Small Towns, Large Values

The busiest intersection in Hemingway, South Carolina

This past Wednesday night, I went to Wahalla, South Carolina, to visit my niece, nephew, and sister-in-law, upon the death of Kent, my sister in law's father. This is a family that has seen more than their share of tragedy in the past three years with the deaths of three very special people. My brother, Eric, always liked Wahalla; I could see why at the funeral home Wednesday night. Wahalla is a small enough town where most people know each other and treat each other like family. There was a presence Wednesday that spoke to that. I feel comfortable that my family there will be cared for daily by their church and community in ways that would make Eric, Kent, and Joan proud.

I am finding Gaffney to have that same kind of atmosphere. It is a bigger town than Walhalla but the values of community are still present. I guess I am partial to small towns. I grew up in Hemingway, which shaped me a great deal into the person I am today. I have lived in Spartanburg, Atlanta, Baton Rouge, and Charleston; but in those places the school or the local church served to convey those community values. Small town certainly face problems today--- plant closings and economic challenges, the school systems aren't as well funded and sometimes attitudes are not open to healthy change.

South Carolina is a state of small towns and rural villages, but not for long. As less people farm, and more textile operations close, the children of the small towns flock to the larger cities for jobs and educational opportunities. My hope is that with these changes we can still find ways to relate and care for one another as it was done in the past in places like Wahalla, Hemingway, and Lowndesville.

How hard can it be to find an alarm clock?

Last week, I wrote about needing an alarm clock. Turns out Mamma Deacon needed one too; her alarm clock stopped working after the 1,000,000,000th time she hit the snooze alarm in five years. We go to Wally World to purchase alarm clocks---with battery backups. We got two with a strange neon blue glow.

Glow really is not the right word---supernova would be better. Twin blue supernovas in our bedroom. It looked like the police were testing their light bars. We passed one of the clocks off on Airman We. He has wrapped it in a t-shirt and put it on the other side of his room.

Yesterday, I went online and purchased an alarm clock. It is the Cadillac of alarm clocks---three daily alarms available, each alarm allows you to wake to a different radio station. It has a "declining snooze" which ought to make Mamma Deacon happy.

Time keeps on slippin' and its supernova bright.

Time keeps on slippin'...I think

We are trying to get ready for Advent and Christmas at church. That time of anticipation and preparation. Speaking of time, every time piece I own is malfunctioning or missing. I replaced the battery for the atomic clock in my office and for some reason it is stuck on California time. I have misplaced my watch (somewhere in the house, I think). This morning, by bedside digital alarm clock (with nice big numbers) is missing some pieces of the numbers. My boys and I agree, it now looks like some countdown clock from an Alien vs. Predator movie.

I am now dependent on the DVD player, my cellphone, the microwave oven and the computer for my time keeping. Which is interesting because none of those clocks read the same.

Time. We live and move by it. Advent is about that time in three tenses... what was, is, and will be. There will be other times to blog about advent. If I can find the time!

I am still here

Hello To all who bookmark this blog and those still looking for a triple bunkbed!!

I do still live and breathe. Sorry for the long break from blogging, but I have been getting my schedule balanced. When I am not doing the church thing, I am still keeping up with Mamma Deacon, Lt. WE (he got an ROTC promotion), The Athlete, and LPCoolJ. There has been football, cross country, and church youth groups added to the schedule. Mamma Deacon is now on the border between the Rock Hill and Spartanburg districts and her distance driving is not quite as bad.

The Athlete and I are serious Wofford football fanatics---to the point where Mamma Deacon would prefer to not be in the same room as we are when we watch Wofford on TV. The T-Dogs are having a good year with a possible spot in the playoffs (yes, Wofford and the FCS are not part of the fickle sportswriter and computer selection bowl championship series that name their champions on the sports page rather than settling it in a playoff format). LPCoolJ is trying his skills at wrestling, so that will be fun.

I went to an Order of St. Luke convocation in October and I have started to pray the daily office which has helped me balance what is important. I have been walking and watching what I eat, to some benefit I might add.

The key to getting my balance seems to be figuring out the rhythms of Buford Street UMC where I pastor. The church has had some staff issues as well as breaking ground on a new family life center since I got there. We had a full staff for almost a week until the unexpected death of our minister of music. Learning the people and the system in the midst of all this has been a long adjustment. But I am getting there.

Thanks to all who have been patient as I have gone through this process and understood how my blog couldn't be a high priority.

By the way, if you are one of the three dozen people a week who come to this blog via a google inquiry for triple bunk bed (and you have read this far today): the bunkbed was sold.

Peace.

Something some of us knew all along

Wofford played USC last Saturday night. I took the Athlete to the game. It was fun being the only Wofford fans in the entire section. The silence of the 70,000+ Gamecock faithful after Wofford takes the lead was memorable (and awesome). Unfortunately, Wofford lost 23-13.

I take some consolation in this quote Coach Spurrier made after the game.

“Coach Ayers never has to worry about the effort level of those kids. They all play their hearts out every play. It’s fun to watch them play, to tell you the truth. We’re trying to get to that level. We’re trying to play like Wofford around here.”
Coach Steve Spurrier, The University of South Carolina

I am still here

Sorry for not posting anything in a month, but I have trying out a new routine. I know a few of you have checked in regularly, plus the numerous hits of those who google "triple bunk beds." That was a post I covered back in May--- I wish I had sold the thing on ebay now!

At any rate, I found something on the Wofford website that I think is a great idea. Got an extra $100?

A Tree Grows Through It

I apologize for not blogging any more than I did in July, but getting my feet on the ground at Buford Street has been more time consuming than I imagined. There are plenty of good people and a dedicated staff, so my adjustment time should not be overbearing.

