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[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

Sometimes the feelings are so intense you just don’t know how to explain them.

Never mind write a blog.

Then again, something happens and it needs to be shared.

My friend Doug has been through hell. He has been hospitalized, in one form or another, since April 12. I am typing this September 19. He is grieving the death of his beloved Deb. She loved him fiercely. He loved her tenderly.

Anyway…

I was surprised, and thrilled, when he told me he was going to be at The Gathering Tuesday. He is still an inmate, oops, I mean patient, at the rehab facility but he has freedom to come and go now.

(Even as I type this he is undergoing yet another surgery that will slow him down, nothing seems to stop him, and hopefully heal him up.)

The window was closing.

I pondered and fretted and prayed. I sought counsel from my best friends. The time was right.

So I asked him to sing and play his guitar at the Gathering. He asked me what he should sing but we both already knew.

When the time came he talked a minute about his challenges and then he said he was very nervous.

Because it meant so much to him to sing this song.

Then the music began….

🎶Somebody’s praying…I can feel. Somebody’s praying….for me🎶

And he sang a melody that was in his heart about the ways the Spirit had seen him through and the way the light had shown a way and the love and prayers with which the saints had covered him.

And the song went on…

🎶Angels around me…I can feel….🎶

And I looked over my shoulder at the folks who had Gathered.

I saw smiles and tears and teary smiles.

I saw warm hearts and deep faith.

And I was reminded of some words in the Book along about the 13th chapter of Hebrews about being with angels and not knowing it.

Tuesday while Doug sang, and people prayed, and grace flowed like a flood in the room….

I knew who I was with.

Sing it Doug! Live it you angels! Let me get out of the way because there is no way I can say it.

You know what I mean?

Padre

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

I can have an opinion. Apparently pretty much everyone does and pretty much everyone loudly proclaims said opinion.

Our opinions are formed by many, many things.

History. Nationality. Psychology. Economics. Gender. Race. Age. (Theoretically) research. (Almost never) faith.

But this isn’t about that.

It is about moving beyond opinions when the reality is that opinions aren’t the end of the story.

Maybe not even a part of the story.

It isn’t my job, nor within my expertise, to set policies and practices for migration and immigration. For better or worse, at least in this culture, at least for now, we elect people whose jobs it is to set policies and practices.

I am cool with that.

But I am a person of faith. I follow after God, best I can discern, in the ways of Jesus.

Once a person, from any place at any time, comes into my space I have an obligation, no, a privilege to act toward them in a way that reflects my faith.

We people of faith refer to a Book. In the Book there is a passage that reads:

“And you are to love those who are foreigners…”

That’s in Deuteronomy 16 if you need to fact check me.

This is an unequivocal direction. It doesn’t factor in politics, history, nationality, psychology, economics, gender, race, age….or any other “qualifier.”

I don’t have any control, and precious little input, on migration or immigration policy.

I have absolute control over how I relate to people I encounter.

I can lose sleep over the things I can’t control.

Or I can get closer to Jesus in the things I do control.

There is another passage in the Book. It is haunting, and yet hopeful. In Matthew 25 our Friend is drawing a vivid picture of what’s important. Among other things he says that he was a stranger and we either welcomed him or we didn’t. I encourage a word study of the Greek for “stranger.”

If we welcomed him we will be welcomed.

If we didn’t welcome him well…I better let you read the story. It is safe to say that welcoming him is the better choice.

Anyway, I don’t know whose path will cross mine today.

Probably some old friends.

Likely an acquaintance or several.

And quite possibly someone who “ain’t from around here.”

I know how I am supposed to feel and act.

Shame on me if I just have an opinion.

You know what I mean?

Padre

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

It cuts two ways.

Most things do. Maybe that’s why we should be a bit more humble than we sometimes are.

A couple of weeks ago a young pastor friend and I were chatting. The subject was largely personal but a couple of “professional” issues came up. One kept me thinking ever since.

She told me that the congregation she pastors is blessed with lots of strong and very active leaders. (Some problem, eh?). She is fully aware of what a grace this is and expressed gratitude in the most profound way.

Then she mentioned that they have problems “staying in their lane.” This tendency to overextend their responsibilities led to some conflicts. Nothing fatal - yet - but concerning.

Evidently there is sometimes more leading than there is listening.

I didn’t have any advice for her.

