Maybe we should be brave enough to let this story that is drenched with God the Holy Spirit’s power stay with us and affect our lives as individuals and as a Church Family.

            How would we be different if we did this, if we allowed the story of Pentecostal Power affect our well organized lives?  My first answer is that I don’t really know—I don’t know what (if anything) would change, but I know how it has affected Christians in the past.  The first thing that happened is that timid people became bold.  People who did not have the courage to share good news found themselves preaching so that all could hear.

Second, followers became leaders.  Jesus’ followers who did not think they could manage one day without Jesus beside them were now leading others.  Listeners became preachers, and the ones that Jesus was sent to became the ones sent.  And finally, new beginnings are granted.  It could have been all over when Jesus went back to heaven, but the most unlikely thing happened—the church had a new beginning.  The followers had the same power that Christ had, and it was a new day for the Church.

This is the kind of power that we need to leave out of the attic.  This is the power that needs to envelop our lives, but it is a risky way to live.  We lose control, we turn our wills over to the will of God, and we are goes where the wind blows.  But what excitement and joy we experience when we allow that Pentecostal Power to permeate our life together.

Music at May Memorial

I must have been in the fifth or sixth grade, and I was sitting in Sunday night church.  I was seated toward the back of the sanctuary, maybe on the back row, with my friends.  We had just sung Victory in Jesus as a congregational hymn, and after the hymn ended the pastor asked if anyone wanted to give a testimony.  I watched my dad stand up (he and my mom were sitting much closer to the front) and begin to talk.  His mother, my granny, had died just a few weeks before, and while I don’t remember anything else about his testimony I remember that at the end he said, “she has now experienced that victory in Jesus we just sang about.”  I think about that every time we sing Victory in Jesus. I especially thought about it when the quartet sang it yesterday.

Many years ago when Beverley and I had the chance we would drive to Durham on Sunday mornings and worship at Duke Chapel.  We loved the Gothic architecture, we loved hearing William Willimon preach, and we loved the music.  There were two organs in Duke Chapel at the time (there are four now), the Flentrop at the rear of the chapel was our favorite to hear played on those Sundays (click here to see the Flentrop organ and the other instruments in Duke Chapel).  I remember the first Sunday we worshiped at Duke Chapel, we arrived early, and the choir was still rehearsing.  We stood in the narthex and I heard them sing “My shepherd will supply my need, Jehovah is His name.”  They sang it perfectly later in worship that morning.  It is one of my favorite texts (it is a paraphrase of Psalm 23) and I love the tune from Southern Harmony to which it is most often sung.

If you were in worship yesterday at May Memorial, you heard Victory in Jesus sung (very well) by the men’s quartet.  We also sang the hymn My Shepherd Will Supply My Need as our second hymn.  While the reasons for doing so vary, I love both of these hymns.

This past Saturday afternoon we met in the sanctuary for a rehearsal for our new worship service which begins this Sunday.  The band worked on the congregational songs that we will sing this Sunday, and one of the songs is 10,000 Reasons.  This contemporary song is based on two older sources, one being Psalm 103, and the other being the 19th century hymn Praise My Soul the King of Heaven.  I have listened to the song as a source of spiritual encouragement for several years, and I love the version recorded by Josh Garrels, you can hear it by clicking here.  It is one of the songs that I listened to a lot while on my recent pilgrimage to the Holy Land.  I love the song.

There are so many different kinds of music that praises God, and I am grateful to be a part of a church that takes the Church’s Song very seriously.  I appreciate Stuart, Sandra, the choir, the quartet, and the newly formed band that will lead in our 8:30 service.  I rejoice that we recognize that God is praised, our hearts are warmed, and our minds are sharpened by a wide variety of hymnody, contemporary songs, instrumental music, and choral anthems.  I am blessed by the music of our church and the musicians who lead it.

Yes, the Victory is ours in Christ Jesus.  Yes, our Shepherd will supply our needs.  Yes, God is rich in love, slow to anger, God’s heart is kind, therefore, we will keep singing.

The First Time Amazing Grace was Sung

I don’t know when the hymn Amazing Grace was first sung by a congregation.  The words were written in 1772, it was published in 1779.  But the beloved John Newton hymn, from the writing of the text in 1772, when it was sung, was not sung to the tune to which we sing it.  The tune NEW BRITAIN was not written until 1835, and before that there were as many as thirty-five tunes that Christians would sing those famous words to.  But to my point, after Newton’s text was finally “married” to William Walker’s tune NEW BRITAIN, and clergy and musicians began selecting for their congregations to sing it in worship, I wonder how many Christians simply loved it as a new hymn?  Did anyone leave worship that day, the first time they sang Amazing Grace, and reply, “we’ve never sung that before, it was GREAT!”  Probably not.

