The Answer Is Blowin' In The Wind
The recent tornadoes in Kansas and the surrounding area gave us a sobering reminder of the force of nature. I saw on CNN an interview with a United Methodist pastor from the town there that no longer exists. He was, naturally enough, very emotional about the tragedy and spoke of the determination to rebuild.

I was amazed to learn the number of tornadoes recorded in that area and others, well over a hundred just in a span of a day or two. It must seem to the locals like the end of the world.

Of course, it is not the end of the world. It's part of what life is like. We've had heavy smoke here recently from wildfires occurring well north of us. Places in California have much worse fires, and it seems to be a regular seasonal occurrence.

We're 18 days away from the official beginning of Hurricane Season, which lasts six months! A busy season is predicted once again, and people have to prepare for it.

Years ago a twister came through the town in South Carolina where I was serving as a pastor. It knocked over a bunch of pine trees, took off a roof or two, yanked a shrub right out of our front yard, and even kicked over the little sign in front of our church. My recollection is there were no reported injuries, and after a few days of constant chain saw noise, everything returned to normal.

I remember talking to a member of the congregation, and he said, "These sinners better watch out. This was just a warning." I'm not sure who the sinners were, or what they had done that caused God to spin a little wind through our town. I just knew, from what the man told me, it was someone's fault...someone else.

We seem to have an annual drought in Florida. There are tornadoes in different parts of the country this time of year. Hurricane season is marked on the calendar. Earthquakes and tsunamis occur on occasion. Mudslides and wildfires are prone to take place because of meteorological conditions. Snow blizzards and floods disrupt lives with some regularity, again as conditions warrant.

God stays pretty busy imposing these horrible situations on "sinners." How does God find the time, when God also is testing us every day, and "giving us" troubles, but not in a measure "more than we can handle?"

I guess it's difficult to reconcile the mysteries and cycles of creation and nature with our need to either blame someone (God, perhaps; other people, maybe), or think that we're somehow in control of and understand everything about life and the world.

My suggestion is that while we do try to understand as best we can, and respect, the forces of nature, we adopt a little more humility and recognize that we are totally dependent upon God for all things. That especially includes God's love which is ever-present, even in the midst of a ____________ (fill in the blank with your worst fear of a natural disaster), and which we are called upon to reflect to others in the midst of their suffering from ________ (again, fill in the blank).

To me, that seems what life is like, and part of how God intends the world to work.

Whither Shall I Flee From Thy Spirit?
In my sermon preparation this week I came across a quote from evangelist Billy Graham: "Take the Holy Spirit out of the church and 95% of what we're doing will still go on." I admit I don't appreciate what I perceive as Graham's fundamentalist approach to scripture, or that he has been so cozy with a number of U.S. Presidents, supportive, even, of their wars, but I must say I think he's on to something here.

Even if his percentage is inaccurate, he makes a valid observation. So much of what we do in the church seems irrelevant or unimportant. We spend more time on institutional maintenance, business and property, than we do on worship and study of scripture. Prayer is a minimal part of the life of the community.

There are 8,760 hours in a year. If we have a one-hour worship service every Sunday, that means 52 hours are devoted to worship. If an average were figured for the regularity of worship attendance by all church members, what would it be? Twenty hours per year? Less? That has an effect on the life of the faith community.

How much time is devoted to prayer by each member? Who leads the congregation in prayer at worship, meetings, and fellowship meals? Is it most always the pastor, because "that's his/her job?" People own more Bibles than any other book, but are they read and studied? When we had a guest speaker point out the low biblical literacy rate of church folks, someone actually asked me, "How do we improve on that?"

If we don't invite or look for the Holy Spirit to be a part of our life in the church, we'll likely more often than not miss its tug on our hearts and minds. Without the presence and influence of the Holy Spirit, what does the church become?

We're experiencing that now.

A new vision for the church is in order. Try this one on for size:

The church will be a community of believers centered in spiritual growth; focused on the presence of God in our midst; dependent on the Holy Spirit to call us out to know and respond to the needs and the searching of our neighbors, sharing the Good News of Jesus Christ through word and action, because we invite God to be here.

