He is Risen Indeed!

What Makes an Eagle Fly...Steven Joyce's Boy Scout Eagle Project

Center Avenue United Methodist Church sits on top of a hill in Pitcairn, Pa. It was established in 1892, and from the outside you can tell it once ministered to a large and vibrant community. Over the years, the community of Pitcairn has fallen on difficult times causing the church the church to struggle as well. While the church remains a beacon of hope the community, growth of the church family and community outreach has been a challenge. One solution to this challenge may just have come from a direction not anticipated.

This boost may have come from a teenager who did not listen to those who had low expectations of him; those who tried to tell him he was not able to do things that other kids could do. This teenager had chosen to listen to those who believed in him more than he believed in himself. He chose to listen to Sunday school teachers and pastors who taught him about Jesus and Jesus’ call on each of us to live our faith in our daily lives. This teenager listened to the Plum High School Cross Country Seniors and alumni who expected him to succeed and took a risk and believed in him when others were not so sure. He listened to the scout leaders who taught him skills. He listened to all those voices that believed in him.

Steven Joyce is this teenager and his choice of listening was vitally important because Steven happens to be Autistic. To many people, that label alone would indicate huge limitations. To most people, it would mean he could not be someone who at age 15 could undertake a Boy Scout Eagle project bringing the strength of several churches, 30 volunteers, and almost $1000 to create a new nursery at Center United Methodist Church. Steven hopes this nursery will be one of the seeds to help the church’s ministry and outreach to the community to grow.

Steven and his family are members of the Monroeville United Methodist Church and while members, they met the Bloise family who among others believed in Steven. Cyndi and Frank were two of his Sunday School teachers and their daughters treated him as a dear friend. Cyndi went to seminary, became a pastor, served as Associate Pastor at Steven’s church for six years, and now is pastor of that church on the hill in Pitcairn.

When it came time to pick an Eagle Scout project, Steven knew exactly what he wanted to do. He wanted to do something for Cyndi’s church because he said she had believed in him, and as a future Eagle Scout it was his turn to believe in her and her church. He chose the nursery project because he likes little kids and wants them to grow up strong and healthy. Steven believes the way to do grow up strong and healthy is to be at church and being there often begins in the church nursery.

Steven did not know Autistic kids weren’t supposed to be leaders; he did not know that sometimes big churches don’t help smaller churches; he did not know that believing in others wasn’t enough; he did not know his hugs were infectious and would get others motivated. Steven just moved ahead, motivated by his love and his vision, and the bigger church helped in a big way. Steven had as many volunteers as needed and when he needed funds, they materialized. His scout troop, his cross country team, his teachers, his friends and his community were there. As people look at the beautiful, clean nursery, the lesson is not the project itself but rather how God works through us as a connected body, that every small contribution adds up to make a difference of the larger project, and how God does amazing things using unexpected and ordinary people.

What makes an Eagle fly? This Eagle flew with the lift of those who took a risk and believed in him with the bright light of faith as their guide. Steven’s journey to and through his Eagle Project, shows how an honest faith and belief in others can make a big difference in people’s lives.

 

I get dressed up so rarely ... and I think that I look very nice in this picture ... so I decided to post it on here.

The faithful few who stay behind

This is a photograph from The Big Picture's Easter Photo Section (thanks Meredith). The caption reads, "A dog sits in the place where his owner died in an earthquake in Saint Gregorio village near L'Aquila on easter Sunday, April 12, 2009. (REUTERS/Alessandro Bianchi)"

To add to the long list of unflattering comparisons we use to describe followers of Jesus (because, really ... sheep?!? Who wants to be a sheep?) I would like to add that we should be like dogs.

This dog shows loyalty to a degree I don't fully know.

The women who went to the tomb showed loyalty to Jesus.

On this day we wait in silence by the tomb.

Kingdom

Jesus spoke out against "Kingdom." Kingdom is a power structure that oppresses the people. The invading Roman army which levied taxes against the Jews was Kingdom. The Jewish Pharisees that made up rules to visibly prove their faithfulness, yet kept crooked hearts hidden internally, belonged to Kingdom.