If I am not careful, I am skeptical of new things.  I know what I like, and I like what I know.  I like things that are familiar and predictable.  I know where I find value, and when something changes I worry that I will not find the same value.  And yet I can hardly imagine a world in which in worship I couldn’t sing Amazing Grace.  This means that somewhere, someone had to do something new.  In doing “new” things, we just never know when it is going to be used by God and be a blessing to Church and world.

Each summer my family and I attend a music and worship conference in Montreat, NC, and it is just about the highlight of my year.  The best part of the day is worship, which happens at 11:00 a.m. each morning.  It is led by a large organ played by a world class organist.  Frequently there are brass players on the hymns, and it is thoroughly traditional.  I love it.  My spirit is renewed and comforted in the excellence but also in the familiarity of what happens.  Several years ago (we’ve been going each summer since 2000) we entered Anderson Auditorium, and it felt like it does each year: like going home.  The organ, the hickory pews, the stone floor, the open windows through which I could see the mountains.  But, there was something else: six microphones that I concluded were going to be used by singers.  This was new.  I was skeptical.  If it works, why change it?  I was right, during worship there were six singers who, on some of the songs, stood there and led the congregation.  And what I initially thought was going to take value away from my normal experience only added to it.  That year the preacher was John Bell, a Scottish Presbyterian from Iona, and those singers led the congregation in some of his wonderful music.

I like familiar, I like sure things.  But sometimes, maybe even often, God is to be found outside of my “box,” on the other side of the boat, and when I have the patience and courage, I often meet Him there.

This Sunday…A Sunday Three Years in the Making

Angels can fly because they take themselves lightly.
Never forget that the devil fell by force of gravity.
He who has the faith has the fun.

G. K. Chesterton

In February of 2020 I had begun announcing that Sunday, April 12, the Sunday after Easter, was going to be a day “not to be missed.”  I announced that on April 12, 2020, I was going to do something I had never done before and that most (or all) in our church family had never seen a preacher do.  I was nervously excited.  I was planning.  And then, COVID.  So, it didn’t happen.  But this Sunday, April 16, 2023, barring a new pandemic or major HVAC failure, it will happen.  It has been three years in the making, and this Sunday is the day.

I’m not going to tell you exactly what will happen this Sunday, but I will say that often Christians can be a little too serious,  The story is told that one day Groucho Marx was getting off an elevator, and he met a pastor.  The pastor came up to him, introduced himself, shook his hand and told him “I want to thank you for all the joy you’ve put into the world.”  Groucho replied, “Thank you Reverend.  I want to thank you for all the joy you've taken out of it.”  This, while sometimes true, shouldn’t be the norm.

In the Bible we read:

“A joyful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.” (Prov. 17)

“There is a time to weep, and a time to laugh.” (Eccles. 3)

“A glad heart makes a cheerful face.” (Prov. 15)

“Be glad in the Lord, and rejoice…shout for joy!” (Ps. 32)

This list could go on and on, because in scripture we read again and again to rejoice, to praise, to laugh.  Our faith should not be a chore to be endured.

So this Sunday I will attempt in worship (at least in my sermon) to bring joy as we continue to celebrate the best news: Jesus is Risen.

In the history of the Church some early theologians (Augustine, Gregory of Nyssa, John Chrysostom) have contended that at Easter God played the ultimate joke on the Devil.  The Devil thought he had won, he thought he had done away with Jesus forever on the cross, but three days later God was the one to have the last laugh, the Risus paschalis, the Easter laugh.

This Sunday we will experience (again) the joy of Easter.  There should be smiles on our faces and a lightness to our hearts because God won.  God has defeated death and the grave, and we will rejoice!

Our Central Event

If I were to count the number of hymns in my lifetime repertoire that center on the cross as compared to resurrection hymns the cross wins hands-down.  When I Survey, At the Cross, The Old Rugged Cross, At Calvary, Blessed Redeemer, and In the Cross of Christ I Glory are just a few of the dozens of hymns that I can sing without the hymnal.  These “cross” hymns are in addition the number of hymns that I know about the death, the blood, the suffering, the “price he paid” and so on.  As a child and as an adult in Baptist Churches we sing these hymns all throughout the year, whatever the season.

