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You can't always get want you need--from your family

Thu, 17 Jul 2008 21:18:27 GMT

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.

My mother's faith

Sun, 06 Jul 2008 11:10:48 GMT

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.

Pray for Rain!

Sat, 03 May 2008 11:04:54 GMT

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!

Good Friday? Try GREAT Friday

Fri, 11 Apr 2008 10:50:02 GMT

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!

An Incredible Story!

Thu, 27 Mar 2008 00:53:01 GMT

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!

Giving From the Heart

Sat, 01 Mar 2008 00:43:22 GMT

A couple of weeks ago, I met with Mr. Cho, one of the lay leaders of the Jesus’ People Church—the Korean Methodist Congregation we’re sponsoring--after our Sunday worship; we did what I’ve come to call “the ceremony of the white envelope.” It’s a very brief affair that takes place like clockwork once a month. We greet one another, shake hands and exchange short, nodding, bows. And then Mr. Cho says something like, “Pastor, we would like to give your church this,” and he hands me a plain white envelope.

Now, the story behind what’s in the envelope is rather interesting. Last Spring, when our Joint Board decided to help the Jesus’ People Church, we made it clear that, as a small church, we could not afford to support them financially. So, the Trustees were charged with the task of figuring out what would be a fair share for the Jesus’ People’s use of heat, water, electricity, and so on. In the end, it was decided that the JPC should take on 10% of our utilities—so, in particularly cold months, when the heating bill was $750.00, that meant they shared $75.00 of our costs.

That arrangement lasted about two months.

One Sunday in May, Mr. Cho came to me with a white envelope, and an uneasy, almost embarrassed air about him. He said that, while the JPC respected our decision to only ask for 10% of the utilities, they would feel much more comfortable giving us $200.00 a month. “After all,” he said, “we are all working for Christ.” I was floored, and it wasn’t going to be for the last time.

So began “the ceremony of the white envelope.” Every month, the first Sunday of the month, like clockwork—the greeting, the short bow, the envelope and words of gratitude from Mr. Cho—until two weeks ago, when Mr. Cho again approached me with that uneasy, almost embarrassed air about him. He said, “I am sorry to do this—I know we had an agreement, but our people met and we decided that $200.00 was the wrong amount. I know we should have talk to you first, but we’d like to start giving this, instead.” Inside was a check for $300.00.

Again, I was floored! I thanked him—and more than that, I asked him how we, as a congregation, could express our gratitude to the JPC. But Mr. Cho would have none of that. He said, “We are the same, your church and ours. We both love and serve Jesus. What we give is part of that.” At that, I just about choked up. Here, standing before me, was a perfect example of Christian giving. They didn’t have any ulterior motives, they weren’t giving because they wanted more, and they weren’t trying to impress anyone with a larger gift. In fact, they could have kept giving a smaller amount, and we still would have considered their gifts generous.

But the Jesus’ People know that that’s not how Christian giving works! Christian giving is not about what we can get from God; it’s not about impressing other people—and certainly isn’t about giving as little as possible. Christian giving is about responding in gratitude for the blessings that God has brought into our lives! It’s about giving back some of the gifts of prosperity to the one who sent those gifts! It’s about making the commitment to serve God, and to put that service first, before other, more practical considerations! And what a wonderful thing to consider in this season of Lent. Because, at its best, Christian giving is a profound discipline; it’s great way to clarify the priorities of our lives, and deepen our walks with Christ!

So, if you’re in church on the first Sunday of the month, stick around after the service. It takes a quick eye, but if you’re lucky, you might just witness “the ceremony of the white envelope”—and witness a simple, but beautiful example of Christian giving.

Goodbye Al

Fri, 15 Feb 2008 14:22:47 GMT

Last Monday, the e-mails and telephone calls went out along the Moravian grapevine that one of our beloved brothers in Christ, Rev. Albert Frank had passed away. Now, I don't know how this works in other denominations, but the Moravian church is small enough in the United States that people get to know one another fairly well. I wouldn't go so far as to say that every Moravian knows every other Moravian, but I will say this: when two Moravians meet for the first time, they almost always have a half a dozen common Moravian acquaintances.

I think everyone must have known Al. And I cannot imagine anyone not loving him.

I first met Al when I went to seminary, where he split his time teaching the two Moravian History classes and working in the Moravian Archive, just across the street. Some people will probably remember Al for his love of music, his work at the Moravian Music Foundation, and his singing. But I'll always remember him for his stories. I think Al probably knew every story about every Moravian pastor from Jan Hus to the present day. He knew the sad stories from our church's history; he knew the funny stories about personalities of our church—and the slightly salacious ones too. But more than that, Al had a storyteller's heart; he knew how to wind out tales in ways that not only entertained and instructed, but also honored the people and circumstances involved. An archivist, through and through, I always had the sense that Al saw himself—not so much a story keeper—but a custodian of the memories of our Moravian Church.

Now, I have to say, I don't think I ever quite met Al's approval. Maybe he saw me as a bit of a loose canon, or maybe my story was a bit too salacious. Or, more likely, I came across as a cocky punk kid who needed to be taken down a peg or two (though not by him, mind you; he didn't have a heart for that).

