about the Villages

Pastor Oscar was a proud man. He was strong and his shoulders and hands were larger than life. He worked harder than anyone on our team, and we had some pretty athletic college students, who played basketball, ran track, and who played football. I will never forget his smile radiating across his face, lighting up our work place with joy, and inspiring all of us to enjoy ourselves. When the tropical rains come you need to seek shelter and we would gather in a make shift sanctuary at the bottom of the hill. This place of refuge in the rain was Oscar’s temporary housing after Sunday services, before he and his family would walk thirteen miles back to their home village. Oscar’s children taught us to hang our heads beneath the palm leaf roof, face toward the sky, eyes closed, and allow the rain to run off the roof and through our hair. Refreshing to say the least. Oscar had taken the week off from work to help us, and with no vacation time or sick pay, he was without compensation. His children loved having him around, and so did his wife. On Tuesday morning during our first week, three-hundred bags of cement arrived, each weighing fifty pounds, and Oscar told us we would need to move the bags into the shelter before the next rain came.

The incline from the road to the shelter is steep and it was muddy from the rains in the night. Sludge filled our shoes and it was hard to keep from sliding. Our team of thirty lined up from the top of the road to the shelter at the bottom and began a vigorous human bag brigade, handing off one sack at a time, down the line and into the shack. We were moving quickly, and feeling pretty good as a team, and I looked up the hill to find Oscar asking two of the student missionaries to help him place one bag on each shoulder. He then took a deep breath and started marching down the hill, one powerful step planted in the mud at a time. After depositing his bags, he was back up the mountain for another load; smiling and singing every step of the way.

During one of our rain breaks, I spoke with Oscar about his past and how he came to know God and had become a pastor. He told me, “I was the greatest boxer in all of Central America. I represented Costa Rica with great power and honor. Thousands of people loved to watch me hurt and destroy my adversaries. I was the most feared and honored in all of Costa Rica and people would chant my name, ‘Oscar, Oscar, Oscar.’ One fight many years ago, I was fighting for another championship and I hit the man so hard that he fell down and did not get up for a long time. The doctors thought I had killed him. I broke his face and almost his neck. I was sitting with my trainer crying and I remember feeling like I had died. I was very scared, and I knelt down and prayed to God that if he would spare my adversaries life I would never fight again and I would only serve Jesus. I watched my opponent get up, and with tears of joy, I came to him and apologized. I told him I prayed for him to live and that my life had been saved as well. They announced my name as the champion, but there were not a lot of people cheering. I had already taken off the gloves before I prayed, and I remember how empty they looked on the floor. It was like my old life was empty and useless. After that I started working on a horse ranch and a chicken ranch and preaching on the weekends. I heard this village needed a church, so I started walking after work one Friday with my family and I showed up and said, ‘I’d like to be your pastor.’ And they said, ‘God be praised.’ That was five years ago. Now do you know what I hear after I preach Pastor Tom? People chant the name, ‘Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.’ I am very happy and filled with much peace.” Oscar placed his hand on my head and smiled and prayed for me. His hands were like Hulk hands; they were rough and calloused and yet his touch was gentle and caring. We worked together side by side every day for that first week, and his influence continues this day to fill my heart with joy. By the end of the first few days, we had cleared and leveled the land to pour the foundation for Oscars four room house. I will never forget mixing the cement in a shallow hole in the ground and loading wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow full and pouring the foundation. Oscar just smiled and thanked God for the laborers from America who came to build his house.

Many in the village stopped by during the day and celebrated our work and shared home made tortillas and beans and rice. Oscar’s family would always bring a gift of thanks for many of the women on our team. Sometimes, it would be a little hand made doll or a colorful piece of cloth or a flower. The students would be in awe at this village’s hospitality and thankful hearts. One of the team said, “I came here thinking I was doing something awesome for them, that I was going to be the coolest thing and help save their sad life.” And with tears in her eyes she finished with wonder, “I never thought they would be sent to show me my pathetic life, and give so much to all of us with so little. They are so full of Christ’s love, so full of love.”

Every afternoon the bus would come and we would join the other mission team and return to the orphanage. Climbing on the bus, we were applauded by the other team; always a nice encouragement. It was decided to all rejoice and give a hollar to God for what God was doing. You have never heard such noise coming from a busload of missionaries! Many of us would talk up a storm about the day. Some were exhausted and slept. The first week of work was a flurry of wonderful stories of how all of our needs, and the needs of the villages, were being met.

