Thoughts and Musings on Faith, Music, Family, Life

Just another youth group recording in the studio.

If you're looking for something crazy and insane to do this summer, how about this:

First, write a theme song for the summer youth conference you're leading music for.

Then, go into the studio to record that song, inviting some good musical friends/former bandmates to join in the fun.  Totally overestimate your own ability on instruments you really don't know how to play (read: mandolin and accordion). Learn the hard way that "faking live" and "faking in the studio" are two very different things.

Next, come up with an idea that, at first, sounds simple enough: since the song is written to be sung in a large group setting, why not ask your entire church youth group to travel down to Winston-Salem one weekday evening and record the choruses in the studio?  And while you're at it, coax your wife and boys to tag along.

After that, schedule a run-through the night before that doesn't even last an hour. Meet in the youth house, sit on couches, play the demo on your ipod. Do crazy stuff like asking them to split into guy parts and girl parts on the middle eight.

And then, to top it all off, ask your DCE to pile them in the church van and a member's minivan and drive them all to the studio.  Which, in this case, is the bottom floor of a two-story garage behind your buddy's house.  He's fixed it up extremely nice as a band room, but never in his wildest dreams did he ever imagine 20+ middle and high schoolers cramming in there around a condensor mic. Much less a 15-passenger church van parked out in front of his house.  Hand out three headsets and keep one for yourself, and ask these non-professionals to sing to a track the vast majority of them will never hear.  Wave your arms wildly in the air to bring them in and out and keep them in time.

Oh, and sweat profusely, since the A/C unit has to be turned off during the recording, lest the sensitive mic pic it up and transform it into the sound of a gushing wind.

Ask these kids to be totally silent until the moment they start singing, and then totally silent when they're done.  Ask them to cut their "s's" off at the same time so it doesn't sound like a snake pit.  Ask the young middle school boys to do their best impression of a grown man's deep voice, and ask two of the girls to sing the women's part an octave higher than the others - but not too loudly.

Did I mention the sweating profusely thing?

And then, when it's all said and done, tell them what an incredible job they did and how proud you are of them, because that's exactly what they did, and that's exactly how you feel.

If you can swing that, my friends, then it's already a pretty awesome summer.

 

"All are welcome. Seriously. We really mean it."

I have this weird fascination with church marquees - those interchangeable signs strategically placed in front of church buildings.  In one sense I'm attracted to them, the same way that I can't look away from the car wreck on the other side of the interstate as I drive by.  Like a moth to the flame, I'm helpless to their lure.

On the other hand, I find myself doing a lot of face-palming, either figuratively or literally.  And not only because some of them - and you know the ones I'm talking about - express a theology and biblical understanding that has little or nothing to do with the God I know.  It's also, in my opinion, the worst kind of advertising. 

Because that's what these marquees are, functionally if not intentionally - advertising.  A form of outreach and evangelism.  I mean, they're right there outside the church's main entrance, in some cases larger than the sign with the church's name on it.  Every so often the message changes, thus catching our attention.  Everything about them practically screams, "Look at me! This is who we are!"  And like it or not, they tell a story about what kind of church lies on the other side.

And I don't get it, honestly, what possesses some churches to tell the stories they do.  Maybe they're not intended for public consumption and are meant more for the people inside - in which case perhaps that's where the signs should be.  That's they only way I can make sense of it.  I mean, who is going to drive past a church with a marquee that essentially tells them they're going to hell and think, Hey, sounds like the place for me! 

Like the saying goes: "First impressions are lasting impressions.  And frankly, I'm rarely impressed.

My church doesn't have a marquee - a blessing, as I see it.  Every now and then, though, I daydream about what it might say if we did.  What kind of "advertising," what kind of story would it share?  To that end, I've created a few of my own, void of cheesy wordplays and ghastly theology.  You can do the same, by the way, HERE if you want.  Knock yourselves out.  Feel free to add your own marquee slogan in the comments below!

(Note: the following are my own messages and don't necessarily reflect the church I gratefully serve. Don't want anyone to think one person is trying to speak for everyone - the issue with church marquees to begin with).

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...And it ended with clean feet

Sometimes, ministry can be pretty monotonous.  Not boring, mind you, but indistinguisable from the day before, or the day after.  They kind of blend together.

