"Where' you Headin'?"

     “And when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left, your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’”

Isaiah 30:21
    

      The prophet Isaiah is painting a picture, offering a word of hope, a word of restoration and redemption to Jerusalem. It is not only a day when God will restore their land, but also their hearts. The prophet envisions a day when sinful practices will be discarded, and false idols destroyed.
 

      And the children of Israel will chart a new course, a righteous and faithful course, in response to the gracious mercy of God. And God will help them!

    “This is the way; walk in it.” God will be gently nudging, guiding, directing, paving the way, whispering “This is the way; walk in it.”

    The word of the Lord spoken through the prophet to the people is a comforting word to me, because it reminds me of my day-to-day, moment-by-moment need for the efficacy of the blood of Christ to wash away my sins, and my continual need for Christ’s intercession on my behalf.  And I am reminded, yet again, that I cannot walk the road of faith without God’s help, without the guidance of the Holy Spirit.

     So I need to diligently work at opening my ears, my heart and mind to God’s gentle, guiding voice. And I do that best through searching the Scriptures, through prayer, through Christian community and conversation, through receiving Holy Communion, participating in the worship life of the Church, and engaging in acts of mercy, justice and kindness.

    The good Methodists among us will recognize that I’m suggesting we can best hear the guiding voice of God, and experience the nudging touch of God through the Means of Grace, those “ordinary channels” to which John Wesley referred, that God uses to pour out upon us God’s preventing, justifying and sanctifying grace.
 

      Here’s hoping you’re able to gather with a church community tomorrow, and that you seek to worship God in truth and spirit. Here’s hoping that you have a holy encounter on the 2^nd Sunday of Advent.

      And if we open our hearts and minds, and come with expectation and wonder, then perhaps through Scripture or sermon or singing or in some other way we may hear the Lord whisper to us, something like – “This is the way; walk in it.”

 Peace!

 

Pastor Randy

Rembering Ralph

     She left the same way she came.

     She appeared one day about 15 years ago under one of our parked cars in the driveway of our parsonage at Friendship UMC in Lexington.  She was a beautiful dog, a mixed breed, perhaps with a bit of Eskimo Spitz, some Terrier, with probably a few other varieties in her ancestry as well.

      With 12 year old Matthew and 3 year old Casey, we called to the stranger beneath the car.  Smiling (we all know dogs smile...) and wagging her tail, she sheepishly made her way to us.  Still a bit unsure, a bit cautious, but hoping we would love her half as much as she was determined to love us, she came to us and fell into our arms.

    She was home.

    When it was clear to everyone that I would be no match for the exuberant, shouted questions of "can we keep her", Matthew thought it best to ask her what she would like to be called.  She let out a fairly coherent answer in the form of a bark, "ralllph!"

    She had a home, and we had our first family dog.  Her name was Ralph.

      I'm not sure if she fully realized the implications of appearing underneath a car parked in the driveway of a parsonage that day.  But, like the rest of us, she became an Itinerant United Methodist. With the gentlest of canine dispositions she watched over her family throughout our remaining years at Friendship in Lexington, all our years at Centenary in Clemmons, and over 7 years at Rock Grove in Salisbury.

     It was always fascinating to watch her settle into a new environment.  She would walk the unfamiliar yard, nose held high, a bit unsure for the first few days.  But, like her family, home came to be less about where she was and more about who was with her.

     She played the role of watch-dog well.   Though never aggressive toward visitors, no car pulled in the driveway without her giving us a heads up bark.   And of course, whenever we pulled into the driveway, we would be greeted with a wagging-tail welcome!

     One of my favorite memories of Ralph will be those rare occasions when we would have a few inches of snow.  Sometimes we would bring her inside on very cold days, or during times of snow and storms.  I always loved watching her run out in the snow with the excitement and fascination of a child, as she would run with her nose through the snow, grab a mouth-full of the cold fluffy stuff and run through the yard ready to play.

       
      We've had a good many pets over the years.  At the moment, there's the two guinea pigs, one fish, an inside dog, Dobby, and Dalia (Dolly) the cat.  In fact, the team of Ralph, Dobby and Dolly has often paralleled the trio of furry friends (one older dog, one puppy and one cat) in the "Homeward Bound" movies. I've enjoyed my morning devotions on many occasions surrounded by all three, either at my feet or on my lap.

