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Even more years removed from the phone call, I had held him on my lap. Looking at him, loving him but feeling so powerless. I had few memories of being held and protected by my own father, so I swore to him, that baby with those steel blue eyes, that I would always be there for him. I would protect him, shield him from the evils of this dark world, and provide him with my presence, love and strength that would keep him from facing the darkness that I knew only too well. As I think back on that moment I recognize my innocence and naïveté. The darkness was too deep. The sorrow too intense. I wasn’t immune from my own darkness, how could I have stood up to his?

We looked at each other as we entered the elevator. An unspoken word connected our hearts to that which we feared. Maybe it would take us somewhere else. Maybe the fear that gripped our hearts would prove to be unfounded. Maybe all those prayers, prayed so fervently by so many would change what we knew we were soon to face. In slow motion we inched upward to a place neither of us wanted to be.

The door opened too quickly. There was no escape. No place to run. No place to hide. Couldn’t I find someone else to go into that place in which I dreaded? Why did I have to be the grown up? I was too weak, too scared, too fearful. I knew there was no short cut. I had to face the demons that mocked me in my weakness. But it wasn’t about me. But it felt all about me.

So the door opened, despite our hope that we would simply stay in the darkness and solitude of an empty elevator. We wanted to hold the door closed but it was too committed to push us out of our safety into the unknown. So the door slowly creaked open, pushing us forward like an unwanted guest on a cold night. It happened slowly but it seemed to refuse to listen to my pleas that if we could just stay suspended between floors, we would be just fine, yet the door slid open.

And there they were. I don’t remember how many were there but it felt like dozens and dozens of angels. They weren’t angels but yet they were. Friends. So many of them in a waiting room, not waiting for us but waiting to be with him. I could smell the fatigue. And the fear. They weren’t singing but music hung in the air. And so solicitous. “We can leave.” “We don’t want to get in your way.” Oh they were the hope. They were the love. Their presence told us that he wasn’t alone. He had never been alone. Somehow, in the staleness of the air, they were the fresh breath of God.

I am not a typical church-goer. Having served as a pastor for nearly thirty years I know how easy it is to lose focus on why the local church exists. Julie and I come regularly to worship, unless we are out of town. We don’t do this out of a sense of obligation but rather, we do not want to miss the way God is proclaimed in the teaching, and experienced in the relationships that are formed at Vintage. We also find rest and restoration through shared communion and the worship that is authentic and real.

In February I took early retirement. Much of that decision had to do with the needs of my family and our grief from the sudden and unexpected death of our son. Grieving is difficult work, and as a pastor, it is a challenge to grieve openly. We felt accepted and loved the first time we attended, and never felt judged.

Sundays are different for me now. My focus is no longer on the pressing needs of the church, but on finding God in the midst of my brokenness. I needed to find a place where God’s love is central and where truth is taught. We have found that at Vintage. God has blessed us by leading us into such a place.

Brian Zahnd wrote, “It is forgiveness alone that has the capacity to break the chains of injustice and give us the possibility of a new future- a future unchained from the past and free of bitterness.” Grief is a demanding companion. Bitterness is often the fruit of grief. Forgiveness is central when working through loss. We have had to forgive our son, ourselves, and even God for allowing such pain. It is too easy to feel the injustice of such loss. It is challenging to find a place where one can be honest about all these feelings and be accepted despite them. Vintage, through Deacon’s leadership, has become our safe haven.

All of us face challenges. We all need a place that doesn’t judge us, but accepts and loves us in the brokenness of our humanity. We came to Vintage to be with our children.But we found much more. Unexpectedly, Vintage emerged as a place
of rest and restoration for my family. But it is also so much more. Deacon consistently challenges us to live into our vocation as followers of Jesus, to be image-bearers of Jesus Christ in the world. God is good. God knew what we needed, and now we are part of what God is doing at Vintage.

Until next time,

DP

A long time ago I made a conscious decisions to not be cynical but allow myself to be critical. This has served me well. One of the blessings (or is it a curse?) of grieving is to see things a little clearer than I ever have. Especially when it comes to faith. What I have noticed is that a lot of people are interested in going to heaven, but not a lot people are interested in living the vocation of a follower of Jesus. This lead many to pray a prayer all followers of Jesus should pay attention to: “Dear God, save me from Your followers.”

What is that vocation? It is to be the visible and tangible presence of Jesus Christ in the world. Sound good? Or troubling? Or complicated? No it is none of those. But it is difficult. It’s difficult because if we actually live that way, the evidence will be in the way we love, forgive and show mercy.

Today I encountered two examples of how demanding such a faith is. The first was quite simple. Since i now am living in a community where I once served a church, I often find that I encounter people I once knew rather well. Perhaps surprising to you, but even pastors have some difficult relationships. This was true with the two different people I encountered today. I learned a lot from these encounters. First, I learned that some people truly embody God’s love and forgiveness. Just a few short loving words and a generous offer came from one couple that I accidentally saw today. But it was the other couple that caused me to reflect on how demanding it is to be a follower of Jesus.

Without revealing too much, let it suffice to say that this couple remembered me with a bit of disdain, which I say with some understatement. As I recall, they did not care for me all that much! Truly I enjoy encounters with people who, over the years, for one reason or another, made a decision to end our relationship. Truth told, I take a bit of pleasure in making them uncomfortable by not avoiding them. But even with all my experience, today I was taken a bit aback.

