Cutting Teeth

My daughter is cutting teeth.
I know that many parents have survived teething, but I am currently doubting whether I will survive with my sanity intact. Okay, that is a bit melodramatic, but my once reliably happy, cheerful, giggly girl has all of the sudden become cranky, irritable and mournful. I can only imagine the amount of pain she must be feeling and her frustration with her inability to communicate with her parents what is wrong.
Sometimes, I guess I can sympathize with Marian's teething. There are times when I feel hurt or sad or angry and I do not know just quite how to tell my Father in heaven. I had such an occurrence this last week. I heard horrible news and I cried out in anguish not quite sure how to express myself to God. I am thankful that in that time as in all times, the Holy Spirit was present with me in my weakness to carry to God what I could not in words. "Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God." (Romans 8:26-27, NRSV).
Prayer is powerful. More powerful than we can even imagine. Throughout my time in ministry I have witnessed many answers to prayer that seem absolutely miraculous. I have also been party to a quite a few times when our prayers seem to have gone unanswered. In all of those times, however, it was very powerful to know that the Creator of the Universe was listening to me and somehow that in itself is deeply comforting.
In this life as I cut my teeth of faith, I am thankful that God understands me even if I cannot express how I feel.

Keeping the Home Fire Burning

This last week I was quite the traveler. I left last Monday and drove the family up to Little River Christian Camp for a few nights. While the family planned out hikes and activities, I, for my part, planned a few days of soaking in the Scriptures and praying for guidance. It was nice to be away from the usual environment and the usual busyness of being a solo pastor. It was joy to be surrounded by the glories of God's creation (even if that included continuous rain keeping the whole family in the cabin unexpectedly).
Further, my stay at the camp including me keeping a fire burning to keep me and my family warm. It has been a long time since I had to tend a fire, perhaps as long ago as my honeymoon and I took to the task with relish and, dare I say it, reverence. There is just something about tending a fire that fits with my personality. Once the fire is burning, it only takes occasional maintenance to maintain the burn. As I like a distraction every hour or two, it was the perfect activity for my retreat. The only time it posed challenging was at night because I would have to stoke up the fire and then pray I woke up a time or two throughout the night to keep the fire burning and, consequently, the cabin warm. So for three days last week I became the Keeper of the Flame.
My week ended with a trip to the meeting of the Presbytery of the Cascades. The meeting was largely uneventful, except for the dismissal of two congregations to the Evangelical Presbyterian Church. As I listened and thought and prayed during the discussion leading up to the dismissal I wondered what I was doing in the Presbyterian Church (USA). I understand my call as a minister and the obligation and commitment I feel to proclaim God's Word in word and deed. I feel the fire burning in my bones that the prophet Jeremiah comments on in Jeremiah 20:9:
"If I say, 'I will not mention him, or speak any more in his name,' then within me there is something like a burning fire shut up in my bones; I am weary with holding it in, and I cannot."
Later, Jeremiah received an oracle that describes the nature of that burning fire in the bones when God asks, "Is not my word like fire, says the Lord, and like a hammer that breaks rock in pieces?" (Jeremiah 23:29). I know that God's Word in my life is a burning fire, a fire that needs to be tended so that it will keep me warm and snug all my life.
Perhaps that is why I feel a commitment to the Presbyterian Church (USA). My commitment to my denomination is similar to commitment to my family. I long to keep my brothers and sisters in the denomination warm even as I longed to keep my family warm in our little cabin this last week. Perhaps I am being paternalistic or even simplistic, but I view my ministry as an opportunity to warm others by the fire of God's Word.

Tired, so tired

If at no other place in the Gospel, I know that Jesus gets me when he said, "Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." (Matthew 11:28-30 NRSV).
Now as a pastor rest is not something that I do well. I am a victim of my own ego, which leads me to believe that the congregation I serve cannot function without me. While I do make a valuable contribution to the congregation, I know (or at least I should) that the congregation can not only function but do just fine without me.
This leads to the question: If the congregation can function without me, why do I work as if I am essential? Why do I not take time off to recharge?
Jesus valued rest. He consistently made time to pray and rest; indeed the quotation above is in the context of a prayer. If Jesus valued rest and modeled it himself, why do I consistently overwork myself?
I recently attended a Spiritual Friends retreat sponsored by Asbury Seminary (nice folks). The whole point of the retreat was to give me time to ask and answer those questions about rest. I am deeply thankful for that time and the rest I received sitting on the beach in Florida. What a joy to rest in the Lord.
I am glad I have had the opportunity to ask these questions and to face the reality that it is Jesus' church and I am just serving him through my work AND my rest.