And "Kingdom" still exists. In companies that choose profits over people every time. In churches that "revere the big Bible on the table but ignore the broken woman in the pew" and in Christians who "polish the brass cross but push aside the confused teenager." (derived from a quote from Rev. Bill Beatty.) Kingdom lives in governments that could end the world with a push of a button, in politicians that disregard human life in any of it's many forms, and in citizens who value their founding documents over the words of Jesus.

Systems that give intrinsic value to people based on their birth right and not on their potential.

White is better than black ... Kingdom.

American is better than Chinese ... Kingdom.

Straight is better than gay ... Kingdom.

Male is better than female ... Kingdom.

Rich is better than poor ... Kingdom.

It surrounds and envelopes us. It overwhelms us and pre-conditions our theology, politics, and thoughts.




I believe that Christians should stand firmly opposed to Kingdom.



There are a few moments in history, as recorded in the Bible, when God looks down on the people and in this God-only mix of frustration, sympathy, love, and anger God says, "You're doing it wrong. Start over, and try it my way this time."

As the people tore their garments and rolled in ash to show their sorrow, God said, "

"Even now," declares the LORD,
"return to me with all your heart,
with fasting and weeping and mourning."
Rend your heart
and not your garments.
Return to the LORD your God,
for he is gracious and compassionate,
slow to anger and abounding in love,
and he relents from sending calamity.
Joel 2:12-13

And as the people fast to show their religiousity, they question God for not doing as they command. The people show up to talk to God with earplugs firmly in place.

3 'Why have we fasted,' they say,
'and you have not seen it?
Why have we humbled ourselves,
and you have not noticed?'
"Yet on the day of your fasting, you do as you please
and exploit all your workers.

4 Your fasting ends in quarreling and strife,
and in striking each other with wicked fists.
You cannot fast as you do today
and expect your voice to be heard on high.

5 Is this the kind of fast I have chosen,
only a day for a man to humble himself?
Is it only for bowing one's head like a reed
and for lying on sackcloth and ashes?
Is that what you call a fast,
a day acceptable to the LORD ?

6 "Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:
to loose the chains of injustice
and untie the cords of the yoke,
to set the oppressed free
and break every yoke?

7 Is it not to share your food with the hungry
and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—
when you see the naked, to clothe him,
and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood?

8 Then your light will break forth like the dawn,
and your healing will quickly appear;
then your righteousness will go before you,
and the glory of the LORD will be your rear guard.

9 Then you will call, and the LORD will answer;
you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.
"If you do away with the yoke of oppression,
with the pointing finger and malicious talk,

10 and if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry
and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,
then your light will rise in the darkness,
and your night will become like the noonday.
Isaiah 58:3-10

I have to believe that these words are more than just words. I have to believe that these are actual directives about the way in which we should conduct our lives.

to loose the chains of injustice...

to share your food with the hungry...

to provide shelter to the poor wanderer...

I have to believe that these are real things - things that I should be doing and things that I should be teaching others to do as well.

These actions destroy Kingdom...

And pave the way for the Kingdom of God.

And as I look at the words, actions, and life of Jesus of Nazareth and compare them to the current actions of His church; I really can't imagine him giving any other message.

"You're doing it wrong. Start over, and try it my way this time."

I don't like when things are labeled incorrectly.

I don't think a "Revival" should ever be labeled until after it has occurred. It drives me nuts when I see churches advertising a revival service the week before it happens. "I mean, we booked the Holy Spirit 3 months ago ..."

I was reading Cross Cultural Servanthood by Duane Elmer in it he writes that too many Christians label themselves "servant leaders." He strongly recommends that Christians don't use the label "servant" until the people around them begin using that term when speaking about them. I thought that was an interesting point.

Something else to drive me nuts. Great.

Sorry everyone - I'm working on 4 sermons for worship at the student center this week. I'm not actually a theology kind of person - and writing sermons basically taxes my theological thoughts to the max. Maybe when they're finished I'll post an outline.

Maybe.

I'm sitting in the student center going through a GIANT box of English language curriculum while listening to folk music and chatting with students. Why are all folk songs longer than 5 minutes? Is that normal?

