personal privilege

It is a pastor's privilege to be with people in some of life's important moments. As easy as it might be for someone to say, "Of course the preacher is there...", it is nothing to take for granted. Over the weekend I was invited to participate in both a funeral and a wedding. It was very touching to bury one woman's spouse of 60 years, then move to blessing the first day of another union. I am slightly overwhelmed at the way a door swings open and arms pull me inside. In one situation, I had never even met the family. In the other, I had only known them briefly. How remarkable that we could sit and cry together. How remarkable that we could laugh and pray together. How remarkable that in this holy moment for both couples, suddenly I (a mostly complete stranger) am suddenly standing with them. I feel as though I must step lightly. I feel as though I should confess before entering the space and praise when leaving. Ministry is a beautiful, messy, intimate, sacred vocation. I wouldn't trade it for anything.

sad puppy

All relationships are doomed to an end. Knowing our broken world, it's inevitable that things will eventually crumble - whether in life or death. And when that time comes, do you keep marching with stoicism? Do you wear bright colors? Do you fight for the right? Or do you let your mascara drip? Do you sing James Taylor songs? Do you accept the inevitable with a sigh?

What do you do when you're really, really sad?

W. H. Auden:
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

strange worship habits...

Sunday morning I managed to visit another congregation across town. Having heard much about it, I was excited to see what great things they were doing. I confess that I was slightly biased against them. Nevertheless, I knew that they were doing some thing right.

I entered the space and was immediately greeted by folks. They gave me a gift bag (with nice travel mug, magnet, and church information), introduced me to some ladies, and pointed out the differnet information stations around the hall. They even escorted me into their worship space and helped me get situated. I wasn't embarassed to sit by myself, so I plopped down between other young adults and prepared to worship. The music was professional caliber, the congregation was engaged, and the leadership was enthused. Despite the lack of prayer and other congregational participation, I was enjoying myself.

Then, they announced that we would be gathering "around the Lord's table". "Great!," I thought. "This will be neat. I've never had communion in a church like this." Well, folks, let me tell you. For all of the imagery and story telling they gave, there was no table to gather round. There was no scripture read. There was no cup or bread. No breaking or pouring. Instead, ushers came down the aisles and passed baskets down the rows. We reached into the baskets and pulled out PRE-PACKAGED COMMUNION!!! Underneath a layer of plastic, there was a small wafer. The wafer lay on top of another plastic layer that covered the small juice cup. (about a thimble) The outer layer of plastic had the words "This is my body which is broken for you. Take, eat. Do this is remembrance of me." My jaw hit the floor.

Is this communion? If someone packages stale crackers in a factory far, far away, is it the body of Christ? If wine is never poured, if Scripture is never read, is this communion? If no one ever prays, if the community is never gathered (in some way: prayer, music, common words as you pass it to your neighbor), is it communion?

I have been mightily troubled by this aspect of worship. It is calling my theology into question. Am I becoming one of those uptight Presbyterians? What do you think?

encounters

A few artisans have found their way into my life recently. Though many would take them to be country bumpkins, they have amazing stories and incredible art. One such man is a painter who has long silver hair (in a pony tail), wears wife beaters, and boots. He used to be a drag racer, but decided to start painting because "it seemed like something he should try." His paintings are incredible Andrew Wyeth styled works. Without any professional training, he offers his uninhibited gift to folks. http://www.hrlovellgallery.com/

Another gentleman fell into my path who also used to race cars. (He holds some title in California... what's the connection between car racing and art??) George takes old horseshoes and fires them into different shapes, words, and figures. Marvelous treasures! His workshop is a collection of every manly tool and machine available. He decided that in his retirement he would do something different with his days.

I found these folks in one of Tennessee's tiniest towns. A town that was going to be the state capital, but Nashville came along and stole the show. Rural America has much to offer. Support your locally owned businesses, your independent craftsfolk, and those isolated restaurants on the forgotten highways!