The Passing Of A Desert Father
Yesterday, I learned of the death of B. Davie Napier, a noted Old Testament scholar, writer, professor, pastor, prophet, and piano man. Davie was a guest professor at my seminary for one semester almost 30 years ago, and it was my privilege to study Isaiah under him.

Davie was a rare person who inspired innumerable students during his long, productive career. Even though he was present in my life only for such a brief period, I never quite could let him go. I tried to maintain a small semblance of contact with him over the years. I loved receiving his replies to my notes. He had a delightful penchant for writing at a 45 degree angle across cards, notepaper, or the pages of his books when he inscribed them. He always made generous use of exclamation points, as well.

One thing I appreciated about Davie, in addition to his obvious store of knowledge and wisdom, was his eagerness to consider the ideas and thoughts of his students, taking them seriously, as if carefully weighing their validity. He spoke in tones of wonder and amazement, traversing the learning journey with us, discovering nuances and distillations previously elusive to him. Unlike professors in many fields and schools, there was no self-assured arrogance or superiority, affected or otherwise. Despite his accomplishments and experience, Davie genuinely was a humble person.

He took great pleasure in playing the piano, whenever the occasion arose, despaired at injustice and violence, either current or referred to in the text, and found unburdening hope within prophetic promises and in suddenly appearing light bulbs over the heads of his students.

Davie once chucklingly described what no doubt was a terribly embarrassing moment. He delivered somewhere in his travels a presentation on the Creation accounts in Genesis. So absorbed in making his case and points, he was oblivious to a slip of the tongue, pointed out to him later. Quoting from the text, Genesis 1:27, Davie intoned, “So God created (humankind) in his image, in the image of God he created them; feel and mayfeel he created them.”

In 2005, I took the opportunity to travel to Claremont, California, to visit Davie and two other favorite professors of mine, T. J. Liggett and Lester McAllister, all of whom were living at Pilgrim Place, a retirement community for church professionals operated by the United Church of Christ. To me, they are The Desert Fathers.

Unlike with T.J. and Lester, I had not seen Davie from the time he left the seminary until I showed up at Pilgrim Place. So, I wasn't quite sure what to expect. I am extremely grateful that I was able to make the trip.

When I sat down with Davie, I noted the grand piano filling a large portion of his efficiency apartment. “Yes, I had them take out the kitchenette so they could get it in here for me. Take a look through there,” he said, gesturing to his left. I got up and walked past him into a bathroom that opened into a walk-in closet. In the closet, amongst hanging clothes was a twin bed. Davie was sleeping in his closet! “It was the only way I could get the piano in here. When my wife Joy passed away two years ago, I had to move to this smaller place.” Then wistfully, “She was a remarkable gal.”

They were married for over 60 years. I remembered her from their time in Indianapolis, and my impression of her that remains is that she was a lively, vibrant person, clearly Davie’s equal in every way. I also had the distinct awareness they were devoted to each other.

I told Davie about my ministry, various positions I’d held, places I had lived and worked, situations I had dealt with. When I shared some of my experiences related to racism in the South he recalled a couple of his own. “Racism is a terrible beast,” he lamented as I recognized tones in his voice and that sense of despair at injustice I heard and witnessed years before.

“I was teaching at the University of Georgia in the ‘40’s…” And he paused. Looking at me, but beyond me, he asked in disbelief, “Am I that old?” He regrouped and told me how he raised eyebrows by inviting some students and teachers from the predominantly black Morehouse College to meet with his students to talk about racial divisions. A colleague petitioned to have Davie removed from the faculty for such a treacherous act. Shaking his head, he said, “I guess I was naive or something not to realize it would cause a problem.”

At a later time, after he left the university of his own accord, Davie officiated at the wedding of the daughter of former Secretary of State Dean Rusk. She married an African-American man. Davie regretted that social pressures worked against the success of the marriage. And he recalled that at the time of the wedding he received a postcard from the man who previously sought his dismissal from the University of Georgia. On the card the man simply wrote, “What will you do next?”