Maybe you do.

Then again, there is the old 20/80 proverb. You know…20% of the people do 80% of the work. For way too much of my ministry I accepted this rule without question.

I was in the coffee shop the other day and another young friend came in. We chatted for a bit and the subject came around to a big service project coming up in our community.

It’s an important work with a very high profile.

I didn’t even know my young friend was very invested in this work, very active in this work, and very productive in this work.

He just worked unseen.

To everyone’s view he was in the 80%. Without him there would be a big hole that someone would have to fill.

And I remembered a time I was so humbled to learn a truth about certain proverbs.

I visited a member of my congregation who many considered “inactive.” She came to worship service sporadically. She didn’t come to meetings or respond much to “events.”

The day I visited her the house was filled with the aroma of a feast being prepared. When I asked what she was cooking she told me that it was Thursday and that was her day to take lunch to some neighbors.

Some of the neighbors were hungry and would be nourished in their bodies.

Some were lonely and would be nourished in their souls.

Some were forgotten.

And some were in no need whatsoever…or so they thought.

When I expressed my amazement and gratitude for her ministry she didn’t say a word. Just smiled. And looked at peace.

She was leading but staying in her lane.

I thought of a teaching by our Friend. “Don’t let you left hand know what your right hand is doing.”

Then you might not need a turn signal.

And a pastor like me might learn to be less judgmental and more expectant of the goodness in the 80%.

You know what I mean?

Padre

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

I didn’t plan to have a glass of wine this afternoon.

I flailed around this morning at The Gathering but managed to put that mangling behind me with a nap and a prayer.

Recent rains have the grass growing like it’s an athlete on steroids. So after my nap I cranked up the mower and cut the grass at the garden lot, which I have recently begun calling Eden.

While I mowed I thought.

I thought about Joanna.

She died this morning. She was The Cutie’s cousin, the first of her first cousins to die.

She was in our wedding something over 50 years back.

I only saw her a handful of times over the decades but I couldn’t get her out of mind.

She was today’s drum major as a whole parade of memories of folks marched through my mind’s eye.

My Dad showed up holding Mom’s hand like he always did. So did Jimmy. Bebop was there grinning like a Cheshire Cat. Jill was there. And Faye. Along came Mary and Tom. Dassah, Layla, Bug and Bayles… More and more sweet men, women, and children who have loved me and received my love. It is amazing how many folks walk with us on the journey we are traveling isn’t it?

All that to say that after I mowed Eden, and while it was fresh on my heart, I decided to lift a glass and thank them for all they mean to me. (Please notice that this is present tense.)

You might want to watch the parade and have a round with us.

“Precious in the sight of the Lord

is the death of his children.” Psalm 116:15

I’m with you Lord. Here’s to you Joanna.

Slainte

Padre

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

“But blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord,

whose confidence is in him.

They will be like a tree planted by the water

that sends out its roots by the stream.

It does not fear when heat comes;

its leaves are always green.

It has no worries in a year of drought

and never fails to bear fruit.” Jeremiah 17:7-8 (NIV)

I call it the office. I get tempted to call it my office but that would be dishonest. It’s not mine although I have never been refused entry. Indeed, I am always welcomed with great affection and joy.

Come to it, I have been promised by the One who keeps his word that it is mine. Sort of an inheritance I reckon.

Anyway…

The Cutie and I have a lot by the creek. We call it the Garden Lot. Sort of like Eden.

I keep a chair down there (we live on the hill above Eden) and, when I have good sense, sit in that chair by the creek and work.

I listen to the sound of flowing water and find it therapeutic.

I hear the birds sing and the breeze rustling through the trees and need no other music - or voice.

And I ponder things like the words from the Book that I quoted.

We’ve been in quite the drought this summer. My garden did ok…but not great. Now it has withered to almost nothing.

But those trees over by the creek?

Tall.

Strong.

Beautiful.

And very much alive.

That’s my work.

It’s an office sort of like The Gathering is a church.

No walls.

No doctrines to argue over.

No budget to maintain.

No membership roll. If you show up you belong. End of that story.

Just a beautiful song to sing.

There are wonderful friends (some would call them sisters and brothers) to embrace.

Laughter everywhere. Lots of laughter!

And this Guy who loves us so much that we know if we sink our roots in him the harvest will come!

You know what I mean?

