"Here Am I, Send Me"
In a recent discussion among clergy colleagues we talked about some of our thoughts and feelings on our role as pastors. It was clear we brought a variety of perspectives. I also read just yesterday a book written by a clergyperson who mentioned that when he travels he never tells his airline seat mate that he is a minister.

I remember that when I went to seminary I encountered people with a wide range of expectations and assumptions about what it meant to be a minister. As I told my colleagues the other day, I am a minister because I was called, not because I ever had the intention or desire to become one. So, my initial foray into that world, showing up at seminary, brought about a lot of reflection on my part.

But I assured myself by the clear awareness I wasn’t the only unlikely candidate for ministry present on campus. Some folks there, students and otherwise, seemed to me completely nuts, and I truly couldn’t figure out why they were there.

One person (not nuts) I found intriguing was a fellow named Tim. He pulled some time down at the state farm for saying “No, thanks,” when Uncle Sam sent his Vietnam-era greetings. Sporting wild hair and a beard, Tim very obviously was intelligent, often wearing a shirt selected from his incarceration wardrobe. I paid attention when Tim spoke in class because he had a lot more on the ball than I, and I wanted to learn.

On the other end of the spectrum from my point of view was a guy whose approach to faith struck me as very simplistic. He (perhaps 3 out of 5 on the nuts scale) was very friendly towards me, and I don’t mean to sound critical. It’s just that he was hemispherically different from many of the more intellectual people there.

I remember one day as I was leaving the building, I ran into this guy and he excitedly told me something he discerned about prayer. He said, “If my grandmother was driving her car and saw that she was about to collide with another car in an intersection, and she prayed, ‘Thank you, God, for keeping that car from hitting me,’ there wouldn’t be an accident! She thanked God in advance, so God would stop the accident from happening!” I just stood there as he hustled away reveling in his epiphany, which, no doubt, found its way into his next sermon. I’m currently rethinking his rating, possibly bumping him up a nut.

A number of my peers were enrolled only because they were required to get a Masters of Divinity degree by their denominational credentialing authorities in order to remain as pastors. In spite of the education they were working to obtain, they knew the real truth about God and Jesus, and no one was going to tell them otherwise.

That truth seemed to have a lot to do with white middle-class Midwestern North American conservative morals and values. Some of these fellows (yes, the ones I knew from this segment of the seminary population all were men) questioned the salvation of the unblinking professors who insistently challenged them to mine deeper ideas.

Then, there was Vinton Bradshaw, one of my all-time favorite people, who was the Director of Field Education at the seminary. He also was a mentor to countless folks like me over his long career. Vinton told us that we should "think of ourselves as ministers," right from the get-go. I had difficulty doing that, because I didn't quite know what that meant, but he valiantly dragged me along, anyway.

With the world, culture and church changing so much over the last generation or two, it's difficult to know what it means to be a minister. Sometimes church folks, not wanting things to change, insist on the minister fitting a mold or image that means something to them. Ministers hold themselves to a variety of standards they feel are appropriate. These don't always overlap exactly.

Grace, patience, growth, and understanding are beneficial to all concerned in the relationship.

Handsome Boy
Twenty-three years ago today, Mary and I spent the day at the hospital in Elmira, New York, awaiting the birth of our second son. On our last visit to the obstetrician, he examined Mary and declared, "This baby is over ten pounds!" There were no signs of labor. So, we set a date, May 18, and if labor didn't begin, a C-section would bring Matt into the world, apparently against his wishes.

And, that's precisely what happened. He weighed in at ten pounds, three ounces.

Maybe his reluctance to be born was to be expected. As a "Taurus," according to horoscope definitions, he should be "home-loving and tend to have deep sentimental attachments to people, things, and places...Astrologers do not consider Taureans to be fond of change, making the typical Taurus both reliable and committed, as well as inflexible." (MSN) I guess Matt just liked it where he was, and was ready to wait us out!

Of course, we're glad he came along, despite his hesitations, and he continues to bring much joy and happiness to our lives. We just wish we all lived closer together.

Make It A Blockbuster Night!
There is a church near our house currently advertising a FREE Movie Night, complete with popcorn. The title of the movie isn't mentioned, but one assumes it would measure up to someone's standards as family-appropriate. Good for them, and I hope they have a splendid turn-out.

Churches constantly are trying to come up with ideas of programs or events that will get people to come inside their building. But what happens when the folks show up? No doubt there are friendly people there to greet them. They watch a movie. But, then what?

Perhaps there is the expectation that once you get the strangers inside your doors they, or at least some of them, will be intrigued enough to come back for worship. And then, before you know it, they will join the church!

Is a FREE Movie Night or Talent Show or some other activity attractive enough to someone who has a spiritual void or longing in their life that they will finally take the plunge and go inside a church building? Or are they looking for something else?

Maybe another way to phrase it is to ask, "Is the church truly looking to be available to someone on a spiritual journey, or are we trying to attract people who, like most of us, really are pretty casual about that kind of thing?" Maybe we just think we need to get some more people into the church so it will continue to exist. If that's the case, for what reason does the church need to continue existing?

There is a growing number of books on congregational transformation. It seems all the ones I read, and all the speakers I hear talk about transformation, come back to the reality that there is a significant spiritual drought inside the church. Evangelism would be better understood, embraced, and practiced as church folks themselves are growing spiritually through worship, prayer, study, service, faithful stewardship, and other spiritual disciplines.

Small groups studying, praying and serving together is viewed as the best approach for people to start, re-start or continue a spiritual journey. Newcomers are less intimidated by participating in a small group than they are by simply walking into a church as a stranger on Sunday morning.