"I wash my hands of this ... "

Pilate had always been in control.

Calm.
Cool.
Collected.

Everything the world says we should be. A perfect example of everything the business books tell us we should strive to become.

Then the "incident" occurs. The religious snobs he overseas come knocking on his door. They can't come in, of course, because another one of their religious holidays prevents them from entering the praetorium lest they be unclean for their holy day.

Even to a non-religious Roman official their request seems a little strange. They can't enter a building lest they become unclean, but they can come to call for the murder of a rival and not be sullied by THAT. Like a mafia family praying and crossing themselves before the meal when they decide who's going to axe Big Guido from across the river. Pilate hears them out and offers a political sidestep. They step back, and soon the group is foxtrotting together. When the Jewish leaders let it slide that this Jesus fellow is claiming to be God, Pilate knows he has to take action. He has plan A and a plan B waiting in the wings.

And then he meets this Jesus of Nazareth and his footing shows to be a little weak. He really didn't see any fault in Jesus, but he couldn't let the people think that they could challenge Caesar as the one true God. Suddenly Pilate found himself unsure, emotive, and wishing to pardon this humble carpenter turned teacher.

Suddenly Pilate wasn't so much in control. He tries to sidestep, to re-phrase questions, and to filibuster. All for naught. This Rabbi makes him choose. While Pilate had always relished the power to hold life and death in his hands, suddenly he wasn't sure what to do.

He washed his hands.

He would make the hard decision, but only if he wouldn't be held accountable for it.

But this Jesus of Nazareth came to wash hearts.

It's interesting that history (including extra-biblical accounts such as Josephus) remembers Pontius Pilate for this one encounter and ONLY for this one encounter. Nothing else he ever did - no power grab, no consesus-building decision - ever measured up to his part in crucifying Jesus.

I sometimes wonder how long this even re-played in his mind. How many times did he think back to this encounter? Had he done the right thing? Had he made the right call? When the rag-tag bunch of disciples led the greatest people movement ever to hit the Roman Empire, did Pilate ever think about joining in?

Did he ever see that all the water in the world could never wash away his sins - not just the whole "killing the Son of God" thing - but all the sins he had ever committed. Did he ever understand that only the blood he had spilled could wash hearts?

Dirty

I believe Jesus had dirty hands.

When I first arrived in Mongolia, I was surprised at how quickly my hands became dirty. Every time we wash our hands the rinse-water becomes visibly dirty, like after rolling pennies or sorting newspaper back home. Helen told me that when she goes back to the states she doesn't see the point in washing her hands as often because the water always rinses clear.

In the ger district, where most families don't have running water, hands are dirty as a rule. Sometimes when the kids are playing with us, I can't help but see the beauty in their dirty fingernails and think, "I believe Jesus had dirty hands."

In Bible study this week we read the story of Jesus healing a blind man as found in John chapter 9. I'm struck by the fact that Jesus spits in the dirt to make a mud paste to heal the blind man's eyes. I'm in awe of the Great Physician, who uses dirt to heal this man.

In John chapter 2 Jesus performs his first miracle. Jesus helps a family avoid embarrassment after they run out of wine by turning water into wine. Now, I love a good glass of wine and particularly like this story because if nothing else disproves the teetotalers - this story does.

But, I've always felt that perhaps this miracle doesn't quite fit with the others. Maybe it's that Jesus gets thrown into the situation by his mother and wouldn't have chosen to perform this miracle on his own. Or perhaps it's that I want my Jesus to be just a little more social-justice-liberal and I want his miracles to directly help people. I love it when He miraculously heals people, when He raises people from the dead, when He feeds large crowds of people - I love the miracles that give me hope for the moments when I look out my window and see unswerving poverty. But this miracle seems a little less heroic.

I felt this way until I got a little closer to the story.

In the middle of the desert, where the water is undrinkable, after days of entertaining guests -- How much water would a family have on hand who didn't even prepare enough wine for the celebration?

Not much.

What water would they have on hand?

The water that had been used for the ceremonial washing.

Dirty water.

The water that had rinsed all the "unclean" off the party guests.

Unclean water.