            Resurrection hymns are more scarce.  I know the big ones: Christ the Lord is Risen Today, He Arose, He Lives, and The Day of Resurrection.  These are the big four from my childhood, and since then I have learned a few more, but not too many.  These are the hymns for Easter Sunday, and then as we journey on into springtime and approach Mother’s Day these Easter hymns are left behind.  I never remember singing Christ the Lord is Risen Today except for Easter Sunday.  I guess we think that it just wouldn’t fit.

            I think our hymnody and our practice of hymn singing say a lot about our belief, and if our singing states what is most important to us it would appear that the cross/suffering/death/“price he paid” theme is our defining event.

            And yet we worship each week on the first day of the week, not on Friday.  This arranging of our calendars is a bold statement that we are defined not by what happened on Friday, but what happened on Sunday.  Resurrection is the center of our belief, the center of the entire Jesus event, and is our only hope as Christians and humans.

            Every Sunday is a “mini-Easter” for the church.  We gather on the first day of the week 52 times per year to be reminded that he is risen and to celebrate that in Christ God has conquered death, sin, and the grave.  Christ is the first-fruit of the resurrection, and therefore we shall all experience new life too.  This is our reason for gathering each week, to tell the story in a new and different way.  But let us not be confused, we tell the gospel story, the good news of resurrection.

            The cross is a central theme in our faith.  Because of humankind’s sinfulness Jesus was killed on a cruel Roman cross.  This act of love and sacrifice defines who God is and who we are in God’s economy.  But to end at the cross is shortsighted and premature.  We are people of hope, of life, and of resurrection.  Because of this death is never the final word.  Because of resurrection the worst news is never the last news.  It may be the next-to-the-last-news, but the final word with God is always life.

            It may be Monday (or Friday, theologically speaking), but remember, Sunday is coming.

Chocolat in Lent

One of my favorite movies is Chocolat, and I especially enjoy watching it in the weeks leading up to Easter.  This 2000 movie is set in a small French village in the late 1950’s, and stars Juliette Binoche, Judy Dench, Alfred Molina and Johnny Depp.  I love it because it is a good movie, but more than its cinematic quality I love it because of its message.  In the movie Vianne is a skilled maker of chocolate who wanders throughout France and finds herself settling and setting up shop in a very traditional French village.  When she arrives in this village, there is great distrust and even hatred toward her and her daughter.  This animosity involves many factors, but it is pinned on the fact that she has the nerve to open a chocolate shop right in the middle of Lent.  For the citizens of this village, Lent is seen as a time of denial and repentance, and when one in their village does not conform to their practice they do everything they can to drive her away.  The leader of the town tells Vianne early in the movie that their ancestors drove those accursed Huguenots away in a matter of weeks and that she presents a far less challenge than they did.

            What makes the movie difficult is that Vianne, though an outsider, befriends hurting people and treats them with love that should have been coming from the Christian community.  She helps a lady who is abused by her husband, and welcomes a group of drifters while the village launches a campaign to “boycott immorality.”  The priest of the church is caught in the middle of all of this.  He knows that something is wrong with the way the Christians are acting, especially the mayor of the town who writes his sermons for him and coaches him all along the way.

            What challenges me most about the movie is precisely the thing that I need to hear the most: too often Christians are far more concerned with their rules, rituals, and pious appearances than they are with welcoming the stranger in their midst or offering healing to the hurting.  Chocolat makes this point abundantly clear, and I hope you’ll watch this movie.

            It is said that the Baptist preacher and sociologist Tony Campolo was once speaking to a group of conservatively pious Christians and told them that “every day 30,000 children die because of hunger and preventable diseases and you don’t give a damn.”  He quickly continued, “and what’s so bad is that you are more upset that I said damn than about the 30,000 children who are dying today.”

            May God bless us to major on the majors and minor on the minors.

Light in Darkness

On Saturday, February 25 my mom left the hospital after a four night stay to go home with Hospice Care.  I had already planned to go to N.C. the following day to take my dad for cataract surgery the next morning.  We thought my mom would live several more weeks, if not a couple of months.  We were wrong.  After two days at home, my mom was admitted to a wonderful hospice facility, known in Goldsboro simply as “Kitty Askins,” where she would die six days later.  By the end of last week I would be back in Powhatan, having had the funeral and my mom being buried just a little over two years since her cancer diagnosis.