Coincidence

Last Thursday I had a good conversation with a friend of mine, Andrew, who is a pastor. We discussed an issue in his church and I was more than impressed (as usual) with the faithfulness and wisdom of my friend. As our conversation was drawing to a close we, without good reason, we began to talk about being confronted with issues and people we find challenging. We talked about this in the context of our congregations, wondering what our congregations would do if confronted with people that were radically different from themselves. As we were signing off, I encouraged Andrew with Mordecai's words from the book of Esther, "And who knows but that you have [been placed here] for such a time as this?" (Esther 4:14b). We then said our good-byes.
After I hung up the phone I took a trip to the local hardware store to pick up some light bulbs (and the latest small town news). As I was chatting with the hardware store folks I received a cryptic phone call from the Church Administrator saying, "You have a visitor waiting outside for you." I said good-bye and walked back to the church quickly wondering what appointment I had forgotten that morning.
As I walked into my office the Administrator greeted me, then walked past me to open the exterior door and invite a man into my office. The man refused to enter, but motioned for me to come outside. I went outside and quickly realized that 1. this man had not had a shower in probably a week; 2. he carried his possessions in a black garbage bag; and 3. he needed help in many ways. My immediate reaction was to withdraw and grow defensive and send the man away, but thankfully I dismissed that attitude and instead listened to the man (here I must thank the good folks in the chaplain's office of Trenton Psychiatric Hospital who trained and taught me to be a good listener).
The man was scattered in his conversation, but was emphatic that he was only looking for work today to get something to eat and a place to stay. We discussed the kind of work he was looking for (landscaping) and the current needs of the church grounds (weeding), set a wage and went to work. He worked hard and the church looked great. For my part, I talked with the man about his relationship with Jesus Christ and the deep burning questions he was rolling around in his heart and head (though I cannot say I helped to answer any of these questions, we did have a good talk).
As the afternoon wore on I asked the man where he was headed. "South," he said. I explained to him that if he headed south he was walking into the desert and he would surely die. He said, "Well, you know, I have faith and the Lord will take care of me." I replied to him, "Maybe my voice of reason is not a coincidence and the Lord put me here to stop your going out into the desert." He thought about these words and finally agreed that, in principle, it was possible.
As our relationship built over the afternoon, the man began to trust me. So when I suggested that I drive him up to the Gospel Mission in Klamath Falls he reluctantly agreed that perhaps he did need help. As we approached the Mission, however, the man resisted the idea again, even though I assured him that I would go with him and help him. Instead, he asked to be dropped off at a local park and said, "I just want to make my own way." I prayed with him and strongly encouraged him to accept the offer of help that was before him (which he politely refused). He left with a few dollars and some food.
Now I am not convinced that there is no such thing as a coincidence, but last Thursday was a day that showed me the Lord can move in truly mysterious ways. Did I do the right thing, the godly thing, the Christian thing? I don't know. I do know that I did not spend the time I had alloted on my sermon preparation and the service Sunday ran a bit too long as a result. I do know that I do not regret entering into relationship (however brief) with the man. I do know that perhaps, just perhaps, God placed me here last Thursday for such a time as that.