Yesterday, Kathy and I went to Asbury Hills to pick up two of our sons. In addition to a wonderful summer camp for United Methodist Youth, it is a great place for a family reunion or a personal Sabbath retreat. One of my most endearing memories of Asbury Hills is from Thanksgiving 2006 when our family gathered there for the holiday. Although we did not know it at the time, that was my brother Eric’s last Thanksgiving and really the last time our entire extended family gathered in one place to share a traditional family holiday. It was a cool Thanksgiving morning, but warmed as the day progressed. Eric had just been discharged from the hospital the previous day and was not quite at a 100%, but he made the most of the day and our time together.

Many of the family went down by the stream to throw rocks in the water or just hear the roar of the mountain-fresh stream. Most family gatherings involve a camera, and that day was no exception. Eric and I made our way to a nearby bridge and posed for a picture there. That picture is found to the right of this column. It is a wonderful moment for me digitally frozen in time. Unfortunately, that moment would not last. Eric held his own for a while but steadily declined by Easter. On May 6, 2007, Eric died from complications of lung cancer.

Going back to Asbury Hills brings back memories as well as hope for the future. Yesterday, I passed by the bridge in the picture. Things have changed in the 20 months since the picture was taken. It looks like a small tree is growing between where the camera was and where Eric and I stood on the bridge. Time does have a way of moving forward.

Seeing the bridge and picture site reminded me of one of my favorite movies of all time A River Runs Through It. It is the story of a Presbyterian Minister and his two sons in the beautiful scenery of Montana. As the story moves, and the three men move through life (often in different directions), it is the fishing along the river that unites the three. Ultimately, the river and the fishing are not enough to keep life from moving forward to the tragic end of one of the sons. As the movie closes, the surviving son fishes the river in his old age, remembering his dead loved ones but living forward.

Moving through the months since Eric’s death has not always been easy. The picture has been a reminder of him and of that special time. There have been months of moving on and past his last days (a time of living forward), punctuated by days of remembering all that was and mourning all that might have been. The new tree next to the stream at the picture site reminds me that time does move on, leaving us with memories and no way to freeze the past to re-live again, but also with a growing, emerging hope. It is the special hope for all of us who mourn loved ones and lost futures that a tree does grow and that we too can also grow past our brokenness with God’s help.

A tree grows in that special place now. A tree which grows stronger as it moves farther away from a sunny day of a certain November. May God bless us as we grow in similar ways.

The Anti-Thesis of Mamma Deacon's Quiet, Sunny Place

Mamma Deacon wrote about her nice, quiet place in the house last week. It is nice if you like sunshine and a view of the outdoors. The basement downstairs has been deemed the Mancave and the James boys are making it a comfortable place. Since Mamma has taken the boys to the beach this week, I have had time to prepare my side of the ManCave.

As you can see by the pictures above, I do have a single window! It allows me to see outside from below ground level the kudzu growing in the field next to the parsonage. The room is done in early American Bomb Shelter with authentic cement blocks. When I sit in the chair I can see how the washer and dryer are coming along. Notice my own personal unique kindergarten artwork hanging on the wall; I think it would bring top dollar on EBay. I think the ascetic look is in for the contemplative crowd this year... maybe I will start a trend. For the record, those are not Steve Taylor's sermon files on my desk!!

In all seriousness, I like my quiet spot too. There are few distractions (except when the dryer is finished) and in the still of the early morning it makes for a worshipful space. Our home is quite comfortable and we are blessed to be here.

Daddy's got a New Crackberry

This past week I had a cellphone upgrade due and I got a new blackberry. I have had fun trying to figure out how to work it. Pictured above is the Athlete goofing off over his dinner at a local Gaffney pizza place. I also have taken pictures of my feet, a wall, and the back of my hand trying to figure this thing out.

Ringtones are also lots of fun. Trying to find the perfect ringtone for those people in your address book has been a challenge. Ringtones these days are recordings from TV shows, movies, music and popular culture. Finding my incoming call ringtone was a hoot. I found lots that I would have liked to have while I was in college---but wouldn't dare want ringing while I was in a church meeting or with the district superintendent (by the way, his unique ringtone on my phone will be "Hail to the Chief"). I settled on "Soul Man" by the Blues Brothers as my general call ring tone. I haven't picked out LPCoolJ's yet (I want his input), but I have the "NFL on Fox" for the Athlete and the " James Bond" theme for the Cadet Airman. For my cousin, Danny, I chose "As Good As I Once Was" by Toby Keith... which I could have also used for myself.

Now for Mamma Deacon, I had lots of choices. I thought about the "Imperial March" from Star Wars or "Happy Wife, Happy Life." I went instead with the first song that I remember after we started dating--- "She Drives Me Crazy" by the Fine Young Cannibals... good (better) choice, don't you think?

I am still working through my address book--- what is your ring tone?

Of Silverware, Hospitality, and the Mancave

We are now at home in Gaffney. We got here about noon on Wednesday. It has been like Christmas, opening boxes and discovering what is in them. We finally found the silverware. Hopefully, flimsy plastic spoons will not serve as serving spoons ever again. I was able to go to the office and unpack the boxes there. But home is the first priority.

We have been overwhelmed with friendly people. The church gave us an old-fashioned pounding (stocked our food pantry) and they have given us a meal each night we have been here. I think it says something when people offer such hospitality to the newcomers in their midst.

The boys and I set up the Mancave last night. They have a place for their X-box and drumset and I have a place for my quiet time. Needless to say, I won't be having my quiet time when Halo 3 is blaring and the drums are beating. There is space, however, for all of us to feel at home.

Now it is time to work (again) on my first sermon...