On Friday, as the bus pulled up to Oscar’s new home, it was eerily silent. At first we thought it was joke, and as our bus driver opened the door and we could see tears on his face, we became cautious of the emotion and entered quietly. All week we had heard about the wonderful tales of a wild and fun Vacation Bible School being attended by fifty children, and how their loving outreach was being used by God to bring such joy. We loved to hear the stories of the village coming together to help set the porch and raise a cover. We listened and prayed for the family whose infant was sick, and were always anxious to receive updates about the child. The pastor of this village referred to these missionaries as, “Angelos de Dios.” Speaking through their feelings with struggled breathing, they told us how they entered the village that morning and were greeted by the pastor who told them the little child had died in the night. They talked about being shocked to hear there was to be a funeral in the afternoon. They told us how overwhelming it was to hear the family ask if the missionaries would cancel the Bible school and take part in the funeral procession and burial. They shared how their tools felt useless and heavy, and how they did not know what to do. The pastor asked for them to spend the day with the family and the other villagers, helping them mourn the death of this little child. Everyone on the team told us how difficult it was and how totally unprepared they were for something like this.

The bereavement care and funeral procession was an incredible faith challenging experience. To this day I am in awe at how these missionaries, with such strength and compassion, gave so much in one day in grace and mercy. The team helped build and decorate a casket in the morning, adorned with flowers and white lace and beautiful things from the little girls home. As is the custom with a child’s death they carry the body in the casket through the village to the burial grounds. In the early afternoon the pastor proclaimed the child was no longer on earth but in heaven with God, and the procession was to be a victory dance of hope and everlasting life for the village to celebrate; a child’s suffering ended, a new life with God begun. Two of the biggest athletes stepped forward to be pallbearers, and shouldering the casket with great emotion and pain, the pastor led them and the child, the family, the mission team, and village to the cemetery. The pastor, with his Bible held high, sang songs of praise and everlasting life, and by the time they arrived at the graveyard, many of the missionaries felt peace, sad, but at peace. One of the girls who cared for the family that week proclaimed her personal revelation to us in the quiet of the bus, “I have never seen anything so beautiful in my life. This sucks.” Her’s were words of relief and courage capturing how we all felt. The sting of death taken away in the power of faith and the hope of Jesus’ resurrection, yet with scars reminding us of the frailty of life and how death can be painful. I offered a prayer and we all remained quiet, looking out of our windows the whole ride home. After arriving at the orphanage, a few of the Nuns who had prepared dinner for us, gave many on the team hugs and prayed blessings over us. IT was good to have someone at home caring for us. It was a quiet meal and we were all looking forward to rest and relaxation on our day off. Marc asked me that night while we played our guitars on the porch of our bungalow, “Hey bro, if this is what our first week is like, I wonder what’s going to happen next week?”

Just a Thought,
Pastor Tom

about Costa Rica

Chaucer said, “Time and tide wait for no one.” For me this means, “Get off my butt and do something awesome … now!” Even though Chaucer can be boring to me, this profound truth inspires me to drop the remote and make better use of the short time I have before my tide comes in.

One particular beautiful Spring day at Princeton Seminary, with the Dogwoods in bloom, while I was reading outside and thankful the snow had gone, I answered a call from Alan, a dear friend and colleague in North Carolina who was the youth pastor at First Presbyterian Church in Winston-Salem. The international mission group known as Latin American Missions (LAM), Alan was working with was in need of a pastor for a two-week mission trip to Costa Rica. Alan was given the opportunity to choose any pastor and preacher because Alan’s church had some thirty people coming. Alan told me, “We are building a church for a poor village, and I think you need to be there. You need to put some good Jesus action behind all your brainwork to balance your life and make you happy. Besides that, you could really help us out.” My response is always the same when these opportunities come up, “Let me check with Kathy before I commit to anything.” His response caught me off guard, “I already called Kathy, and she thinks you need this more than I think you need this.”

It would be the first time my wife and I were separated for more than an eight hour day. This tugged on our hearts, and we began thinking about mothers and fathers who are single parents. We could not imagine what they have to go through, and how they manage their time and stress and the love that keeps them going. We began praying for those families we knew in school and in the church I served as an intern. My wife was to be stretched in her own faith and mind as we sacrificed this time for mission work. This was when I learned there is always a home team who goes through change as much as the away team. God fills everyone’s heart through prayer. God works as God always does in five or six places at once. As the mission team and I worked together over the next few months, and as I shared with our extended family my excitement and enthusiasm of where I was going, my younger brother, Marc, asked if he could participate. Marc and I had never been part of a mission experience together, and we both sensed God working in our lives to bless each other with a moment in time like no other.

The last few months of preparation with Alan and the other churches were an organizational dream. There were hundreds of details to put together to coordinate efforts of finances, building materials, the work site, the Orphanage that was hosting us in Heredia, the congregation we were serving, and flight arrangements for fifty some students. From my end I was writing and preparing worship music and messages, preparing to be a mission pastor to the team of people I had never met, and as a pastoral liason to the village where language and cultural differences needed finesse and sensitivity. It was a whirlwind of conversations and prayer over the phone, and I learned how to build community through AT&T. The supplies were being purchased by the pastor in Costa Rica, and being stored on the church’s property. Alan and the other pastors arrived one day ahead of my brother and I and the other missionaries, to organize themselves, get the work site prepared, and cover any last minute contingencies.