So Jesus, thrown into this particular miracle somewhat against his will, looks around the room and sees these large bowls of dirty water - and He sees the possibility.

And the servant follows along; taking this dirty water in a chalice, he serves it to the man at the head of the table - who in turn rejoices that the family has saved the best wine until last.

Perhaps the miracle wasn’t only that Jesus could turn one thing into another, but perhaps the miracle was that He was willing to use what others consider dirty and unclean and to turn it into something truly great.

Jesus spits into the dirt and gives sight to the blind. Jesus takes dirty water and serves the finest wine ever had. This is the miracle.

Jesus still performs miracles. He still takes the dirty, unclean, and unwanted things of this world and uses them to heal the sick, give sight to the blind, and to change the world.

Jesus takes us, in all of our sin - dirty, unclean, and unwanted - and uses our lives to heal the sick, to give sight to the blind, and to change the world.

This is the La Choy dragon, the character Big Bird was modeled after. I like seeing the genius of Jim Henson long before he came into his element. I like the idea that a big, silly dragon that encourages housewives to buy a product that is as good as (as good as!) takeout can morph into the big, silly childhood icon we know and love.

He played on.

An old, old man used to play the accordion most nights while sitting on a bench in front of my apartment complex in Konakovo, Russia. I can't imagine he's still alive, but if he is I assure you he would still be out playing; long after dark he would begin his mournful-pop melodies. His voice was other-worldly, but his words were never enunciated quite enough for me to understand. The other neighbors would yell and fuss. Even the crazy old woman who called "Vassya, Vassya, Vassya..." for hours on end to retrieve her long-dead-cat from the out-of-doors would join in the chorus against this old, old man and his lovely music.

I loved the music. I loved every second of it. So deeply authentic and heartfelt - a melody and mood that could paint a portrait - I felt I knew him. His fingers cascading along the white and black dots so quickly, his soul played the notes his fingers missed.

More than anything else, I loved his music because he played on when the world told him to stop. He didn't check the public-opinion polls before making decisions. He played on. He didn't aspire to make the charts or any other such non-sense. He played for the one he loved (and how long had she been dead? Years? Decades?) and it was beautiful.

Sometimes I begin to play my own melody; but when the world crushes in, I stop abruptly. I make sad attempts at apologies to my neighbors and go back inside. The song still rages on in my heart, but my fingers and voice remain still. I make sad attempts at apologies to the one I love and try to change the subject.

Perhaps I'll never play the best or be the best at really anything. Maybe I'll always fall just a little short of "good enough" to serenade the world. But perhaps some day, I'll sit outside at night and play and sing with all my heart. Maybe some will tune it out, others might find it beautiful, and still others will scream and shout. But at least I will have held the courage to make the music for the God I love.

Perhaps some day.

Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance,
and there is only the dance.

T.S. Eliot

Postsecret

Grandparents

My sister and I were taught to refer to our grandparents as Grandma and Grandpa. I'm a little surprised we weren't instructed to use the elongated Grandmother and Grandfather. Perhaps we could have used their first names without being any more formal; "Elaine, could you play Candy Land with me today?" "Dorothy, what time will we watch The Price is Right, today?". Occasionally we would get sloppy and drop the -d- Gran-ma and Gran-pa Airgood and Gran-ma and Gran-pa in Florida. My mother's Italian maiden name was a bit difficult, so locality would suffice.

Grandma and Grandpa Airgood practiced a folk-Christianity that relied heavily on religious tchotchkies and salvation based point systems. Sins such as wearing shorts or earrings inside the house of God lost you points and buying oversized portraits of Jesus gained you points. Grandpa took part in a failed exorcism at one point, but we're not allowed to talk about that. Dorothy's sister, Great Aunt Mabel, was devoutly religious and altogether eccentric - we adored her as children for her saintly wisdom, pull-no-punches debate skillz, and hard-core scrabble re-matches - we feared her for her bad teeth and the way her house smelled like rotting eggs.