Almost There

I told my family that the best Father's Day present this year would be to have 99% of the packing done by the end of Saturday. We will be close. It looks like we will have most of the boxes headed to the basement/mancave in Gaffney. It will probably look like a Costco storage room.

The Buford Street Parsonage Committee has been gracious and cooperative with helping us get acclimated. The parsonage is getting new paint and a room of new carpeting. They even went along with The Athlete's request for his room to be painted Georgia Bulldog Red. Perhaps it is a good thing Cadet Airman is away at JROTC Leadership camp; he might have wanted his room complete with camouflage paint and mosquito netting. Mamma Deacon didn't ask me what color I wanted for the basement/mancave (where all the boy's x-box equipment and daddy's desk are going). It probably wouldn't matter anyway... U-Haul box Brown is such a delightful color.

PS- It is amazing how many google hits my blog got with the words "triple bunk bed."

Connection and Continuity

This past Sunday, I led worship at India Hook as the pastor for the last time. It was a very special worship service: we had a baptism, we celebrated Holy Communion, and we had a closing litany to lead us to forgive, affirm, and release both pastor and people. We celebrated five years of ministry together with Sunday dinner and plenty of hugs.

As part of the final service, I wore an elder’s stole that was not bought for me, and I doubt I will ever wear it again. Remember that the stole worn by pastors in worship symbolizes our authority and our service as they are given to us at our ordination. The stole I wore not only symbolized the authority given to me to preach and offer the sacraments, but it also symbolized the continuity and connection of the clergy who serve the churches of this annual conference. I wore the stole of India Hook’s next pastor, the Reverend Steve Gaither. At the conclusion of Sunday’s service, I removed Steve’s stole from my shoulders and placed it on the Lord’s Table. On June 22^nd, Steve will place that stole on his shoulders. We as clergy are connected not only by the covenant we share, but by the people we serve.

The line of pastors at India Hook continues forward as it has for over 150 years. Steve will lovingly and passionately live out his call as he serves India Hook as I have had the honor of serving that church for the past five years. The continuity of the itinerant system is one of the strengths of the United Methodist Church. Long periods of time do not pass for a church to be without clergy leadership. Bill Heustess left India Hook on the morning of June 11, 2003 and I moved into the parsonage that afternoon. I was here for the unexpected death of a parishioner less than a week after Bill left and I arrived. On June 18, 2008, Steve Gaither follows me as the new pastor here, while I follow Scott Wachter as the new pastor at Buford Street in Gaffney.

That is if I can finish packing…

Triple Bunk Bed: $100 Memories: Priceless

This morning, we had our pre-moving yard sale. We had a bunch of stuff and most of it sold, thankfully. One of the items for sale was the boys’ Triple Bunkbed. When we lived in a parsonage in Charleston and space was at a premium, we found a gentleman who made bunkbeds in nearby Goose Creek. It was made of solid wood and we spent most of a Saturday putting it together; I think I know where all the wood from Noah’s Ark went! That thing was sturdy. It was real fun watching the movers disassemble it and carry it up the stairs at the parsonage at Rock Hill and reassemble it.

When I saw it today, the memories of the boys using that bed came flooding back. They were much younger then, and we stacked them in that bunk like a cord of wood. They put their names on the bunk (in permanent ink--- which I saw again today) and we installed shelves on the end for each of them. I remember telling them nightly bedtime stories as they all three got in their places.

We sold the bunk to a young couple with three kids under seven years old. It felt good that someone who would get some use out of it was able to get it at a very good price. The memories of my family’s time with that bunk, however, are priceless.

I also got to experience a new memory that brought back very old memories for me. My youngest son, LPCoolJ, enjoyed the yard sale. He enjoyed talking with people, haggling with them, and trying to convince them that they really needed to buy “this special homemade bubblegum machine.” He finally sold it. I enjoyed watching him this morning working for a sale.

LPCoolJ and his Yard Sale adventures reminded me of my brother Eric. Eric could sell ice to Eskimos and he enjoyed it all the while. As I saw LPCoolJ work the yard, I remember Eric haggling over prices with the guy at the clothing shop when he was about my youngest son’s age.

It has been a year this month since Eric died, and I still think about him everyday. Today was another happy memory of Eric lived out in the next generation as LPCoolJ discovered the flexible price below the number on the sticker.

All sales are final.

Honey, I think I taped one of the kids in a box

We are in the middle of the packing process here. There are boxes scattered here and there. Barrels full of china stand next to a box full of Star Wars toys… I hope I put the “fragile” sticker on the right container. It is amazing how much stuff there is to pack. Our yard sale is this Saturday (come one, come all). What we have not used in five years (since the last move) as well as some furniture is going to the yard sale. Although I have a feeling that yard sale is a fancy term which means “junk rest area” in French----- the place it sits before you finally move it to the big green box with flies.

Seriously, we are doing well with the move. LPCoolJ is happy to get his own room; the Athlete is extremely happy to go to a place with such a great football legacy as Gaffney; Cadet Airman is probably happy that we are not moving too far away from his friends in Rock Hill. Mamma Deacon and I look are trying to figure out how it will all get done by June 17.

I will post more later…if I don’t pack the mouse.

OK, can you guess my next appointment?

A couple of updates

This past week, I talked with Scott Wachter, the chairperson of the Conference Board of Church and Society. Scott said the resolution concerning Wofford's advertising practices was being pulled. He has been informed that Wofford has opted not to renew its advertising contract with Advance America, therefore the resolution is moot. I have not discovered yet what Wofford's thinking is on advertising for the South Carolina Educational Lottery Corporation. Will that continue or is it "not renewed" as well?