I flew out of Jersey and Marc flew out of Arizona in July and we ended up meeting in Texas before flying into San Jose, Costa Rica. When I am with my brother we have far too much fun together, and we usually have some kind of an affect on the people around us. He has a way of making everyone feel at home with him and he enjoys laughter, especially hearing others laugh. We talked for hours. We talked about our lives, God, family, and the Costa Rican adventures before us. We were experiencing one of those rare moments in life when you connect with family without all of the baggage. We simply enjoyed each other and listened and shared in love as brothers. It changed our life, and we had no idea how God was going to continue to grow us together.

Costa Rica has speed limit laws and traffic signs for protection and direction. Hector, our cab driver, had no care for these sings, and I think he interpreted them as multiple choices based on mood. As we flew through a red light with his horn blaring and his head hanging out of his window yelling wild things in Spanish, Marc said laughing, “This would have been a great place to drive in high school.” Costa Rica is beautiful. We passed by hundreds of coffee bean plantations climbing through the mountains of San Jose around rough and rugged roads, passing large busses and trucks, until we reached the gates of the orphanage. The orphanage is run by Carmelite nuns and who had a great working relationship with LAM. The retreat facility is perched high on top of a mountain overlooking Heredia. The view encouraged you to slow down and soak in the stunning splendor. The rains in the afternoon are spectacular and the vegetation is unbelievable. I thought I knew what fruit tasted like until I enjoyed mangos and papaya and bananas off the jungle vine. The retreat facility was several hundred yards away from the actual orphanage where the children of San Jose and Heredia were cared for. We could hear the children in the distance playing. The orphanage is one of San Jose’s most prized care facilities and many in the area are grateful and protective of this ministry. The orphanage has a great reputation, and as we unloaded our bags Hector kept looking up tot eh fence around the orphanage. He kept saying to us, “This is a good place, a very good place.” When one of the nuns came to the edge of the orphanage’s property and looked over the fence, Hector began to wave excitedly and with a big smile he told us, “Senora Lupe!” After being paid, he jogged to the fence and they talked. One of the retreat staff told us Hector had been one of the many children who grew up there, and for him it was an awkward and joyful opportunity to visit this home again.

Marc and I were greeted warmly by Alan and the other youth pastors, and Alan looked troubled. He said, “The church officials and the government officials can not agree on how the church is to be built, because the pastor of the church ran off with the other $4,000.00 that we had put in the church’s account over this last year, and they have shut down our particular building project. All of our plans and $3,000.00 in supplies are being detained until they can work it all out. So, how was your flight?”

We had an urgent meeting. It was difficult and stressful. There were many frustrations and fears being aired. All of us felt helpless, frightened, and taken for granted. Many thought of going home on the next available flight. Everyone looked to me as the pastor of the camp, and someone asked, “What do we do?” Out of desperation, I felt we needed to pray out loud together. Through our prayers, a no holes barred intense blend of confession and fear, blaming God and crying out, and seeking answers, our frustrations were released and our faith inched us slowly toward reconciliation and inspiration. We decided God had placed us in Costa Rica for something more than we had anticipated, and in faith all of us chose to stay and figure out something else to do. So we prayed again and asked the retreat staff and LAM what else needed to be done in the area. Where could we be sent to be of the greatest help for the next two weeks?

It is always surprising to watch the Holy Spirit’s subversive power move the people of God. One of the camp staff knew a friend whose pastor, Oscar, walked some thirteen miles every weekend to pastor a little Pentecostal church in the mountains. They were in need of a home for their pastor and his family of six to live. Alan said, “We’ll take that one.” Another worker from LAM knew of a church in another village who needed a front porch with a roof, and who were in desperate need of help with a local Vacation Bible School. The other two churches took the lead with that one. The orphanage had secured a bus for us before we arrived and the bus driver simply needed a new set of directions for both teams. So, after breakfast we headed out to our villages. With no idea of what needed to be done, no plan, very few resources, and no idea of what God had set in motion, we were excited for our new adventure. An adventure of unprecedented life changing moments where time and tide change the landscape around us, causing us to reevaluate what it important in our life, and do something awesome.
… Stay tuned for Part 2 …

Just a thought,
Pastor Tom

About Reaching

It was Mickie’s first time in her seventy something years to teach a Children’s message in front of the whole church. You would never have thought that by her regal character and dignity, her mastered eloquence and educational background, and the way that she dresses with class, that her insides were a jumbled mix of joy and worry and panic; butterflies on steroids. She had carefully prepared for this children’s message, wrapping shoeboxes and typing out her notes, her Bible opened and scripture ready, and like most good public speakers she had checked with others as to where the microphone needs to go and where she needed to sit and where her props needed to be. With her outward appearance in tact, her teaching moment well prepared, and her insides fluttering, she bumped into one of our deacons who offered a prayer for Mickie on the spot. Mickie’s hands were opened to be held, their heads bowed in a moment of peace and encouragement, as God worked on Mickie’s internal combustion preparing her for something wonderful.