There are many ways to describe the past few weeks, but in biblical terminology it could be called darkness.  We all know that dark places exist in our world: pain, grief, sorrow, sadness, disorientation, despair, frustration, anger, and many more.  But, biblically speaking, we also know that in those dark places there is light.  In John 1 we read that “the light shines in the darkness and the darkness will not overcome it.”  And as sure as I am of the darkness of the past few weeks for my family, I am equally confident that in the midst of that darkness there has been light.

I am grateful for all of the ways that the May Memorial family has been that light for me.  Your many texts, calls, cards, emails, Facebook Messages, and flowers have reminded me that God’s love and promise take on hands and feet within the Church.  You all have been God’s love incarnate, and I don’t know what I would have done without you.

You all will never know how much it meant to me for such a large group from May Memorial to come to my mother’s funeral.  I have a lot of family in North Carolina who are important to me, but to have my church family there was a comfort that it hard to describe.

One day God’s victory over death will be fully realized; one day the world will be put “to right.”  One day “death will be no more, mourning and crying and pain will be no more.”  Just as Christ was raised, we will be raised.  But until then, while we live and struggle in these dark places, we know that the light still shines and in so doing the darkness is bearable.  The darkness will never overcome the light.  Amen.

Salt or Bay Leaf?

Often the best and most insightful things that are said about the scripture text for the day come after the benediction and are spoken by someone other than the preacher.  People have made comments to me at the front door of the church that have caused me to continue thinking (or rethinking) my sermon and that day’s text.

Yesterday after worship at lunch a member told me a little story that did this.

A person was cooking a pot of soup, and for some reason the bay leaf the recipe called for wasn’t added.  When the soup had simmered and was ready to serve, the cook was surprised that the soup didn’t taste any different than it had the many other times she had made this same recipe.  So, the cook wondered, what else could be left out and not be missed.  The next time she cooked the recipe, she left out the salt.  Again, the soup simmered all afternoon, and when supper came and the soup was served, it was TERRIBLE!  There was a huge difference in the soup when the salt was left out, when it was missing.

Of course the moral to this modern-day parable is: don’t be a bay leaf, be salt.

There are some people, there are some churches, that make no difference in their communities, and there are some people, some churches, that make a huge differences.  There are some churches that if they were to cease to exist, they would not be missed by their community.  They don’t take risks, they don’t invest in their community, and they don’t adapt to reach the community around them.  They are bay leaves.  They don’t make a difference.

I’m grateful for the ways that May Memorial has been salt in the Powhatan community for well over one hundred years, and as I have thought about salt and bay leaves, I pray that we will continue to be the “salt of the earth, the light of the world.”

Why...Join a Church!?

Sunday, February 12 is “A Day to Welcome New Members.”  A person who professes faith in Christ and who has been baptized in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit is welcome to join May Memorial at any of our worship services.  But we set a day aside a couple of times a year to encourage people to join.

I often think of a couple of things when these days come up.  First, I think about church membership, about getting your name “officially on the roll.”  I admit I would rather have “attenders” and “disciples” than “members” who never attend.  But ideally, a church would be made up of those who attend and are members.

I also think, why would someone want to join?  I think there are many reasons, but this morning I read a devotion (I get a couple each morning, this just happens to be todays) about why one person was led to join a church.  This devotion made me think of our church family, and as soon as I read it I knew I wanted to share it with the May Memorial Baptist family.

It is by Mary Luti and is titled “Join a Church:”

I know an older woman who worries about outliving her husband and most of her family and friends. The grief of that anticipated loss messes with her sleep. And the fear. With them gone, who’ll look out for her? She doesn’t want to die alone.

She confided all this to a friend. His advice? Join a church. Church people will take care of you, he said. You won’t be alone.

She was taken aback by how crass and self-interested his advice felt. Hi, I’m Sally, I’m old and getting older. I’m joining your church so I won’t be alone. What kind of reason is that? If people knew she’d come hoping for a few visits and a casserole someday, wouldn’t they feel used? She decided he must be kidding. He wasn’t.

I don’t know whether she’ll do it, but I hope so, because her friend is right. Anyone who’s ever been lucky enough to be part of a loving church knows it. To approach such a community for company and care isn’t selfish. It’s giving that church a chance to be church.

Some Christians think that the church is most fully what Christ intends only when it’s publicly engaged in the struggle against the sinful systems of our unjust world. But the world’s axis also tilts towards God’s dream whenever some random old woman (or anyone at all) comes to us to be accompanied and is met with open arms.

