Thoughts and Musings

Pastors standing in the surf of change

It's around 11am, and our family is at the beach. It rained the first few days here, but now the sun is shining bright and the place is packed.  We've carved out a few square feet of sand for our two folding chairs.  We won't need much room, though, because the majority of the Lindsleys will be out in the water, out in the waves. I've always loved the body surfing/boogie-boarding thing, and I'm proud to have passed that same love on to my sons.

It's different being out there as a father, though.  It's a bit of a juggling act between satisfying your own desires to enjoy the waves while owning up to your parental obligations.   I have to shelve my desire to plunge headfirst into the oncoming wave to make sure my kids are safe.  And "safe" in the ocean is always a tricky thing - that huge wave that doesn't materialize until its right on you, undercurrents and rip currents, and all the unforeseen marine life that - as I've had personal experience with - can cause, ahem, severe complications.

What makes it even more of a challenge is the difference between my two boys.  My oldest shares my tendency to throw himself into something with reckless abandon.  I want to go out to the big waves, he tells me.   We can't, the lifeguard says there are rip currents out there, I answer.  What does he know, he's way back there in the lifeguard chair!  And so it goes.  My younger son, though, is much more tentative.  Or "smart," as his mother would say.  He may want to follow his Dad and older brother, but for him, the threat overrides the potential thrill.  But he's not going to sit up in the beach chair, either.  So in his mind he's determined the parameters of how far he'll go into the surf, and he's not about to exceed it. 

It's a lot to manage.  In fact, it actually feels a lot like being a pastor.

The waves of change are swirling around the church in a big way these days, and in many ways it's been going on for years.  Much of this change - all of it, perhaps - has come from the outside: civil rights movement, women's liberation, postmodernism, gay marriage and stances on homosexuality, the equalizing of the human experience via mass technology and social media.  I could go on and on.

The point is, the church is facing change whether we like it or not. And we differ greatly on how we respond to and cultivate that change, even within a single congregation.

Some folks are like my older son, feeling the urge to plunge head-first into the waves of change.  Why delay the inevitable?  Things like the emergent church, contemporary worship, congregations that look and feel more like coffee houses, and even NEXTChurch in my denomination are all signs that some recognize the wave is coming - so why not go and meet it?  We know we can't "change the change" any more than my son or I can alter the direction of the wave that's heading straight for us - as my friend and fellow songster David Lamotte sings, "The water's gonna win."  As does change.  Why fight something that is going to happen with you or without you?

Hold on, say people like my younger son.  For these, change - like the waves - are not just a sign of something different, but the essence of the difference itself.  And the very fact that "it" can't be stopped elicits fear - or, as writer Diana Butler Bass suggests in her recent book, grief over the loss of what was familiar and comfortable.  There are degrees to this category of folks.  Some remain stubbornly on the shore, plopped down in the beach chair and observing the change from a safe distance.  Others, like my younger son, may wade in the surf, but only up to a point.  They engage change in the church with conditions and qualifiers: contemporary music... but only at the early service.  Women in positions of leadership... but not the lead pastor.  Acceptance of gays and lesbians for church membership... but not for ordination.

And there's the pastor in the middle of it all.  They're standing in the surf, calling out to one group of folks to come back, not so fast, wait up for everyone else.  And they're calling out to others: come on in, it's not so bad, you'll be alright.  They're well aware of the threats that can be seen - all those undercurrents and rip currents swirling around them - as well as the threats no one can see yet.  They're trying to care for people and help them meet their needs, while also caring for the church and meeting God's needs.

Like I said, a lot to manage.

I got to thinking about this while scanning my Facebook feed this morning and coming upon this from The 70 Sent Project:

The church is a paradoxical mixture between the desire to transform a world that clings to old forms and prejudices, and the desire to find stability and peace in a world that is changing too rapidly. Often this paradox is found within the same person.  The role of the church leader is to stand in the middle of this paradox, facilitating the flow of the Holy Spirit between the transforming and stabilizing impulses. (emphasis mine)

That's the huge task facing pastors and all church leaders in today's church: not trying to be everything to everyone, a common misconception (and the cause of clergy burnout for anyone who tries it).  No, the task of those in ministry in the 21st century is trying to bring everyone together into some sense of cohesion and mission when people are different (thanks be to God for that, by the way) and when people respond to change differently.  That along with facing the fact that the change, like that big wave, is coming.  In fact, in a sense it's already here.

It's a challenge, to be sure. But it's also a wonderful opportunity and privilege, to stand there.  Change means that God is in the midst of doing some pretty amazing stuff. Here's hoping that, wherever we are standing in the surf - right at the breaking point or a little further up shore - that we all eventually get swept up in the wave of God's change together.

In other words, time to get our sea legs under us.

25 Things

I'm a big Facebook fan.  I like the comment a friend of mine wrote on the "wall" of a mutual friend who recently joined Facebook - something like, Welcome to Facebook.  Now prepare for your day to be, in essence, one hour shorter.  True, how true.