Padre

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

Maybe I should be furious.

Livid.

Full of rage.

But I am mostly befuddled.

Confused.

Incredulous.

Somehow in this age where almost anything can be verified with considerable ease we find ourselves victims of those who instead obscure the truth with selfish motive.

This morning I read, and then verified, that elementary school children were “evacuated” from their schools. I read, and then verified, that a community college campus had been shut down. I read, and then verified, that government offices had been closed.

All of this in a town of about 60,000 people in Ohio.

A lie was told. Then it was magnified by social media. Then it was used to score political points.

It was Springfield, Ohio. It was a blatant deceit about Haitian immigrants. It was a series of threats.

I let most of the political poop stink without getting involved. But I have a very tender place in my heart for Haitians. I also have a very tender place in my heart for you. You don’t want to be on the wrong side of this.

This is a call to people of faith, and integrity, and Good News to pick a side.

I am not talking about a political side.

I am talking about a side that hears our God saying…

“You’re here to defend the defenseless,…Your job is to stand up for the powerless, and judge against those who use them.” Psalm 82:3-4

I am befuddled, confused, incredulous that people who can verify anything are failing to verify Truth and whose side God is on in this thing. I don’t say this lightly. I am wrong way too often to be harsh.

I say it convinced that Someone is asking “who is on the Lord’s side?”

And the Lord’s side isn’t the lie.

Ok, ok.

I am also livid.

You know what I mean?

Padre

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

I see the slogan with considerable regularity. It is on banners, bumper stickers, coffee mugs, and tshirts.

And I get it. I really do.

To those who are looked down upon, excluded, and sometimes actively persecuted it must resonate in a remarkable way.

And I am for them. I really am.

“Abide no hatred.”

It’s one of those things that shouldn’t even have to be said - or printed. But because it has to be said let it be SHOUTED.

I get it. I really do.

But I can’t help but see it as a teaching moment for those of us who follow after God in the way of Jesus.

You see, it sets the bar way too low.

For us, it isn’t enough to avoid, condemn, and/or criticize hatred.

That’s so easy anyone can do it.

Everyone should do it.

But we are called, asked, even commanded to something far beyond that.

We are to love.

Not just avoid but actively love.

Even the haters.

Maybe especially the haters.

“You’re familiar with the old written law, ‘Love your friend,’ and its unwritten companion, ‘Hate your enemy.’ I’m challenging that. I’m telling you to love your enemies. Let them bring out the best in you, not the worst. When someone gives you a hard time, respond with the supple moves of prayer, for then you are working out of your true selves, your God-created selves. This is what God does. He gives his best—the sun to warm and the rain to nourish—to everyone, regardless: the good and bad, the nice and nasty. If all you do is love the lovable, do you expect a bonus? Anybody can do that. If you simply say hello to those who greet you, do you expect a medal? Any run-of-the-mill sinner does that.”

Matthew 5:43-47 (The Message)

It’s a high bar.

But it’s the only standard fit for someone like you.

Who follows someone like him.

You know what I mean?

Padre

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

It was an interesting discussion.

I was the “clergy” (although I am no longer a clergy person) at a gathering called “coffee with clergy.” There were a handful of college students pretty much glued to their cell phones but occasionally joining in the conversation.

One young person brought up the topic of having a “childlike faith.” The initial shock came when I told her that term isn’t in the Book.

They all took notice and seemed skeptical so I suggested that they “google it.” I mean, they had their smart phones handy already and I was a bit amazed that they hadn’t begun the search as soon as I’d made my outlandish claim.

Turns out that I was literally correct but…

I hastened to tell them that the concept, if not the expression, was evidently close to the heart of our Friend Jesus.

So we heard references to Matthew 18 and Mark 10 and wondered what it all means.

A few observations that get my attention….

A child, especially an infant, doesn’t seek love - they accept love and care and the idea that they are of worth as a rule rather than an exception -

SIMPLY BECAUSE THEY EXIST.

They don’t earn it. They don’t evaluate it. They don’t weigh it for its rewards. They don’t consider whether or not they have it because of their race, gender, economic status, nationality, or any other exterior criteria.

It’s pretty amazing when you think of it.

They exist so they are loved. That’s grace in its purist form I reckon.

Except when they are not.

And that’s where the truth gets hard.

For if they aren’t loved, or are unaware they are loved, they suffer.