Frustrations

This last May and June we had to make a choice between a healthy garden and a healthy baby. Marian is doing great, our garden not so much. I was utterly amazed at how fast the weeds grew and soon took over the garden patch. With some serious help from our family we were able to clear the weeds and tarp over the garden in anticipation of planting a rose garden in the coming spring.
One of the great things about living in Merrill at over 4000 feet is that the temperatures cool off every night. That also means we can get some serious wind blowing down the basin toward us. Despite several fixes and multiple ground staples, our black tarps were ripped away by the wind time after time. In addition the neighborhood cats had discovered that they could push the tarp aside and, uh, make a deposit. My wife eventually decided that we would need to put down some bark in order to maintain the tarps and keep down the weeds.
My wife made some calls and found a nursery in town that was willing to supply us with bark for $120 for four cubic yards with a delivery fee of $50. For only $170 our frustrations with the garden would be over until next Spring.
Yesterday my wife took a trip into town to one of the local nurseries to procure some bark for our soon-to-be rose garden. She carefully got the baby ready and drove up to the nursery. When she mentioned her telephone call, the lady at the desk told her that unfortunately the price of the bark had gone up $8 a yard since her call (the Friday prior). And, what's worse, the delivery charge to Merrill was higher. Even still, the price was still reasonable to put the frustration behind us (plus, it was still cheaper than anywhere else in town). My wife signed on the dotted line and they said they'd deliver first thing in the morning.
At dinner last night my wife and I had a long discussion about what, "first thing in the morning" means at a nursery. Just to be sure we would not miss the delivery my wife rose early this morning to meet the delivery truck-that never came.
When she called the nursery, the lady on the phone told her that the order had been misfiled and the truck could be out tomorrow first thing in the morning. Frustrated, but unable to do anything else she agreed to see them first thing in the morning (still unclear what that could possibly mean).
Frustration is an odd emotion. I suppose it is akin to anger, but coupled with a deep sense of helplessness. I believe it must be the emotion Paul felt when he stated, "I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate" (Romans 7:15). Paul, when faced with his own actions, was frustrated with himself. He was confused, angry and pained by his sense of helplessness. Like Paul, all who feel this way know that Christ is the only way to alleviate the frustration. Christ can ease our frustrations with ourselves. While we may still do the things we hate, Christ brings us forgiveness. It might not be the total cure for frustration, but then maybe some frustration is alright. Maybe we need to be a little frustrated with they way we fail to follow Christ and live for God in our lives. That frustration motivates us to rise up again tomorrow and with God's help dedicate ourselves to Christ's service once more.
I just hope the delivery truck shows up tomorrow for the sake of my wife's sanity.

Victory Before the Battle

Last Tuesday night I read Psalm 149 with the Session. It was an arbitrary decision, but the Holy Spirit definitely had a lesson for me that night.

Psalm 149 (NRSV)

Praise the Lord!
Sing to the Lord a new song, his praise in the assembly of the faithful.
Let Israel be glad in its Maker; let the children of Zion rejoice in their King.
Let them praise his name with dancing, making melody to him with tambourine and lyre.
For the Lord takes pleasure in his people; he adorns the humble with victory.
Let the faithful exult in glory; let them sing for joy on their couches.

Let the high praises of God be in their throats and two-edged swords in their hands, to execute vengeance on the nations and punishment on the peoples, to bind their kings with fetters and their nobles with chains of iron, to execute on them the judgment decreed.
This is glory for all his faithful ones.
Praise the Lord!

As we read through this Psalm and talked about its meaning I first remarked that the Psalm had several warfare images in it that are out of vogue in the mainline church. I really think this is too bad, because when we exclude warfare imagery we lose a lot more than we gain. First, believers begin to view themselves as doormats, laying down in the face of opposition rather than standing up to fight for what is right. Second, we lose the joy of Christ's VICTORY on the cross. Third, the Greek word, euagglion, was often used to announce the Good News of victory in battle. There is truly a victory in our faith, a victory of Christ over sin, death and the devil upon the cross. To dismiss passages like Psalm 149 because of their warfare imagery is unacceptable. To reject warfare imagery in the church is to truncate the Gospel.

As I read this Psalm over, I am also struck by its order. The Psalm begins with a celebration. The victory party is in the BEGINNING. The battle comes next. In our Christian faith, the beginning is victory, the battle follows. In Christ Jesus we have already achieved victory over sin, death and the devil. After the victory begins the war between the flesh and the spirit. The victory is assured, but the battle is still fierce.

Let's stand on the side of Christ Jesus who gives us the victory and continue to fight, continue to struggle, continue to take up your arms and battle on, Christian soldier.