If you're on Facebook you're probably familiar with the "25 Things About Me" craze that's making its way around.  The general gist is this - you post a "note" on your Facebook profile with 25 random things about you, and "tag" 25 other people to do the same thing.  I've been tagged a number of times but have resisted.  And then, after the cajoling of one of our church youth, I decided to play along.  And much to my surprise I found it to be a fun little exercise. 

So I thought I'd share these 25 things with the blogosphere - here they are. Whether you're on Facebook or not, consider doing the same thing.  I think you'll find it kind of cool.

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25 THINGS

1 - I'm not sure why I'm doing this. I'm also not sure why you're reading this, but thanks.
2 - Other than a couple of years in graduate school, I've lived all 40 years of my life in the Old North State.
3 - Oh, I did live in Hiroshima, Japan for four months in the fall of 1990, teaching English and learning enough Japanese to freak out Japanese people who didn't think I knew Japanese.
4- I have a younger brother, Brad, who is taller than me. But then again, a lot of people are. And I'm cool with that.
5 - I'm a fan of free wireless internet.
6 - I don't know that my two boys will ever be able to know how much I love them.
7 - I'm into reading Paste Magazine these days. It's got lots of great stuff about music, film, books. You should read it too.
8 - My wife has to be the most patient person on the planet to put up with me. And I love her lots for it. And for many other reasons too.
9 - I play music - solo, with Acoustic Blend, and a band called the Mediocre Bad Guys. It adds balance to my life.
10 - One time at a gig we were advertised as "Acoustic Bland." Seriously. Hardly anyone showed. Wonder why.
11 - I think I'm addicted to multitasking. I need to stop that.
12 - I was bitten by a shark when I was twelve. I started a Facebook group for people bitten by sharks, and so far only one other dude has joined besides me.
13 - I'm pastor of a church in Mount Airy and am truly blessed to work with such great members and great staff. It thrills me that they truly are seeking God's mission & vision.
14 - I love yardwork - it's my form of therapy. Cheaper than the real thing, and I can listen to my ipod while I do it.
15 - My family has three dogs.....waitaminute, it's four. At least for the moment. And two cats. And a hamster.
16 - I cried my eyes out when I saw "Marley and Me" with the family. My soft spot.
17 - I always dreamed of playing football as.....get this....a punter. Who dreams of being a punter?
18 - I was in Beijing, China with a Wake Forest group when the Tiananmen Square massacre happened.  We got out about an hour before the airport closed for a week.  Close call.
19 - My grandfather (Dad's dad) died when he fell off Mt. LeConte while hiking. I wrote a song about it.
20 - Speaking of which, I've put out two Cds of original music, but the last one was last century. Still waiting for the songwriting muse to come back around.
21 - A new routine I've taken on is getting up early on weekday mornings, before everyone else, having a bowl of cereal and reading the paper in silence. Aaaah.
22 - I feel at peace the most when I'm in the mountains or at the beach. Montreat and standing on the beach gazing into the horizon are my sanctuaries.
23 - I really don't have many major regrets, or complaints, about my life thus far.
24 - I think that sermons are a three-way conversation between a pastor, the congregation, and God. I like it when all three are communicating well together.
25 - I live by grace, each moment of every day. And I'm still learning exactly what that means. The joy of the journey.

If dolphins give me hope, then sharks give me bites - no kidding

Strange, sometimes, where and how old memories resurface.  For me it was in a seafood restaurant where the Lindsleys ate out this past Tuesday night during our beach vacation.  You know how in seafood restaurants at the beach they hang all kinds of "beachy" stuff on the walls to create that atmosphere - shells, stuffed marine life, fishnets?  As I was munching on some shrimp, I looked up to see a huge shark jaw, teeth and all, hanging on the wall.  And as I sat there with the family I had, as happens from time to time, memories of something that happened to me many years ago.

I kid you not: I, Steve Lindsley, was bitten by a shark.  And here's the skinny.

Summer 1980; I was heading into the 6th grade.  Every summer my family packed the car and headed south on I-95 to Daytona Beach for two weeks (someone on my mom's side of the family had a house in Holly Hill, just outside Daytona).  On the morning of said incident the family discussed: should we take in the beach in the morning and then Cape Canaveral in the afternoon, or CC in the morning followed by an afternoon beach excursion?  Everyone voted for the latter - except me. So I guess you could say what happened was partially my fault.

We arrived at the beach and, as was our habit, my brother and I jumped out of the car, grabbed our floats and headed for the waves.  I had just ridden a wave in, hopped off to turn back out when........I felt something on my foot.  I froze.  And I don't know if it was my subconscious immediately going into defense mode, but the first thing that came to my mind, oddly enough, was, "It's your Dad.  That's right, it's your Dad.  He's snuck out in the water without you noticing, swam up underneath you and grabbed your foot with his hand as a joke.  He'll pop up any second now.......any second......just wait, he's coming......."  And about then is when I looked up the shore to see my Dad sitting in his beach chair reading his book.

It was at this point that I went into full panic mode.  Running past my brother I headed to the shore yelling, "Shark!  Shark!"  He quickly came in with me.  As the water got more shallow I began looking down to see what my foot looked like.  It hadn't really hurt until I saw it - or perhaps more appropriately, what was left of it.  The top layer of skin and muscle had been opened like a suitcase to reveal bone, tendons and tissue.  That's when I remember it first hurting.