Here is an update for me, since it has been a few weeks since I blogged. At one time, I thought Sciatica was a place in Asia Minor that Paul visited on one of his missionary journeys. Recently, I discovered Sciatica is located near one of the outer rings of Hell. Sciatica is the irritation of the nerve that runs down the leg from the base of the spine. Sciatica is a burning, stabbing pain down the entire leg that leaves one crying in misery. I had it. I am still recovering from it.

Additionally, we are moving this June and we are trying to pack.

Between these two things, the blog has taken a back seat. I will blog next week when I can officially say what most people already know---where in the world is Sacramental Dude going?

Hurray for the Board of Church and Society

As I listened to the General Conference streaming webcast tonight, I went over to the South Carolina Annual Conference website and looked at pre-conference reports for our conference gathering in June. After my post about Wofford and Honor a couple of weeks back, I was happy to see this resolution proposed by the South Carolina Conference Board of Church and Society concerning Wofford College and predatory lending. Maybe the Board will accept a friendly amendment to formally ask Wofford to not accept advertising for the South Carolina Educational Lottery either.

I thank the members of that Board for their leadership and work on this issue.

Mom's Gone To General Conference: "Dad, What's For Supper?"

I read with great interest those in the United Methodist blog world writing about their preparations for General Conference and their ideas about what will happen out there. They will be determining the course of the denomination for the next four years. That is heady stuff. Yesterday, Mamma Deacon climbed on a plane for the flight to Fort Worth and General Conference. She will be back around May 3^rd. For the past few weeks, I have listened as she mumbled through the Advanced Daily Christian Advocate with all the proposed legislation. She has gone to do her part for the church while the boys and I stay at home. We are very proud of her.

Being the only woman in a house of four males is not easy, I am sure. As my mother (who had her own family of males to contend with) consoled Mamma Deacon long ago, “your home will always smell like dirty gym socks.” She continues to raise these boys through the normal adolescent problems and challenges while enduring the usual sights, sounds, and smells associated with males coming of age (and another one still making his way in the world). We try her patience, but I have also tried to teach the boys the wise motto: “If mamma ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.”

As much as I like to joke about it, she does an excellent job of balancing her calling and her family life (a bout with pneumonia not withstanding). She is the glue that holds our family together. She has trained the boys in cooking some meals, which will help us this week and them for a lifetime. She took a great deal of care to make certain we had a meal plan for her time away beyond delivery pizza, cereal, and dinner at the BK Lounge. The boys and I will be consulting it like the King James Bible. As well as remembering to wash everything but yourself in cold water.

Mamma Deacon, have a great time in Texas. We’ll get by here. I’ll take care of these boys we love so much. While you are gone, we may even answer the age old philosophical question:

If a dirty dish is left on the kitchen counter for 10 days and Mamma isn’t here to notice, does it really exist?

Just kidding... no, really…

Academy for Spiritual Formation

I have been away this week at The Upper Room's Academy for Spiritual Formation. It has been a good experience at silence and study as well as relaxation. I hope to post again early next week.

Peace,
Joseph

Untarnished, She Shines With Honor?

I love Wofford College. My wife does not understand the special connection I share with other alumni when we gather at clergy meetings or when we see each other in various places. She went to USC and did not experience the education I had “on the city’s northern border.” My middle son likes to watch football in Gibbes Stadium, and hopes to play for Wofford someday. I have always been thankful for the opportunity to receive a Wofford College education. My time at Wofford prepared me for the life I lead now. I had excellent professors who taught the importance of critical thinking, reflection, and problem solving. I learned to examine my own thinking and the ways of the world around me from people like Dr. Lewis P. Jones and Dr. Clarence Abercrombie. As I look back, I see how the professors taught us to wrestle with our own ethics (even if in subtle ways) in the midst of the course work. Wofford offered me a chance to learn about the world as my own ideas about right and wrong developed further. Doing the right thing was as important as doing a thing right. I found in that place a call to be better, to learn, to serve. The College's motto, Intaminatis fulget honoribus, “untarnished she shines with honor” is certainly apt for the place and its mission.

I love Wofford College. Yet, I find myself at odds with some of what I see happening there. I guess it started a couple of years ago, when I took the youth group from India Hook to a Wofford football game on UMYF day. When we went into the Benjamin Johnson Arena for lunch, there was a prominent banner promoting the SC Educational Lottery; later, when we went to the football game, ticket attendants handed out “church fans” with lottery advertisements on it. A couple of the youth asked me why a college affiliated with the United Methodist Church would do that since the Church had worked so hard to oppose the lottery. That was a good question then; it still is now. Several alumni said something about the lottery church fans to Wofford officials. The next year, the fans were available but not handed out by attendants.

This past football season, there was a promotion whereby a person could exchange used lottery tickets to gain admission to a Wofford football game. Thankfully, that promotion was pulled before it was implemented. I have also noticed that there have been several significant contributions from payday lenders to the college. Payday lending is seen by many as a questionable business that takes advantage of those near the poverty line with exorbitant interest rates for small loans. Quite often those seeking loans are people who cannot get loans from other mainstream sources; as a result of their contract with the payday lenders, they often end up much poorer. The lottery’s track record is no better. Statistics show that a majority of the money raised by the lottery comes from those who can least afford to play the lottery on a regular basis.

The lottery is legal in this state as is the payday lending operation. Wofford students receive lottery money for tuition assistance (although it seems ironic that a tuition increase seemed to kick in at about the same time as the college started receiving lottery money). What bothers me is the tacit approval Wofford College seems to give to these enterprises by accepting their money and promoting their products. Deluxe Liquors gives money to Wofford, but we don’t see their advertisements at Wofford athletic events.