Grandma and Grandpa in Florida were very religious. Especially Grandma. We always sang Christian songs, prayed longer prayers, and read our Bibles more studiously when Grandma from Florida came for a visit. I once read the entire book of Esther while Elaine watched over me - pretending all the time that this was normal Friday afternoon happenings. Grandma slapped me once when I tried to kiss her because she thought I was going to spit on her. I must have spoken into her "bad ear" (which never happened to be the same ear as the time before) when I said "I love you, Grandma." When her children were young she would throw her son's playing cards away each week when she cleaned his room - Uncle Randy never caught on to clean his own room and save the cost of a deck of cards.

Grandpa Airgood really loved me. He died after a long fight with several illnesses shortly before I started Kindergarten. He pulled my mother aside and asked that no matter what happened that I always be an Airgood. In pictures taken during those days of sleeping on hospital-safe fire-proof plastic couches, my sister and I always have our hands folded in prayer. They're cute pictures, but "Tchotchky Jesus" didn't pull through for us and Grandpa Airgood died. Not that Grandma Airgood had been particularly blissful before his passing; but she was quite bitter after his death. While photographs of Blaine show funny hats, goofy slippers, and big smiles; pictures of Dorothy show a short old woman sticking her tongue out at the camera. Seriously, in almost every picture we have of Grandma Airgood she's sticking her tongue out. Really. She only shed one tear when they told her she had cancer and a few weeks to live. I was holding her hand when they told her; and I watcher her make her peace with Jesus in that one tear. She didn't stick her tongue out anymore after that.

Grandma and Grandpa in Florida lost their location based moniker when they became the only grandparents left. Grandma and Grandpa are as stubborn as the line of dirt that refuses to be swept into the dustpan. One time Grandpa decided to drive from Florida to Pennsylvania for a football game. My Grandma decided she didn't want to go. So, two days before Elaine's 79th birthday (almost exactly one year after she almost died of an aneurysm and almost one year before it became okay to leave Grandma alone for more than a few hours)Virgil left her to drive to Pennsylvania for a football game. They do most things together, though. They mall walk three miles every morning. This is a real thing, and they couldn't be more proud of it - they would have a bumper sticker if it wouldn't ruin the paint job on their car. They don't want to wake the neighbors when they leave for the mall at 6AM - so they synchronise their door shutting. It's adorable. Granma got tired of having her grandchildren so far away, so she got a teddy bear to replace us. She loves Teddy on an emotional level she has never expressed for me. They come from a different era, and have a hard time expressing affection. Every time I hang up the phone with Grandpa I say, "Love you" to which he replies,"Alrighty then." I only allow my friends to back out of a reciprocal "love you" when they're watching football with the fellas - but I let Virgil slide because he's from a different era. They wrote that they were proud of me once in a letter, and I guess the fact that they still send letters to East Jesus Nowhere or wherever I am at the moment proves that they are at the very least somewhat fond of me.

Ultimately, I believe these people are/were the salt of the earth. I love them dearly - and fully appreciate the fact that they made me (directly and indirectly) the person I am today. They shaped the faith of my parents who shaped my faith. They faced obstacles I could never dream of facing, made good and bad decision from which I could learn, and taught me a lot about what it means to be me.

Today, you will be with me in Paradise.

"Some tell us that following Jesus is a simple matter of inviting him into our hearts. But when we do that, Jesus always asks, 'May I bring my friends?' And when we look at them, we see that they are not the kind of company we like to keep. The friends of Jesus are the outcasts, the marginalized, the poor, the homeless, the rejected - the lepers of life. We hesitate and ask, 'Jesus, must we really have them too?' Jesus replies, 'Love me, love my friends!'" - Peter Storey, former leader of the Methodist Church of Southern Africa, in "Listening at Golgotha"

Another song about love.

Love is the most dangerous thing we do every day. Not driving, or operating heavy machinery - but loving others.

Our culture is love obsessed and generally disillusioned. Fourteen year old pop-idols wax eloquent about love - and Paul Harvey's "The Rest of the Story" will tell of their fourth divorce in a few decades. Love is our cultural heroine; we will do anything, pay any price, and take on any consequence to get our next fix.

