Ok, I admit it. I'm a Garrison Keillor fan. That fact probably bugs my wife more than anything else about me. His voice drives her nuts...but I'm always better after I hear from him or read something written by him. Had to share this beautiful story of grief and hope:

March 4, 2009 | My brother Philip died in Wisconsin on Friday while I was in Rome, and after I got my ticket changed to fly back for the memorial service, I went into a church off the Piazza Navona and lit candles for his aching family and stood in the piazza beside a fine fountain, with lots of splashing and nudity, the Fountain of the Four Rivers, which made me think of the Mississippi, where he and I used to skate in winter and once when the wind was whistling down the valley he opened his jacket and held the corners taut and the wind blew him away beyond the island and he didn't come back until after dark.

He died while skating. He fell backward and hit his head and died 12 days later. A heroic thing for a man of 71, dying in action at sport, though I believe he would rather have been in Rome, looking at Bernini churches. He and I almost died together once, canoeing on Lake Superior. We paddled into a deep cave under one of the Apostle Islands, possibly Judas, and explored it, ducking our heads under the low ceiling, and emerged a half-minute before the wake of a distant ore boat came crashing into the cave, which would have busted our heads but good, no need for the EMTs.

He was an engineer, having grown up at a time when boys were still romantic about machinery. Our dad and uncles loved cars and knew how to fix them and also do basic plumbing and wiring and carpentry, so he grew up admiring competence. The incompetent stood and cursed the problem and kicked it and caused more problems. The engineer studied the problem, devised a solution, and when it failed he made intelligent revisions. I never heard my brother curse anything or anybody.

Of all things mechanical, he loved sailboats the most, planing into the wind with a sheet of canvas, a centerboard and a tiller, which he picked up from perusing the Horatio Hornblower novels. When he was a kid, he rigged one of dad's dropcloths to a toboggan and sailed it at tremendous speed down the ice of the Mississippi, a death-defying feat. He switched careers from mechanical to coastal engineering so as to get himself out on boats on Lake Superior and Lake Michigan, purportedly to study thermal runoff from nuclear plants and shore erosion, and he owned a swift sailboat named the Dora Powell after our grandmother.

My brother was her first grandchild and so he was well loved and extensively photographed, a curly-haired boy with dimples and a modest smile, taken against many backdrops since our family moved often in the decade after he was born (1937), renting here and there, squatting with relatives, moving on, which maybe stimulates a keen love of family in a kid, as you keep waving goodbye to your friends, and Philip practiced the delicate art of brotherly love. He always knew what you were doing and he kept his critical opinions to himself. He called me once to ask how I was doing and I knew without his saying so that he knew about some nonsense I was up to and wanted me to stop it and I did stop it without his ever mentioning it. That's how he worked, no motor, just angles. His ties to family went back to his ancestor Elder John Crandall, who preached religious tolerance and peaceful coexistence with the Indians in colonial Rhode Island, and it included his hockey-playing granddaughters and fundamentalist cousins and his lawyer brother and his Chinese granddaughter who was skating with him when he fell.

When your brother dies, your childhood fades, there being one less person to remember it with, and you are left disinherited, unarmed, semi-literate, an exile. It's like losing your computer and there's no backup. (What it's like for the decedent, I can't imagine, though I try to be hopeful.) If I had died (say, by slipping on an emollient spill and whacking my head on a family heirloom anvil), I believe Philip, after decent mourning, would've gone about locating a replacement. If your brother dies, improvise. Someone you run into who maybe doesn't fit the friendship profile but his voice is reedy like your brother's, the gait is similar, he takes his coffee black and his laugh is husky, he starts his sentences with "You know," and the first words out of his mouth are about boats. I didn't run into him in Rome but I'm sure he's out there someplace.

I think we learn something very real about our need for community in these words. I hope you enjoyed.

Wow--what a slacker

Yea, so I'd like to say I've been busy...I'd like to say I have lots of good reasons for not keeping this blog up. But I don't. I'm gonna have to pray about this--to see if this is something I want to keep up. It is well-intentioned!

It isn't like I haven't had stuff to talk about! The DC trip was phenomenal--words cannot express how wonderfully our group worked together, how exciting the work and learning was, and how powerful it was to be in that city at the start of the new year.

It is looking like we are going to try another trip, doing the same things in DC with a different group from Trinity, possibly in July or August.

So where am I today? I'm excited about the next few weeks. I'm preaching at a sister church this Sunday (my first experience preaching in an African-American congregation), starting an evening study on the life of St. Francis of Assisi this Sunday night, going to a USC basketball game Saturday, and getting ready for a great Christian Educators conference in Orlando. Funny how this works out--the conference ends right as Spring Training baseball is beginning: God is good!

Ok, I promise to make a strong effort to do better. We'll see how that plays out.

What should church be like?

Occasionally I hear something that gets me excited about what the church should and can be like. I heard a new song by my friend Kyle Matthews (gratuitous plug: Kyle will be in concert at Trinity Wed. December 10th, and proceeds from the sale of some of his cds will go to support an upcoming Mission Trip to Washington DC). Now, this isn't to say that it hasn't been like this for me. I've always felt welcome at church, and its always such a good feeling to walk into a place that knows me by name, loves me, and accepts me.