      But there will always be something quite special about Ralph.  She was the pet that helped us raise our children.  When Matthew (now 27) and Casey (now 17), remember the days of their childhood and youth, specifically their childhood pets, I suspect Ralph will top the list for them both.

      The last few months have not been easy for Ralph.  Though she didn't appear to be in any pain, and she continued to eat, she has gradually been growing weaker in body and mind.  There have been a couple of occasions when we thought the time had come for us to make the difficult decision to have her euthanized.  But each time she would rally, and we would all feel a sense of relief, though we knew where the road was leading.  

      With each close call, we've become more intentional about spending time with her, giving her special treats (she loved sandwich turkey), brushing and bathing her.

       I had made a point to brush her every day of late, gradually making some pretty good headway to rid her of some of the pesky fur she needed to shed.   Kathy gave her a bath on Wednesday.

      On Thursday she was gone.

      I was away attending the Festival Gathering of the Network of Biblical Storytellers on Thursday, Matthew was in Boone, where he now lives, and Casey was kayaking with friends at the New River when Kathy called me Thursday to tell me she couldn't find Ralph anywhere.

      Ralph was never one to leave the yard.   In these past months when walking had become more difficult for her, she seldom traveled anywhere other than the path between the garage and the parsonage backdoor.

       Kathy searched the woods.  Nothing.

       By the time I returned home on Saturday afternoon, there wasn't any need to look further.  In the mysterious beauty of nature, it was clear enough that Ralph had found the end of her long road somewhere deep in the woods.

      She left the same way she came.

      But from the day she appeared under the car in a Lexington driveway, to the day she disappeared into the woods of Rowan County she fulfilled her life's call as a family pet - trusting, protecting, welcoming, playing, bringing joy and loving unconditionally.

       Perhaps you're fortunate enough to have a similar story about a beloved pet.

       The story of my family includes a dog named Ralph.

       And we're all really quite thankful! 

    
Grace and Peace!

  Pastor Randy        

Of Cat Food Sandwiches and Flying Kites

     I'm heading out in the morning to attend the Festival Gathering of the Network of Biblical Storytellers.  Having completed a year-long certification program in December of 2012, I will join my other class-mates who will be receiving their certificates through the Academy for Biblical Storytelling.

     I love a good story, and some of the best and most important stories are found in the pages of the Bible.  A good story can be entertaining.  A really good story can be transformative.  Jesus was a good storyteller.  He told some that were clear enough to understand, and some that left his audience scratching their heads. 

     I'm thinking about stories as I prepare to pack and head to Black Mountain NC for the Festival Gathering.

     There are two in my mind just now.  Neither of these came from the Bible, but both hold truths that are found within its pages.

     The first came a few days ago.  I was bringing a friend home from a doctor's appointment.  I'm not sure how the subject came up, but my friend Jeanette told me of a former pastor she remembered from her childhood from Zion Baptist Church in Mobile, Alabama.  They called him Brother Jim.

     Brother Jim was visiting with an elderly couple in the church.  Though they didn't have much, they wanted to extend hospitality to their pastor.  They wanted to provide lunch for him.  He accepted their offer to join them at the table.

    The elderly woman excused herself to the kitchen to prepare sandwiches for each of them.  While Brother Jim continued to chat with the elderly husband, he glanced into the kitchen and witnessed an open can of cat food on the counter, and the woman spreading its contents on the pieces of bread.

    As he told the story some years later, he said "I thought to myself, even if it killed me, I was going to eat that cat food sandwich!"

     Good for Brother Jim!

    The second is a story I heard on the front porch of the church I serve, Rock Grove UMC, after Homecoming Services this past Sunday.   We had invited a former pastor back to the Rock Grove pulpit, Rev. Paul Starnes.   Now retired, he had served as a student pastor at Rock Grove some 50 years ago.

    As I was preparing to lead Paul and his family to the fellowship building for our traditional covered dish lunch, a Homecoming visitor came to speak to Paul.  Alex had moved away from the Rock Grove area years ago, but he attended 5 decades ago when Paul was pastor.