Wofford College President Benjamin B. Dunlap has appeared before the South Carolina Annual Conference of the United Methodist Church and spoken eloquently of the historic and continuing strong bond between the college and the church. Ironically, often during the week that President Dunlap appears, the South Carolina Conference of the United Methodist Church has repeatedly voiced its opposition in no uncertain terms to the lottery and to the payday lending practices that prey upon the poor. However, in this era of lessening denominational influence, perhaps the church's strong stance is not enough to invite Wofford to reconsider its promotional practices of the SC Educational Lottery Corporation (at the very least, but not accepting lottery money would be even better). The United Methodist Church’s financial offering to Wofford probably pales in comparison to what Advance America and other payday lenders give to College. Maybe the Church's lone but prophetic voice and meager dollars are not enough for Wofford College to review its partnership with the Lottery and the payday lending institutions.

Perhaps what is needed is for the Wofford administration and Board of Trustees to remember the heritage of Wofford itself. At Wofford, there is a legacy of making the world, our state, and our communities better places. If Wofford educates its students on the backs of the poor and offers legitimacy to those who make a fortune in that way, then Wofford needs to change the College motto---for the tarnish will soon come. Honor will not be the bulwark for the College, but financial expediency will take its place.

Because I love Wofford College, I have hope. I hope the current motto will be more than some ancient, empty words on the College's seal, but an ideal that serves as the foundation for everything the College does. I hope Wofford will always be a place that teaches the importance of critical thinking, reflection, and problem solving---even about its own policies and practices.

I love Wofford College.

Intaminatis fulget honoribus.

Plans, Projections, and Providence

As most of you can tell, I have not been active here on my blog for a while. That mostly has to do with the energy expended preparing for Easter, but it also has to do with my own lack of focus. Since the middle of January, I have been dealing with the possibility of a move to another appointment in June. This past Monday, I was told my projected appointment.

This has been an unusual few months for me. For a while, I had plans to stay in this appointment until my oldest son and perhaps his younger brother finished high school. Of course, that was/is secondary to fulfilling my call here in this church, of equipping this congregation to make disciples in a growing community. I thought everything was going according to plan. When the PPRC began to fill out the advisory response form (the congregation's sense of whether I need to be reappointed here), I realized my perceptions of where we were in this mutual ministry did not reflect reality. Normally, I would have sensed that sooner; grief for my brother has thrown me for a loop in more ways than one.

I had to face the possibility that my plans for my ministry in this place might not happen in the way that I thought. Needless to say, that was not what I wanted for me or my family. For a couple of months I have dealt with this, trying to discern whether I wanted to fight it through and stay or yield to perhaps a greater wisdom. Within all of that is the fear that all United Methodist clergy have of what happens if we do move-- the next church, schools, community, spouse's career.

It took some time, but I found peace in not following my original plan; I remembered equipping people for ministry is my specific call to wherever I serve-- not just an India Hook specific plan. So for the past few weeks, I have been looking forward to March 31 to see what would be our next step as a family.

This week I am preaching Luke's Walk to Emmaus story. It is an Easter evening story of Christ's hidden presence with two of his followers in the chaotic and anxious days following the death of our Lord. I have taken some comfort in this story over the past couple of weeks; for there are times when life does not go according to our plans and dreams--- when we feel abandoned, unsure and uncertain about the lifepath ahead of us. There are times when we are certain we walk alone, for we do not perceive the presence of Christ.

Yet, even in our clouded or mistaken perceptions, as churches and as pastors and as families, Christ walks with us. The days ahead of adjustment to leaving behind our plans, friends, and our familiar ways will not be easy. But we do not go alone. We go into a new future--a new way of being-- with our Lord who walks with us in unseen, but not unfelt ways.

Peace.

The Voice That Troubles Our Calm Waters

Much has been made recently of the need for Obama to renounce or disown his pastor, the Reverend Jeremiah Wright. Rev. Wright has been quoted extensively for sermons that are racially charged or attack America. Yesterday, Obama took on this controversy and explained why he will not disown his pastor. You can read his remarks online or in any of today's newspapers.

As a preacher, I find this controversy an interesting commentary on what the media and many in the public think preaching should and should not be. I have only heard a couple of 10 second sound bytes from the Rev. Wright's sermons. Context is important in conversation and especially in preaching. Wright could have been in the midst of illustration or expounding upon a point. As my dear mother-in law said: "we shouldn't judge a preacher by one snippet of one sermon."

But for the sake of argument, let's say that these snippets do speak to Rev. Wright's preaching and furthermore, his beliefs. Throughout our Jewish-Christian heritage there have been those who have religious or moral reasons stood against the rising tide of power or nationalism. The Old Testament of the Bible recounts stories of how Isaiah and many others were tortured for speaking/preaching unpopular sentiments. Even in our recent history, Martin Luther King and Dietrich Bonhoffer died as a result of speaking an unpopular Truth. I am not prepared to say that Rev. Wright is in that line of preachers and prophets, but he does speak from the tradition of those who have come before. The prophetic voice challenges us to consider who we are and how we treat one another as God's children.

Preaching itself has many functions. There are times we are comforted and encouraged by God's word. But if our preaching is only comforting and encouraging, if it always agrees with our politics and opinions on life, then we miss the totality of God's word. Good preaching should make us think and reflect on what we believe and why we believe it in light of God's word. It should encourage us to denounce our lost pathways and instead follow the ways of God through Christ (for those of us who are Christian). Preaching should challenge us to look at the idols we all follow and call us to follow God's way, truth and life. If Obama embraced everything his preacher said I would be troubled. As a preacher, I don't think I would be fulfilling my call if there were people who agreed with everything I preached all the time (even Mamma Deacon). If preaching truly challenges, we all will be made uncomfortable from time to time.