But I grew up a preacher's kid. Everybody knew my name, and wanted to see what I was up to...good or bad. Now I'm on staff at at church, and people see me in my various roles at church and know me and often show their love to me, for which I am grateful. However,I recognize that it isn't like that for everybody. I hope it isn't intentional, but it happens: people go unnoticed, people are shunned, and (whether real or perceived) some folks aren't welcomed as openly as others.

So a reminder like this song can serve to challenge us to be the church--as my church's vision statement says: "where all may be saved, healed, strengthened, and equipped to go into the world on active mission for our Lord Jesus Christ."


"You belong here" by Kyle Matthews
This is a dream I have, that there might be a place
Where before I cross the threshhold they recognize my face.
They've been expecting me, the table has been set,
My bed's already made, and they speak to me this way:

(chorus)
You are welcome in this family, you are wanted in this place
You have value to your maker that your past cannot erase.
There is room for all your searching, there is music for your soul.
There are shoulders you can cry on, and the strength to carry on.
You belong here, welcome home

What am I striving for, when this is in my reach?
Could I become the refuge some weary traveler seeks,
And as I let them in, will my life not be changed?
To give the love I long for, to be unafraid to say:

(repeat chorus)

I will throw the door wide open, run to meet you at the gate,
There will be a glad reunion, we have much to celebrate!
You belong here, welcome home.


Thanks be to God for God's grace that always runs to us and longs to give us a big welcome home. Pray that our church does the same for everyone.

2008 Marriage Retreat

I've been married for 15 months and have already experienced my 2nd Marriage Retreat. I'm not sure what that says about our marriage, but I do know that it says a lot about our church. That's a good thing!

I've come to realize quickly that a marriage can't be "fixed" by focusing on it just one weekend a year. Instead, marriage is a continuing journey that requires constant attention and care. The retreats that I have experienced through Trinity have reinforced our marriage in a very powerful way by offering special, safe time where new ideas and openness can lead to a more intimate, Christ-centered home.

On the first night as we concluded, we prayed that the hotel meeting room would become a sacred, holy space for our couples to really address our marriages secure in the grace of Christ. For me, I experienced a new way of understanding my responsibility to myself and to my marriage, which was a "God moment" for me.

There was a lot of fun and relaxation that went along with this weekend, but I thank God for the moments where I was challenged, and where I grew closer to God, recognized the impact of my thoughts, emotions, and actions on my marriage, and shared in some great personal time with my wife.

...and I got to see the Gamecocks win! What a great weekend! :-)

Pray that those who attended are challenged in the days ahead by what we learned together, and that out of this retreat comes a renewed daily desire for healthy relationships.

Sermon musings...

Ryan's sermon yesterday on "forgetting and remembering" got me thinking. The Exodus story of the Hebrews' grumbling tummies and God, once again, doing a wonderful thing to provide for them must have rang true in the day of Christ. Surely, the folks who were most drawn to follow Christ had some grumbling tummies as well. As Ray Stevens, the comic singer determined, Jesus, if he were alive today, would NOT be wearing a rolex on his television show!

Jesus would be found among those who are suffering, who are neglected, and who are grumbling because of their needs. Quite often our sinful human (I'd say more inhuman) response to those who are needy is "quit your grumbling and looking for a handout and get up and do something." Thank God that wasn't God's response to the Hebrews, and it wasn't Jesus' response to those who yearned for bread in his day. It shouldn't be our response today.

If Jesus would be found among the poor, the invisible folks that we really only see from time to time on the side of the road...where should we be? What in the world are we waiting for? Remember what God did...remember what Jesus did...remember what we're called to do.

Where two or more are gathered....

...then the God is present. These words have spoken to me powerfully over the past several months. You may know that I started a Tuesday morning men's devotional and breakfast this year; we meet every Tuesday morning at 7am at the church. I've had about 10 men who have joined at different times--some faithfully, others for a time or two.

This morning was like a few others I've had, where just me and one other friend showed up to pray. Realizing that this time is less about numbers and more about growth and fellowship, me and my friend read scripture, talked and shared our thoughts on the scripture, and prayed. Oh yea, we ate too! What a blessing it is to share in times like these with brothers and sisters in Christ.

Some have asked me "why are you doing this when at times just one or two folks show up?" Truthfully, I have gotten more out of this time than I have ever put into it. I have come to value those one-on-one (Jesus would tell me that it's a triad!) times just as much, if not more, as when we have a good sized group.

So I am thanking God for the way me and my friend laughed and shared in God's good grace today. What a fellowship, what a joy divine!

Rain!

We've all watched the flooding in Florida with an odd sense of frustration over their over-saturation in comparison to our dearth of precipitation. Thankfully I heard the soft patter of rain outside my window last night, and it is continuing through today. I felt like going out in my pajamas and dancing in the driveway!

While much of our farm crop is a total loss this year, but we do pray that grass and grain for animals is enriched this week with the rain, and that our water levels start on the road toward replenishment.

As the rain falls, be reminded that God cares deeply for us and knows each of our dry spots well. May we feel God replenishing us in a special way this week.