I’m not sure how the Spirit reassured her into a moment of peaceful love. It may have been her grandmother’s heart as the children gathered at her feet. It may have been her husband beaming from the front row in love. It may have been the children asking questions and getting involved. At one splendid moment she took a big breath, and when she did she relaxed and grew comfortable with the children congregated. It was as if there came wisdom from a life filled with faith and understanding, allowing her mind to give into the love she felt in her heart for these children. At that precise moment, one of the children named Rosemary became a picturesque blessing for the congregation. Little Rosemary, sitting beneath the shadow of Mickie’s Bible, reached up with her tiny hand and touched the gold leafy pages with her fingers, running them ever so gently up and down, back and forth, unbeknownst to Mickie. Then she reached out and touched Mickie’s skirt, getting lost in a most comfortable place most children do when they gather round love. Mickie was smiling and teaching, and Rosemary was caught up in it all, both of them at peace with each other in worship.

Little Rosemary united everyone. Her heart full of peace and wonder, connecting with the big bible and the familiarity of friends and grandmothers, was a moment of clarity and joy; and for Rosemary it was worth exploring. In an instant God’s grace and gentleness, through these two children of God, ushered the church into a worshiping moment clarifying their own identity. I thought to myself, “This is who they are, this is what God’s Kingdom looks like, this is what they are all about.”

The celebration of children in worship is what Mickie’s smile and nervousness, and all of the other folk who brave a children’s message, captured for me. Rosemary’s stretched out hand, and all of the children who come forward for a children’s message, show us the kingdom of God from a child’s heart of discovery searching for truth.

As I pen this story I am filled with this understanding: all children’s messages illustrate their church’s purpose and proclaim who they are. What defined this church during their children’s moment? Was it the message of mission for homeless street teens in need of practical shoeboxes filled with socks and toiletries, or was it Mickie’s heart melting into the moment with these children? Was it the children listening to her, or was it the congregation being caught up in a moment of spiritual clarity of who they are: Children and elderly together learning God’s will. Was it Christ’s presence reminding them that as they search for Jesus he promises to find them in the Bible and in the faces and lives of the stranger (like those of the street teens, or guests who join them on Sunday)? Was it the Spirit binding them together? For me it will always be that beautiful hand reaching for the Bible as the teacher opened herself in love to those who came to hear.

Just a thought,

Pastor Tom

About New Shoes

I was asked to give a report on the church I serve in Las Vegas to the governing body of all of the churches in Nevada. This governing body is called the Presbytery. This small congregation is a new church development and the work and effort that many people at this church put in is an inspiration and a blessing. This was my report.

"Got a new pair of dress shoes last week. I needed them. My old ones were worn out. The new ones look great … and I have blisters. This past week my feet hurt as the shoes try to conform to my walking style and my weight.

One of the writers of the Bible, John, says in his book about Jesus in chapter 6, “This is the will of my father, that all who see the son and believe in him may have eternal life; and I will raise them up on the last day.”

Summerlin Presbyterian Church is a new church development. I wonder what that means for you … this is what it means for us. NEW: Reminds us of what our deepest hope is, our greatest desire. When we think of NEW, we begin to dream, and NEW means we can think outside the box of Presbytery or what it means to “do” church. God promises, “Behold, I will make all things new.” CHURCH: All that is the body of Christ and following where Jesus leads. DEVELOPMENT: Walking around in the NEW.

I believe we are all doing our best to be helpers and leaders and children of God with gifts of the Spirit promoting God’s Kingdom, working for the reconciliation of the world in Jesus, by bridging the gap between gospel and culture within our local mission fields. At Summerlin Presbyterian Church we’re just NEW. We are no different or unique than any of our churches. We have the same sinful people and problems and issues that every church has. We have the same saints and experience the same blessings of God. We’re just NEW at it. We are about two years old in Presbyterian years. Our birth year, the same year we share with our brothers at the new church in Sparks, Nevada (Spanish Spring), is the year we chartered, 2005. Do you remember what it is like raising a toddler and a two year old as they learn to walk and talk and teethe and learn to grow into their personality? Raising little ones takes patience, hand holding, face recognition, encouragement, and the responsibility of letting them go a little at a time to learn about who they are. As Spanish Spring and Summerlin Presbyterian Church continue to grow, walk with us in creative ways that are nurturing, patient, and give plenty of face recognition.