As church folks continue to grow in their faith, they are more sensitive to the nudging of the spirit, and they find themselves drawn into mission, even in ways they never imagined. Outsiders, however they encounter the members of a faith community, can sense something compelling in the lives of those whose faith drives them to reach out to others. That attracts spiritual seekers, and leads to the making of disciples.

In our regional church, we're beginning to place an emphasis on "Disciples making Disciples." Of course, the implication is you have to be a disciple yourself in order to make new ones.

I'm not convinced that hiding behind special event programs fills the need, even though I enjoy a good movie, just like anyone else.

"Those Who Love Me, I Will Deliver"
Yesterday's news of the death of Jerry Falwell received a lot of attention, and no doubt many people are mourning his loss. I did not know the man. I also did not have a favorable impression of his words or actions.

It seemed to me he was devoted to division and separation. I understand the Christian faith to be about reconciliation and unity. His message seemed to be one of judgment and exclusion, while Jesus spoke of grace and forgiveness, which he termed "good news."

I never saw the validity or attraction of the approach taken by Falwell and others of a similar mindset. Unfortunately, it seems many people outside the church harbor a suspicion that most, if not all, of us in the church reflect Falwell's attitudes and prejudices. So many of them choose to stay away.

I once saw a bumper sticker that said, "Lord, protect me from your followers."

I remember when the Y2K mania was going around, Falwell was quoted as saying he was stockpiling supplies -- including ammunition -- just in case the world went crazy because computers weren't programmed to click over to the year 2000. He made swift and harsh judgments on 9/11, letting us know that God was upset with the United States because of our moral failures. Comments he made about Islam sparked protests and riots half a world away.

The world took note of the passing of this person.

I have known numerous folks whose deaths were not noted by the world. It shouldn't have been a surprise, though, because few took note of their lives. One in particular I recall was a man named Willie, who was a member of my congregation.

Willie was an African-American man, in his 70's, who died following a struggle with a number of health problems. He was a modest man of meager means, poorly educated, and not especially articulate.

He worked hard for a long time in service industry jobs around Washington, DC, loved his family, and when I knew him, always had a positive outlook, a smile, and took great pleasure and pride in being able to walk to church every Sunday. And he dressed up for church, because he was raised to respect the Lord.

Willie was in a Bible study I led, and he always was present, always had read the lesson, and was prepared for the discussion. He was shy and hesitant about speaking up in the group, but someone once told me that Willie appreciated the fact that I and others in the group sought his observations and opinions. "No one ever really cared what I thought before," he had remarked to her in a matter-of-fact way.

Those of us who knew him felt a deep sense of loss when Willie died. The parish nurse who sat with him in the hospice unit that night reported that Willie knew he was dying, and he prayed, and prayed, and prayed some more. He confessed his sins to God, he praised God, and asked for forgiveness and mercy and blessing. Willie asked the nurse to read Psalm 91 to him -- several times during the night, between prayers, as he was dying. So she did. He died hearing these words:

You who live in the shelter of the Most High,
who abide in the shadow of the Almighty,
will say to the Lord, ‘My refuge and my fortress;
my God, in whom I trust.’
For he will deliver you from the snare of the fowler
and from the deadly pestilence;
he will cover you with his pinions,
and under his wings you will find refuge;
his faithfulness is a shield and buckler.
You will not fear the terror of the night,
or the arrow that flies by day,
or the pestilence that stalks in darkness,
or the destruction that wastes at noonday.


A thousand may fall at your side,
ten thousand at your right hand,
but it will not come near you.
You will only look with your eyes
and see the punishment of the wicked.


Because you have made the Lord your refuge,
the Most High your dwelling-place,
no evil shall befall you,
no scourge come near your tent.


For he will command his angels concerning you
to guard you in all your ways.
On their hands they will bear you up,
so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.
You will tread on the lion and the adder,
the young lion and the serpent you will trample under foot.


Those who love me, I will deliver;
I will protect those who know my name.
When they call to me, I will answer them;
I will be with them in trouble,
I will rescue them and Honor them.
With long life I will satisfy them,
and show them my salvation. (NRSV)

What Did You Know And When Did You Know It?
I was sorry to see Paul McNulty, the Deputy Attorney General who yesterday submitted his resignation, get caught up in the controversy over the firing of nine U.S. Attorneys. His role in the matter remains somewhat unclear, at least to me, but his testimony before Congress gave the impression he was fairly detached from the firings.

The furor, of course, springs from the perception by many that the firings strictly were politically motivated, that the U.S. Attorneys let go were disloyal to the Bush Administration's agenda, shown by their pursuit or non-pursuit of cases in their various states.

When I worked for the Friends on Capitol Hill, I had a couple of occasions to work with Paul McNulty, who over that time served in a variety of capacities for congressional offices and committees. Even though he was an extremely busy person, he graciously agreed to meet with student groups when I invited him to discuss criminal justice issues, and he took seriously the students and their interest.

My impression of Paul McNulty was that he was an upstanding person, highly intelligent, and committed to public service. I'm sure he and I have numerous differences of opinion on political issues, but it's difficult for me to picture him being involved in political mischief. So, I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt, and I wish him well in whatever path he follows.

The whole scandal, though, points out the traps and snares of power. Sometimes, those who reach positions of power or authority -- political or even in the church -- see themselves as "above it all," and untouchable. They easily can lose sight of what's right, instead finding it irresistible to succumb to self-serving decisions and priorities. Those who don't play their game are "disloyal."

The taste of power is very intoxicating, and it seems sometimes the more you have, the more you want. Meanwhile, as corruption takes hold, the greater interest is not served, nations, groups or congregations are fractured, and everyone suffers.

It's disgraceful in national politics, and unfortunately, not uncommon. It's antithetical to the Gospel in the church, and likewise a part of the landscape.

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.