My Sweet Dog

My Sweet Dog

It ‘s been five months since I lost my dog. Her name was Abby, named for King David’s wife, Abigail.  I have always been impressed with Abigail’s spunk and wisdom in the face of crisis and decided my black lab puppy needed someone to live up to.

My Abby was a sweet, gentle, and attentive companion.  She loved to retrieve a ball and could even pitch it back to me with a toss of her head.  When she was young she would retrieve as long as I was willing to throw, tossing the ball back at my feet and waiting expectantly for the next throw.  When she was old, one throw was enough.  It was as though she wanted to prove she still remembered how, but was just too busy holding down the carpet by the fire to waste her time with childish games.

How do you describe the hole left by your dog when she is gone?  The place on the floor by your bed you once had to avoid when you got up to pee in the middle of the night? The thump of her body on the hardwood floor as she moved from one napping site  to the next.  The regular four to five times a day stroll into yard for her bathroom breaks.  The joyful greeting every time you came home.  The nose pushed between my wife and me when we hugged in her presence or thrust under the newspaper or book if there was inadequate attention directed her way.  The butter wrappers licked clean and the treats savored with relish.  The emptiness beside me when I walk the field for exercise and prayer in the mornings.  I could go on, but you get the drift.

Abby taught me much about how to live a life of simplicity and faith.  Do I walk with the faith and trust in my Father that she unconditionally gave to me?  Do I trust His timing and provision with the grace she showed to me?  Am I as sad when He leaves and does His return become the highlight of my day?  Do I treasure going with Him where he goes, even if it is to the dump in Old Blue, my friend Harold’s truck?  Do His friends become mine simply because He says it is ok?  Do I look out for His family because I consider them to be mine?  Do I love Him unconditionally regardless of circumstances?  Does the sound of His voice give me comfort and direction?

The biggest lesson, I think, came at the end.  The tumor ravished her body and sapped her strength, but it never took the wag out of her tail or the look of trust in her eye.  When she couldn’t stand on her own and I had to carry her outside she accepted it with grace giving me that knowing look as if to say, “Aren’t I a mess?”  

Abby lay on the table, chin across her leg and seemed not to notice as the vet shaved a spot on her leg.  She seemed lost in her own thoughts, content with my stroking of her ears and soft assurances that she was my “sweet dawg”.  When she felt the prick of the needle she raised her head to look at what had caused the offense, then looked at me as if to say, “Is that ok?”  I stroked her head and assured her it was ok and that she was, my sweet girl.  At my assurance, with complete trust, she peacefully lay her chin back across her leg and quietly went to sleep.

I sure miss my dog...

Arrivals and Departures

Arrivals and Departures

Our dear fiends Dan and Lisa became grandparents for the first time last night while we slept.  I remember the night Drew, our first grandchild, was born. The deep warmth inside, the sense that all is right in the world, feels like it must burst out in celebration.  There is nothing quite like the arrival of this bundle of love, a grandchild.  We rejoice with them and look forward to watching Dan become putty in his granddaughter Caroline’s tiny hands.

We received a call early this morning as Jan and I sat on our back porch listening to the rain, saying our morning prayers, and reading our daily readings.  While Dan and Lisa’s grandbaby was making her grand entrance last night our friend Mary Rainey made her grand entrance into the presence of Jesus.  We celebrate again, but this celebration is harder because it doesn’t bring deep warmth and a feeling that all is right in the world.  This celebration comes with a deep sense of loss and a world at odds with what is intended.

This juxtaposition of arrival and departure reminds me of a day last summer in the sacred space of my fathers hospital room as he lay just hours away from his long awaited day of glory.  He had suffered a massive heart attack five days earlier, rallied for a couple of days allowing for sweet good byes, last words, and long hugs from those he loved most.  Now he was unconsciousness and lay peacefully in his bed.  The family had gathered in his room and my daughter in law placed her laptop on the table beside him.  It was an unbelievable moment as she played us the ultrasound video, taken that morning, of her new baby five months into its journey to join the family.  The 3-D ultrasound image flickered across the screen and we oohed and aahed at fingers, toes, the beating heart, and then sat in stunned silence as little “Katherine” turned and looked us in the eye.

Some one asked the question, “In the midst of sadness like this, how do you balance remembering the past and looking forward to what is new?”  What a great question.

