Who Needs To Know?

My Sundays are frequently studies in contrast and today was no exception.  Three churches, all in Bosqueville, and each as different from the others as different can be. I preached this morning from 1 Corinthians 2:6-13 for Bosqueville United Methodist Church, sharing an inspirational (in my opinion) introduction to the life, ministry, and global impact of John and Charles Wesley. This afternoon, I preached a sermon entitled "Tight Rope" from Proverbs 22:6 at the baccalaureate service of Bosqueville High School.  An admittedly odd text for such an occasion, the message was aimed at encouraging parents of soon-to-be graduates to function as a safety net while their budding adult children walk the high wire above them. I call this "encouraging safe independence."  This evening, I spoke to the small church called Crossings, which meets in the recording studio of Dick and Marilyn Gimble, preaching from the final portion of the last chapter in the book of Ecclesiastes, encouraging each of us to find intimacy in light of God's majesty.

As the curtain falls on such a varied day of ministry, I cannot help but reflect on what I anticipated God's calling to be when I set out on this ministerial journey some thirty eight years ago. It seemed so well defined back then, and had someone told me what Christian service would look like these many years later, I would likely have laughed or cried or possibly, run in the opposite direction. What I've learned over these years is that God's call is really a sphere of influence, rather than a target to be struck with a homiletical arrow, or a clerical act to be performed according to some predetermined script. A divine call is a living, breathing thing, as dynamic as the One who issues the summons. As a young pastor, I thought that, and at times acted like  such a call was an honor earned by devotion and deserved by ecclesiastical potential. As a slightly older missionary, I served with the silent conviction that cross-cultural sacrifice was the badge of highest courage. When life changed radically due to some circumstances out of my control and others of my own choosing, I developed a ministerial chip on my shoulder that dared anyone to question my standing and usefulness in the kingdom. These many years later, out of experience and, at times, necessity, I embrace grace in each moment, and wonder at God's willingness to use me at all.  If given the chance to retrace steps, remove the pain, erase the scars, and retrieve my earlier innocent arrogance, I would refuse without hesitation. Who can know the Father's plans, but who needs to know them?  All that remains is to accept, to believe, to submit, and to love. Nothing, it seems, better prepares a heart for resurrection, than a soiled towel and a bloody cross. Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that called a wretch like me.

Is the Grass Greener?

Beware the bovine trap of greener grass. I know you've watched it. A heifer surrounded by ample supplies of coastal or alfalfa, stretches and strains through angry wire in order to get at what remains just out of reach. You've also watched it played out in the human arena: Marriage, Business, Family, Friendships. Not satisfied with what lies at hand, we grope toward what will never be fully ours, or if by some twist it becomes ours, will never satisfy. What Nancy C. Anderson calls the "Greener Grass Syndrome" is an addiction that destroys joy and service. Thankfully, there is an antidote for this lure of the other. That powerful potion is uncloistered by the word "enough." This moment is enough, you are enough, I am enough. Christ is more than enough. Why is contentment important? Or, is it?  Actually, it's essential to everything that matters. Satisfaction with the grass on my side of the fence is the very thing that allows me to recognize the needs on the other side. Buechner reminds us:  

“The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” 

The resolution of my lust is the beginning of all selfless ministry.

Herding Cats in Pajamas

"I saw you outside herding cats in pajamas, so thought I'd stop by for a moment."  My neighbor's statement took me by surprise as did his uncharacteristic early morning stop on his way to teach at the local community college. I never know quite what to expect from my friend; he is, after all, a musician. As he spoke to me from inside his truck, I stood exposed in blue tartan plaid lounging pants, ETBU T-shirt, and Joseph A. Banks slippers (I single them out because I'm quite pleased with myself for having found them at a bargain basement price), while our Calico and Himalayan played figure eights around my ankles. When our brief conversation concluded and my neighbor headed off to his collegiate destination, my attention turned to two obnoxious cats, now circling at a frenetic clip. Having acquiesced to their morning demands, I had pause to reflect on my friend's curious phrase, "herding cats in pajamas," and the thought struck hard -- that's what I've been doing my entire adult life as a "minister." Vocational Christian ministry is much akin to herding cats, a frustrating divine assignment that leaves the minister entirely exposed and frequently embarrassed.  We are exposed because ministry demands transparency or else it is merely play acting.  In turn, transparency makes the minister vulnerable to regular criticism and occasional accolades, both of which are damaging to her/his servant spirit. And the payoff? Watching cats trapse in figure eights around your ankles while feeling helpless to stop the circus. So, what would motivate anyone to stoop to such ridiculous servitude?  What could possibly enamor enough to seduce one to herd cats day after day and year after year?  I can only answer with the phrase the Apostle Paul invoked when contemplating his own herd of cats, "Therefore, since through God's mercy we have this ministry, we do not lose heart" (2 Co 4:1).  Ministry of any kind is grace. Thanks be to God for his indescribable mercy!