Join a church. They’ll take care of you.

The Fifth Gospel

On January third Beverley and I traveled with a group of clergy and spouses to “the Holy Land” for nine days.  The trip was led by a pastor from NC and a seminary professor from Gettysburg, PA.  Martin Zimmerman, the seminary professor, served in the role as pastor to our group.  He chose the scripture readings that would be read (by us pastors and spouses) at each site, and then which hymn we would sing after the readings.  He led our meetings to discuss things such as expectations and experiences.  He was truly a pastoral presence to the group, and I am grateful for the Christian friendships that Beverley and I formed with him and with many others on our trip.

On the first evening of the trip we met in a meeting space at our hotel in Tiberius, on the Sea of Galilee.  Martin used a phrase that I had never heard when he called a pilgrimage to the Holy Land “the fifth gospel.”  I know the four Gospels: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.  And they tell us the story of Jesus and His saving work in the world.  But I had never heard of a trip to the Holy Land being the “fifth gospel.”

By the end of the trip I understood.  The place, the land, the people, they in fact tell the story of Jesus.  While I was in the Holy Land, here are a few of the places I stood:

Wedding at Cana of Galilee, where Jesus turned water into wine

Nazareth, where the angel appeared to Mary

Mt. Precipice, where residents of Nazareth tried to throw Jesus off cliff

Sea of Galilee where Jesus (after resurrection) appeared to disciples

Capernaum, Peter’s house where Jesus lived

Mount where Jesus preached sermon on mount

Place where Jesus fed 5,000 (actually a lot more) with loaves and fishes

Judean wilderness

Jericho

Jordan River (where Jesus was baptized)

Qumran (where Dead Sea Scrolls were found)

Shepherd’s Field

Nativity Church, where Jesus was born

Mount of Olives

Garden of Gethsemane

Western Wall

Upper Room

Caiaphas’s House

Via Dolorosa

Calvary

Holy Sepulcher

And these places and the people I met along the way did become a fifth gospel.

On Wednesday, January 25 at 5:45 I will show pictures and tell the story of this trip.  I hope you will join us and maybe catch a glimpse of this “holy land.”

Christ Be Our Light

I have to be honest: most texts in scripture no longer stir me emotionally.  I have heard the popular ones so many times.  Luke’s birth story, Luke’s story of the prodigal son.  Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount including the Beatitudes and Lord’s Prayer.  Even the story of resurrection rarely touches my emotion.  I guess this is a side effect of a life that is spent continuously around the Church and scripture.  Familiarity often dulls the senses and removes the surprises, and we always know what is coming and are prepared for it.  One text that surprised me a couple of weeks ago was the prophet’s image of the peaceful kingdom of God, in which the wolf shall live with the lamb and the leopard the kid.  Calf and lion shall live together and a little child shall lead them both.  The bear shall graze with the cow, and even the lions will eat straw.  Little children shall play among serpents that were once considered deadly, and “they will not hurt nor destroy on all God’s holy mountain.”

            As I heard this passage from Isaiah 11 a couple of weeks ago during worship I suddenly found a lump in my throat.  My eyes filled with tears because it suddenly struck me how far we are from this vision that Isaiah had of God’s kingdom.  Violence, hate, death, disease, and evil seem to be the images that dominate the world.  Darkness abounds, and the light of Christ seems to be a flickering candle flame in the face of this shocking darkness. 

            This world is a dark place.  The darkness seems so strong, that at times it is hard to know where to find light.  On the Eve of Christmas we light the Christ Candle, and it is a time-tested and beautiful tradition that warms the hearts of those who celebrate that light.

            The light of Christ can be found in many ways: in worship, in giving, in spiritual formation, in evangelism, in fellowship, and in service to others.  Christ has promised to be present when we are busy being the church, and we are busy about being the Church every week.

One of my favorite contemporary hymns is titled “Christ Be Our Light” by the British composer and hymn-writer Bernadette Farrell.  Each stanza is in a minor key, and conveys a “longing” for light in a dark world.  The refrain is sung in a major key, and proclaims that it is Christ who is our light.  You can watch and hear the energetic Notre Dame University Folk Choir singing this hymn by clicking here.

            Is your world dark?  Do you need the light of Christ?  Devote yourself to God and to being a part of God’s people. 

            It’s a dark world…Come and find the light of Christ.

