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pastor_lance
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Name: Lance
Gender: Male
Interests: Digital photography, preaching, desktop publishing, fishing, video games, reading, role-playing games, science
Expertise: Former teacher, forklift driver, construction laborer, warehouse worker, fast food worker, sales rep, store manager, college instructor
Occupation: Pastor
Industry: The Kingdom of God
Message: message me
Website: visit my website
Member Since:
4/20/2007
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| My mother is dying. Actually, I should say “barring a miracle,” my mother is dying. I do believe in miracles, and I do pray for a healing miracle to set her free from her cancer. But I also believe in preparing for the worst, while hoping for the best. I believe that we should take the opportunities God gives us—especially when it comes to things like reconciliation.
My mother and I have not always had an easy relationship. Over the years—and for the sake of my sobriety and my serenity, I have found that I sometimes have to hold her at arm's length. It’s not something I like to do; in fact, sometimes it makes me sad to have to keep that distance—but it is something I have to do.
Mom and I have never talked about this. I know that she senses it; she’s a smart woman—but I’ve always known that, if I were to broach the subject, to try to explain to her why I need to keep a distance, it would only hurt her. And I’ve never liked hurting her.
Before she dies, I was hoping that she and I would be able to clear the air a bit. Not for her sake, but for mine. I’d like to drop this burden, or at least get it out in the open, while she’s still around. Or I may end up carrying it around for the rest of my life. Put simply, my mother is dying, and this is something I need to do.
I had an opportunity to spend some time with my mother a few weeks ago. I had planned on staying for a little over a week, and I hoped that the time would give me the opportunity to lower the walls; maybe even find a time to talk to her about why I need to keep some distance—not in a vindictive way or a hurtful way, but in an open way. Perhaps even an uplifting way.
Unfortunately, that never happened. For about a day and a half, her health was good, but then it deteriorated pretty quickly. And then my sister arrived on the scene and my opportunity to clear the air with my mother was gone. She was originally supposed to stick around and take care of mom for a couple of weeks, and then go back home. And I thought that, maybe when she left, I could spend some time with mom again, and maybe clear the air. But no. That wasn’t how it worked out.
See, my sister’s needs are to stay with mom, perhaps to the final end. And here’s the really crappy part. I tried to explain to her why I needed some time with mom—tried to get her to take a few days off and let mom and I have some time together. But she would have none of it. She not only took offense, she played the victim with my mother, who got upset at me for the conflict. And now I seriously doubt my mother and I will be able to clear the air—even if we get the time to.
I’m not sure if all families are like this, but mine certainly is. With family comes history and prejudice. With family comes roles and agendas. In my family, I’m the troublemaker. I’m the risk taker. I’m the one who gets people upset. The right and the wrong of the situation really doesn’t matter. For some members of my family, I’m still the reason my parents got divorced. I’m still the reason my mother worried herself sick on God knows how many occasions. And I’m still the one who is always stubborn and always arrogant and always willful. And, of course, there’s nothing I can do to change anything they think about me (let’s face it, there’s really nothing anyone can do to make someone see you the way you want them to—family or not). I know this a common experience among recovering alcoholics, but that doesn’t make it any easier. It’s like they have a picture of the person they think I am, and no matter what I say or do in this world, they’ll interpret it all in just the way to fit that picture. That’s my family.
My mother was the oldest in her family, just as I am the oldest in my family. She taught me something about being the oldest. The oldest is sometimes the one that doesn’t get what her or she needs. The oldest has to be the first one to make the sacrifice, so that the younger ones can get the things they want. And that’s the bitter irony in this situation. I’m doing my best to suck it up and hope that God can give me the support and closure that my family cannot. In other words, I’m doing my best to honor what my mother has taught me.
But my family won’t see it that way. All they see is the conflict, and all they have for me is blame and recrimination. I’m glad I have my God to fall back on. | | |
|  I like to think that I got my faith from my mother—but I doubt I have my mother’s faith. That became very clear to me last week.
As you know, last week I was in Madison to help take care of my mother as she struggled with her recurrence of colon cancer. By the end of the week, the situation was pretty bad. Despite her medication, mom was in constant pain, dehydrated, and having trouble keeping food and water down. The situation was bad enough that my aunt and I decided it was time to take her back to the Cancer Clinic at the University Hospital, where, after a couple doses of morphine and a large I-V of saline, she began to show signs of improvement.
After about an hour, Dr. Hollum came to visit her. Dr. Hollum is mom’s primary oncologist and a very busy man at the Cancer Clinic. It was Dr. Hollum who had originally suggested that mom participate in an experimental chemotherapy trial, after her first course of chemotherapy failed. As he arrived in mom’s room, it was easy to see his sad frustration—his resignation and his sense of failure. It was in his eyes, as he looked over mom’s tired features and the thin wisps of her remaining hair. It was in his voice, as he asked her preliminary questions—and it was even in the tender hesitations as he poked and prodded her abdomen.