I asked Davie, “Did you tell him?” He chuckled, with a gravelly sound I fondly recalled from days gone by. “I was too hurt to even respond.”

When our visit came to an end, I got up and walked over to shake Davie’s hand, thanking him for spending time with me. He kept his seat, and I thought of how in Biblical times the teacher sat and his students stood around him. It somehow seemed appropriate.

The last thing he ever said to me was, “Blessings.”

I cherish that, and I'm thankful for the mental image of that moment I always will carry with me.

Here's The Pitch
Today I was speaking with a young man from my congregation, and the opportunity arose for me to tell him one of my favorite stories from my baseball-playing days. It happened in 1972, when I was a freshman at East Carolina University playing fall baseball.

One day I was slightly injured in practice, so I was sent to the trainer's room for first aid. As I was waiting to be treated, I had a conversation with another player who was there. His name was Tommy Toms. He was a senior and was the star pitcher of the team. In fact, when he graduated the following spring, Tommy was drafted by the San Francisco Giants. Within a year or two he actually spent some time pitching in the major leagues with the Giants.

On this day, Tommy and I got to talking about the head coach of the ECU baseball team, Earl Smith. Earl was the coach for a long time at ECU, and while I never questioned his knowledge of baseball, I did not consider Earl to be one of the more enlightened people I had met in my life.

Earl had rules about the appearance of his players. First of all, when I was there it seemed they had to have white skin. Secondly, there was to be no long hair, sideburns or facial hair. I was pre-warned about this earlier in the summer by another of his players who I knew at the Ted Kluszewski Baseball School in Ohio: "Earl's not gonna like that mustache," I was told at the time. So, when I showed up at ECU, I shaved it off.

On the day I spoke with Tommy Toms, who actually had fairly long hair by Earl Smith standards, he related something Earl had said about him. In his best imitation of Earl, Tommy said, "That Tommy Toms may be a hippie-freak. But when he gets on that pitcher's mound, he's a pretty good boy."

When I think of that statement, I always remember something I once read concerning Martin Luther King, Sr., "Daddy King." According to the story, when John F. Kennedy was a U.S. Senator running for President, MLK, Jr. was arrested on a traffic violation, and was transferred late at night from the city jail to a Georgia state prison to do hard time. Naturally, the King family and many, many others were appalled at this turn of events.

John Kennedy intervened with Georgia officials, and Dr. King soon was released from the prison. Gratified and tremendously relieved, Daddy King told his congregation to vote for JFK, "even though he's a Catholic."

I always found the irony of that statement highly amusing, but it points to the reality that many, if not most of us, perhaps even all of us, have some preconceived notions about people who are different from us.

But, we qualify our prejudices: "the hippie-freak is a good boy, really;" "the Catholic did me a favor, so you can place your confidence in him."

Wouldn't it be great if we simply could appreciate the differences we all bring to the human story? Instead of the starting point being suspicion, or low expectations, or even fear, we would value the uniqueness of the other person and benefit from what they contribute to life in this world.

But, I guess that would complicate matters and inhibit our tendency to deny our own shortcomings.

We Are One In The Spirit
Our church this week was fortunate to host a visit by a veteran missionary who worked for many years in
Africa, mostly the Congo, and who more recently served in his native Haiti. He shared many insights from his long experience and helped us gain a better understanding of what happens when we send financial and other resources to support mission work in developing countries. The humility and joy I have often witnessed in such servants was evident once again.

He pointed out that the people among whom he lived and ministered were not interested in having someone come and "help" them. He said, "Don't walk ahead of us, don't push from behind. Rather, stand with us shoulder-to-shoulder that we can work on our mutual liberation together." I have heard of similar sentiments expressed by people of faith from developing countries.

Often, when we "rich" folks go on "mission trips" to "poor" villages and countries, we end up being enriched by the experience as much as, or more than, the folks to whom we are reaching out. More than once people have described such experiences to me, and I have read about them, as well.