It will take someone with more wisdom than me to answer that question.  I guess I wonder if balancing is really the issue here.  How can you possibly balance the home going of saints like Mary and Lolo, my Dad? And how can you ever begin to anticipate the joy, the hope, the new life in the Katherines and Carolines given as the Saints fade away. 

Could it be it is not about balance?  How can you possibly balance the life, relationships, and memories of one deeply known and loved with all that will be new?  Maybe it is not an exchange of one for the other but a wholeness encompassing both that somehow, in ways we can never understand, fills us more deeply than we can imagine.  Maybe it is about hope and receiving…the memories and the expectations.

The words to a song come to mind.  Maybe you know the tune and can sing along.  It gives me chills to sing these words.

You give and take away,

You give and take away.

You give and take away,

Blessed be Your name, O Lord.

Blessed be Your Holy Name.

Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy.  Blessed be Your Holy Name!

Why is Sex Fun?

Why is Sex Fun?

It is a beautiful morning as I walk out on the field for my morning constitution.  The early morning fog has almost gone and the sun is just peaking over the trees on the East.  Everything is green from the recent rains and all is at rest.  The summer has been harsh and the green seems to consist only of scrubby weeds pushing through the greening grass.  The wild flowers of spring are long gone and it is too early for fall to paint its bright colors around the borders of the field. 

What does a late summer morning offer to highlight the pervading green, I wondered as I made the bend at the top of the hill and wound my way closer to the trees and over the dew wetted grass?   I will on occasion pick a bouquet for my wife of whatever the field has to offer, but was not expecting today to be very productive.  But then there they were…a clump of white Queen Ann’s lace here, some purple iron weed there, over here some goldenrod, a bush with green berries I cannot name, and an assortment of interesting weeds which bundled together created a most interesting offering for my sweet wife.

This surprise of diverse color hiding in all the green of the open field reminded me of a column by Joe Bayly many years ago titled, Why is Sex Fun?  I borrowed the title once before when I was teaching an adult Sunday school class.  I announced the title for the next week’s class and we had almost twice as many folks as normal show up.  Marketing is everything…

It was kind of a bait and switch, really.  Joe Bayly pointed out the extravagance of a God who though he could have made us see very adequately in black and white chose instead to allow us to see in vivid color and then proceeded to fill creation with unbelievably diverse color in everything from sunrises and sunsets, painted deserts, birds, flowers, fall leaves, tropical fish, and mixed weeds.  He marveled that even in places we may never go or see, God sees fit to outfit in vibrant and diverse colors and interesting shapes and sizes.  Then his punch line, “why is sex fun?”  He observed that God could have made us like amebas that reproduced by simply dividing.  Very effective and can be pretty rapid if you have ever played host to the little parasites…but not much fun.  But He didn’t, He made it fun.

The first commandment was very utilitarian given its time and place at the beginning of creation, “Be fruitful and multiply.”  It is an interesting God, a good God who wraps this first “duty” in the the joy, the mystery, the exhilaration, the intimacy, the deep satisfaction, and yes the FUN of sex.

So…it might seem like a stretch, but to me the surprising discovery this morning of beauty erupting out of the weeds for no reason except to declare the glory of a good God reminded me of that simple question.  Why is sex fun?

Well, I got to go. I’m going to give my wife the flowers…this could be fun.

See You Later Wylie

See You Later Wylie

My daughter and grandson disappeared down the drive with my wife, headed for the airport and home to San Antonio. When the brake lights went out and the car turned left onto the street I found myself unable to hold back the tears.  It has been a wonderful week with my daughter home and the joy of wooing the affections of Wylie my newest grandson of 8 months.  He is a bundle of energy, smiles, and love that a proud Papa could never resist.  To have my sweet daughter home again has been a wonderful treat made the more enjoyable by the gathering of her brother and his wife, her sister and the other grandkids to celebrate life and family around our table…I am so blessed.

So why the tears?  I am not sure I know except that one more separation seemed for the moment more than I was prepared to bear.  Life seems to be full of them of late, either threatened or real.  I lost my Dad last summer, my dog this spring, and twice this year we thought we had lost Jan’s dad, Wylie.  It seems such a struggle some times to keep everything together in a world where so much is coming undone.