We all had known that the experimental chemo that mom was taking was a “second line” treatment. We all knew that there was no “third line,” and, I think, Dr. Hollum knew that better than any of us. Finally, he took his stethoscope out of his ears. He set aside his clipboard and pulled up a chair, sitting next to my mother’s bedside.
“Karen,” He said, “I can’t tell you how much time you have left. No one can. But I’d rather see you spend the time you have left in comfort, rather than being constantly miserable. And this new chemo is harming you more than it is helping you. I think it’s time to stop.”
For a moment I was shocked. I mean, I knew mom’s condition was bad, but it still felt like she had a fair bit of time. And yet Dr. Hollum was using the language that chaplains and doctors use at the end of life—talking about “time left” and “help” versus “harm.” I could see tears welling in my aunt’s eyes.
And then my mother did a remarkable thing. In retrospect, I can’t say I was surprised, and yet it remarkable, nonetheless. She reached out her hand, placed it tenderly on Dr. Hollum’s and gave it the barest squeeze.
“That’s alright,” She said, “we did our best, didn’t we?”
At the very heart of Christ’s teachings is the call to put the needs and well-being of others in front of your own. At the very heart of Christ’s ministry was hand that extended nothing less than pure love and pure compassion. And at the very heart of Christ’s crucifixion was the commitment that—no matter how dire the situation could be—sacrifice, love, and compassion are everything we are called to have in our hearts.
Here was a man who was offering my mother nothing but death. And here was her response—to answer him with love and compassion; to put his need for comfort and peace far ahead of her own; to care for him in a way that he could not care for himself. And then I felt the tears welling up in my eyes, because I realized for a moment just how deep my mother’s faith is.
I don’t know if every Christian can respond to death like this, but I do think that’s something we should all aspire to. Today, my mother’s not ready to die—but I tell you this, she’s certainly not afraid to. I hope, when I’m in that same place, I will have found the depth of my mother’s faith. | | |
|  Here’s an incredible story about prayer from a good friend of mine, Rev. Dean Easton (Canedensis Moravian Church). Dean grew up in Iowa farm country and regularly went to a little country church. When he was 12 or 13, Dean had the dubious honor of being the kid who was sent around to collect the Sunday school attendance slips and class offerings—and this gave him an opportunity to peek into every class. At his church, Sunday school classes always began with a word of prayer.
So, one Sunday morning Dean was making his rounds. When he got to the Middle School class, he could here the teacher, Mr. Casey, leading the class in prayer. Mr. Casey was a farmer, and, apparently, his crops weren’t doing so well—because when Dean went into the classroom, Mr. Casey was praying for God to send them rain. When the prayer was over, Dean went to the next classroom, where he heard another farmer-teacher, Mr. Johansen, who was praying for dry weather. Apparently, Mr. Johansen had just cut several fields of hay and need the Lord to provide warm sunshine, so the hay could dry out before bailing.
Now, Dean was a pretty savvy kid. He had been told by many people on many occasions that God always answers our prayers, especially prayers for things we needed. Both of these men seemed to have legitimate needs. But how could God answer both men’s prayers? Casey’s farm and Johansen’s farm were adjacent to one another—separated only by a two-lane county road.
“I didn’t know who was going to get what they prayed for,” Dean told me, “but I knew it was going to be interesting!”
And what happened was interesting, to say the least. I’ve seen this phenomenon happen once in my life. When I was growing up in Florida, a very unusual summer storm passed over our house. Looking in the backyard, I could see it was raining to beat the band! And not just sprinkles—but a good driving rain! But in the front yard? Not a drop. In fact, the sun was still shining. Apparently, the same kind of storm front marched down that county road not two days after the prayers were prayed. Casey’s crops got a good, thorough soaking. Johansen’s hay stayed nice and dry. And Dean says he learned something about how God answers prayer.
It’s easy for us to cut our own prayers short. It’s easy for us to lower our expectations and only pray for those things that we think are realistic. Sometimes we do it because we don’t want to be disappointed. Sometimes we do it because we don’t want be greedy. Sometimes we do it because we don’t think that we’re worthy of God’s spectacular works.
But here’s the thing—God does work in spectacular ways! God does work in fantastically unexpected ways! And sometimes, where we can only see cut-and-dried alternatives, God sees the potential for making the incredible happen!
So, go ahead! Pray the prayers that are in your heart! Pray for things that will make your heart sing praises to God—even if they’re crazy, unrealistic, wildly unattainable dreams! You never know. God may just send a sunny day—and a downpour—both at the same time!
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|  Let tell you about the Good Friday service that God put together for our church!