I had a preaching professor at seminary ask me a question that forever changed my way of preaching. After a sermon I had preached to the class with my best effort at exegesis and form and historical criticism, and delivering what I thought was great biblical insight that would change the world (or at least get me B+), he said, “So what?” So what. What’s the point of all of the good work and effort? What’s the “So what” about the passage that is meaningful for the people who are listening, and I thought about my report today ...

So what? So, what’s NEW; What’s Church; What’s Developing at Summerlin Pres?

It’s not about:

The Land or buildings to be built (even though we have invested seven long years of time and effort and thousands of dollars in the hope of taking the land for Kingdom of God)

The million dollar loan or capital campaigns (even though we are grateful for the new opportunity to borrow and are excited to raise the money needing to build)

Schism or struggles our church faces and the thousand deaths we die when someone leaves (even though we’ve lost some forty families … 20 who just up and left because they didn’t like this or that; and another twenty who have just moved away)

Traditions, or history or legacies (even though we are now keeping record of our events with great hope and joy calling them the 'Third annual')

Setting up and tearing down every Sunday for worship for the last seven years

Holding every church function at someone’s home for five years (even though our underlying motto is, 'Have Bible, will travel.' Think about for a moment what this means … every church meeting at someone’s home: youth groups, bible studies, deacons, session, every commission meeting, all fellowships; what a blessing!)

Chartering (even though we love to celebrate our birth day every April 13)

The Book of Order or the Book of Confession

Blended, Classic, or contemporary worship styles and wars people feel the need to wage (even though we have a praise team and a choir and a children’s choir)

Political differences with who has the upper hand

Theology (even though Summerlin celebrates Worship, Discipleship, and Evangelism as our core values that correspond with the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit)

Membership growth and increasing worship attendance (even though we have 185 members and we are trying to plug members and guests into ministry and mission to get beyond the 200 member mark and continue to grow as God directs)

Two cultures sharing land and space (even though we are grateful for our Korean brothers and sisters, and the new day of working with our presbytery in a new way)

Celebrating mission experiences (even though we have missionaries to feed the homeless every month, missionaries to minister to street teens, and missionaries to the Gulf Coast)

So, what’s it about, if it’s not about all of these good efforts?

It’s about being sent by God; sent into the places of our lives with the Good News of God’s love in Jesus. All of our good efforts and issues and struggles and celebrations we encounter are in service to being sent. Summerlin Presbyterian Church celebrates being missional. We celebrate every member being a missionary. We celebrate the activities and the wonder of a people sent by God to establish a new church. We celebrate guests and members connecting with mission and ministry. We celebrate living our witness.

For this little church, the 'so what' is:

'This is the will of my father, that all who see the son and believe in him may have eternal life; and I will raise them up on the last day.'

Walk with us, learn with us, grow with us as we expereince all things new.

Just a thought,
Pastor Tom

about u-turns

“That sign means a u-turn,” I said like a father reading a children’s book as she pulled into the left hand turn lane. “I know what the sign means dad, I just don’t know how to do one,” my daughter said with frustration. “Look both ways, look to see if there is any oncoming traffic, pull out past the median a little, turn the wheel as far as you can, accelerate into the turn, straighten out, and drive.” Smiling and rather proud of herself she asked, “Why can’t I just turn left for the rest of my life?” That got me thinking.

Left turns for the rest of our life. Sounds easy, sounds fun, and eventually you might end up where you started; and you also might be lost forever, tangled in a web of left turning entropy until you end up surprised and stopped at a dead end. Left turns for the rest of our life do not make any sense. However, having the opportunity to go back, to turn around and go the other way is genius, because it allows us the opportunity to return, or go in a different direction, or move along the route we need to go. How many times have I heard my wife say when we were lost, “Honey, we need to turn around.”

In Jerusalem, and I think most of Israel, the signs reading u-turn are the Hebrew word for “repent.” That’s great! Everywhere you drive in Jerusalem, above your head in the medians of everyday life to give you direction it says, “Repent” or “Do not repent.” That can be convicting, to say the least. It prevents us from simply making left turns all of our life. U-turns are God’s gracious and liberating gift for us to turn around, to go another way, and to get back on course. It is great advice in our journey with God to, “Look both ways, look to see if there is any oncoming traffic, pull out past the median a little, turn the wheel as far as you can, accelerate into the turn, straighten out, and drive.”

My daughter is getting her drivers license in another month. This has been an interesting time for all of us. It has taken her longer to obtain her license than it took to potty train her. I wish it were that easy. We’re in Las Vegas and it is simply frightening to drive by accidents almost daily, accidents mostly caused by people driving in fear; fear of being late, fear of not making the light, fear of not getting a parking place, fear of waiting in traffic, or just afraid of driving. The speeding and running of red lights is as prevalent as this city’s nick name, “Sin City.” She is studying the book, driving on every road we can put her on, in all kinds of weather and strange road conditions. Of course, we will not be able to prepare her for everything, but we should be able to prepare her to handle just about anything. And that means being able to turn around, in sin cities, and go the other way.