They are hungry, lonely, prone to illness of body and mind and soul.

The unloved are subject to the worst sorts of sickness.

They hurt.

So, for me, for now, after decades of wondering about all this (that’s right, I don’t have it figured out) I have come to believe that a “childlike faith” means that I am loved, you are loved, we are loved, just because we are.

And if we aren’t loved.

We aren’t.

And the Good News is that we are loved by the Lover that matters no matter what anyone else says, does, or thinks.

I really don’t want to grow up.

You know what I mean?

Padre

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

What if he is hiding in plain sight?

All my life, a life lived in the church with all its traditions and theologies, I have seen depictions of our Friend Jesus. He is on the wall of most every Sunday School classroom I ever entered. He is on stained glass windows. He is in movies and music videos.

He is the focus of debate, division, and diverse images - all of which seem to reflect the debater.

I am inclined to think the debated has little of the concerns we have.

Color of hair.

Color of clothes.

Color of skin.

Complexion.

Shape of eyes.

You know, the superficial stuff that diverts us from any semblance of depth and prevents any kind of change in the debates. The stuff that keeps us divided and distressed instead of united and restored. The stuff that hurts instead of heals.

not one word of any of this has been revealed to us.

NOT ONE WORD.

Interesting, what Jesus says about his appearance.

It seems that he isn’t very quick to point to his hair, eyes, skin, or clothes but to the…

Contents of his belly.

The thirst in his mouth.

The exposed skin that can’t heal.

The loneliness that the stranger endures.

The hopelessness in the prisons of our bodies and souls.

and makes it clear that he “resembles that condition.”

(Matthew 25:31-46)

Lately I’ve been telling of a face to face I had with Jesus. I was walking on a dusty (there is no other kind) road in Haiti when I saw a man approaching. He was probably 20 years younger than me but was very aged. He maybe weighed 110 pounds. His belt was cinched so tightly that the tongue of it was hanging halfway to his knees. When we came close his eyes lit up. He said “Blancs” (white man) and patted his belly.

I had gone on my walk with no money in my pocket. I don’t speak Kreyol well enough to communicate but I tried my best to tell him to wait for me. The light in his eyes turned to a river of tears.

I hurried as fast as my 70 years old body would go, grabbed a 10 from my wallet, and hurried back…but when I returned he was gone.

I will see him again before too long.

And my hope is that in addition to the contents of his belly I will find a depth of grace and forgiveness that makes it right.

Because wherever grace and redemption and love show up so does he, growling tummy and all.

Revealing himself.

In plain sight.

Maybe you saw him today.

Right. Over. There.

You know what I mean?

Padre

#crackedpotsleak

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

Don’t get me wrong.

It has been really nice these last few months when the seats were all taken (except the front row…even Jesus hasn’t walked on that water yet) and the tip bucket has been full.

It makes me nervous though.

I am so very worldly that I could easily forget why The Gatherings came to be and become a “bean counter.”

You know…counting how many “human beans” are in the building and letting that be the measure of our faithfulness…or at least our popularity.

So I try to regularly remind myself that we aren’t an accounting firm.

We are a living, breathing, loving, praying Body.

Our job isn’t to garner a market share.

Our Call is to be a conduit of grace.

So we don’t take roll.

We don’t even have a roll to take.

And we have no budget.

What is freely given is freely forwarded to a hurting world.

100%.

We don’t have a finance committee.

We remind ourselves that the God we love and worship and serve isn’t short on resources and seems quite capable of directing our love to where it most glorifies Him.

Our need isn’t to notice who isn’t in the building. We trust the people to be where they need to be.

Our need is to rejoice over those who are.

And to tenderly embrace them as children of God.

Wherever they came from.

And whatever they bring.

Our joy peaks when we live into the call we felt when we started Gathering.

And that mountaintop is the only “high” our spirits need.

I am reminding myself.

I would be remiss if I didn’t remind you too.

You know what I mean?

Padre

#crackedpotsleak

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

I was getting ready to turn out the light and get to sleep. That’s an easy process for me most of the time but especially after an intense emotional experience like one of our Gatherings. Most nights I don’t even remember my head touching the pillow.

But this isn’t about that.

I decided to check email before turning in. There was notice of something in The Gathering for Goodness inbox.

It was a sweet message from a guy named Bill.