I fear that Rev. Wright's sermons have struck a nerve with many not because they are political ammunition, but because we as a nation and as individuals are uncomfortable with the secret, shameful thought that he may be right. His voice troubles the calm waters about what we believe in this country about power, race, justice, and nationalism. Comfort, security, power and wealth serve as idols with far too many in this country. The truth is there are those beyond our circles of life who are poor, ignorant, uncomfortable, unhealthy, and unworthy because too many in our nation need to hold onto the secure, comfortable, profitable status quo.

So perhaps Rev. Wright's sermons could be summarized in another way:
Which do we love more God or our country? Our way of life or the way of Christ?

Thus endeth the sermon.

Heritage Cross Pictures

Here are some pictures April B. took of the cross. The scaffolding is still up as David is still working on the lights, so these pictures avoid the scaffolding. The light fixture in the bottom picture will be removed. The first picture is the view from the pulpit--over my head. When we have other pictures from other places in the sanctuary, they will be posted. Thanks April for the pictures!

The Heritage Cross has been installed

Last year I wrote about transforming heritage, the journey of constructing a cross for the sanctuary at India Hook from a tree on the church property. Today, the cross was installed by the members of the Garland Construction Company. It took most of the day, 5 men, 30 feet of scaffolding, a round of sloppy joes, and a block and tackle with a chain to hoist the 400 pound cross to its place suspended from the ceiling. Tonight, the trustees made the final decisions on the lighting. This Sunday, Miss Sherwood Cannon will join us as we dedicate the cross made from the tree she planted over two decades ago. I hope to post pictures later in the week.

I spent most of the day with the Garland crew witnessing their knowledge and skill. I joked about my selfish interest in making certain the Cross was secured properly in its place 35 feet over where I stand each Sunday. Mr. Wilson, the woodworker, was also there. His comments about working with the wood for the cross and woodworking in general were enjoyable.

During a break I had an insightful conversation with some the crew about Jesus' journey up Calvary with His cross. I listened to these men who make a living carrying lumber, working with wood and putting it in the right place safely; I found their thoughts enlightening. There was plenty of speculation---maybe the cross was made of dried wood (perhaps even used many times before)...maybe the crossbeam was not much wider than his hand (for its functionality despite all the horrible imagery that entails). Regardless, as they struggled with this decorative cross today, I believe we all thought about the One who endured his own solitary struggle to carry his own cross uphill.

The Heritage Cross is already serving its purpose even before its first Sunday.

I'm BAAAAAAAAAAAACK!

The James Family Super Computer is back in business. Now let me get out of the way so the stampede of children can download and update their music.

The Old Man gets to re-download his stuff first: One of the albums I found prior to the computer crash was "Salvation in Lights" by Mike Farris. Church member and friend Gary Green introduced me to it during a sound system check in the sanctuary. Good stuff.

Brother, can you spare a computer chip?

I got word from the Geek Squad this week that the James Family Super Computer's hard drive is melting (my term, certainly not theirs). I called Dell to see if it is still under warranty; the technical support agent's name I think was Bubba. I don't think Bubba was from around here. At any rate, it sounds like I can either ship the system to Antartica for repairs on Dell's dime (at least a month's time without the computer) or they will ship me the hard drive and "talk" me through the repair/installation of the hard drive myself.


Mamma Deacon hasn't stopped laughing at that one. We are reminded of the television commercial about the guy sitting at his kitchen table with a dull butterknife at his chest talking on the phone with the doctor who is instructing him on how to perform the necessary surgery. If this "repair" takes more than a hammer, two flat head screwdrivers, and a ratchet set with several pieces missing, I am in trouble. Holding tools while someone else does the repair work has never been a problem---actually using them myself in constructive ways does not seem to be my gift. My guess is my repair of the computer is likely the last option.

If it becomes viable, tickets to view the event will be sold to offset the cost of the year of psychotherapy I will need after the deed is finished.

Houston, we have a problem

It looks like I am giving up computer use for Lent. The James Family Super Computer has crashed. Mr. Scott to the bridge!

So how is Lent going for you?

I got an email from a friend today (hello, OL FU!!) who has not seen me post for a while on an internet football messageboard. I could have responded that it is the off-season (if such a thing truly exists for diehard football fans) and beyond Wofford’s excellent recruiting class (minus a nose tackle or two) there is not much to talk about on a football messageboard. Of course, that is not entirely true--- there is usually a bunch of stuff to discuss: sports and politics to movies to theology (believe it or not). I told my friend that visiting AGS was one of those things I gave up for Lent. I also gave up SimCity. SimCity is a neat computer game that allows you to build a city from scratch into a thriving metropolis or blow it all up. It is a great stress reliever.

I am not the only one in the household to give up stuff for Lent. Staff Sgt. WE has given up sodas and LPCoolJ gave up chewing gum. I think Mamma Deacon gave up her health (since she has been battling pneumonia). Since the Patriots lost the Super Bowl (THE last football game of the year), I think the Athlete gave up football---although that was not a choice.

Seriously, why all this talk of giving up trivial stuff (minus Mamma Deacon's health)? What difference does it make if I don’t build a city of a quarter million imaginary people or discuss with D1B the finer points of the Incarnation through the church? What is really to be gained? For me, I have already gained the experience of finding other ways to relieve stress that work my body as well as my mind. I am now walking daily on the treadmill. It is a healthy, if meager, start. Doing without the trivial things helps me to focus on the important things I have lost or forgotten. I am developing a better prayer discipline that I had lost over the course of the past year. I know on so many levels how beneficial a prayer discipline is to have, but how hard it is to regularly practice. It is still early in Lent; there is still plenty to learn and areas of life in which to grow.