Just a thought,

Pastor Tom

about Granny

My grandmother died today. She was 102 years old. She wasn’t eating very much these last few months and she wouldn’t take her medication, and once around Christmas, when the caretakers came in to get her dressed and give her pills, she tried to bite them. For some time now she had a hard time remembering her family, and her quality of life was waning terribly, especially on those who cared for her. Apparently she died of old age, can you believe that? I think she was ready to be called up yonder, and made a choice to go. Good for you Granny!

Her death today got me thinking about her life. 102 years of life. That’s almost biblical.

She was … that’s sad to write. She was a beautiful and distant old woman to me. She is my adopted grandmother because my dad was courageous and loving enough to adopt me as he fell in love with my mother and married her. I know my grandmother loved me, and there was always this distinct southern air that I wasn’t blood. From elementary school through High School, she was the person who consistently spoke about her faith and about God and Jesus. Every time she would come over to our house she would sit down at the piano and play at least 500 times, “Take my cup Lord, fill it up, and make me whole.” Every one in my family, when we hear that old familiar tune, are taken back to our living room, watching an old woman with emotion and passion pounding out that tune; all of us blushing with embarrassment at her faith and reckless regard for decency and orderly worship on the appropriate day of the week. She could worship anytime, anywhere, and we can recite every verse to that song.

She gave me a bible my freshman year in high school, with tears in her eyes, and a longing that I would be baptized in her lifetime … baptized the Baptist way, full immersion. I was baptized a Methodist, and sprinkled with water as an infant. She just didn’t think that was right, and I am sure she wasn’t confident that I would end up in Glory. So, she longed for the day when I would give my heart to Christ and come to the cleansing water of the Lord’s love for me, and get dunked.

She had a toy poodle named Ginger while we were growing up. After her beloved husband died, that little dog became her best ever friend. One night, after one of our weekly dinners, I was asked to drive Granny home. She had just had her brakes fixed, and I didn’t know it. So, with Ginger in her lap, and her crock pot of beans between her feet (they were always so salty), I pressed a little too hard on the brakes and Ginger ended up in the beans. Granny was pretty upset, I got the giggles, and she prayed hard for my soul.

One summer, when I was trying desperately to be the next Jimmy Buffet in college, she bravely came to my first gig at a bar. She was dressed like she was going to church, and disconcertingly proud amidst a room full of sinners. After the first two songs, she slowly slipped into a mess of embarrassment as I made a fool of myself and was asked to leave the bar forever. She never said a word against me.

She was a distant woman to me and we rarely spoke. Her townhome was adorned with gaudy gold cherubs, and hundreds of pieces of china she had painted with pictures of fruit. I am told she made a huge impact as a bible teacher and church pianist and vocalist. I am happy for the people she touched. They are happy-sad today. Every Christmas card or birthday card she had a penchant for underlining words that were important for us to hear. It was funny and strange for me to read cards with underlined words. It made me feel like she was pinching my cheek from far away. She wrote in a bible she purchased for me on my birthday, with beautiful penmanship:

"January 19, ‘78

To Tommy, my beloved grandson, who is rapidly growing into such a fine young gentleman. If you study this Book, and obey it’s Author, your life will be beautiful and a blessing indeed-
You are so dear to me, Tom, and I pray for you daily.
With deep affection,
Your Grandmother Helen
These verses have shaped and influenced my own life more than any others since I
became a Christian when I was twelve years old. Read them and believe them!"

Rom. 8:28, Math 6:33, Phil 4:19, Psa 34:7, Psalm 91:11, Psalm 37:4

May her teaching and encouragement be a blessing to you. As a Presbyterian pastor it appears providential that I am a preacher and a teacher given what she wrote and how she cared enough to pray for me every day. She knew something I couldn't see. When you get a chance, let your grand children know they are beloved, and pray for them. It feels good even after all these years.

Thanks Granny. May the Christ you love carry you home. Hope the music is a delight, and even though I’m not going to get dunked, I’ll see you later.

Thinking of you,

Tom

about days

As we pulled up to a red light, with my sons in the car helping me with church errands gathering items for our monthly mission to feed the homeless in Las Vegas, the car in front of us had a white bumper sticker with large red lettering; it read, “LIFE SUCKS.” In Las Vegas there are countless moments as a parent chauffer where you shudder at the thought of what your children will read or see while driving to church, a friend's house, or shopping. This particular sighting did not cause me to say our prophetic cry, "Look away." My heart simply began to race as I watched our youngest mouth the words to the bumper sticker, look thoughtful, and then ask, “Dad, what does 'Life Sucks' mean?”