Magnificat

In my former pastorate in North Carolina, my family and I lived in a parsonage.  For those who are new to church, a parsonage is a house owned by a church in which they allow (or insist) their minister and his or her family to live at no charge while the pastor serves in that congregation.  Most congregations talk about their parsonage as a “perk” to being their pastor, and the fair rental value of the parsonage is often included in the pastor’s compensation package.  The parsonage that my family and I lived in for five years was a house located less than 100 feet from the church building, and it was built in the 1930’s to be that church’s parsonage.  It was a large house, nearly 3,500 square feet, and for my family it was probably the largest house we will ever live in.

            The neighborhood that surrounded the church was what could be termed “transitional.”  On the street in front of the church and parsonage lived several church members who had purchased older homes and restored them to beautiful condition.  This was Church Street, and it was a beautiful picture of small town America with tree lined streets with sidewalks and perfectly manicured lawns.  Then there was the street behind the church and parsonage.  On the block that backed up to the parsonage was a row of rental houses that many would describe as being owned by a “slum lord.”  The houses were old and drafty, and were rented to multiple people within the same year because the routine was for people to quickly fall behind in their rent and then be evicted.

            I knew many of the people who occupied these houses as some of them would regularly come asking for assistance.  Some of them I liked and I had a relationship with, others were scarier individuals who would come and bother my family at the most inopportune times.  It was not uncommon for someone to show up about dinner time and we would normally make them a plate of whatever we were having for dinner.  Sometimes people would come early in the morning, and every once in a while they would come late at night.  This was a part of life in that parsonage.

            This is no longer a part of my life.  I live in a place where this never happens, and I am grateful.  The peace and quiet that my family and I have at our home was new to us when we moved to Powhatan, and I value our home because it is our place of sanctuary, a place that I can step away from the needs and demands of ministry and simply be relaxed as husband and dad.  My kids are safe, no hungry people wait outside of our front door, and we have never had to share our dinner with a hungry person.  I love the peace, quiet, seclusion, and privacy of our home.

            I understand what draws people to Powhatan, and I would imagine that escaping the uncomfortable encounters much like I experienced is a part of it.  We like our solitude, our quiet, and our privacy.  And at times I worry that the blessing of my home in our wonderful community numbs me to the reality of need in our world.  I worry that I forget about the human needs of our world, and some days I also miss the blessing of meeting those needs.

            In the Magnificat, Mary sings a song about the child in her womb setting the world right.  She sings about the lowly being lifted up and the hungry being filled.  She sings about a world that will be as God intended the world to be, a world of justice and equity and peace.  Mary’s singing is so compelling that it invites God’s people into God’s work, not just singing but working to make God’s vision a reality.

            Very often it is hard for me to see the needy people in Powhatan.  The blessings of our wonderful home carry subtle risks.  We risk blindness to many needs, and we risk missing the blessing of service.  We all know that there are many needs in our community, needs that are often less visible than in other places.  Let us pray with Mary for a restored world and let us pray that our eyes will be open to see the hurt and hunger that exists around the edges of the good place we all call home.

Inconvenienced by God's Advent

For preachers who follow the lectionary, each year the fourth Sunday after Easter is “Jesus the Good Shepherd” day.  The lectionary points toward Psalm 23 each year on this particular day, and the Gospel Reading is normally a text in which Jesus describes himself as the Great Shepherd of the Sheep.  “I lay down my life for my sheep” Jesus says.  Or, “my sheep know my voice, and the path that I take.”  I love these texts because they bring me peace and comfort.  They soothe my restless soul and in them I find great comfort.  I love this image of Jesus.

            Yesterday we celebrated the first Sunday of Advent, and the image of Jesus was quite different from this calm and peaceful shepherd.  Yesterday we heard Jesus talk about the end of the world, the consummation of the age, the apocalypse.  When God comes, Jesus says, your lives will be changed, re-ordered, altered, and disrupted.  Following Jesus certainly brings peace and security and comfort, but Jesus also reminds us that when God invades, calls, commands, and invites, our lives will experience disruption.

            If I never hear Jesus calling me to do something that makes me uncomfortable or uneasy, I’m not sure I’m hearing Jesus.  If I never hear Jesus asking me to give something away that is valuable, I’m not sure I’m hearing Jesus.  If I never hear Jesus calling me to take a risk, to make myself vulnerable, to step out in faith, I’m not sure I’m hearing Jesus. 