He said the YouTube video of our service last night came across his feed and “I am really enjoying the content.” He asked where we are located and said he’d like to know more.

I didn’t respond.

There is so much to tell and I didn’t have the energy to think through a reasonably concise response.

But when I woke up this morning Bill was on my mind and my heart. I gave him the geography and the chronology of the Gatherings. That was easy.

I knew I needed to share something about the ecclesiology and the theology that guides us.

Trouble is, we tend to shy away from ecclesiology and theology, preferring to live it rather than talk about it.

So I told him of the ways you embrace life and the ways you embrace each other.

I told him of your generous hearts and gracious attitudes.

(I might have mentioned exceptional music.)

I told him of your long suffering when it comes to the teaching you hear but noted even that was a pillar of our existence.

But when it came to it, I told him that if he was in the area he was welcome to come in and “see how we love one another.” (John 13:35)

“And Bill,” I said, “we love you too.”

And we do, don’t we?

When you meet Bill tell him so.

Padre

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

Teach us to number our days (live well)

That we may gain a heart of wisdom. Psalm 90:12

Marie was getting a pedicure and had time to think. For some unfathomable reason she thought of me.

I am exiting social media. The reasons are legion but the bottom line is that my health and relationships are suffering greatly and the need was clear. It’s a hard thing though.

It is almost as if I had become a captive.

My communication was done through social media. My entertainment was largely done through social media. My outreach was almost exclusively done via social media.

And my distress was sumptuously fed through social media.

I didn’t have time to think and pray as I needed. I almost never had personal conversations of any depth with anyone. And I had all but quit writing because writing, well, it takes time.

My days were numbered but not by me!

All this to say that Marie wanted to know if there would be a way to share any writings I would do.

And that got me to thinking.

I need to write.

It may never benefit anyone else but it helps me immensely. It clarifies my thinking and focuses me like few things can.

Marie’s question brought this home.

So, yeah.

I want to make good use of my time. I want to live well. I want to gain wisdom up to my limited capacity.

And this is just the first benefit - to me - of this new freedom.

I can sense much more is on the horizon.

Heck! I might even preach a decent sermon before this is over.

Hard to believe isn’t it?

Marie’s pedicure helped me number my days.

You know what I mean?

Padre

P.S. If you are so inclined you are welcome to follow this blog. The delete button is over in the corner. Looks like a little garbage can. Can be utilized at any time you feel better options to number your days.

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

Grace and peace and howdy. It is a Monday morning ripe with hope and erupting with joy and forgiving in Spirit for those of us who may not be “feeling it.”

That’s ok.

But this isn’t about that.

This is about drought and how delicious a drought busting rain is.

A while back there was this preacher named Elijah. He foretold of a drought that got right severe. It was so bad even the royalty came asking him if he saw rain in the forecast.

Elijah told the king he better get on home before it got too muddy to travel. (His chariot didn’t have windshield wipers or four wheel drive.)

Anyway.

Elijah looked to the west and saw a cloud coming up. It was the size of a hand and not too promising to many eyes.

Elijah got excited!

Sure enough the cloud grew, got dark and pregnant with moisture, and the rains came.

Sheets of rain.

Buckets of rain.

Drought breaking delicious tasting delightful rain.

All that to remind me (maybe you too) that sometimes we have Mondays that seem drought stricken. Maybe even Fridays that feel that way.

But don’t be surprised to see the creek rising. It is already raining upstream.

There will be a logjam somewhere in your life that will break and all the goodness that was stored up will flood in.

There will be a parched time that will fade into oblivion as you watch the tomatoes (and works of your soul) prosper in due season.

There will be a task that you thought undoable, an obstacle you thought insurmountable, that will get done and get washed away by the rain that is coming.

There will be a vision you sometimes think was a mirage that will become crystal clear when that blessed moisture softens your eyes.

It may seem odd to be seen opening the gate to the irrigation canal on a rain free day but go ahead and open the dang thing. It is raining upstream and all that grace needs somewhere to go and something to fill.

When I set out on a march through the desert, and I am called to do this with disturbing regularity (disturbing to my faithless self), it is my hope to be aware of a rain that is falling upstream, heading my way.

It is my joy to drink from the fountain that rain feeds.

And walk on.

You know what I mean?

Love you children. Peace be with you.