I have far more for which to be thankful than to be sad.  I met a man today whose wife went to another state to visit his daughter and new grandchild. For reasons he and no one else can fathom, she jumped off a bridge rather than returning home.  He seems far more together after 6 months than I could imagine myself being if I were in his shoes.

I just finished reading a book today by Lee and Bob Woodruff, the ABC anchor, who suffered a near fatal head wound covering the war in Iraq.  The miracle of his recovery and the unbelievable resilience of his wife and family are an inspiration, but at the same time the tragedy of his injury and so many like him highlights the terrible mess of life.

So, am I just depressed?  Should I take a Valium and get a grip on things?  I don’t think I’m depressed and I feel strangely comfortable, maybe not manly, but comfortable with my tears.  The pain of separation and the celebrations of time together seem to join in the tears.  The pain and the hope are felt with equal intensity and I long for the day when He will wipe away the tears.  I find myself drawn with the psalmist to the words, “How long, O God?”  Chris Wright, in The God I Don’t Understand, notes that today we are prone to ask God, “Why?’  The Hebrews in the time of the Psalms asked, “How long?” 

Certainly there are plenty of separations to bring tears, but there is also great hope in the redemption that is already present and the sweet promise of what is to come.  So I will savor the good life brings along with the bitter…just pass me another tissue.

As You Go or As You Gather?

As You Go, or As You Gather?

As you go, make disciples…  (Mt. 28:18)

These are the final words of Jesus recorded in the Gospel of Matthew and these words are commonly viewed as Jesus’ commission to us as we become His body in the days after his ascension.  It seems to be intended to express both the goal and the methodology of Jesus for us.

The goal is to make disciples, followers of Jesus.  A follower is one in whom there is the desire to be with Him both in proximity (presence) and purpose (the glory of God).  It has apparently been in the plan and purpose of God from the beginning to create a people for Himself that would glorify Him.  In the beginning He created Adam and Eve and charged them with the task of propagating His people through procreation and family.  We managed to make a mess of things the first time around so He began again with Jesus to create again a people for Himself.  Having begun again a people for Himself, He has once again trusted and entrusted us with propagating His people, the Church, this time by disciple making.

The methodology is, “As you go make disciples.”  As you go can look like almost anything.  My work, my play, my family, my worship, or what ever I do in word or deed, as the Apostle Paul says can become disciple making when I come to view it as such.  Disciple making is a relational business, life on life, face on face.  Significant transformation of any kind, including from death to Life as the disciple John describes, always happens in the context of relationship.  Disciple making is a “giving” activity, not a “taking” one.  Love is giving of my self; it is a sacrificial act costing me something.

It strikes me as I look at how we often practice being the body of Christ that we have adopted a methodology of disciple making that is an “as you gather” rather than as you go.  As a pastor once said to me, “I am just trying to create a place where people can come (Gather) to be discipled.”

I may be choking on a gnat while swallowing camels here, but let me try to contrast some methodologies to explain what I mean.

• As you go is incarnational, going where the undiscipled are, not asking them to come to where you are.
• As you go means discipling out there where you are “going,” living life.  This can be where we work, play, raise our families, shop, or live in our neighborhoods. As you gather tries to create a place and programs away from those places for transformation to take place.
• As you go moves into a community and asks how it can serve, as you gather moves into a community and creates an organization that offers membership requiring (Asking) you to conform to “gathering” norms.
• As you go values the discipler, his vocation, and location and requires that we trust and entrust the discipler to do his/her work by the power of the Holy Spirit. As you gather tends to create structures and programs that take the discipler out of their location and creates a staff of "professionals" to do and regulate rather than trusting and entrusting them.
• As you go values the “out there”, the work, the play, the family, the neighborhood, as relevant context and tools for disciple making.  As you gather feels the need to create context (Small groups, programs) and tools (4 laws, bridges, etc.) in order to begin disciple making.
• As you go seeks to be salt and light in a culture, as you gather becomes an alternate culture.

It is not my premise that all structure or programming is bad, they are many times necessary, but I do think that both structure and programs should serve to enable “as you are going” rather than inhibit or compete with it.  It is often easier and more comfortable to gather for the purpose of disciple making, there is more control, more uniformity, efficiencies, etc, but we are not called to a life of ease or comfort, we are called to faithfulness and obedience.  If the Master said to do it as we go, I have to believe that there is purpose in the methodology as well as the goal.