"For it was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; that I know very well. My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth. Your eyes beheld my unformed substance. In your book were written all the days that were formed for me, when none of them as yet existed." Psalm 139:13-16

Lord, what will we continue to become? Are the days you have formed for us always full of change and wonder? What is in a day formed by you?

The days formed by God create powerful change. The weight and pressure of every day create moments of transformation, especially as we choose God’s good and perfect will. As we choose to do God’s will, the bible becomes a gift of God’s ideas and plan for our lives helping us to continue following God. Following God pulls us through the days formed for us in the strength of God’s will, often dragging us into a world fighting against God’s perfect desire of love. When we choose to go outside of God’s boundaries of grace in the daylight hours, we run into the weight of the world fighting against God’s formative existence. Sometimes, as we live within God’s grace, life manages to create its own will of confusion and destruction tearing at the day God created for us. With daytime being created in God’s perfect will, and with the struggles of sin so prevalent, it is deep wisdom calling us to follow God in the midst of life.

When people choose to not live in love, we crash against a day formed in unconditional love, grace, and forgiveness, given in the selflessness of God. The struggle of life is between our choices and God’s formed days. The great effort is to keep within God’s grace, no matter the choices of the world against God. Giving into God’s will against the pressures of the day; giving into the weight of change evident with every day’s problems and opportunities and struggles and celebrations as they are interpreted in God’s will of love; giving into every day created by God, transforms and shapes us.

We are challenged in our faith and shaken to our core with tragedies completely opposite to your will (the death of a child, the announcement of disease, tsunami’s or hurricane’s destruction, lines of hungry and homeless at food shelters, abusiveness in a home, etc…). These evils we did not choose, these the world chose against God, and we are trampled in the midst of these choices. The choice to follow God becomes a choice of anguish and distress and we are scarred. Are these the days you formed for us; days of great pain and suffering, tragedies and sorrow supporting imperfection and sin while we do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with our God? Are these days one lament after another crying out a liturgy of “life sucks?”

For those of us who struggle, we have a God who promises created days long before we were born, and those days are perfectly laid within the foundation of God’s love for the world. The choices nestled within this created day in God’s perfect will become a struggle in formation as we follow God’s son; a struggle for new life and new humanity in the Christ. The world in sin only sees itself and its only action becomes what it can take from an other. Our struggle is against powers and principalities that are against God’s perfect will, while we live to glorify God and do God’s will. Life is what is happening as we follow God; eternal life carries the scars of this life’s choices radiating God’s glory of being good and faithful servants. The imperfect world enclosed in a perfect will, the infinite attached to the finite, create moments of empowered struggles where we are shaped and formed into God’s likeness. These days have been created so God may be glorified and God’s perfect will can be experienced. The world is then transformed under the pressure of God’s grace; a relentless transforming grace no matter what the world chooses.

I told my sons, “You know where were going this afternoon, right? To feed the homeless. Well, for some of them life isn’t going so well and this bumper sticker talks about how difficult life can be. It's also a reminder that we need to help people, and show them life is also full of love.” They said, “Cool.”

Just a thought,

Pastor Tom

about a blue Kentucky moon

“Ever had fried bologna preacher boy,” said the greasy long haired cook in the kitchen of the mission camp in Bowling Green, Kentucky. “Nope, but I’ll try it as long as you all eat it with me,” I said smiling. They sliced the bologna off the slab, fried it up, and we walked outside with our paper plates stacked with slices of this strange after dinner treat. The moon was bright and appeared so close that if you threw a piece of the bologna at the moon it would stick. Two slices into our stack, Roy showed up out of the shadows of the back woods of this town whose high school had been transformed into a missionary village. He walked to us slowly dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and black southern bow tie. He had an Abe Lincoln beard, salt and pepper hair, and was smoking a pipe like a chimney. He stood 6’ 5” tall with every movement deliberate and slow. His words were careful, speaking thoughtfully with his Appalachian accent and smile. He looked into our faces and with a profound sincerity with his deep brown eyes and a somber tone he said, “Children of the Lord, doin’ God’s work will be repaid a hundred fold for their labors when the Kingdom comes. Ya’ll got any bologna to share?”