    Alex recalled and shared a memory he had of Paul from his childhood.  After his father's death, he remembered Paul coming to visit the family.  But what he most remembered about the pastor's visit was that he spent time with young Alex, flying a kite.  Alex shared how much that memory still meant to him today.

     Good for Rev. Paul!

    And so I'm just thinking right now about the kinds of stories we tell, about those memories from long ago that become stories with the power to shape us and sustain us, to mold us and inspire us.

     And though I'm not sure what kinds of stories may one day be told of me, I wouldn't mind a bit if a story or two sounded something like eating a cat food sandwich with friends at a simple table of hospitality, or something like flying a kite with a grieving child.

     How about you?


Grace and peace!

Pastor Randy


    



    

The Worst Word in the English Language

    This past Saturday, I joined my wife Kathy and our youngest son Casey in Flat Rock NC for our annual visit to the home of Carl Sandburg.  For the past eight years, after picking up Casey from Camp Tekoa in Hendersonville, we've paid our respects to the "People's Poet", visiting his home (Connemara) playing with the goats (eating some goat-milk fudge), sitting on the big rock about behind the house where Carl Sandburg loved to write, while remembering and reflecting about the value of words to speak to the human condition and to the strength of the human spirit.

    And this past Saturday, as we've done before, we watched a video.  It was a video of an interview with Mr. Sandburg conducted by famed newsman Edward R. Murrow.  During the interview, Murrow asked Carl an interesting question:

   "What do you think is the worst word in the English language?"

   The reply came quickly - "Exclusive."

   He went on to say that the word exclusive is the worst and most despicable of English words, because it allows us to exclude others from our hearts and minds.

   I've thought a good bit about Carl Sandburg's reply over the past few days.  I've thought about it in light of my recent reflections about the church, about faith and grace. 

   First let me say, that as a middle-aged, white, American, Christian, male, I readily admit that I have never been the victim of injustice due to the color of my skin - I've never been marginalized due to my ethnic background, language or accent - I don't know what it must feel like to receive less pay for equal work due to my gender - I have never experienced persecution at the hands of anyone because of my faith.  

   I've never been victimized by personal or systemic racism, never been profiled, never falsely accused or unreasonably suspected.  I've never been the victim of cultural, political or religious bias or prejudice.

   In fact, if truth be told, its people like me - middle-aged, white, American, Christian males, who have traditionally been the power brokers of our cultural, political, religious and societal institutions. Consequently its people like me who have been most often guilty of building the kinds of walls designed to keep people (unlike me) out and making the rules to keep people (like me) ahead of the game. 

  Of course, I know the pain of personal slights and insults. I know the wounds of being de-valued, disregarded, disrespected and ignored (After all, I am a pastor...and a parent!).  However, any personal stories I may have of feeling excluded are not worthy of mention, in light of the systemic kinds of exclusion many people have faced their entire lives.

   And so, Carl Sandburg spoke to me all the way from 1954 this past Saturday, and burned a bad word in my memory.  "Exclusive."  

   Living exclusive lives - with hearts and minds protected behind gated communities, circling the wagons, keeping others out, avoiding the unclean, despising the Samaritan - does not describe a Jesus-centered life.

   Living exclusive lives is what we do when we put labels on people, easily de-humanizing them.  By labeling we categorize people like lab rats, allowing us to keep others at a safe distance.   Labeling is a way for "us" to identify (and distance ourselves from) "them".   

   It's what we've been guilty of in the church much too often.  May God forgive us for all the times we have shown more hostility than hospitality to those unlike us, for the times we've been silent in the face of hate, injustice and violence, for the times our language and actions have been un-kind, un-loving, un-Christian....in a word, "exclusive."

  As the church, we are not called to be the gate-keepers of the kingdom.  Regardless of what we may think, not one of us has been gifted with sufficient discernment, nor have we been entrusted with the task of identifying and pulling the weeds from the Master's garden, lest in our self-righteous, sincere exuberance we yank up a handful of God's most precious and prized wheat.