By this time Dad realized something was wrong and ran to meet me at the shore (Mom, as fate would have it, had taken off on a beach walk and wouldn't join us until later).  I remember him taking me by the hand and running with me to the lifeguard chair.  As we got closer, the lifeguard got off the chair and grabbed his first aid kit.  He told me to lie down on the sand, which I did, and began tending to me.  Two images come strongly to mind here: first, a crowd of folks immediately gathered around me, all crooning their heads to gaze in on the "victim."  The second thing I remember was when the lifeguard poured a bucket of fresh water on my foot to wash out the sand.  That, as you can probably imagine, did not feel so good.

For some reason I did not get an ambulance trip to the hospital - instead we all piled back in the Green Volvo station wagon and headed for the hospital.  My brother sat in the front passenger seat and I laid across the back with my head in my Mom's lap, foot raised to ward off the throbbing that was increasing with each passing minute.  I remember crying, "I'm gonna die!  I'm gonna die!" and my mother trying to console me until she finally yelled out, "NO!  No, Steve, you are not going to die!  You are going to grow up, you're going to get married and you're going to have kids!"  To which I responded, "Yeah, but I'm not gonna take them to the beach!" - demonstrating that the Lindsley humor still prevails even in times of turmoil and bodily injury.

The rest of the day was pretty much a blur - I remember bits and pieces: meeting with doctors and nurses, being the "celebrity shark bit victim" in the hospital.  I remember lying on an uncomfortable table for the longest time with Mom on one side and Dad on the other (not sure where brother had gone), looking dead ahead at the inside of my foot.  By this time I was on all kinds of pain meds, so I didn't feel anything really - just very surreal to be looking at the mangled thing in front and realize it was attached to me.

The time eventually came for the surgery.  I was wheeled into the operating room and immediately met by strangers with half their faces covered in masks.  You can understand how this would be more than slightly unnerving for an 11-year old.  A familiar voice informed me that he was my surgeon and would be fixing my foot up; nothing to worry about. Then he said he wanted to strike a deal with me - that he'd tell me when I was given the gas to put me to sleep, and if I could count from one to ten he'd personally give me $10,000.  When he said go I remember going "12345678910, I did it!"  But later I found out (and had witness verify) that I barely got to "2."  Oh well.

Anyone who has been put to sleep for surgery knows that coming out of it is a very discombobulating sensation.  First thoughts of consciousness were a wall in front of me and a clock.  Eventually someone wheeled me to a room where the family were waiting.  My mind was still in a fog, but I remember hearing that the surgery had gone well and that "I did great" - which is kind of funny, if you think about it, since I didn't really do anything except lay there unconscious.  I also remember at one point my mom asking me if I needed anything, anything at all; and somehow in my state I remembered that it was Tuesday night, and it was almost 9:00, and that Charlie's Angels always came on at 9pm on Tuesday nights.  I never got to watch this show growing up, though I always wanted to (and honestly, what 11-year old boy wouldn't want to watch Farrah Fawcett-Majors, Jaclyn Smith and Kate Jackson in prime time??)  So I went for all the marbles and told Mom and Dad what I really wanted to do was watch Charlie's Angels.  They frantically searched for the TV remote!  The show came on and I was elated - but much to my dismay, I fell asleep before the opening credits completed.  A wasted opportunity that I will never fully forgive myself for.

I spent three days and nights in the hospital and was finally released to go home - well, home to our Daytona Beach place.  We were supposed to head back to North Carolina that week, but the surgeon wanted us to stay longer for follow-up. Each day was a routine of getting carried from the bedroom to the living room couch and watching TV, then back to bed at night.  I remember getting mounds of mail every day from well-wishers back home, and that I read them and re-read them.  At my last visit with the surgeon I was kind of down - what kid wouldn't be when informed that you were starting the new school year with crutches and a special slipper on your shark-bitten foot?  The doc picked up on my despondent state and told me he didn't know why, but he just had a feeling that in no time I'd be running in races and track meets with no problems whatsoever.  Seeing as how I ran some 10Ks with Dad the following year as well as running track in middle and high school, I guess the guy knew what he was talking about.

They say that the shark was probably a sand shark, approximately 4-5 feet in length. These sharks naturally swim along the bottom of the ocean floor, which would explain why I didn't see it.  They also don't like human flesh, which I am told is the reason that I still have a foot today.  More than likely I frightened it (imagine the irony!) and it bit me in defense, got grossed out over human flesh and swam away.  And that was it.  To help remember this little encounter I sport a large scar that reaches from one end of the top of my right foot to the other - reminding me of the two torn tendons and 32 stitches they had to put on both the inside and outside.  I also have a story to tell, and have told many times (my apologies, by the way, to those of you who may have heard it before).  The one thing I don't have are many people who can truly relate.  The shark bite fraternity, as you might imagine, has a fairly small membership.  Perhaps I'll see if there's a Facebook group or something.