And then there are days like today:

• I hunkered down at our local coffee house with four wonderful folks for my bi-monthly Thursday morning Bible study, where we compared the four gospel accounts of the Resurrection. I was reminded by one particularly insightful participant of the importance of women in the resurrection story, and that the men only came after the women told them about it.  I thought this was awesome.
• I put the finishing touches on my Easter sermon and Maundy Thursday meditation. This was an occasion when I appreciated my neurotic tendency, developed in college, to have a paper done a day or two before it was actually due.
• I talked with a family in crisis who once again is thrust into unchartered waters; and the god-awful tug-of-war between wanting to do anything to ease the pain of a loved one and realizing that them experiencing that pain may be exactly what's needed.
• I had a little bit of a pity party. I won't go into the details, but suffice to say that ministry can be a lonely business sometimes, and a pastor's toughest times are when he or she feels like they're out there all by themselves (the comfort, incidentally, is knowing that there are others who totally understand this, including a certain carpenter from Nazareth).
• I visited someone who was taken to our local hospice home just this morning. It is a beautiful and frightening transition; emotions all over the map.  The family asked themselves if there was anything else they could have done, and I knew they had done more than enough.
• I conversed with a friend who is struggling with what church means to them, and how to deal with change.  The conversation ended with them feeling better, as did I (actually, come to think of it, I had two of those conversations today. How about that.)
• I walked on holy ground with someone facing the harsh reality of cancer and the precious gift of every second.  I was reminded of how much I love this person and how much I hate cancer.
• I served communion to the 20+ people who came to our Maundy Thursday service. I admired the way this group tore off huge chunks of bread to dip into the cup, not afraid to take too much, because there always seems to be enough. The body and blood of Christ for you, I said to Emily.  And to you too! she instinctively replied.  That made me smile.
• I washed seven pairs of feet, young and old, using an old stole I wore in the service to dry their feet.  I noticed something that, for obvious reasons, I've never noticed before: how people's feet are different and unique, just as they are.
• When I was done washing the feet of others, Brian came up to me: Is it okay if I wash yours?  Absolutely it was.  And so he did:

There are certainly monotonous days in ministry, where the emotional spectrum remains pretty constant.  Today, my friends, was not one of those days. And you know what?  I'm so incredibly thankful for that.  And for my clean feet.

Reflecting on NEXT in the Pre-Op room

Okay, so granted, it wasn't the best planning on my part.  Nevertheless, less than 24 hours after the closing of the 2013 NEXT Church Conference in Charlotte, there I was: lying on a hospital bed in the pre-op, all gowned up and ready to go. It was a torn meniscus that had brought me there; and in standard surgery fashion there was a whole lot of "hurry up and wait."  Three hours of it, in fact. So I had plenty of time to think amidst the beeping and humming of machinery and the impending dose of drugs that would send me off to la-la land.

(and as a quick aside, I think every pastor should have surgery at some point in ministry, preferably for an actual ailment that requires it. I'll never look at hospital visits and pre-surgery prayers with parishioners the same again, having been in the bed rather than standing beside it.)

Anyway, so I had a lot of time to think in that pre-op room.  And I won't lie to you: I thought about NEXT.

I thought about this relatively new movement in the Presbyterian Church (USA), described on its Facebook page as "sparking imaginations, connecting congregations, and offering a distinctively Presbyterian witness to Jesus Christ." I thought about the way co-organizer Shannon Kershner further explained that it is not an affinity group pushing any doctrine or issue currently being contended with ad nauseum in our denomination. The one thing that binds those in NEXT together is relationship.  Relationship with each other and relationship with Jesus. The fact that NEXT makes this their focus and stubbornly refuses to be parlayed by any special interest group or agenda is precisely why I and many others are on board with it.

I thought about all the people there, around 650 of them.  Honestly, it was like a high school class reunion for not one year but twenty or thirty.  Pastors and laypeople, friends and new faces. Retired preachers and folks not yet ordained.  Southerners and Northerners, Midwesterners and West Coasters.  And a new category made possible in our social media age: people I've known for a year or more, conversed and engaged with, but have never actually met in person until now. A shout-out to Facebook and Twitter for creating this new way of knowing people, where the first face-to-face is not the beginning of a great friendship but the continuation of it.

I thought about something Steve Eason said in his sermon on Monday evening worship - something that struck me as tweet-worthy:

I think this speaks to a major reason why NEXT Church has taken off the way it has.  We all recognize the cultural shift the church has endured over the past 50 years. Gone are the days where no one dared hold a soccer game on Sunday mornings; where pastors were bestowed with de facto mayor-like authority in their communities.  Study after study has shown the sharp decline in mainline denominations that's reflected in greater pew vacancies and shrinking budgets. For some, the only appropriate response is an alarmist mindset rooted strongly in fear. NEXT, however, chooses to view these changes in a positive light as God's intentional process of creating something wonderful and new.