  I don't know about you, but I can't imagine a scenario where even the most dogmatic, close-minded, religious fundamentalist could feel good about standing before the thrown of God on that day, boasting how he or she protected God's church from the likes of "them." 

  I'm thinking a lot of things about the church these days.  Some things are troubling and sad, things like barrenness and brokenness, decline and death.  But I'm also thinking about things like faithfulness and fruitfulness, things like repentance, renewal and resurrection.

  And today I'm thinking that I agree with Carl Sandburg.


Grace and Peace!

Pastor Randy

   

 
 

 

  

   

  
   

  
   

Having a Beer with Jesus

    OK.  Made you look!

     When I was part of a clergy group taking a unit of Clinical Pastoral Education at NC Baptist Hospital in Winston-Salem a number of years ago, we were told of a pastor who had been seeing a doctor for a stubborn stomach ailment.

    Eventually, the doctor suggested that the pastor try a daily glass of wine to help his stomach.  To which the pastor is reported to have said:  "I will not.  I'm a tee-total-er.  Alcohol has never touched my lips and it will never touch my lips." 

   The doctor replied, "I'm not a particularly religious man, but didn't Jesus turn water into wine at a wedding once?"

    "Yeah, but I sure would've thought more of him, if he hadn't done that!"

    I've cut my theological teeth in the South.  I've being raised in the faith in relatively small church settings, and I've served a series of rural churches as a United Methodist Pastor for a little more than two decades in the heart of the Bible Belt, and so I'm well aware that the suggestion Jesus might not be adverse to sitting down to a cold one, would be fairly unpopular in my neck of the woods.

    But before you judge too quickly, you may recall that religious leaders once chastised Jesus for eating and drinking too much, and often complained that he spent too much time in table fellowship with all sorts of un-religious folk.

    I've thought a good bit about the state of the church of late, thinking about the changing landscape of Christianity in America, about the decline of the institutional church, and the new expressions of Christianity that are being birthed and cultivated all around us.  Tales of "Emerging" Christian communities and new monastic communions are reminders that, even as old wineskins have run their course, new wineskins are being formed and shaped, making room for the growing "holy fermentation"* being birthed by the Spirit of God.

     Believe it or not, I've heard of church services that are meeting in pubs, and on a recent trip to the Washington D.C. area, I learned of a Bible Study that was meeting in a local bar.  I'm pretty sure this ain't happening in Rowan County!     

    As I've tried to prayerfully think about how best to think about what it means for me, an ordained clergy entrenched in a large church denomination, with a long established hierarchy, discipline and polity, trying to be relevant in our ever-changing world while struggling beneath the burden of clergy health and pension benefits, it has drawn me back once again to what I believe to be true about the person and work of Jesus.

    And whenever I take the time to reflect on the life he lived, I must consider the life I believe I am called to live, if indeed the spirit of Jesus lives in me. 

    John Wesley, the founder of the Methodist movement, once struggled with leaving the ornate sanctuaries of the Church of England and the acceptable practice of formal pulpit-preaching to take the gospel message to the masses out in the fields and coal mines.  After some inner struggle he finally agreed to become more "vile" in his words, and forgo formality in favor of the mandate of  the mission of Christ.  John Wesley had left the building!

    For what it's worth, I think Jesus is exactly the kind of Messiah who wouldn't bat an eye at sipping a Sam Adams while making a friend at the bar. I think he would go to the places where people live, to the places where people laugh and cry, to the places where people ask real questions and long for honest answers, not Christian clichés.

    I think he would listen, really listen.  He would love, really love.  He wouldn't be as religious as he would be real .  In fact, that was one of the reasons he kept running afoul with the religious authorities of his day, he just wasn't religious enough!

     He would  be authentic, genuine, whole, human. He would love without condition.  He would understand.  He would forgive.  And sitting across the table from him, we would find ourselves wanting to spend more time with him.  And the more time we spent with him, the more we would want to become more like him!

    I'm still thinking about what all this means for me, and for my church.  I'm still thinking about the places I usually go and the people I normally meet, as well as the places I've steered clear of and the people I've avoided.  And the more I think about these kinds of things, the more I wonder if Jesus is pleased with me...or not.