Someone told me about a trip he made with a group that visited several sites in Latin America. The people were glad to receive the visitors, and provided eager hospitality. And they shared how they prayed regularly for the Christians in North America -- not that we would help them out, or send them money, but rather that we would remain spiritually strong in the face of all the challenges and temptations we face, and that we would be effective witnesses to the gospel, just as they tried to be in their setting.

I believe it was Anthony Robinson who reported in his book Transforming Congregational Culture that members of his church visited a community in Nicaragua where they shared in a sister church relationship with a group of Christians there. During the visit, the Nicaraguan congregation sang a series of hymns for their visitors. They used no hymnals, had no piano or organ to accompany them, but they sang with great passion and enthusiasm.

After a while, the hosts invited the guests to share some of their favorite hymns in return. The guests were embarrassed that they could not do so without referring to hymnals. Upon their return home, they made it a point to learn hymns to sing on subsequent visits.

During my seminary days it was my privilege to become acquainted with numerous students from other countries. During my first year, I roomed with a man from Thailand who had traveled thousands of miles, leaving his family behind, so he could study on an advanced academic level in a language not his own in order to one day return home and minister more effectively in a land where less than 5% of the people were Christians.

The next year, my roommate was from India, and the story was similar. Through both of these men I was able to meet and get to know other international students, and we regularly had a living room filled with folks whose experience of life, the world, and the church was vastly different from my own. Their stories were amazing and inspirational.

One is now a United Methodist bishop in the Philippines. Last year I spotted his picture in The Christian Century along with an article about some of the struggles the people are facing there. Another returned to Guatemala following several years of ministry in the United States. The last letter I received from him, perhaps a dozen years ago, described what he termed "nightmarish" conditions in his country. During our time at seminary his brother, a journalist, was murdered.

It is very worthwhile, and vitally important, for North American Christians to become more aware of the faith, lives and struggles of our brothers and sisters in developing nations. It helps us put into perspective the priorities we choose, and the behaviors we perpetuate in the church, and hopefully, will awaken us to the power of God's spirit to transform lives.

Because, as our missionary visitor told us, mission opportunities abound all around us as soon as we walk out the doors of our church building.

"...And Let It Begin With Me"
This morning our city's ministerial association concluded our program year by holding a worship service focusing on "prayers for peace." Scripture was read, a beautiful a cappella solo was offered, and two or three of our members shared readings or stories related to peace.

In his remarks, one person referred to an article in today's newspaper regarding the local police department. Seven of twenty-nine new police recruits were fired for "telling racist jokes and using racist slurs." It was heartening to know how seriously this was taken. But the more remarkable aspect of this story was that "several other cadets are under review for 'their failure to report those issues.'" In other words, not only are racist jokes and slurs not to be tolerated, but standing by and just letting it happen is a punishable offense, according to the standards of the police department.

It brought to mind an incident from my own experience. One day several years ago, I was standing in the check-out line at the grocery store. For reasons I no longer recall, I already was in a bad mood, but when I heard the person in front of me share his racist comments with the cashier, my temper got away from me. Intruding on the conversation, I used an impolite term for "nonsense," and let the guy have it. He was stunned, not only at my intrusion, but at my disagreement with his point of view.

He couldn't comprehend that I, as a Caucasian, actually would call him out on his low opinion of Asian people. "What are you? An Indian or something?" he asked me. When I said no, he said, "Well, you must not be from Virginia." "Born and raised," I replied. And as he fumbled for something else to say about me, I countered with the extremely clever, "You must be very happy, because 'ignorance is bliss.'"

He saw the fire in my eyes, got his change from the cashier, and left the store mumbling. By that point, of course, everyone else in the front of the store was watching and listening. It wasn't a proud moment for me, and it certainly wasn't an inbreaking of peace.

Apparently, the recruits for our local police department are taught the guidelines and standards of conduct to which they are to be held accountable. If those standards include reporting racist jokes and slurs uttered by their colleagues, then their responsibility is clear.

What seems less clear is what the rest of us should do in such a case. What if a family member is the culprit? Or it's a stranger ahead of you in the check-out line? Or it's the person who sits in your row at church? I've encountered all three of these scenarios.