But I have a sneaking suspicion that we've simply missed the boat. Language defines culture - and I think the fact that our language uses only one word for all different types of love is problematic at best. We use the same word to describe the feeling that causes a new father to catch his baby daughter's vomit and for the feeling that makes 15 year olds feel that nothing could be more important than getting naked and trying to not make a baby. We also use the same word for the verb of God coming to the earth to die for the sins of the world. This word is incomprehensibly incomplete - and we should face this fact head on.

I'm completely convinced that love is not something that happens - it is a verb and a choice.

Every day we must choose to love others. We must look beyond those who are easy to love - we must look into the eyes of the unloveable and choose to love them.

Racism has no place in the Kingdom of God. Love is a choice.

Against whom do we wage war? Our enemies. Whom were we commanded to love. Our enemies. There is no room for war against our enemies in the Kingdom of God. Love is a choice.

Extreme poverty has no place in the Kingdom of God. How can we love our neighbor and allow her children to die of preventable disease and malnutrition. Love is a choice.

Ageism, Homophobia, Sexism, and other forms of discrimination have no seat at the table in the Kingdom of God. Love is a choice.

Love. There is ONLY room for love in the Kingdom of God. Love destroys terrorism, tears down walls and political boundaries, and moves people to acceptance of Jesus Christ. Love is the most dangerous thing we do every day.

Theological Thoughts for Thursday

Vincent Van Gogh didn’t have much to say for his faith in his thirties. It is clear that he never outright recanted his faith in Jesus Christ. It is also clear that he couldn’t define his faith. The young man who started sketching the poor he was sent to as a missionary, ended up taking his own life at 37. No art history class skips the significance of his contribution to the art world, no theology class would dare to dwell on his contribution to Christian thought.

“That God of the clergymen, He is for me as dead as a doornail. But am I an atheist for all that? The clergymen consider me as such — be it so; but I love, and how could I feel love if I did not live, and if others did not live, and then, if we live, there is something mysterious in that. Now call that God, or human nature or whatever you like, but there is something which I cannot define systematically, though it is very much alive and very real, and see, that is God, or as good as God. To believe in God for me is to feel that there is a God, not a dead one, or a stuffed one, but a living one, who with irresistible force urges us toward aimer encore; that is my opinion.”

Vincent didn’t quite fit in as a missionary. In an era in which missionaries lived in compounds on high hills and ministered to the wretched down below, Van Gogh slept on straw in a closet behind the local bakery. He cried himself to sleep some nights. He fell in love with the people. His superiors accused him of “undermining the dignity of the priesthood” and he was dismissed.

“The more I think it over, the more I feel that there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people.”

Faith is a fragile thing. The God of our childhood doesn’t always last through awkward teen years. The God of our zits, braces, and bad year book photos usually doesn’t make it through 4 years in college. The God who protected us through keggers and bad decisions evolves into the God who watches over our children, and then our grandchildren. Faith is a fragile thing.

We as followers of Jesus must constantly be in a position to reevaluate our faith. We must be willing to see what aspects of God we have invented (hint: if God hates the same people as you …) and what parts are true to Christ and his life and ministry.

Vincent Van Gogh struggled with mental illness and sickness for the rest of his life after his failed attempt at being a missionary. He also painted some of history’s most stunning and well-known paintings. He incorporated the spiritual into many of his paintings – even as he struggled defining his own faith journey, he knew that it was important that the world see God in his artwork.

Theological Thoughts for Thursday

We celebrate Advent with hope and celebration.

But, I can't help but wonder what Jesus was thinking before he left heaven to come to earth as a baby.

Was he nervous? Excited? Afraid?

We know that Jesus, before his execution, prayed that "this cup shall pass, if it be Your will." But, I imagine that Jesus knew - before he came to earth - exactly how it would end.

As we hope and anticipate presents and family meals to commemorate the birth of our Savior - I hope we can pause to remember how magnanimous his birth truly was.

God; being truly perfect, holy, and divine; chose to enter our world - to set up tent among us - and to come as a baby. To shed all outward signs of power, prestige, and divinity and become one of us! To share in our suffering.