Still, I would have been content to sit at his feet all day and listen to his stories. I would have considered it a privilege to sit at table with him and listen to him swap quips with his peers. And I'm going to miss him dearly.

Goodbye Al.

NOT a goldfish!

Thu, 07 Feb 2008 14:16:40 GMT

Many years ago, I preached a sermon that stuck in my family’s minds. They call it “the goldfish sermon,” and they remember it because I stood at the pulpit and made the very ridiculous statement “I am not a goldfish.”

Here’s the gist of the sermon: I am a follower of Christ specifically because I was fished out of a dark and broken life. A lot of things were stacked against me: a family history of alcoholism and abuse, feelings of low self-worth and self-esteem, and my own desperate need to prove myself. Left to my own, I would have died—literally—or at the very least, I would have been consumed by my own darkness and despair.

But Christ, working through people in my life, fished me out of my depths and into the light.

But here’s the thing: I am not a goldfish! See, goldfish live in very specialized environments; in a goldfish bowl, they are constantly fed, kept to a certain temperature, and given a regular air supply. From time to time, they even have their bowls cleaned for them. Goldfish don’t do anything at all! But Christ didn’t fish me out of the depths to be a goldfish—to be held in a highly specialized, spiritually pampered place. Like everyone else, Christ fished me out so that I (even I!) could be a fisher of men and women.

And that’s why the Lenten season is so important to me. For me, Lent is both a time to remember the importance of the active faith life, and a time to practice that active faith. It’s both a time to remember why I am a follower of Jesus Christ, and a time to prepare myself to be a better follower. It’s a time to push the boundaries of my comfort zone, break out of my goldfish bowl, and really work on being the person of faith Christ calls me to be!

Give it a try! There are all kinds of ways to focus your life on Christ—from prayers and devotional literature to service and giving to others! Try to choose a path that’s a little bit uncomfortable (out of your bowl!), but doable! And remember: You are not a goldfish!

God Calls US!

Fri, 25 Jan 2008 22:41:11 GMT

Creation is amazingly, incredibly, unbelievably complex! It's all interwoven, interconnected, and intertwined. And in all that, God has a plan for YOU!

A Box Full of . . . Something (?)

Mon, 07 Jan 2008 17:15:02 GMT

I’ve always felt that one of the best ways to learn something about myself is to take a good look at our children. And I’ve always found their reaction after Christmas particularly interesting.

I remember one Christmas, when our kids were fairly flooded with gifts from grandparents, aunts, uncles, and, of course, ourselves. There were so many gifts under the tree that the tree itself looked small in comparison. Now, our boys were pretty young at the time, so it was all Linda and I could do to keep up with them as they tore into one brightly wrapped gift after another; in a matter of minutes, they were surrounded by shiny new toys, discarded boxes, and heaps of paper and ribbons.

Now, you would think that with all those treasures, our boys would have been happily occupied for hours and hours and hours. But oddly enough, that didn’t happen. Oh, they played with this car and that game for awhile, but soon our oldest—who was maybe eight at the time—seemed to become listless, distracted, and even a little sad. It wasn’t that he didn’t like his gifts, and it wasn’t that he had hoped for a toy he didn’t get. It was something else. In his own eight-year-old way, our boy was experiencing something profoundly human. He couldn’t put it into words, but somewhere in preparing for Christmas, our boy had gotten a bit of hope—hope that something would come Christmas morning that would change his life.

And that something wasn’t in any of the brightly wrapped packages.

Some people call it “malaise;” others “ennui”—and when it happens after Christmas, we call it “the Christmas blues.” But whatever we call it, it comes down to this: deep down in our souls we long for something none of us have; it’s an empty space that needs to be filled, and whether we know it or not, we each put a great deal of energy into trying to fill that place up with anything we can find. Some people use work; some turn to companionship and love; and others seek personal power and authority over others. And many of us try time and time again to fill it with shiny things—not just during Christmas, but during the whole of our year.

Ultimately, what we’re looking for is a connection with our God. Ultimately, we are trying to find ways to feel the relationship with God that we know must exist—to find ways to let God’s presence and love fill that empty place in our soul. Sometimes that’s not easy. After all, we spend a lot of time teaching our children about things like work ethics, getting ahead, and taking care of things. But, in comparison, how much of our time do we really spend teaching our children how to pray? How to seek out God through worship? How to let God be first and let other things (including our own selves) second? And in many ways, we’re not to blame. After all, how much time did our parents spend on us—or their parents spend on them—teaching how to seek God, as opposed to succeeding in the world?

That’s the beauty of Lent. Lent is a time when we can focus on our relationship with God. It’s a time when we can practice some kind (any kind!) of spiritual discipline, so that we can fill that empty space with the One who created us. True, it takes some work. True, it takes some practice, and for some, it might even be difficult. But sooner or later, it’s a journey that we all need to take—not for the sake of our church, not for the sake of our God, but for the sake of our selves. Until we do, every shiny box we open will be filled with nothing more than empty promises.