Bikers Welcome

Labor Day is this coming Monday so I took the opportunity on Sunday to remind the congregation that we will still be gathering for worship on Sunday. While I'm sure more than a few members of the congregation will take the opportunity of an extra day off to sneak away for the weekend, I have some hopes that our little sanctuary may be full of people. You see, this weekend there is a major motorcycle rally in the next town over, Tulelake. All around town signs have been going up on local businesses to let bikers know that they are welcome there.
As I saw these signs, I began to wonder to myself if we as a church should put up a similar message. Yesterday morning a group of church folks were gathered in the fellowship hall to fold up our monthly newsletter. I asked them about my idea to put "Bikers Welcome" on our reader board and they all thought it was a good idea. So I went out and hung the letters to invite the bikers who happen to see it to join us for worship on the Lord's Day.
As I have thought about my decision I have been reminded about Jesus' calling his disciples, specifically Matthew's call. "As Jesus was walking along, he saw a man called Matthew sitting at the tax booth; and he said to him, 'Follow me.' And he got up and followed him" (Matthew 9:9). Matthew was a tax collector and thus a social outsider, I would argue by his own choice. The biker culture, at least as far as I understand it, thrives on the idea of being an outsider, of being rejected by the society and thus rebelling against that society. Jesus invites outsiders to follow him, to walk with him, to be his disciples. Jesus, in inviting Matthew and bikers to follow him, in essence said, "I do not care what others think of you or what you are trying to do or be. You are my beloved, the one I love and I desire you to walk with me, to love me, to follow me."
Now my sermon is taken from 1 Corinthians 5, Paul's strong chastisement of the Corinthians concerning their sexual immorality. I wonder how that will go over?

What is it, exactly, that I do here?

What better way to spend vacation than to start a new project.

I suppose the whole reason I am doing this is that I really just want to figure out what it is, exactly, that I do here. This is really a life quest of mine and has been for quite some time. Just when I think I have an answer to the question, the context in which I originally asked the question seems to shift on me. Recently I have been studying through the Gospel according to Matthew with our Thursday night Bible Study here in Merrill. We came across a passage in the 17th chapter that completely rattled my cage (Mt 17:13-16):

"Now when Jesus came into the district of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, 'Who do people say that the Son of Man is?' And they said, 'Some say John the Baptist, but others Elijah, and still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.' He said to them, 'But who do you say that I am?' Simon Peter answered, 'You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.' "

Jesus goes on to tell Peter that this revelation came to him from God and was not his own making (something with which I resonate deeply as a Reformed Christian). But that is not what hit me that day or this day. As I have continued to roll this verse around in my head I just cannot get beyond the direct way Jesus asks his questions.

Jesus asked all the disciples who other people said he was and they gave a variety of answers, a variety of speculation, a variety of guesses. Then, however, Jesus asked them the more important question, "But who do YOU say that I AM?" (emphasis mine). I suppose as I wonder about what it is a boy from South King County is doing in a small farming town in southern Oregon I have to come back to that question, oddly enough, over and over again. Jesus did not ask the disciples to recount his miracles or to go into a theological diatribe about the hypostatic union. Jesus simply wanted the disciples to tell him their beliefs, their ideas about him, their witness to him. In short, Jesus asked his disciples to confess their faith.

As I think about the important questions facing us all, I am struck by the beautiful simplicity of Jesus' question. That simple question of identity seeps into all of us and seeks to transform us, changing the way we see the world, the way we see each other, and much more importantly, our very identity. Jesus Christ permeates my very being, all that I am and all that I say, do, feel, and think. When I make decisions, when I say anything, when I perform any action, I am answering Jesus' question to his disciples. Now I am sure my answer is rarely if ever as eloquent as Peter's reply, "You are the Christ, the Son of the living God." Usually it is probably something like, "Well, I have some really great books on Christian doctrine that use all sorts of fancy words, but clearly from my actions, though I can go on at length about these ideas, I am still not sure exactly who you are. I do know one thing, and it is the one thing I know, You, O Christ, are my Lord, my Savior, my life, though I often do a rotten job of being a witness to that truth."

So what is it, exactly, that I do here? I really do not know. Being a pastor is a strange occupation, but it is the call of God on my life. I really only know that through this all I am seeking to answer with my life that question of Jesus: "But who do you say that I AM?"