Keep on singing

As a person who watches and listens to way too many media newscasts, I've found the last months very difficult. A year ago I was full of hope, believing our nation was on the brink of a new season of comity and cooperation in government and public affairs. Now, in this winter of almost everyone's discontent, I find it hard to be hopeful. Then, as I was looking through my Christmas files, I came across a copy of a poem I received from a friend and brother in ministry, Dr. James Mayfield. Jim came to First Church as a U.T. student in my first year as Director of Youth Ministries, and his friendship and encouragement has been a constant in my life for more than fifty years. He sent this poem as a Christmas greeting in 1998, and I find it speaks to me today. I share it with his permission. It's titled "Joy to the World."

In this time when
words are hurled like spears
to add wound to wound
and pain to pain,
in this time when
the smoldering smog of resentments
and
self-righteous angers
increase the darkness of this winter
we are enduring with profound discontent,
a carol is somewhere sung
and once more
the Word of hope
is flung into the darkness.
The tragic omnipotence of love
begins its work again
as God refuses to give up on us
and
sends to us once more
the angels' song
proclaiming a world-tranforming birth.

I'll keep on singing the carols...will you?

Christmas shopping

A long time ago we used to say, with some frustration, “It’s not even Thanksgiving yet, but the stores have their Christmas decorations up. Now we make that kind of remark (complaint?) about Christmas items for sale even before Halloween. When I recently heard a church member say that he had finished all his Christmas shopping, I was filled with a mixture of awe and envy. I am only at the fretting stage.
And fret I do! I love the Advent-Christmas season! I love planning the music for the services I work with; I even love struggling with the sometimes very peculiar Scriptures selected for Advent; I’m filled with gratitude and wonder at the generosity and resourcefulness of our folks who give so much and do so much to make the Christmas season joyful for those who have little. But I fret about gifts. Even when I’m shopping for an unknown child or mom in a family my Reunion Group will sponsor through Any Baby Can, I fret—even agonize—about what to choose. I’m pretty sure I will choose the wrong thing, and can only hope that my selection will be useful, if not loved.

Shopping for family members got easier for me some years ago with the introduction of the Alternative Gift Market in our church. I select gifts that match their interests or situations—educational materials for the teachers and former teachers, farming help for the brother who grew up on the farm and still loves the land, business support for women for my feminist sisters (of both blood and friendship). Each year there’s an array of choices in these categories and others to suit our interests. One year James and Susannah put their resources together in one giant gift, and gave the family a water buffalo. We think about him (her?) often, and wonder about the family and village that large creature has blessed.

This Sunday (and probably again on December6--I always forget someone the first time--I'll go shopping at the Market and choose lots of gifts. But then I’ll still do some shopping for my immediate family, not without fretting. And I’ll tell myself, as I always do, that even though choosing gifts is not my best thing, all my offerings will be received with love and good humor. I trust those who receive them to know that my gifts are representative of the giver—far from perfect, but full of love.

Has God changed?

That question has been addressed by people far wiser and more learned than I. Books on the so-called evolution of God have been popular. The question came back to me in recent sessions of our Disciple Bible Study class. We’re in the early Old Testament—a part of the Bible I dearly love, and feel very passionate about teaching. There are some wonderful and terrible stories about the people of Israel and their God.

The wonderful stories describe God’s love and care for the people, shown in God’s mighty acts of creation and deliverance from slavery, among others. There are some terrible stories in which God commands the people to kill thousands of people--or so they think. And there are some really funny stories in which faithful men (Abraham and Moses) argue with God, finally cajoling the deity into doing the right thing.

People talk about “the Old Testament God” as if that one were a mean, ruthless old man, full of wrath; and the “New Testament God” as one who is loving, forgiving, accepting, and gracious. Sounds as if God evolved and got nicer over the centuries.
I propose that people evolved and got nicer and wiser over the centuries. Primitive people had a primitive understanding of God. As time passed, they learned from their experiences and from prophets and others who had learned to listen to the leading of the Spirit. They began to understand that God was the God of all people, with love enough for everyone in the world, whether or not they knew the right name and the right way to worship. In Jesus we can see the one whose life showed the fullness of God. Jesus showed us that God wanted us to love our enemies, not kill them.