I confess that as I write these thoughts I am pretty clueless as to how to implement them in an organized church setting, especially in a mega church setting.  To do this would “deconstruct the church,” again the words of a pastor.  I would agree with this sentiment, though I would use the word reconstruct rather than deconstruct.  I am convinced that the “as you gather’ mentality predominates in our churches and until we recognize what we are doing we will never begin to move toward something different.  If we begin to think differently we will begin to act differently. We will never think differently if we do not question our current paradigm.

Wondering about 9/11

Wondering about 9/11.

We can all remember what we were doing and where we were as the events of 9/11 began to unfold on that fateful day.  I was working on a dental patient who would periodically interrupt me and point to the overhead TV screen as first one plane and then another struck the twin towers, then other planes crashed in Pa. and into the Pentagon. This followed by the horror of the towers crumbling into oblivion.  Remembering can conjure up many emotions; fear, anger, and sadness come readily to mind.    9/11 has become more than just another memory, it has become one of those landmark signposts around which we define our history and has significantly shaped who we are becoming as a people and how we view the world we live in.  I find myself wondering, how has it has shaped us?  How are we different because of what we experience?

One question in particular has drawn my attention.  What impact does the church have in the shaping what is happening?

It was interesting, for example, that immediately following 9/11 there was an immediate shift in interest in spirituality, prayer, and faith.  Houses of faiths of all kinds experienced a significant increase in attendance.  It became instantly more relevant to speak of faith, prayer, and God.  Even the media, which normally excludes any spiritual dimension to life as they “report” events seemed more apt to make mention of prayer and faith as we witnessed acts heroism, loss, fear, and grief, and began to try to make sense out of what we were seeing and experiencing.

As we noted the influx of people into churches and houses of faith, I like many, was skeptical that this interest in things spiritual would last.  The expectation has become the reality as over a relatively short period of time we have reverted back to the same patterns with decreased attendance and a marginalization of things spiritual in our daily lives.

Now I wonder… if the events of 9/11 exposed something missing in our lives as would seem to be indicated by our fear, grief, interest in spirituality, and questions that turned so many to the Church for answers and comfort, what is the meaning of their subsequent leaving in essentially the same numbers?  Does it say something about them, or about us, the Church?  If they came seeking help and comfort for their fears, doubts, and wounds and have now left, does that mean we had little to offer, so they moved on?  It can certainly mean that they did not want what we had to offer, because a call to follow Jesus is not always a popular one, but should we be quick to jump to that conclusion?  When a national trauma of that magnitude exposes such a deep hunger in so many, did/does the Church have a credible answer, or more importantly, a credible life to speak into the times?  Does my/our rush to cynicism expose a weakness in them or in us?  And if it exposes a weakness in us, what is my part in that?  I wonder?

Mowing as a Form of Prayer

One of my favorite authors and friends, Robert Benson, (www.robertbensonwriter.com) defines prayer as “coming to attention.” He also says that, ”All things can become prayer when we come to view them as such.” I’m not very good at it yet I’m a slow learner, but I’m trying to be more attentive and I am branching out and exploring new ways to pray and find sacred spaces where the barrier between time and eternity becomes thin.

I am blessed to live in a beautiful neighborhood on a tree-covered hill outside Lenoir City, TN. I have wonderful neighbors who gather weekly on a hilltop on the side of the neighborhood graciously made available to us by our farmer neighbor with 85 undeveloped acres snuggled up beside us. We gather to drink wine and share snacks, stories, a warm fire when it is cool enough, and some unbelievably glorious sunsets. Some evenings we get a bonus with a moon peaking through the trees on the eastern horizon then arching its way across the black sky while a million stars twinkle overhead. For the adventuresome and the insomniacs there is even an occasional meteor shower to wow us in the early morning.

Our neighbor has been kind to allow us to make a trail that follows the border of his property, alternately festooned with picturesque barbed wire fences, or old fencerows of cedars marking the boundaries of days gone by.