    I close with a toast -

    May we follow Jesus today, looking for him in faces familiar and unfamiliar.  May we risk being  more real than religious, and may we love with a love that can change the world!

   Bottoms up!


Grace and Peace!

  Pastor Randy


* A term used by Dr. Elaine Heath at Annual Conference this past June.


   

    

   

  
   



  

  

Confessions of a Complainer

   "In programs of peer learning by officers in the military, it is clear that those in training are expected to be contributors, not complainers.  It is an important and necessary distinction.  There are those who will complain and remain passive, waiting for the institution to ease their burden and solve their problems."

Gil Rendle
Back to Zero - the Search to Rediscover the Methodist Movement

    Part of my summer reading focuses on the state of the church and church renewal.  Gil Rendle offers helpful insight for those who love the church, who recognize there is indisputable need for change in the church, and who are willing to participate in that change no matter how challenging it may be or how uncomfortable it is.  I count myself in this number.

    The above quote about the difference between "contributors" and "complainers" made me both smile and wince.  I smiled because I can readily "Amen" such a statement.  I clearly get the logic that we can be part of the solution or part of the problem.  And belly-aching about the church or the conference or some mystical un-named "they" or "them" out there somewhere will never be fruitful or productive or helpful.

    But it sure can be be fun!

    Alas.  That's where my wincing came in....

    In another life (not a Shirley McLain kind of other life) I was an insurance agent.  It was a short, four month career that provided a brief resume bridge, ending a period of unemployment and continuing until I begin my broadcasting career (another one my lives). 

    I was hired as an agent in the Asheboro office of a fairly large insurance company.  After a couple of months, the Asheboro office was closed, which meant we would travel to meet once a week in the High Point office.  It was decided that we would also stay in touch by meeting for breakfast once a week at a local Asheboro restaurant.

   And that's where it started.

   We didn't like losing our home base office in Asheboro.   We didn't like having to meet once a week in High Point.  We didn't feel as if we were being treated fairly.  And breakfast became a great place to vent, to complain, to mourn and wail.  And we got pretty darned good at it.

    And it sure was fun!

    Looking back on those days, I think I was able to complain with the best of them.  Though today I recognize that being around chronic hand-wringers really can suck the life out of my soul, back then in the midst of it, I found a strange comfort in cultivating my innate hand-wringing skills while seated at the table of other like-minded lament-ers, who were as convinced as I, that we were getting royally screwed!

   And as much comfort as I found in participating in those glorious weekly complaining concerts, and as entertaining  as it was poking fun at the obvious clueless-ness of management, the downward spiraling of my commissions eventually caught my eye.  And I began to see a direct correlation between my constant state of complaining, my growing "woe is me" posturing, and my decreasing motivation for being a good, successful and fruitful insurance agent.

   And then one day at breakfast, somewhere between my second and seventh cup of coffee, I repented!  Like the prodigal son of Luke chapter 15, I "came to myself."  I began to think that maybe I had wallowed in the miry bog of despair long enough.  I realized that I was taking as much poison into my soul as coffee into my stomach.  I recognized that my constant complaining and bickering and blaming was not doing anything to change anything, it wasn't producing any healthy attitudes or behaviors, it wasn't bearing any positive or valuable fruit in me or through me.  

   Here's what I learned from that experience.  Complaining is contagious.  Sometimes it just takes one negative voice at the table to turn the tide. And, for whatever reason (maybe its Sin?), we tend to hop on a negative bandwagon more quickly than anything other kind.  It just seems more fun!  And there does seem to be a kind of twisted / perverted pleasure in a passive-aggressive sort of, "I'm not going to do anything to help, but I'm going to blame every body else" hand-wringing in the midst of other people wringing their hands.  Misery does indeed love company! 
     
   And if you constantly surround yourself with negative nay-sayers, habitual hand-wringers and frequent finger-pointers, trust me - you will drink the kool-aide, and your spirit will be poisoned.

   If this describes where you are these days, it may time to eat at a different table!

  Listen!  Please take it from me, a recovering complainer.  Nothing good will come from constant, chronic belly-aching and finger-pointing.  It was true for a group of disgruntled, displaced, insurance agents - it's true for any other work environment - it's true for families - it's true for the church!