Has God changed? No. Have people changed? Yes—but not enough. There are still places where people want to kill everyone who is not like them. There are places where there is prejudice and discrimination and hatred among people because of differences. We don’t make graven images anymore, but we do have a tendency to make God in their own image, rather than being willing to grow into the image of the God who made them. We tend to look for a God who approves of us and our way of doing things. We have some more evolving to do!

Remembering Ireta

First Church lost a dear and devoted friend when Ireta Kellberg died on September 5, after a courageous struggle with cancer. She served as our Financial Secretary for more than twenty-five years, always giving her very best.

In Ireta, the church got more much than a competent worker—we got a wonderful friend. Her job as financial secretary was all about numbers and dollars and cents, but her ministry was all about loving people. There was a whole cadre of church members—mostly retired gentlemen—who made it a point to bring their contributions to the church office personally every week. They could have put their offering envelopes into the plate on Sunday, but they came in person, so they could have a visit with Ireta. She made their gifts important, and she made them feel important and loved. And she managed not to make me feel stupid when, time and again, I would be late with information she needed, or when she have to explain for the umpteenth time how some fund worked, or help me think of the name of some long-time member whose identity had left my memory bank.

If you’ve been around the church any time at all, you know that our staff operates like a family. We are a family. We don’t always get along perfectly…we know each other’s flaws and peculiarities…we occasionally pick at each other….But we are family, and we love each other. We love each other, we loved Ireta, and she loved us.

In the staff family, she was like the big sister who sometimes lost patience with the little brother (this would be the youth director—it’s always the youth director!) who habitually overspent the budget and failed to turn in credit card receipts in timely fashion, but who would always be forgiven and restored to favor. She was like the aunt who would appear with wonderful gifts at the birth of a baby or a wedding or a birthday, the one who kept up with family members after they left the nest, and like the niece who kept up with the old ones and made sure they were still remembered and included in celebrations. She was the mom whom we could count on to come up with all our favorite foods for staff celebrations. She was the grandmother who cherished every child—staff or member— who came through the office. The doll clothes she made for Hannah Son are collector’s items! The Beanie Babies she sent to Russia with our mission team are being loved by dozens of children. For years, when her own grandchildren were little, packages of books, crafts, toys, dolls, whatever, would be delivered to the office several times a week—Ireta was the catalogue dealers’ best friend. The treasures she brought to the staff Christmas parties for our gift exchanges were always the ones most wanted, most often taken from the current lucky possessor. She instinctively knew what was just the right gift for every occasion…or for no occasion at all.

Ireta lived largely and generously, and made us all happier and richer for it. She gave us much more than each day’s work—she gave us her love, and among the many gifts, perhaps the best was Tami, a fearful and wonderful gift!

Our church family changed when Ireta retired from the staff, and of course, life has changed even more for her closer family. But Ireta leaves her imprint on all of us. We will remember! We will tell stories, and we will weep a little, and laugh a lot….and most of all, give thanks to God for our dear friend, Ireta.

Vacationn Anxiety

Vacation Anxiety
On Monday I’ll be leaving town for five days of vacation in Colorado. I’m spending the time with seven of my dearest friends in the world, so I know it will be a great time. We’ve been talking about a road trip for years, and this one (partly by air!) will be wonderful! And yet, I’m feeling stressed as I think about it. I’ve had very little to do for preparation (these friends always take care of me), so why am I stressed? I just need to pack my suitcase, have one more chat with the cat-caretaker, confirm my transportation to the airport, and I’ll be ready. But I’m feeling anxious, full of “what ifs”.

What if my family needs me? What if somebody in the church needs me? What if I get sick? What if the cat gets sick? What if the cat-caretaker forgets to come? What if the air-conditioning goes out? What if it rains and I miss it? (That would be great, actually!)

All those “what ifs” remind me of Martha of Bethany—the one to whom Jesus said, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious about many things.” Then he went on to say that her sister Mary, who was just hanging around, listening to him talk, had chosen “the better part.” I’ve always felt sorry for Martha—after all, she was getting dinner ready for Jesus and the disciples, a perfectly reasonable task. But I think Jesus was commenting not on what she was doing, but her anxiety, which was colored with some resentment of her sister’s behavior.