Around this time, some lady stuck me with an IV, so I had to think about needles for a minute. When she was done, though, I went back to thinking about NEXT.

And I thought about all the wonderful speakers. And you know the really cool thing?  They weren't the "big names" you typically see at these type of events.  That's not how NEXT rolls.  What they're more into are the unsung heroes who are quietly doing some amazing "next-ish" things in their contexts. So we heard from the Caucasian man and African-American woman who have teamed up to revitalize a defunct and crumbling church facility in Philadelphia; the seminary president who used thirty seconds of a Janet Jackson video (FYI, it wasn't "Nasty Boys") to share the story of a growing student body that at one point numbered seven; the Washington DC-based pastor who unpacked worship liturgy as improv; the pastor in Columbia, SC who equated God's spirit to live music as opposed to 16-bit MIDI. Every voice mattered, official speaking role or not; and it had nothing to do with the size of one's congregation or how many degrees are hanging on the wall.

I thought about what is NEXT for the church - something that is tempting to immediately jump to, like the kid who stares at the wrapped present under the Christmas tree wondering what's inside.  I thought about the fact that this journey we're on in the NEXT Church is not a formula or five-step plan that can be implemented in actions steps to acheieve "maximum results."

NEXT is more like jazz, really.  The Spirit moving in and through us, gently reminding us that we're not directing the band but are the called and equipped players offering our unique voice and gifts to the ensemble.  And the sound that is produced is the sound of a church that is not looking to be "successful" as much as it's striving to be faithful. 

That's all that I was thinking.  And then they wheeled me into the OR and hit me with the good stuff.  I don't remember much after that, but I do remember the last thought on my mind was how there is no better and more exciting time than now for the church to be thinking about what's next.

30 years ago today, the "War" began

February 28th, 1983: it was a Monday, so I was in class. 9th grade, to be exact.  It may have been the Monday we dissected frogs in Biology - and froze while doing so, since our new-age teacher believed in free-flowing spirits and always left the class windows cracked open.  It may have been the Monday I got to read the part of Romeo in our English unit on Shakespeare, secretly hoping that Donna H. would read Juliet.  It may have been the Monday that fellow freshman Leroy A. tapped me on the shoulder and asked (quite nicely) if I'd let him cheat off my History test (I didn't); or the Monday all the boys fawned over our fresh-out-of-college Chemistry teacher. Well, truth be told, we did that every day.

But for four early twenty-somethings who played in an Irish rock band, February 28, 1983 was the day they would release an album that would change their lives forever, and soon enough would change mine.

I remember when I first heard U2's War. It was later that same year in either April or May.  Polly Guthrie handed me a recorded cassette tape after school: Check this out, Steve, I think you might like it.  I actually didn't at first. Yep, you heard right.  This U2 fanatic was a hardened skeptic at first. In an era where popular music was refined for mass consumption, War was too rough around the edges for my early 80's ears.  Too in-your-face for my face.

It was only after a second and third listen that I began to "get it."  The discombobulation experienced when listening to War for the first time was precisely what I needed it to do.  The pounding drums, the thumping bass, the screaming guitars, the intense and impassioned vocals.  And the message: was he singing about God, or a girl?  Or both?  And if he was singing about God, why was he being so angry about it?  Michael W. Smith and Amy Grant were the only ones in my music collection singing about God, and they didn't sound anything like this. Could you really sing about God and be indignant and up-in-arms while doing so?  Oh, that moment when a young lad hears the sound of righteous indignation for the first time. No more! No more! Wipe your tears away! Wipe your tears away!

I played that cassette until the tape wrapped around the little wheels inside the player and spilled out onto my bedroom floor.  So I bought the album, and bought every one after that. Well, the earlier ones first, Boy and October. I had some catching up to do. And then: Under A Blood Red Sky. The Unforgettable Fire.  Wide Awake In America. The Joshua Tree.  Rattle And Hum.  Achtung Baby.  Zooropa. Pop (not at first, though. This one took some time). All That You Can't Leave Behind. How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb. No Line On The Horizon.  Nearly three-quarters of my time on this planet.

To say U2 have been a constant in my life since February 28, 1983 would be doing injustice to the concept of constants.  And it goes beyond their albums.  I've seen them in concert multiple times.  I've read dozens of books about them and by them.  I've covered their songs in my own gigs.  Before my oldest son could say his ABC's he was reciting the band members' names and their corresponding instrument; and with great fatherly pride I recall how, at the tender age of six, he learned to play the opening drum riff for "Sunday Bloody Sunday."  I've quoted their inspiring activist lead singer in numerous sermons and even sung their song acapella in one.   I've been told I'm the only preacher around with a signed picture of Bono hanging in his office.