            In an age of market driven churches there is a great temptation to make Christianity look easy.  In order to attract people, we are tempted to take away all of Jesus’ demands so not to scare anyone away.  But make no mistake about it: following the Jesus of the Bible is demanding.  It costs us something.  We are asked to do things that are not easy, things that make us uncomfortable, things that stretch us beyond our normal way of living.

            When is the last time you heard Jesus calling you to do something difficult?  Or demanding?  Like going on a mission trip?  When is the last time you heard Jesus calling you to give something away that cost you dearly?  Like forgiveness, or love, or money, or control?  When is the last time you heard Jesus ask you to step out and go to a place that was unfamiliar, or new, or frightening?  When is the last time you heard Jesus calling you to be a peacemaker in this world of violence, hate, racism, and trouble?  Have you heard that call?

            I love my neatly arranged, well-ordered world.  But sometimes God shows up and throws it out of kilter.  When that happens I have a couple of options: first, I can work really hard to ignore that voice, to pretend that nothing happened, and if something did happen it has nothing to do with God in my life.  If I can do that many times the voice will fade away.  Or, I can try to put everything back into the order I find most comforting.  Or, I can listen, live in the changed reality, follow, and allow God to use me.  I must admit, the third option is the scariest, but it is also the place of blessing, and satisfaction, and true peace.

            May God bless you with the disruption of His Advent during this Holy Season.

Waiting

There are not many things in my life that require me to wait.  I can order a book from Amazon, it will be on my front porch in two days, free shipping, and as soon as the transaction is processed I can read it instantly on my phone.  No waiting.  In my study at church I have a Keurig Coffee Machine.  All I have to do is drop in a pod, press the button, and within seconds I have a great cup of coffee.  No waiting.  I can access almost any piece of music on my iPhone and instantly listen to a wide variety of musicians perform the selection.  No waiting.  I can immediately get in touch with my children, wife, family members, and friends by texting.  No waiting.  I have an app on my phone that will give me directions to any location in the world, and if traffic is backed up for any reason the app will automatically re-route me so that I don’t have to wait in stopped traffic.

            Our world, with its technology, has eliminated many of the things that at one time caused us to wait.  In many ways this is a tremendous blessing.  No one likes to wait for coffee, and what a joy it is to access music without going to a store or waiting for a concert.  But this “immediate” world can cause us to think that all things should happen on our schedule, exactly when we want it, and that we should not have to wait for anything.

            Our world has already jumped to Christmas.  There was no waiting, no patience, the culture simply jumped to the holiday full force.  But if Christmas means the Coming of the Holy One, of God with Us, we people of faith know that God does not work on our immediate schedule.  God rarely comes when we’re expecting Him, more often than not God moves in ways that require us to practice patience and faith. God works on God’s schedule, and for us that means waiting with attentive hearts.

            This Sunday we begin the season of Advent.  For us Baptists we begin catching a foretaste of Christmas during the Advent season, but as we slowly light each candle of the Advent Wreath we are reminded that for ages God’s people waited for the coming Messiah.  This also means that we often have to wait for God.

            I could readily name several things for which I’m waiting on God.  Things that I continue to pray about and carry before God, and God has not yet come for me in these places.  Sometimes it would be easy to give up, to despair, and to try to take matters in my own hands.  But I know that for ages and ages God’s people have waited, and even though they didn’t know when it would happen, God came.

            These Advent Sundays are as important for me this year as they ever have been, and I know that for many in our May Memorial family there are important for them too. 

            Be patient, pray, cry out, keep watch, be alert, for God will come. 

Attitude of Gratitude

Several years ago it was the coldest day of the year and our heat stopped working.  I went out to assess the situation by taking a look at the condenser, and soon realized that the only thing colder than that day was the thick layer of ice that wrapped around the metal box that was supposed to be providing heat for my family and me.  When the HVAC technician finally showed up and I asked how he was, he looked at me and replied, “brother, I’m blessed beyond all that I ever deserve.”

It occurs to me that there are many ways to approach life in this world.  There are different perspectives with which people may choose to view their lives, circumstances, and general place in life, and when I am at my best I choose to approach life as a blessed child of God, blessed beyond all that I deserve.  Many in our world choose to approach life as a victim, and some face the world with a sense of entitlement.  For others, luck seems to play a big part of their worldview, and there are still those who take their cues from A.A. Milne’s Winnie the Pooh character Eor, an eternal pessimist who always has a sense of impending doom.  While I am prone to all of these, in my heart of hearts I believe that we are all blessed by God beyond all that we deserve.