I tend to be a lot like Martha, but am trying to develop the Mary in me, as well. So once I get on the plane (maybe even in the taxi!) I’m going to leave Martha behind. If someone needs me, they’ll figure out how to get what they need from someone else, or if it’s a desperate need, they’ll find me. If something goes wrong at home, it will be dealt with.

Life is full of “what ifs”, but the person of faith will not live among them. Vacation is a gift, and I’m going to receive it joyfully, and leave my anxiety at home. Vacation, with all its anticipated joy, is a gift, and I’m going to receive it joyfully. I’ll have some stories to share when I get back!

A confession

When the light isn’t just right…when there’s not quite enough…or even when there’s a lot of it, but in the wrong place, I cannot see faces and objects clearly. I notice it every Sunday in the foyer and at the back of the Sanctuary. I can’t see your faces clearly enough to recognize you until I am very close to you.

That’s a confession that’s not easy to make. As I have gotten older, I have continued to enjoy good health. My plan has always been to be as active today as I was yesterday, and as active tomorrow as I am today…on and on, into an indefinite future when I will suddenly, painlessly drop dead, causing no trouble to anyone.

But there has been a glitch in my plan. Age-related macular degeneration, known familiarly as ARMD by a surprisingly large number of people, has impaired my vision. When I was diagnosed with the early stage (dry) some eight or ten years ago, I was told that I would have no vision problems unless it became wet. I cheerfully assumed that my good attitude and habits would protect me and my very valuable eyesight. I was also told that there was really nothing that could be done to treat the condition. But eventually my left eye betrayed me, and I lost most of the central vision it provided. All was not lost, however, because in the intervening years, all kinds of treatments have been developed. I have had a number of injections (yes, with a tiny needle carrying lovely medication right into my eye), followed by laser treatments, so the vision I have is holding. However, my situation is further complicated by a cataract that doctors are reluctant to remove, not wanting to risk any further damage to that eye.

I can still drive (although I stay off unfamiliar expressways and am selective about night driving); I can still read almost anything with my drugstore reading glasses; I can still see almost everything. But if I occasionally look blank or uncertain when I see you, please remember I’m just trying to figure out who you are.

Every day I thank God for the blessing of researchers and medical practitioners who are saving my vision…as I thank God for the gift of sight. Now, if I could just get my spiritual vision to improve….

Pastors and Politics

A couple of “asides” in a recent sermon of mine were upsetting to at least one hearer. (Others may have been upset, but did not tell me.) Our exchange after the service was respectful on both sides, and neither of us changed our minds. It’s not important to go into the specific issue, but the incident made me think again about the awesome task and privilege of preaching.

At First Church, we pastors customarily use one of the texts in the Revised Common Lectionary, a three-year schedule of Scripture passages that takes us through large parts of the Bible. On most Sundays, there are readings from the Old Testament, a Psalm, the New Testament (Acts or one of the epistles), and a Gospel. After some thought, study, and prayer, we usually focus on one of the selections and do our best to explore its meaning—in its own time, and for today.

Karl Barth, the great 20th century theologian, said that the faithful preacher should prepare a sermon with the Bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other. Because I love the historical study of the Bible, that part is easiest for me. I have to watch myself about sermon space, so that I don’t go on and on with the Bible background I so enjoy exploring, telling people more than they care to know about why the passage was written, in what situation, for whom, and more. I have to remind myself of the second part of Barth’s injunction—the newspaper, the context of current events—in the world and in the lives of the people in our congregation. I believe that people are hoping to hear something that is relevant to their lives this very week, and I try hard to make the connection between the ancient words and our current situation. I’m often surprised and grateful at how easy that is. Much of the Bible is truly timeless. Although our situation is vastly different from that of people of Bible times, we can see clearly that they dealt with the same human emotions we experience.

I do not believe a pastor should ever abuse the power and privilege of preaching by letting partisan politics intrude. But the Bible is full of exhortations and instructions about how people are to live together in community. The Bible speaks on war and peace, on justice and mercy, on taking care of those among us who cannot care for themselves, on the need for ethical, trustworthy leaders. In today’s world, these are often political as well as moral issues.