When else do we stand by while someone says or does something that alienates or denigrates someone, or that even leads to their harm in other ways?

What should we do? What is our responsibility as people of faith?

For Whom the Bell Tolls
Today Mary and I spent the day at Bok Sanctuary in Lake Wales, Florida. Lake Wales is the point of highest elevation in the state, 298 feet above sea level. I was surprised to see a hilly area in Florida!

The Bok Sanctuary features beautiful gardens, lots of walking paths, a carillon that plays throughout the day, and a pair of cranky swans who didn't like it when I put my foot on the stone ledge around their pond. The more I did it, the crankier they became.

Edward Bok was in the publishing business, and for 30 years he was the editor of Ladies Home Journal. He fell in love with the location and decided to preserve the area and establish a bird sanctuary. Bok decided something was missing, and had the tower built with the carillon, reminiscent of the carillons of his homeland, Holland.

Edward Bok was a visionary in many ways. As the United States became involved in World War I, and as Woodrow Wilson was promoting the idea of a League of Nations, Bok offered a $100,000 award for a "practicable" peace plan, in which the U.S. would work with other nations to establish and maintain peace in the world.

Bok's grandmother had inspired him in his youth by insisting that every person should somehow leave the world as a better place because he or she had lived in it. Edward Bok's list of accomplishments and "betterment" of the world is impressive.

It is striking how it seems so much has changed in terms of the general attitude of nations and individuals. Competition for power and the control of the world's resources outweighs the notion of cooperation and pursuit of the common good.

Sometimes I wonder if God's plan was for differing peoples and nations to cooperate and rely upon each other, given that natural resources and food products are scattered across the globe in various locations. Perhaps God's idea was we would share what we have with each other, that we all have something to contribute to the health and well-being of our human sisters and brothers. It seems there is a richness in the diversity of our human family.

Why do we insist on a smaller, narrower, self-focused existence?

To quote the ever-quotable William Sloane Coffin, "There is no smaller package than a person wrapped up in himself."

Book Value
The process of placing value on an object always has been somewhat mysterious to me. But, it seems,
someone always knows. If you ever saw Antiques Roadshow on PBS you know there are experts who will tell the unsuspecting person before them the value of the painting, old letters, or piece of furniture they dragged in for appraisal. How do they do it?

Online auction sites such as eBay move thousands of items and facilitate the exchange of copious amounts of money every day. The single most expensive item ever sold on eBay was acquired today by someone who had a spare $10 million to invest in a car signed by members of the cast of The Dukes of Hazzard television show. I never once watched the program, but I'm beginning to think I missed something.

In a free society, people earn or otherwise acquire their wealth in a variety of ways. They likewise put that wealth to use as they see fit. If someone chooses to pay $10 million for a car, that's their business.

An overwhelming proportion of the world's population tries to survive on the equivalent of one or two dollars a day. Many people, most of whom shouldn't waste their meager resources in this fashion, faithfully play the lottery. The odds against winning the "big one" are phenomenal. And, it turns out so often, winners of those gigantic lottery prizes end up bankrupt, divorced and unhappy.

As a nation we spend money for war as if we can just print what we need anytime. When it comes to health care, education and jobs, especially for those with minimal, if any, access to them, well, you know, our resources are dwindling. Budgets are tight.

The budget is really tight for hundreds of thousands of people who made the mistake of living in the path of Hurricanes Katrina, Rita and others. As an eye-witness to the devastation 18 months after the fact, I can report that the Gulf Coast region likely will never fully be rebuilt. The evacuees will have to try and make it somewhere else, starting with nothing. Volunteers from churches and civic groups who are trying to help are told, "If it weren't for you, these people would have absolutely no hope."

Why not? Don't they have any value?

Say What?
One of the brochures arriving in my mail advertises a workshop on "The Renewed Homiletic," which it describes as a "turn toward the hearer." It points out that a shift in "the study and practice of preaching" occurred 35 years ago: "The purpose of preaching focused less on persuasion and more on transformation, less on asserting religious truths and more on offering an experience of the gospel."