   So....here's to casting off whatever remnant of the "complainer" remains in your spirit  - and taking up the mantle of "contributor."  Here's to refusing to play the blame-game and avoid finger-pointing.  Here's to doing something constructive, helpful, healthy and fruitful.

    Here's to making a positive difference in your home, at your work, in the church and in the world.

    Now......don't you feel better already? 


  Grace and Peace!

  Pastor Randy
  


   
   

   
   

Grace Upon Grace

"From his fullness, we have received grace upon grace."

John 1:16

     During the summer, I generally step away from my usual preaching practice of following the Revised Common Lectionary (a three-year cycle of suggested preaching texts [Old Testament, Epistle, Psalm and Gospel selections] that flow with the rhythm of the church's liturgical worship calendar), and try my hand at some kind of sermon series.

     Admittedly, I don't do sermon series particularly well in my estimation.  I really do prefer the order of the Lectionary.  Beginning with the text, instead of a theme, just feels more right to me.  Sometimes the sermon series is still guided by the suggested Lectionary readings.  One summer, for example, I chose all the selections from the Psalms.  On another occasional, I focused on all the epistle (letter) readings from Romans during the summer months.

     And my original plans for this summer, were to preach from the Old Testament Prophets, as guided by the Lectionary.  However I shifted away from that line of thinking before June arrived, and I decided I would use the sermons of John Wesley as the inspiration for the summer sermon series.

     Which leads me to John 1:16.

     I'm actually not sure if Wesley ever used this as a sermon text.  I haven't run across it yet in the various sermons I've read and studied.  However, if he didn't, he really missed a good opportunity, because John's "words" about the "Word" made flesh are certainly formative to Wesley's theology.  It's all grace, grace upon grace!

     Woven throughout the theological DNA of Methodism is God's grace.  Grace is understood as God's favor, God's unmerited favor.  Grace is God's gift.  We cannot earn it, we do not deserve it.  It is simply God's gracious gift that flows freely from God's abundant and extravagant nature, which is love.

     When Wesley preached and taught about God's Salvation offered in Christ, it was always grace upon grace.  Its God's grace that reaches out to us before we know God, inviting us, loving us, wooing us, drawing us and ultimately enabling us to choose the God who has already chosen us.

      It's God's grace that brings us a sense of conviction about the disease of Sin with which we are all afflicted,  it's grace that draws us to seek forgiveness for our sin through the atoning blood of Christ, it's grace that regenerates us through the new birth, making us new creations in Christ by grace through faith ("For by grace you have been saved through faith.  It is not your own doing, it is the gift of God." Ephesians 2:8)  

      It's God's grace that continues working in and through us in the gradual work of Sanctification, enabling us to grow in holiness and righteousness, in Christian maturity and Christ-likeness.  It is a process that can be described as having our hearts "habitually filled with love" of God and love of neighbor, and as love increases - sin decreases, until the the Image of God, previously marred by our human sin is fully restored in us.  Wesley understood this to be the goal of the Christian life, a restored image and renewed relationship with God, which he described as "full salvation."

     And, its important to point out that, in this theological scheme of things, there is never an occasion for boasting, never a point of "arriving", never a point where we are designed or destined to plateau.  In good Wesleyan theology, we are never really standing still.  We are either going forward or backward, either growing in grace or backsliding.  And we never get to a place of holiness and righteousness where we are no longer in need of the atoning merits of Christ' blood, or the continual interceding of Christ on our behalf.

     I am discovering that spending the summer with Wesley is a very rich experience for me.  Its a good discipline for me as a United Methodist Preacher, forcing me, to re-visit and re-claim the basic beliefs of the founder of Methodism that have served to shape the church through which I have experienced my call to ordained ministry.

    But beyond that - how good it is to immerse myself again in the rich, cool, refreshing well of God's grace.  It is good to be reminded that any good work I may accomplish, any good endeavor upon which I may embark, any higher level of faith I may reach, will always be dependent upon the initiating work of God's grace. 

     I'm glad for this summer reminder that it's all grace, grace upon grace!

     Thanks be to God!


Grace and Peace!

  Pastor Randy