So what’s a preacher to do? I can only end where I begin. I start with Scripture. I read and think and study and pray…and in my small congregations, I see many of your faces before me as I do that. And then, with fear and trembling, I write and I speak. They’re not God’s words—far from it!—but they’re the best I can do, week by week.

A preacher friend of mine, when asked his political leaning by a new congregation, replied, “I’m neither Democratic nor Republican—I’m Biblical.” That’s what I strive to be, in great confidence that the Bible speaks to us today.

Practitioners

Angela Melville recently forwarded to me a journal entry from a cousin, Berry Simpson. As I read it, I experienced one of those “I wish I’d said that!” moments. Parenhetically, I will add that these days I spend less time wishing I had said whatever it is, and more time simply being grateful that someone said it for me. I am very grateful to this journal-writer, and am quoting him with his permission.

Simpson wrote about listening to an NPR Weekend Edition interview with Stuart Davis, musician, writer, and comic. He recalled that Davis described himself as a Buddhist practitioner, adding, “I have followed that path for 15 years.” I heard the same interview, but missed the implication of the word, “practitioner.” Simpson got it and reflected on it. He wrote: “I wondered why we don’t use language like that about following Jesus. Why don’t I say ‘I am a Christian practitioner—I have been following the path of Jesus for 45 years’? I am comfortable to say, I believe in Jesus; why is it uncomfortable to say, I practice Jesus?”

I have said to a number of people that there are few things I regret about the process of aging—only my diminished eyesight, and before that, my ability to sing pleasantly and happily. When I mentioned the latter loss to a person who knows something about singing, the question came back: “When do you sing? How much do you sing? Do you practice?”

Oops…no good answers. Once my preaching schedule took me out of the Sanctuary Choir, I stopped singing except during worship services. I do not practice. At first I didn’t realize how the weekly choir rehearsal kept me in good voice. After a year or two, however, I realized that the time for me to sing solos was past. I thought about practicing at home, but found that I felt a little silly trying to vocalize alone. And now, sadly, I often do not like the sound of my own singing voice. I wonder how it would be if I had practiced.

Being a practitioner of medicine, the field in which we most often use that word, requires extensive training and on-the-job experience. Those who leave the field for even a short time say it takes real effort to catch up when they return. Better to keep at it!

Being a Christian takes practice. Better to keep at it! Being a Christian means practicing the presence of God through prayer, meditation, study, worship, and action. Not everyone needs exactly the same combination—our prescriptions will vary, depending on our spiritual type, situation, and time of life. And in this community of practitioners, you can get a lot of help finding your way and support for your practice.

That’s the way it is for me with singing—I don’t sound the way I used to, but when I sing with you at church, it’s not so bad. Maybe I’ll practice at home, imagining that you are with me. In music, as in Christian prayer, study, worship, and action—perhaps even meditation—there is great support in having others with us as we practice. We can help each other be practitioners of the Christian faith, following that path together.

Simpson’s journal entry cites an encounter between Jesus and Peter. He writes: “In a well-known Bible story, Jesus asked Peter, one of his closest friends and disciples, “Do you love me?” following with the specific command, “Feed my sheep.” (John 21:15-17) In other words, don’t just say you love me, do something about it. Don’t just love, act. In other words, be a practitioner.”

Thanks, Berry Simpson, for inspiring me to practice!

Listening when we can't see!

There I was, at the corner of 45th St. and Lamar Blvd., waiting for a bus. And it was hot—92 degrees hot! When I decided to make the trip by bus and on foot, instead of enlisting a driver, it was still mild spring weather, and I was planning to enjoy the walk along Lamar and through Central Park over to 38th Street. But the weather didn’t cooperate. That afternoon, spring seemed to be over, and summer was upon us. I was standing in the sun, squinting through two layers of dark glasses, trying to see, in the steady stream of traffic, if a bus was coming, when I heard a voice calling my name: “Kath-a-leen, do you want a ride?”

I had been to see Dr. Dooner, my retina specialist, and had had all sorts of things involving bright lights and medications done to my eyes. I couldn’t see who it was that was calling to me; I couldn’t recognize the car, on the inside lane, well away from the curb. But the voice sounded familiar, and even though I couldn’t think who it belonged to, even though I couldn’t see who it was, I followed the voice across the outside lane of cars to the one carrying my rescuer. In the act of opening the car door, I was beginning to explain, “I can’t see—I don’t know who it is,” as the driver said, “It’s David—from church.” I’m pretty sure I recognized him before I actually got into the car. He interrupted the errand he was doing to drive me home, several miles out of his way. And of course he told the story when he got back to the church, so I have taken a fair amount of teasing about standing on street corners waiting to be picked up by strange men.