I will be back building cities and discussing football March 23^rd. But hopefully the things I have gained (and lost) this Lent will not be forgotten. I hope they will be part of who I am and what God calls me to be.

Tonto Was More Than a Sidekick

Tonto was more than a sidekick--he was a friend.

Throughout this past week, United Methodist clergy from the South Carolina Annual Conference gathered for day-long meetings throughout the state in places like Winnsboro. We gathered to listen to Garlinda Burton, the General Secretary for the General Commission on the Status and Role of Women. We listened once again to a discussion of sexual ethics; one might think that clergy would be immune from such problems---one would be wrong. According to Ms. Burton, millions of dollars have been paid across United Methodism in recent years for clergy sexual misconduct. Allegations of clergy misconduct are nothing new and are not limited to sexual abuse as recent South Carolina news reports indicate. Clergy, as with the general population, sin and fall short of the glory of God.

As I listened to Ms. Burton, it seems that one of the early signs of what could be later trouble (of many varieties) for clergy is isolation. My friends and I call it the “Lone Ranger Syndrome”—the belief that one can do it all alone. Sometimes it happens because of geography--we serve isolated or rural settings. Other times it happens because we work without much Sabbath time…we become the indispensable pastor. Regardless of the reason, it isn’t long until we don’t have many clergy friends we speak with on a regular basis. Clergy connections and friendships are important because our colleagues know the ministry in general and some of our friends know us better than we know ourselves. They know the journey we take and the people we are. Without that clergy connection or accountability, we can isolate ourselves into weariness, overwork, and a loss of perspective. With defenses and boundaries weakened by the lack of community support and care, clergy can find themselves in vulnerable places facing temptations that normally they might withstand.

Connection and accountability is important in our faith journey. We cannot be lone rangers in any Christian endeavor. We grow as Christians when we are connected to others who love and care for us as we love and care for them. Clergy have to have that connection, not just for their own spiritual growth or friendship needs (that is important as well) but to keep balanced and aware of their souls and the places and people they serve.

So the last paragraph is about the challenge:

If you are a layperson, ask your pastor when the last time he/she had a day off. Encourage them to take one regularly. If you are a clergyperson, call the pastor in the church/charge next to you this week and just chat. You never know how important and meaningful it might be for that pastor---and for you.

At the Cross

If you have been one of the few who have followed this blog's account of the highway construction and the heritage tree at India Hook late last year, here is an update on the progress made so far. The tree has been sent to a sawmill and then to a woodworker for the final work. We are scheduled to meet with the woodworker as well as the folks who are helping us install the cross next week. The preliminary plan is that the cross will be 10 feet tall and 5 feet wide, made of 8 inch beams from the heritage tree. It will weigh 300 to 400 pounds. Installation and securing it properly are very high on my list, since I will be preaching under it week to week. We may also put newer lighting in the sanctuary that will not obscure the view of the cross. A diverse group from the church will plan and implement the final decision. If all goes according to plan, we will dedicate the Cannon Heritage Cross on March 16th, Palm Sunday.

The presence of the cross will change the focus of India Hook's worship space. With the clear glass in the areas around and above the pulpit, the eye is currently drawn upward to the beauty of creation beyond the glass. The cross will hang from the rafters in the ceiling, high above the Pulpit and the Table. The cross will be a focus in the foreground, and creation will be viewed in light of that huge cross.

Although the dedication will be the last Sunday of Lent, my Lenten reflections seem to be pointed to the cross of Christ and especially the hymns that speak of the cross. Much has been made of the method of torture known as the Cross especially in Gibson's The Passion of the Christ. My pondering as of late has more to do with what Christ was willing to do, rather than the brutality of humanity in that scene. It is a love that acted in spite of the awful brutality... a love that still goes to the cross for us today... even when we want to leave the horror of the death of Christ to "back then" and the Romans and the Jews.

Yes, there is much to ponder still. We ponder what it means for Christ to call us to pick up our cross and follow him. Our crosses are probably not like the one that will soon be found in India Hook's sanctuary, but ours are just as big and heavy, and also invisible to everyone but our own souls. Our crosses bear the name of fear, greed, shame or a multitude of other sins and brokenness.

Still pondering...

Does your home have a story?

I found a blog recently from a friend with an interesting story. It seems a neighboring home was slated for demolition and before the house was torn down, he went in the house and found something amazing. It seems the former owner, or at least someone who lived there, wrote memories of each room on the walls. If your house could talk, what would some of the memories be? Here is the link to Seattle Griz's Blog. Scroll down to see the pictures and read the story.

The home by the way, has now been demolished and replaced by a housing development. Thank goodness our memories are not made of concrete and wood.

Lent ----More Than the Stuff Caught in the Dryer Trap

When I was growing up, lent was the stuff you pulled out of the trap in the dryer after you removed a load of clothes. As thick as lent gets in the dryer trap, I have wondered at times whether it could be used to fill a quilt or a down jacket. If one got really desperate, could you make clothing out of lent? Anyway, I digress.

Once I became a United Methodist, Lent took on whole new meaning. Lent is a season of the Christian Year that begins on Ash Wednesday (in 2008, February 6) and ends on Easter Sunday. It is to be a time of spiritual reflection and renewal as we draw closer to God through the lessons, leadership, and love of Christ. Lent usually starts much later, but this year will be the earliest we celebrate Easter (March 23) for the next 150 years. What this means is, our Lenten reflections come sooner in 2008 as we seek to live as Easter people.