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

Grace and peace and howdy. It has been a minute since I wrote anything in this blog. Two things prompted me to give it a turn this morning.

1. I wanted to see if I could still find my way around the keyboard.

2. A sweet and faithful friend out in Iowa shared a song with me this morning that brought home a great need, a transcendent way to address that need, and a renewed hope. I would be very selfish to keep all that to myself.

The song - the composer, Heather Houston, refers to it as a chant - has a way of calling you out of your hurt and pointing the way to some soothing help. The first verse….

Oh River, re-wild my soul

Help me let go of control

Show my heart how to flow with ease again

I am ready, take me in.

Every week, sometimes several times a week, I get tense. The ways of the culture around me are nerve wracking and heart wrenching and life shattering. All of those things - politics, pollution, religion, callousness towards others (indeed to all that is beautiful and good) harsh judgments, harsh poverty, harsh is a word that sounds like what it is - try to assure us that if we will just build a higher tower, or pave more meadow, or clutter more precious space then we will have “progress.”

It seems to me that progress sucks.

My best hours are spent under a starlit sky. I call the stars by name. That beauty that I see first and cherish most is Karen. The sparkle in the east just before sunlight arrives - that’s Marie. The no nonsense but always helpful twinkle would be Suzanne. That celestial reality that sings to me would be Cheri. The strong, steady North Star, always calmly providing direction, is Bill. If you are reading this you quite likely are remembered and rejoiced over when I look at your star. There I find an entire cosmos of friends, and friends to be. Praise be to God there are more stars than I have names, so far.

Many of my best hours are spent under a shade tree by the creek. There I can be washed from the odors of diesel and distress. There I can hear a singing river make its way around, over, under, obstacles that are really just opportunities to sharpen the song a bit. There I smell the flowers I planted and the aromas the breeze brings my way.

It’s all free.

And I no more control the path of the stars, or the shade under the trees, or the songs of the birds, or the flow of the stream, than I control the madness that makes these things so precious.

It really comes down, for me, to a chant and a choice.

I can hold on and hurt or I can let go and heal.

I can abandon all hope or I can revel in this strange thing called faith.

I can be bound by stifling obedience to the death dealing status quo or I can soar like an eagle to a freedom worthy of the name.

Whatever it is…

I am ready.

Take me in.

Love you children. Peace be with you.

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

Let me tell you a tale about the difference between a corporate religious entity and flesh and blood goodness.

The tale starts 51 years ago when my parents moved to Athens, Alabama. My Dad, being my Dad, immediately began attending worship with a congregation few in numbers but part of his tradition - with the added attraction of being 1/4 mile from his house.

There he taught Sunday Classes, served on the boards and committees, wrote his first check of the month, every month, until his last month, to support the church. He seldom missed a worship service. If he did it was because he was out helping someone like me.

This continued for 51 years. In his last weeks he had to labor hard, walk slowly, and gasp for air but he got himself there.

Over the years the church had grown.

A lot.

In a way.

They have buildings and programs and ministries.

They have pastors for children and youth and growth strategies and “dynamic” worship and pastors to insure the business practices are top shelf.

I’m sure they are doing some wonderful things.

My Dad died this week. It had been five weeks since he’d attended worship.

No pastor called, visited, checked on his whereabouts, or in anyway missed him.

When asked how this had happened they quite confidently said “we didn’t know.”

I pastored churches, and still do, for over 50 years and I’ll be damned if anyone, but especially someone like my Dad, could have disappeared- and died - and I wouldn’t have known.

I am not bitter about this. I am wise and want to share my wisdom.

I recognize that everyone can’t be everywhere at every time. Some of the most tender support we received came via telephone, text, and memory.

A goodly number of friends and family, from far and near, including three couples (best I can tell) from that corporation came to a celebration of a life, and a faith, well lived.

Among them was Reverend Terry Herston. He has been a loyal friend and a loving pastor to his church for well over 30 years. He was flesh and blood goodness to our family. When your need is strong Terry is stronger. When your challenges come, he will know.

Some of you know that my mother in law was buried the same day as my Dad. In a city two hours drive from here.

Pastor Paul Hancock, and several of the members of the congregation he pastors, drove several hours, in wretched weather, to be at BOTH services. Paul had met our Mary two or three times. To my knowledge he didn’t know my Dad.

But he knows Someone who knows my Dad.