Before I go any further, let me say that you must never ever get into a car with a strange person (except possibly prearranged cab or limousine drivers, etc.). People used to do that in the olden days, but it’s not safe anymore. Do not get in a strange car with a stranger. The thing that made it safe for me was that I recognized the voice. Even though I couldn’t think who it was, at first, I knew the voice belonged to someone I could trust.

Gerald Borchert, a Bible scholar who lived for a time in Israel, learned about how sheep learn to recognize the voice of their shepherd. He describes two incidents illustrating this. In the first, he watched a shepherd lead his sheep through the busy traffic in Jerusalem, singing and whistling to keep the sheep together in the midst of many distractions. In the second, he was in a village where four shepherds shared a sheepfold—the enclosure where the sheep were taken in the evening, after a day of grazing. In the morning, each shepherd in turn would sing and call his sheep, who, he said, “dutifully separated from the larger flock and began to follow him to the hills for their daylight feeding.” The sheep knew the shepherd’s voice, and they trusted the bearer of that voice to keep them safe in the midst of traffic, and to lead them to a safe place for grazing.

There are lots of voices that come to us—and at us—every day. Some are from the media, relentlessly urging us to buy, to go, to do, to believe what they are saying. Some are from people we know and love or tolerate or don’t love at all; some are from our own critical selves. They bombard us with messages, many of which are not helpful.

In the midst of all the voices, how good it is to hear one saying, “I know you…I love you…follow me.” That is the voice of the Good Shepherd, the one who wants to get us out the heat of too much of everything, and into the place of green pastures and cool water. When you can't see exactly where you're going or what you need to do(and even when you can!), listen for that voice, and trust it! It will lead you to the place you’re supposed to be.

Wal-Mart (and other) ministries

The folks at Wal-Mart international headquarters probably don’t know it, but one of their stores in Austin is the site of a significant ministry. Robbie Youngblood may be retired from our staff, but not from ministry. After all, she is only 88 years old, and still has much to do. Several times a week she goes to the Wal-Mart near her south Austin home to do her walking. If you know Robbie, you will not be surprised to know that of course she has made friends there among the employees. She knows their birthdays and sends cards. She takes treats to them for special holidays. She knows when family members are sick or in trouble, and always prays for them. And of course, they always exchange hugs. In a recent e-mail, she described sharing a thought from a Lenten devotional that Martha Stuber, our wonderful volunteer HomeCare coordinator, had given her. The devotional challenges readers to find six words to summarize their lives. Robbie shared her six words with her friends there at Wal-Mart and asked them to think about theirs and share them with her on her next visit. Robbie finds a ministry wherever she goes!.

Last week, while having lunch with friends at the International House of Pancakes (another exotic place), a church member came in with five or six young people. As they passed by our booth, she greeted us, saying she was having fun with some of her friends. I’m guessing she was giving those a special treat during their spring break—they all looked very happy.

I can’t even imagine how many other church members are engaged in ministries of love and service in our community, but I’m sure they number in the hundreds, if not more. Some are attached to community organizations, but no doubt many of them are your very own. I’d love to know about them—people who drive for Meals on Wheels or Austin Caregivers, those who serve as mentors or tutors in public schools, who volunteer at hospitals, or who simply are intentional about being present to people around them, like Robbie. Some of you haven’t even realized that what you are doing is ministry.

It would be great to read about your ministry in the comments section that follows—you don’t have to sign your name if you’d rather remain anonymous. But even if you don’t let me know—just keep on! You are, absolutely, the body of Christ in the world.

Feeling quietly proud.;…

I think it was some character from the Pogo comic strip of yesteryear who used to say (usually after some ridiculous catastrophe) that he was “quietly proud.” The phrase has become part of my vocabulary, but I’ll admit that sometimes I’m not totally quiet when I’m feeling proud.