I have a devotional book that offers me a short thought each day, and on many days at the end of the reflection I jot down a list of things that I am grateful for that day.  It is a simple exercise that sets my world in perspective.  In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I offer to you one a short list of what I am thankful for today:

I am thankful for my wife of almost 26 years,

            who I can’t imagine doing life without,

            who reminds me of things that are most important,

            and who I still would choose to spend my time with before anybody else.

I am thankful for my three wonderful daughters;

that family is important to them,

that they each have unique gifts,

and that they are fiercely independent and strong.

I am thankful for my church family at May Memorial;

I am thankful for my parents and my wife’s parents,

            that they made us go to church as children—even when it wasn’t fun,

            that they sent us to college and expected us take responsibility for ourselves when we became adults and were married.

I am thankful that this year’s election is over, and that all the signs are down, especially mine.

I am thankful for my home,

            that it is warm and safe,

            that it faces east so the sun shines in the front windows in the morning,

            and that I don’t have to act like a pastor there;

I am thankful that I have all I need, and so much more;

I am thankful God gives me things for free that I could never afford…

            like the joy of sitting by a fire in my yard with my family,

            and the wonder of a sunset over the ocean on summer vacation.

I am thankful for the people that I have met that I would have never sought out and the things I learned from them;

I am thankful that I have not found it necessary to take a drink today, or for many years, just to make it through.

I am thankful for the painful experiences that taught me things I would have never learned without them;

I am thankful for music and people who compose or perform it,

            like Johnny Cash, Jackson Browne, Bruce Springsteen, and Doc Watson,

            and Vaughan Williams, J.S. Bach, Morten Lauridsen,

Herbert Howells, and C. V. Stanford.

This week leading to Thanksgiving is a time to be thankful, and when we stop to consider it just for a moment, aren’t we all blessed?  Aren’t we all blessed beyond all that we deserve?

Not a “Pastoral Clinician”

When I was a hospital chaplain I listened in on a conversation one day about a pastor who had come to visit one of his parishioners.  The conversation was between the Director of Pastoral Care at the Hospital and a nurse.  I don’t remember how the nurse had noticed the pastor’s presence in the unit, but she was upset that the patient and family were more emotionally distraught after the visit than they were before.  It was not that the pastor said something harmful or rude during the visit.  It wasn’t even that the pastor was honest about a health condition that the patient and family were avoiding facing.  The problem with the pastor’s visit was that he was cold, unattached, and uncaring for the patient and family.  He may have said all of the right words, and he probably offered a prayer at the end of the visit.  He simply acted like he didn’t care.  At the end of the conversation the Director of Pastoral Care told the nurse that this man was really not a pastor, he was a pastoral clinician.

            I’ve never forgotten the phrase “pastoral clinician.”  It connotes a person who has all of the education, experience, and external qualifications to be a pastor but does not have a heart that cares for people.  There are many things that can be learned in a seminary classroom, and experience teaches us a lot.  But I don’t know if any amount of education or experience can teach a man or a woman to care for people.

            As your pastor, I care about you deeply.  My care for the members of our church family is not out of obligation or responsibility, but is based in my love and the place each member of our church family has in my heart.  I do not watch someone’s joy or sorrow and stand by unaffected.  My heart rejoices when yours rejoices, and my heart breaks when yours is breaking.

            I care about you…when you face health challenges,

            I care about you…when your family is in conflict,

            I care about you…when you are away from church,

            I care about you…when someone close to you has died.

            I care about you…when someone has hurt you,

            I care about you…when you are discouraged,

            I care about you…when you are waiting anxiously for news that could be good or bad.

            I care about you…when you take a step forward in faith,

            I care about you…when you watch your child who has grown up leave for the first time.

            I care about you…when you fall in love and are married,

            I care about you…when you are scared to death because a new baby has come to your house.

            I care about you…when you question your faith,

            I care about you…when you’ve done about all you can do and have to give it to God.

            Speaking honestly, I’m a little embarrassed that tears come to my eyes as quickly as they do.  It is not that I’m an over-emotional person.  I also understand that pastors must guard against becoming overly-emotional so that a person who is in need feels that they must care for the pastor instead of the pastor caring for them.  But the tears that come to my eyes remind me that I am not a “pastoral clinician.”  I am a pastor, and I count it a gift that I care for each member of our church family.  It is not something that I have to “work on,” and it is not something that I had to decide to do.  I simply do.  Know this: you are cared for by your pastor.