If one could turn air into ice by the way one looks at another, I would have experienced frostbite today. I understand that some people enjoy holding on to grudges but what I don’t understand is how someone who would claim to be a follower of Jesus could. Instead of simply feeling superior, I asked myself a series of questions that ultimately moved me from being cynical to critical. Not critical of my icy old friends, but critical of myself. How often have I treated others in such a way to make them uncomfortable? How many times have I held on to grudges that make me more like a snowman that a follower of Jesus? And finally, what am I going to do about it?

I wonder if the church suffers in our day because of the witness that so many church goers make of what it means to be a Christ follower. We need to look no further than the political climate that fills our hearts and divides one against another to see that most people’s Christianity is about a mile long and a quarter inch thick. What are you doing to be a compelling reason for others that Jesus has come to offer love, forgiveness and mercy? Or are you simply holding grudges and keeping your own faith shallow and focused on simply wanting to go to heaven. Who could blame anyone from saying, “Dear God, save me from Your followers.”

Monday, Monday, so good to me
Monday mornin´, it was all I hoped it would be
Every other day, every other day
Every other day of the week is fine, yeah
But whenever Monday comes, but whenever Monday comes
A-you can find me cryin´ all of the time

Every other day, every other day
Every other day of the week is fine, yeah
But whenever Monday comes, but whenever Monday comes
A-you can find me cryin´ all of the time

Monday, Monday, can´t trust that day
Monday, Monday, it just turns out that way
Oh Monday, Monday, won´t go away
Monday, Monday, it´s here to stay
Oh Monday, Monday
Oh Monday, Monday (lyrics from the Mama and Papa’s song, “Monday, Monday.”

Show me someone who loves Monday and I’ll show you someone who either has the day off or had a low-keyed weekend where they spent too much time couch surfing.  No one likes Monday, do they?

I wondered what I would do on my sabbatical on Mondays.  There are no staff meetings, no reflections on how Sunday worship went, and no meetings (remember what I think of meetings?).  So what are they like?

I am getting in the habit of going to the gym before Julie wakes up in the morning.  So there’s that. But there’s more.  If you are mindful.  Mindful?  According to mindful.org Mindfulness “suggests that the mind is fully attending to what’s happening, to what you’re doing, to the space you’re moving through. That might seem trivial, except for the annoying fact that we so often veer from the matter at hand. Our mind takes flight, we lose touch with our body, and pretty soon we’re engrossed in obsessive thoughts about something that just happened or fretting about the future. And that makes us anxious.”

That’s the problem with Mondays!  We are not mindful and all sort of things began to fill our mind.  Before we know it, all the problems of the day and week invade our souls like a crazed mob of germanic barbarians seeking nothing more than havoc and disorder.  Who needs that on any day, especially Mondays?  So how do we get over the hurdle of dreading Mondays and limping through the day?   Being mindful isn’t hard, one just has to work at it.  As mindful.org says:

Mindfulness is the basic human ability to be fully present, aware of where we are and what we’re doing, and not overly reactive or overwhelmed by what’s going on around us.

So here’s to a mindful Monday for us all.

Julie, John and I got a chance to go to a basketball game a couple of nights ago (thanks Joanie!).  If you’re not a Kansas Jayhawk, I would suggest you watch the ESPN series 30 for 30 on the “Rules of Basketball. ” You will get a sense of the history of Kansas basketball and how all roads in College basketball either lead from or to Lawrence Kansas.

There is something about tradition that deeply resonates with me.  It’s probably why I majored in history in college and taught high school history for over eight years.  It’s also why I was attracted to Anglicanism (the Episcopal Church).  I felt the weight of history in the Church, knowing that its roots stretch back to the early church.  There is something both comforting and challenging knowing that I am connected to so many who came so long ago and to a Church that has not always been at its best.  Yet the practice and worship of the Episcopal Church did not simply begin because someone got mad over a doctrinal issue and decided to start something new.  It’s rootedness has stood the test of time, controversy and dispute.  That speaks to me.

Continue reading “Allen Field House: The Phog”

I never thought I would ever have a sabbatical. In fact, when I spoke to the Diocese about the possibility, they were surprised that I had never taken one. Evidently, I am an outlier. Most priests/pastors have a requirement that a sabbatical will be part of the life of a congregation every seven years or so. I guess I never got the memo.

You may wonder what I do now that I figured this all out. Well beyond the four hours of prayer and three hours of Bible Study and four hours of writing…. I kid. My sabbatical life feels a lot like it did before the sabbatical. Although I do not have any meetings. And I do not miss meetings. In fact, when asked what I did as a priest, I used to say “I work on sermons, classes I teach and I go to meetings.” It’s amazing what one can get accomplished when one doesn’t go to meetings! Patrick Lencioni wrote a book a number of years ago called Death by Meeting. It is a leadership fable that expresses how deadly poorly run meetings are.  I tried to put into practice a couple of his ideas but to no avail.  It seems that meetings are so deeply embedded in our culture that if people don’t gather in meetings then there is some serious pushback.  So, now that I am not accountable to my staff, I don’t have to go to scheduled meetings. Continue reading “A Day in the Life of a Sabbatical”

Here I go.  I keep telling people I want to write.  Beyond the obvious questions like: “do I have anything to say?”  or “would anyone actually read what I write” to “who am I to think I have anything to say?” I have been wondering when I would actually start.  Yesterday I attended a funeral where my 98 year old Aunt-in-law, after hearing my now regular reply to those who ask what I am going to do with my life, said a very profound “well you better get started.”  So here I am.  I am starting.  As I do, let me tell you a bit about why I think I have something worth saying and why I think I can help those who need to start listening.  Start listening to someone.

Continue reading “Here I Go!”