Flesh and blood love brought great sacrifice for them - and deep comfort for us. If you want a piece of that kind of love hang with them and folks like them.

All this to say that the trend is clearly toward the business, competitive, pyramid model for religious institutions. There is an old saying among pastors that “God never calls anyone to a smaller church.”

The hell with that.

Because heaven is flesh and blood presence.

My heart tells me no one will be administrative pastor there.

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

I turned to my trusty, hard bound, somewhat frayed Merriam-Webster to be certain about this.

Banter: good-natured and usually witty and animated joking.

I guess some background is in order.

The world is not short on critics. From what I have read a recent advertisement form the Super Bowl broadcast brought out hoards of such.

I am a long way from a play, book, music, television, poetry, critic. I know what I like and I am cool with what you like.

I am especially unqualified as a film critic. I see a movie maybe once every five years. On average.

Even less for television.

So now I skate out on thin ice.

Not at all sure I should do this.

It is kind of scary.

Here goes….

I am not a big fan of religious media.

Not radio. Not television.

And not movies.

For one thing the critics (yes I see the irony) descend quickly and sometimes viciously.

But my real resistance is that there is a serious absence of banter.

I mean really. If you were wandering around in the wilderness for 40 years with a group of malcontents - and family - wouldn’t you need a light minute now and then? If 13 guys are hiking all over Galilee do you really believe they don’t crack a joke, or a smile, or a tease every now and then? Come to it, I have a heartfelt, if brain lacking, conviction that banter got them past a world of hard times.

That’s one of the reasons that I have watched some, not all, and frequently not even completely, episodes of The Chosen. Jesus and the boys engage in some human affection. They smile. They scoff. They question. They show irritation. They banter.

I really got to thinking about this after last night’s Gathering. We had a rich time. (I am especially gifted at understatement.)

When I watched some of the video from the time we shared - not all of it mind you - I was struck at the banter I overheard.

Folks were meeting for the first time. Old friends were renewing bonds. Greetings were flung near and far, deep and wide, and the atmosphere was getting loaded for something cool.

So. If you are reading this hoping for a deep thought or a weighty perspective.…

Lighten up you frozen chosen.

This Jesus I have come to love just told a joke on me and I want to hear it.

And laugh with him.

He only teases people he loves.

Love you children. Peace be with you.

[parables-proverbs-pericopes]

I want to tell you about Gloria.

And Onesimus.

And (insert your name please.)

Let me start with Onesimus. I never actually met him but he has always proven useful to me whenever I am about goodness. As a matter of fact Onesimus means “useful.” Ain’t that handy?

He was a slave and he shows up in kind of an odd way in this Book I read a fair amount. Specifically in a letter this guy Paul wrote to another guy named Philemon.

That’s enough of that. Just hold on to the idea of someone being useful when goodness comes to mind.

So. I hadn’t met Gloria until February 15. Today is February 27 so you can do the math. I’d heard of her though. And I’d experienced first hand her generosity as she responded to a deep need among a people I love much.

I was departing for Haiti February 15 and Gloria had volunteered her driveway as a safe place to leave my truck. If you’ve had the pain of paying for airport parking you know that there was more being offered than safety!

Gloria asked that I leave my keys with her in case she needed to rearrange her driveway which was quickly becoming congested. Seemed reasonable.

Then she drove me to the airport, helped get luggage in the building and checked, and gave some pointers about the laptops she was sending with me. The laptops will be a learning tool for some folks who are very hungry to learn.

Sidenote: I don’t know Gloria’s vintage but have reason to believe she is somewhat north of me which is north indeed!

When I returned well into the evening four days ago Gloria was waiting to pick my weary self up. As we drove to her house she shared with me her heart’s desire.

“I just want to be useful. I have things and I was given them to use for the Good News. I have love to share and I want to share it.”

Gloria, I name thee Onesimus!

And so, too, each of you. You’ve given your devotion to a Friend who will make amazing use of you. Your part is simply to say “Please use me without consulting me. I want to be useful.”

It will happen.

We got back to Gloria’s house. She gave me some caffeine to get me home. Then she passed over my truck keys along with sweet words of affirmation, encouragement, and challenge.

I got in my truck and glanced at the gas gauge.

Full.

When I called Gloria to thank her, you guessed it… I just wanted to be useful.

And more than one tank was filled.

Love you children. Peace be with you.