I try to walk that trail 4-5times per week in the early morning when it is cool, but later works if the weather is bad or I am slow to get out of bed. Some mornings, Walker, an appropriately named black lab, will join Abby, my black lab, and me as we wind our way up and down the hills making our laps. Walker will usually abandon me for breakfast after the first lap; Abby sticks with me for the duration, though more and more reluctantly, as she has slowed with age. Today it feels especially sad to reference Abby, as I had to put her to sleep this morning after a losing the battle with a tumor. (That will be a story for another day when it can be told without tears.)

God said, “Let there be light, and there was light. And God saw that the light was good, This very day the Lord has acted. May God’s name be praised,”  The morning prayers say it, and it is true because  I see it over and over again. The field is spectacular any time of day and whatever the season, but is especially tranquil in the early mornings. The rising of the sun, some days with color to match the sunsets and others where the mist or fog seem to be battling to see who gets to rule the day. It is not uncommon to see wildlife of all kinds. I have seen owls as big as me, (Yeah, I know I’m not very big, but that is a big owl.) coyotes, deer, wild turkey, a wide variety of birds, squirrels, a magnificent pair of hawks, chipmunks, and an occasional possum. We try to give the ticks and skunks a wide birth.

So what does all this have to do with mowing, you say? It has to do with the trail…it is constantly trying to disappear into the overgrowth. If I don’t mow every couple of weeks in the spring, summer and fall it will soon be too overgrown to walk easily and avoiding the ticks becomes a trickier proposition. I used to hate to mow; it was just a necessary evil to make space for the real event, the morning walk. I did it because I love the walking but would gladly avoid the time on the mower if it were possible. But one day a few months back it happened, I started to come to attention…the noise of the mower became white noise that drowned out distractions and I began to see the view that had been there every time I mowed but had failed to notice. I found that I can pray the morning office as loudly as I want and no one hears but God, alone. I can lift up to the One who created all that I see and feel, “Those who have been given to me, and to whom I have been given.” My neighbors, my dear wife, my children and grandchildren, my Thursday night guys, my clients, my friends, and any others the Spirit brings to mind as I ride. You see I don’t really mow, the mower mows, I’m just along for the ride and to notice. It’s free time.

The field is most definitely a sacred space and the mowing is becoming more and more a sacred act, because Robert is right, ”All things can become prayer, when we come to see them as such.”

No Remembrance

Well my worst fears were realized. June 2010 was my last post, so much for procrastination. I’ll give it another try, with no promises to be more consistent.

If we want a life other than mere biology, we must deal with God. There is no alternate way.

–E. Peterson, The Message Remix, p.359, intro to 1&2 Sam.-

Ps 6:4&5

Turn, O Lord, deliver my life;

Save me for the sake of Your

Steadfast love.

For in death there is no

remembrance of You;

in Sheol, who will give You

praise?

My life is derived from You, O Lord. It is the nature of an image. An image (think mirror) is dependent/derived from an objective reality. If the object is removed the image will cease to exist because it is but a reflection of its object.

The existence of the image requires a proper orientation to the imager. Psalm 115 says that we become like what we gaze at or worship. To turn my gaze or worship from You to another object will of necessity create a different image. “You will have no other gods before me” , no other ‘objects’ to gaze upon or worship, makes so much sense in this context. My imaging, Your image in me, is at jeopardy when I turn my gaze from You. Total loss of image is to disappear, death.  

The quality of the image has to do with the integrity of the imaging surface - holiness. The orientation of the surface may be toward You, but cluttered with all manner of interference both encrusted and embedded. 1 Cor. 13 describes us seeing, (Imaging darkly) but one day, face to face, unencumbered with mess, knowing as we are known – imaging truly. This transformation into Your likeness from a lesser degree of glory to a greater is described in 2 Cor. 3:18 “We all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of holiness to another. For this (glorious image) comes from (You, O Lord) who is (objective reality) the Spirit.” The prayer of Jesus for us in Jn. 17 declares Your desire to give that glory to us that we may reflect it back to you. (Is. 43:7)

Thanks be to God.

No Remembrance

Created in Your image

for Your glory alone.

created to be with You,

to know and be known.

What a waste, what sorrow,

what loss, what a shame.

tis I who chooses death

I have no one to blame.

Made to reflect You,

in life, You revealed;

in death just a hole,

Your image concealed.

In Your steadfast love, O Lord,

give me Life through and through;

that there be not a hole left,

in the remembrance of You.

- JMM-