I had been in contact with Pastor Lim, the pastor of the Jesus People Church (JPC). See, the JPC are a Korean congregation that is using our church building while they grow their church, and I wanted to let Pastor Lim know about our plans for Good Friday. I have a hard time communicating with Pastor Lim; his English is still in-progress and my Korean is non-existent; so, the best way for me to communicate with him is via email, which gives him an opportunity to take his time and translate. In my e-mail, I explained that we would need the sanctuary for Good Friday, and that the JPC could either move their regular Friday Vespers a little later in the evening, or they were welcome to join us for the service. I also told him that the service was entirely Scripture reading, and that if they did join us, we'd be happy for them to participate by reading Scripture as well.
Just before Palm Sunday, I heard back from Pastor Lim; he said that some of his congregation would attend, but didn't say anything about reading. So, I made some preparations for them. I knew that the JPC's services are entirely in Korean and that many of his congregation are not fluent in English. So, partly to be hospitable (but mostly because it seemed like a really cool idea!) I made copies of the Scripture readings for his congregation in Korean, which was basically a cut-and-paste job from a Korean Bible I found online. My hope was that, if they weren't going to do any actual reading, they could at least follow along in Korean and get something our of the service.
So, five minutes before the service started, in walks Pastor Lim with a handful of congregation members. After welcomes and handshakes and short bows, they find places to sit—and Pastor Lim asks me what they will be reading tonight!
I was flummoxed. I mean, I had already briefed our readers—and the Prelude music was playing and halfway done! In two minutes I was going to have to walk to the pulpit, make welcomes and introductions and start the service!
But God had another idea, and I found myself explaining to Pastor Lim a much different plan!
I told him that I thought it would be great if they would read, not one or two passages, but all of the passages—in Korean. We'd take turns: first a passage in Korean and then the same passage in English, and with that, I handed him the Korean Scripture verses (praying that they made some kind of sense to them!). And wouldn't you know, he made it work. Despite the language barrier; despite the lack of preparation; despite being thrown for the proverbial loop, Pastor Lim made it happen!
So, let me describe the Good Friday service we had—the service that God put together. It started with a very rousing anthem praising God. And then the readers started, first small, shy Korean words that rose and fell in an indecipherable patter. Then the same in English—and back and forth. A beautiful solo about Mary's lament. More of the Korean, stronger now, as Pastor Lim's wife found her voice. And more of the Word in English, and back and forth. Then the Garden scene and a mournful anthem about Christ's anguish. And then the candles started going out as the readers went back and forth. The Korean words filled the silence, but gave ample room for contemplation as the sanctuary grew darker and darker. Then the end and the Christ candle was taken away as the voices recited the Song of the Suffering Servant, first in Korean and then in English. And finally an acappella quartet singing "Were You There?" It was incredible.
I love it when I can see God's plan coming together! | | |
|  The most incredible, most fantastic, over-the-top, UN-believable thing happened to me today!
How many times have you heard someone start off like that? It’s great, isn’t it? Some of my favorite stories have started out with just that kind of introduction. Stories that I’ve found not only memorable, but also rewarding!
And that’s exactly the kind of story that the disciples had to tell. Just think about how they must have sounded. They walked into Jerusalem with Jesus, reveling in the praise and adoration heaped upon him. And then that awful week began to unravel into sheer disaster. Confrontation and violence gave way to doubt and betrayal as Jesus clashed with the Pharisees—and was ultimately beaten, humiliated, and broken on the cross. By Friday, the week that had started out so well turned into the darkest day of their lives; by Saturday it was all they could do to hide from the Jewish mobs and wonder where it had all gone wrong.
And then came Easter! Then came the news from the tomb that Jesus had risen! And finally, Christ, himself, in their midst to breathe his peace upon them!
After an experience like that, how would the disciples spread the Good News? Can you really imagine them shouting from the street corners “repent now or burn!” Can you really imagine them stroking their beards and spinning out intricate and erudite theologies? Can you see them making promises of riches to anyone who followed Him?
I can’t.
What I can imagine is Peter or James or John running up to me in the street and saying “The most incredible, most fantastic, over-the-top, UN-believable thing happened to me today!” And I don’t care what I was doing; I guarantee I’d have dropped everything to listen.
My brothers and my sisters, the most incredible, most fantastic, over-the-top, UN-believable thing has happened to all of us today—and every day, I’d say. Because despite our shortcomings and despite our failings, our God continues to love us. God continues to care for us; and God continues bless our lives—often beyond our wildest dreams! And if you want proof, just look to the life, the death, and the resurrection of our Savior Jesus Christ.
As we enter the Easter season, I hope you feel blessed, indeed! And I hope you have a chance to tell someone you know about the most incredible, most fantastic, over-the-top, UN-believable thing happened to you today! | | |
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