I was feeling quietly proud several times last week during our Conference Board of Ordained Ministry at Mount Wesley…specifically, when two First Church alums came for their ordination interviews. Kyle Toomire, our former associate pastor and Director of Youth Ministries, was unanimously approved for elder’s orders, and Deana Hendrix, a former member, was unanimously approved for deacon’s orders. Both Deana and Kyle began their candidacy for ordained ministry at First Church. Kyle is now pastor of a new church, Journey UMC in Kyle, Texas (yes, that’s Kyle in Kyle!) and Deana is a chaplain with Methodist Health Care Ministries in San Antonio. She has recently been tapped to serve as lead chaplain at a new hospital in the Methodist system.

Both Kyle and Deana were exemplary candidates who showed that they are effective in ministry and faithful in responding to God’s call on their lives. And as I thought of the role First Church played in their lives, in their call and in their preparation for ordained ministry, I couldn’t help feeling quietly proud!

At the risk of forgetting someone, I list others who began steps toward ordained ministry while at First Church who are now serving honorably and well in our Conference—Mel Hazlewood, pastor at LaGrange; Jason Teague, pastor at Comfort; Peter Castles, associate pastor at Manchaca; and Barbara Ruth, Corpus Christi District Superintendent. Two of our own staff members, Jen Stuart and Cathy Stone, are currently enrolled in studies at Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary, and are in the early stages of candidacy for ordained ministry. Considering all these people and their gifts for ministry, I am more than quietly proud—I am enthusiastically proud!

It is a wonderful thing to be part of a church in which members understand their call to discipleship in the church and in the world. And it’s a blessing to the church and the world far beyond us when that church sends out into ordained ministry men and women with particular gifts for word, sacrament, order, and service. All of us at First Church should be proud—maybe not so quietly—that we are a missional church, a teaching church. And who knows who else among us might be discerning a call? I’ll be quietly proud when I hear about it!

Knowing it by heart

On a recent Sunday morning, I was invited to a pizza party with our third grade Sunday School class, hosted by their brilliant teachers, Debbie Shaw and Tim Pavlovich. Being old-school in my dietary selections, I had never before eaten pizza before lunchtime, although of course I’d heard many accounts of pizza for breakfast from others. Now I’m a believer—I learned that pizza works great for brunch—and probably for breakfast, too.

The pizza party was not a regular occurrence, as indicated by the excitement and anticipation of the sixteen children crowded around tables in their classroom, bright with all kinds of posters and pictures. The event was a celebration of their latest achievement in the Bible study that is the center of their curriculum. They had memorized the names of the books of the New Testament, in order, and had invited me to come and hear their recitation. They reeled them off in rapid-fire succession, at the tops of their voices. There was maybe a little stumbling over Galatians and Ephesians”, but they came back strong for Philippians,and Colossians, without the slightest hesitation over First and Second Thessalonians. They soared on to a triumphant conclusion: “First John, Second John, Third John, Jude, Revelation!” (And the exclamation point was absolutely audible!)

After a little discussion about using their Bibles (presented to them in a worship service in September), we enjoyed the pizza together. Next on the morning's schedule was decorating gingerbread houses to be taken to the Children’s Hospital.

That session had all the elements needed not just for a worthwhile class session, but for remembering what it means to be United Methodist. There was food, there was study, there was service to others.

The children had used their minds (and who knows how many memory aids suggested by those creative teachers) to memorize that formidable list of twenty-seven books, many with strange-sounding names. Some might ask why that was necessary—after all, every Bible has a table of contents. But in that classroom, in that setting, where every child is more than welcome, where every child is loved and appreciated and encouraged, the boys and girls were not just memorizing that information—they were learning it “by heart.” They know the list by heart, and they know more—they know that their church is a community of love and learning and service.

We all know lots of stuff, stored for accessibility in various parts of our brains. I’ve forgotten a whole lot of stuff that I put in my mind a long time ago (and not so long ago!), but there are some things I know by heart, and I don’t forget them. I know I am a beloved child of God, called to use every resource entrusted to me in faithful response to that love, and I never know that more clearly than when I’m with the people of this church.

Those third graders may not always remember the order of the books of the New Testament, as their minds get full of other valuable information. But they will never forget what they know by heart. I’m so grateful for these teachers and all the others in our church who know and teach from their hearts!