Fair enough. There's more: "Thus homiletical strategies utilizing induction, celebration, story, narrative structures, and moves replaced a deductive, propositional approach to preaching." ...and moves...?? OK.

I must confess that never in my sermon preparation have I considered a "strategy" to utilize induction. I failed to ponder "narrative structures." The only "moves" I ever employed were gestures and the occasional foot-stomp. But, I guess it's OK, since I wasn't remaining stuck in a pattern of a "deductive, propositional approach," either.

Maybe I'm just not the reflective type, sucking pensively on a pipe, wearing a corduroy jacket with elbow patches, while I sit in my study surrounded by tall shelves of scholarly dissertations about referential language appropriate to post-modernity.

I remember a lecture once about church transformation, and one of the marks or characteristics of a transforming church, according to the learned lecturer, was its ability to "jettison the amphictiony." I couldn't wait to get that into my next sermon, and apply it in daily parish life. Right.

One sermon I preached last year made reference to language, suggesting it helps to know the language of those with whom you are communicating. I gave the example of something that might be said at one of the lobbying law firms on K Street in Washington, DC: "Go up to the Hill before the markup on the DOJ appropriation. Get some face time with the chair and deal away the RIF'ing of our clients. Then, go over to Old Town for a walk-through with the AEI PAC leadership. Take the orange line, transfer to the yellow because the Inner Loop will be stacked up at the Wilson that time of day. Then, at 7, go over to Georgetown and spin the Posties at the grip and grin at Ben and Sally's."

If my "hearers" were confused by that, I gave them more, offering an example of something my son might say: "Carlos was crunked because I wouldn't throw cheddar for his grindage. He said, 'I'll just gank it, then.' I put on the chinny rack and told him, 'You're lunching, dawg. Quit icin' my grill. It's cashed.' Then, I bounced."

One of my earliest mentors told me that preaching should be done in "language of a sixth grade level." I wasn't sure how to do that. Plus, it seemed like it would be insulting to the congregation. So, I found it especially hilarious when, on the very next Sunday, one of our elders used the word "archipelago" in his communion prayer. I sure didn't know or use that word back when I was a sixth-grader.

Many of the folks finding their way to churches these days are not familiar with church terminology, scripture or Christian history. They don't know one denomination from another -- and don't care. They are seeking spiritual guidance and health. They are giving God a try.

What do we say to them? And how do we say it?

Lift-Off
Upon hearing of the death of astronaut Wally Schirra my thoughts took me back 45 years or so. I was in elementary school when several of the historic U.S. space flights occurred. If the launch or re-entry took place during school hours, the teacher rolled in a black and white television and we watched history being made.

I was, of course, too young to understand much about it all, but it seemed to be an exciting and outstanding accomplishment to actually send people into space. For some reason, Wally Schirra was my favorite astronaut, and I knew the names of the rest of the Mercury Seven. Shirra was a bit like Mickey Mantle in my young mind, talented and heroic. I liked watching him on television, either piloting a rocket or providing expert commentary when other space missions were underway. It's difficult for me to envision him as an 84 year old man.

So much seemed possible in those days. Achievement and excellence were held up for our aspiration. Baby boomers like me were told we could do and be anything, and we believed it.

But, the older we got, the more complicated things became. We still were very young when Camelot disappeared, and we realized it really was just an illusion, anyway. In fact, things got very ugly very quickly. The world in which anything seemed possible turned into a scary place where it became difficult to trust "anyone over 30."

Now I'm ambivalent about the importance or necessity of the space program. I think the money would be better spent on job training and economic development in neglected city neighborhoods and dying small towns. There is far less collective celebration of human achievement because instead of working together toward common, positive goals we are suspicious of others, paranoid and increasingly self-isolating.

I guess it's somewhat understandable that some want to cling to the familiar and the comforting in the face of the challenges and changes swirling around us. But when it's the church of the "good old days" we seek to maintain or restore we discover that it, like Camelot, also was an illusion.

People are searching for something more meaningful.