Most of the time Roy spent his afternoons on the steps of the Dairy Queen. He was easy to spot and was a colorful treasure of the community. Roy had past, like most folks do, and his past had been played out in public like reality television. He used to be the town’s most influential preacher and had a growing church. Then he fell from grace, took to drinking and gambling, and lost his family, church, and part of himself. Roy wasn’t really homeless, but he didn’t have a place he called home, and the only clothing I saw him wear was his preacher’s uniform. He moved from apartment to apartment helping anyone at any time. After eating a couple of slices, he peered out at the moon, and said to me, “Preacher boy, that is blue Kentucky moon, and there ‘aint nothin’ like it in the whole wide world. You remember that when you’re ministrin’ to other folks … just love ‘em where they’re at with what they got.” Fifteen years later I’m still trying to figure out what the moon and ministry had to do with each other; and it all seemed to make sense on the porch eating fried bologna. Roy began telling us about a family, the Weiler family, who lived on top of a hill overlooking the valley in an old gutted school bus they had backed into a hole. Roy’s heart was visibly broken by their plight, and he offered to help them with electricity if we would help clean the place up a bit and make it more “like a home.” We all agreed to help, and I asked if we could find them an apartment. Roy simply pointed to the moon and shook his head side to side with a face that said, “Did you hear me earlier?”

Roy’s directions were hard to follow. He didn’t use street names or mapping terms like North and South. His directions, like many people in this town, were historical and handed down through an oral tradition. “Just go down three streets and turn right, then head up to old Charlie’s place and turn left, then after three dirt turns on your right, go left for about a ½ a mile.” After searching for almost three hours we found the Weiler’s house; if you could call it a house. The side door of the bus, was the front door to their “mobile” home and when you walked in, the drivers area had been turned into the kitchen with a wood burning stove. There was an eating area in the center of this bus with a card table and four small children’s chairs with a lace table cloth covering it. There were bunk beds for the boys on the left side of the bus and most of the windows had been replaced with aluminum siding. On the right side of the bus hung the kid’s clothes on a laundry line and changing area with a plywood divider so the boys could have some privacy. The back housed the master bedroom with a double bed, a dresser with a mirror, and a shower curtain dividing the bedroom from the rest of their home. What struck us so comically, in the midst of this tragic poverty, was an old ceiling fan that Mr. Weiler had hooked up to the bus battery. He was proud of the fan and he showed us how it worked three times while we were there. You had to sit down when it was on or it would take your hair off. Their gracious hospitality captivated me as they offered us a place at their table sharing some potato chips. Mrs. Weiler said they did not get a lot of visitors, and they were “happy to have us.” They said times were hard, and “We all’s doin’ just fine, and with hauling water two times a day, we can can keep the clothes clean and everyone fed and warshed." We sat together at their table for a long time. I asked if we could help shore up the bus and try to get some electricity for a refrigerator, or for the fan. They were happy with our offer and Mr. Weiler cautioned, “Aint no way to git ‘ lectricity up here.”

We left with a mission that afternoon to help them, and back at the Dairy Queen, we shared what we had learned with Roy. He smiled and said, “Y’all bring lunch tomorrow and the refrigerator, I’ll bring the eelectricitee and juice up that bus.” The next day we found a fridge, packed a lunch for the family, as well as purchasing groceries. When we came upon the bus there was a truck from an air conditioning company parked out front. Roy and this young man were standing together with Roy puffing on his pipe. The boy looked nervous. When we got out, Roy nodded to the young man who said in one breath, “I fixed up the battery that ‘ol fan was on and cleaned it out so it wouldn’t short any more. I wanted to hook up the fan for them, but Mr. Weiler got all mad seein’ he’s all proud of what he’d done. I’ve put in some outlets and left some extension cords and duct tape.” Roy filled in the rest of the story with a huge smile as the boy drove away. “This youngin’s father owed me some money, and the deal we made is that the Weiler’s are gonna’ git eelectricitee on account of a generous donation by his company.”

We stayed with the Weilers until the sun set, getting the fridge leveled and playing with the boys. We talked about politics and Jesus. We gave Roy a ride back to town and offered a room for him with us at the mission camp. He was grateful. We thanked him for his help and he pointed to the moon, now coming up, and said, “Thank the Lord, boys, thank the Lord.” We talked well into the night about salvation, hope, fear, and stumbling in our faith. He never looked at me. He always looked into the sky, waiting for me to ask another question. I did. He loved Kentucky and he loved God. His heart broke for the Weilers and all of the other families who were left with nothing when the coal mines shut down. He felt it was his mission to care for the people as he could. When it was time for bed, he pointed again to the moon in the midnight sky and said, “Preacher boy, remember, that is blue Kentucky moon, and there ‘aint nothin’ like it in the whole wide world. You keep ministrin’ to other folks … just love ‘em where they’re at with what they got.”

Dietrich Bonhoeffer said, “God did not give him to me as a brother for me to dominate and control, but in order that I might find above him the creator.” (Life Together, 1954, HarperSanfrancisco, pg. 93) Paul, one of the writers of the Christian bible, says, "If then there is any encouragement in Christ, any consolation from love, any sharing in the Spirit, any compassion and sympathy, make my joy complete: be of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves. Let each of you look not to your own interests, but to the interests of others." (Philippians 2) It was good to find God above Roy and the Weilers, and I hope they found God above us.

Just a Thought,

Pastor Tom