If the holy scriptures are the script for my life, then U2 is the soundtrack. I hope to God there are more acts written, and if the rumors are to be believed about a new album sometime this year, I'll be the first in line to get it.

For today, though, I'll be listening to their seminal album non-stop. Bono, Edge, Larry, Adam - thanks a bunch for starting the War thirty years ago today.  Keep fighting the fight.

Darkness cannot drive out darkness...

I have a lot of favorite MLK quotes.  I think this one's my favorite:

Here are some others:

I have decided to love. If you are seeking the highest good, I think you can find it through love. And the beautiful thing is that we are moving against wrong when we do it, because John was right, God is love. He who hates does not know God, but he who has love has the key that unlocks the door to the meaning of ultimate reality. 

Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.

The church must be reminded that it is not the master or the servant of the state, but rather the conscience of the state.

I submit to you that if a man hasn't discovered something he will die for, he isn't fit to live.

The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.

Nonviolence is the answer to the crucial political and moral questions of our time; the need for mankind to overcome oppression and violence without resorting to oppression and violence. Mankind must evolve for all human conflict a method which rejects revenge, aggression, and retaliation. The foundation of such a method is love.

Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.

Let no man pull you low enough to hate him.

Hatred paralyzes life; love releases it. Hatred confuses life; love harmonizes it. Hatred darkens life; love illuminates it.

 

Happy MLK Day, everyone.

 

Unrefined thoughts in uncertain times

I'm one of those bloggers who tends to meticulously pore over my drafts before hitting the green "Publish" button - much the same way I do with my sermons.  Wanting to make sure every sentence, phrase, words is in its proper place.

But not this time.  I'm just going to type it and post.  Because sometimes, you won't be able to find the perfect set of words no matter how much refining you do.

I've been a parent for over ten years now, and I've never been so frightened.  Tuning in to the news networks throughout the day has been like uncovering a wound that you didn't think was as bad at first, only to slowly learn how deep it goes.  As of this post: 30 people dead at the elementary school in Connecticut; roughly 20 of which are children between the ages of 5 and 10.

The shooter has a name.  There's a back story developing; something about how his mother was a teacher there and how she was killed, along with a number of her kintergarden students.  No doubt we'll learn more about him and that back story; no doubt we'll see his face plastered on our television screens and newspapers and websites many more times than we care to - as we do every time this happens and it sure seems to be happening a whole lot more often these days.

I'm scared to death.  Not about guns or the warped people who use them to act out, but scared about all the things I can't control when it comes to my life and the life of my family.  Every day I kiss my wife as she heads out the door to work - at, of all places, an elementary school.  Every day I drop my boys off at their respective schools and hardly give it a thought.  As I said in a Facebook post earlier today, this sure is one of those "hug-your-kids-a-little-tighter" kinda days today.  Or, as someone commented, "a lot tighter."

And with Christmas approaching, of all things!  Where is the peace and hope we're supposed to seek?  Where is the promise fulfilled, the Good News??  To which I remind myself that Jesus was not born into a world of peace and hope, but came to make that possible.  The circumstances around his birth were anything but peaceful, hopeful.  Roman rule and oppression.  A young unmarried mother.  Traveling way out of town.  No room at the inn.  It was chaotic, crazy, out of control.  Like today.

Come, Immanuel, Come.  Never have those words meant more to me than now.  I just want Jesus to get here, and get here quick.  To bring that peace and hope we obviously are in such desperate need of.  To give us some good news for a change.

In the meantime, we'll pray for all the families in Connecticut tonight who are having to face the unthinkable.  We'll pray for teachers and schools across the country.  We'll pray for all of us.  We'll just pray.

Why, yes, the world really DOES need another Advent devotional

In the church we like saying that Advent - the four weeks leading up to Christmas - is not a destination as much as a journey.  And like any trip, we need to make preparations for it.  So, one of the hard-fast ways of doing this down through the years has been the traditional "Advent devotional."

But does the world really need another Advent Devotional?

I admit to thinking that when John McCrosky, Director of Christian Education at Covenant Presbyterian Church in Augusta, GA, contacted me a few months ago about writing a few installments for an Advent devotional he was putting together.  But John's a good friend from our days together at the now-defunct Presbyterian School of Christian Education (although it still lives on in the social media world), and I couldn't bring myself to say "no."

I'm glad I didn't.  It was a fun exercise, and it sure didn't hurt that John managed to assemble a writing team of some other good friends and pretty amazing people: David LaMotte, Bryon Wade, Lynn Turnage, Michelle Thomas-Bush, Mindy Douglas, Paul Osborne, Sophie Maness, Ron Motley, Vanessa Hawkins, Mark Lampley, and John.  