I am thinking about lent/Lent because we are planning for our Lenten observance at India Hook UMC. Lenten discipline involves looking into our own souls for those problems or obstacles that keep us from full fellowship with Christ. Often we hear about "giving something up" for Lent, like chocolate or cheeseburgers, and we may not know the reasons behind it. One reason, among the many, is that we replace the passion or the habit we have forsaken for a time of prayer or some other means of grace that draws us closer to Christ. As Easter approaches and by the grace and guidance of God, perhaps we have shed those things that have hindered us. At India Hook, I am asking people to use part of their Lenten observance and discipline to consider the use of our time and money in our personal and corporate lives and what their use (or abuse) reveals about our life in Christ. Hopefully, we will be led to live lives of better stewardship.

Maybe their is a connection to the lent in the dryer and the Lenten season after all. Just as lent is something we don't need on our clothes, perhaps Lent helps us see the things , habits, and thinking we don't need in our lives. May we all move closer to Christ.

Some gotta win, some gotta lose

Saturday is sports day--- the Athlete had a wrestling meet and LPCoolJ had a basketball game. Mamma Deacon and I split duties on days like this. Each of us follows a kid. The Athlete was in a double elimination bout. He lost the first one to a very quick, very experienced wrestler. Then came the second match; he was wrestling a kid of equal ability. My favorite wrestler was ahead on points going into the second round, victory was in his grasp (so to speak). Then something went wrong...he was pinned for a loss. Needless to say, he was crushed.

On the other side of town, LPCoolJ and his church basketball league cohorts were playing. I made it just in time for the start of the game. CoolJ's team only had five players show up. The other team had eight or nine. I thought for sure they would not have the steam to make the whole game and win, but LPCoolJ's team won by 14 points. CoolJ scored a bucket or two. His source of pride was that everybody on his team scored. I agree!

I am not writing this to give the Sacramental Dude's sports report, but to reflect on this day. As the Athlete and I drove to his brother's game, I tried to console him. I can remember my dad doing the same thing when I played centerfield and the baseball went sailing over my head in little league. My team lost. Boy, did that loss sting. At some point, my son will discover that the only way to get through losing and/or failure is to learn from it. Perhaps that is a skill we learn as we get older. Those reflections and lessons are for future days; for now, today, the sting is enough.

On the other hand, LPCoolJ is on cloud nine. Victory suits him well. He has not always been on winning teams when it comes to organized sports, so today is very special. He has recounted his made shots and forgotten about the times he missed. He has taken pride in his team's success. At some point, my son will discover that the only way to keep winning and/or succeeding is to learn from it. Perhaps that is a skill we learn as we get older. Those reflections and lessons are for future days; for now, today, the sweetness is enough.

At various times of life, we deal with loss and failure; then there are those times of success and victory. We cannot escape the bitterness or the sweetness of those moments. Nor can we dwell on them. We take our contests of life with us, hopefully learning and growing from each one, always claiming more than the moment, trapped in a memory. Hopefully, that is not true just of sports, but of fatherhood, and work, and church, and life.

The only way to go through life well is to learn from it. Perhaps that is a skill we learn as we get older. Those reflections and lessons are for future days; for now, today, the experience of this day is enough.

May there be many more days of wrestling and basketball and life from which to learn.

Peace.

Simeon, Anna and the Business of Waiting

As part of some of my post-Christmas reflections, I have been pondering the passages about Simeon and Anna in the Gospel of Luke. Many preachers skip from the birth stories straight to the visit of the Magi and the Baptism of the Lord. But hidden in the middle verses of Luke's second chapter, we read about the Holy Family's visit to the Temple. In those brief verses, we read about a man named Simeon and how he "looked forward to the consolation of Israel." When he finally sees the Christ child headed to the Temple, he takes the child in his arms and blesses him. In a separate but similar episode, Anna blesses the child within the walls of the Holy Temple.

These short verses do no justice to the long wait of Simeon and Anna. They spent a lifetime waiting and watching for the Messiah. How many times did they get their hopes up, only to have them smashed by reality? We will never know. I imagine Simeon searched the faces of those he met in the street, hoping that the Holy Spirit would reveal to him the One who would bring consolation to his people. Anna, prayed and fasted, waited and watched in the Temple. Would she know the One when He came, after waiting for so long? Finally the blessed event came, the Holy Presence was made known to both of them. Their joy was complete; their presence and purpose in the Gospel passes and we are left to learn from them and apply the lessons to our own lives.

Waiting and watching are never easy things for us. Humans tend to be impatient, searching for distractions as we try to rush our waiting to an early end. I doubt that is the way that Simeon and Anna learned to wait and watch. I believe that as they waited, they made the most of the time they had as they drew closer to God, the source of our true consolation. Perhaps in the waiting they understood that as moments pass, divine fruition draws closer.

Waiting for the Holy in each moment also frees us from the tyranny of the next big thing. For the next big thing rarely meets our expectations and it never brings us true consolation or salvation. That is true of the latest gizmos or the next blockbuster movie that will supposedly entertain us or the latest CNN Presidential Preference Poll that will inform us. If our hope is in the passing of time or in the unrealistic expectations of what we think should happen next, the only thing we will gain is wasted time and an empty reality. Our salvation cannot be found after the next commercial, the next job, or whatever the next "It" is.

Perhaps it took Simeon and Anna a long time to discover this. Maybe it takes us years of experience as well. For as my family gets older and the community and the church I serve change, I find myself at times lost in the looking for the next thing, the next stage, the next important date on the calendar, the next event. Yet, thanks to Simeon and Anna, I realize waiting and watching in this time of my life cannot be about what happens next. It has to be about making the most of each moment--- of searching faces and places as Simeon and Anna did---for the presence of God in the here and the now even as we hope for the future. Salvation and the abundance of life happen more often in the now rather than in the later. For our unrealistic expectations of later rarely match the reality that will come. Even as we wait, watch, and hope for tomorrow, we cannot overlook today.