The result is a pretty awesome little devotional that you'll certainly want to make use of over the next few weeks.  Here's how you can:

READ THEM ON THE WEBSITE HERE

SUBSCRIBE TO A DAILY EMAIL HERE

SUBSCRIBE TO THE RSS FEED HERE

DOWNLOAD A PDF OF THE DEVOTIONAL BOOKLET HERE

If you do either of the first two, feel free to click the little Facebook "Like" button and share on Twitter/Google+.  Thanks for getting the word out.

Enjoy the preparation!

Five reasons why American Christians are not persecuted Christians

It's something that rears its ugly head most every election cycle, or when some hot-button issue surfaces in our culture, like the recent battle over Amendment One vote in my beloved home state or the long-standing removal of prayer in public schools: the notion, raised by some, that Christians in America are persecuted for their beliefs.  

It's a strong word: persecuted.  And maybe that's what has me scratching my head this morning.  Because while some may feel American culture is inheritently hostile to religion, the fact is that all people of faith enjoy certain rights and protections in our country - and none moreso than Christians. Secularization has certainly taken hold in our larger culture compared to a generation ago, but by and large we find that Christianity is spoken openly in our communities, in our politics, in the marketplace.  We make open reference to God in our country's pledge; we see God's name adorned on our currency.  We may disagree and wrestle with the specifics of it, but faith is woven into the very fabric of our civilization.

More than that, though, the notion that American Christians are a persecuted lot represents a pretty significant misunderstanding of the actual history of persecution in the church.  The short answer is this: we've got it pretty good, folks.  The longer answer: here are at least five reasons why American Christians are not persecuted Christians: 

1.  No one is putting us to death on crosses. And thank God for that.  Because back in the day, it wasn't just Jesus who suffered the excruciating agony of asphyxiation from the weight of your own body.  This method of torture by the Roman empire was used on "enemies of the state," and its very public nature (crucifixions typically took place along heavily-traveled roads and other populous areas) was designed as a way to quell the masses. Emperor Nero in particular, paranoid by the growth of Christianity in first century Palestine, ordered the crucifixion of thousands of Christians during his reign.

2.  No one is kicking us out of the marketplace.  Which is exactly what happened in the first century, per some of the New Testament letters.  It appears that in various instances, Christians were denied the privilege of buying and selling goods in the secular culture of the day.  Either that, or Christians refused to participate because the Roman coins they had to use contained images of gods and idols (thus violating the Torah). In either case, it was pretty hard for Jesus-followers. Imagine today not being able to buy that mocha frap at Starbucks.

3. We don't live in North Korea. Not to pick on a single country, but according to Open Doors, a non-denominational group that tracks Christian persecution around the world, North Korea ranks at the top of their list of fifty countries who have a history of Christian persecution.  You can see the top twelve here if you want, but a heads-up: one country you will not see on the list is the good ol' US of A.

4. We're not sitting in prison right now.  Christians all around the world - but not in America - are routinely locked behind bars for things they have said for things ranging from "conducting propoganda" to "apostacy."  Check out some examples of imprisoned Christians here.

5. Our name is not Bartholomew.  Apologies if it actually is. But this original disciple of Jesus had it pretty bad when it came to being persecuted for his beliefs.  Depending on the account you side with, he was either filleted alive or beaten to a pulp with rods. Maybe both. And then he was crucified. Upside down. Ouch.

Now - does this mean that bad things don't happen to Christians in this country?  Of course not. Churches are occasionally burned, folks are mocked and made fun of from time to time, and Sunday mornings are no longer the sacrosant space it was a generation ago.  Religion is personal and powerful, and sometimes people let their beliefs - and misunderstanding or ignorance of the beliefs of others - lead them to do some pretty awful things.  This, by the way, goes both ways; and a whole lot of nasty stuff has been carried out in Jesus' name as well. 

That being said, we'd be wise to remember that just because the larger culture may not always align perfectly with our worldview does not mean we are persecuted.  The truth of the matter is that Christians have it pretty good in America.  And not because we necessarily should, but because we live in a country that embraces the practice of all kinds of faiths, or even no faith at all. I'm thinking we should be grateful for that and return the favor.  Along with that, praying for our brothers and sisters around the world who truly are persecuted for their religious beliefs would be a good thing.  And a nice way of putting our own faith into practice, to boot.

Good cup of coffee

Something important to remember as the rhetoric of a presidential election starts heating up...

Check out Coffee With Jesus HERE.