Missions is an "incarnational" experience. You can't succeed as a missionary unless you "set up tent" with the people. Unless you live their life, speak their language, eat their food, and drink their water you can't have a full appreciation of their life - and you can't fully share the good news of Jesus Christ. We take our model from the birth story. We live with the people - cast aside all of our titles, prestige, and importance to come and live humble with God's creation - in the hopes that we may find the opportunity to share God's great love.

Dear Jesus,
On this Christmas Eve we praise you for who you are. You are a God who is not afraid to get dirty in rescuing the fallen. You are a God who doesn't care about titles and position, but about love and human dignity. May we learn each day, from your life and ministry, how to love each other and serve humanity.
We love and praise you, Amen.

Merry Christmas friends!
Love, Michael.

3rd Person Christmas Letter

Michael Airgood had a very happy 2009.

His final semester of college was a great time in his life. He felt like a real adult. He finished his job as an America Reads Volunteer - working for 7 semesters with that program was very rewarding. He also worked for a family from church in Toccoa, painting and helping around their new house was very relaxing for him. His third job was running the Wednesday night Upstreet! program at Toccoa First UMC after the children's director left. Some weeks he pulled 50+ hours on top of a normal school schedule ... and he loved every minute of it.

His home was filled with warm gatherings of friends as he tried to cram every get together into his already hectic schedule. By the grace of God, he finished college on time with a decent GPA. He preached his first sermons at Toccoa First UMC and Kane First UMC; both were well received and he looks forward to the opportunities to preach again. Less than two weeks after graduation, Michael Airgood flew to South Korea.

Michael worked as a volunteer language missionary which provided a small cost of living stipend. Basically, the mission wasn't all that it was cracked up to be. Michael had been told that he would be working with middle and high school students who felt called to the mission field. Teaching the international language of English to future missionaries sounded like a great experience. When he arrive in South Korea he found out that he would be teaching student age 3-13 - none of whom wanted to learn English and none of whom had even considered missions. While Michael really enjoyed teaching English to the students (particularly to the youngest kindergarten students) he knew that it didn't quite fulfill his call to mission.

Michael met some wonderful people in the English speaking community in Cheonon. He has made some lifelong friends ... and really enjoyed sharing ridiculous stories from his 7 months of teaching with other people with similar experiences.

In early December, Michael resigned his post at the language school. He decided that he needed to be faithful to his call to missionary service above all else. In early January he will head to Mongolia to serve with the United Methodist missionary community there. In March he is headed to Ukraine. He will be representing the Northeast Jurisdiction in Berlin at the Global Young People's Convocation.

Michael's son, Vassya (the cat) moved to Siberia (Kane, PA) and experienced real snow for the first time. Michael's parents say that Vassya has a very cute way of drying one paw at a time in front of the wood stove. Michael hopes to visit next Christmas and see his son's technique.

This year has been truly monumental in Michael's life. As he takes his first baby steps as an adult he is learning a lot about himself, his call, and his future life.

Love, Michael.

I'm working very hard on forgiving people.

I went and visited my dear friend in a Korea prison today. It was a very sad experience, but one I am glad to have had.

We weren't allowed to speak English, because the guard had to monitor our coversation.

Theological Thoughts for Thursday

Sometimes the postlude is truly an epic event.

It's usually a holiday, perhaps Christmas or Easter, when it happens.

The song works into a grand crescendo. The bravado of the final notes consumes the entirety of the sanctuary. Debbie holds the last combination of notes out for effect and, at just the right moment, she releases her hold on the keys.

The grand instrument falls silent - and the moment happens - the audible, collective gasp, the last breath of the echo, the stunned expression as hands go up; just waiting for the unfamiliar post-postlude applause.

I call it the "well done thou good and faithful servant" moment.

It's the sound I want to hear when I get to heaven. It's the sound that I occasionally want to hear in my life here and now - because I need that comfirmation. I need affirmation in my own life. I need to know that I'm on the right track, doing the right things, and following as I should.

I need that moment now and then.

P.S. This is my 500th blog entry.

I really feel like I'm going to need some therapy after leaving Korea ... or at least some cathartic writing exercises. Be prepared for a few posts in January about my time here!

Dr. Leila Denmark

This is my favorite person ever. Leila Denmark is 111, turning 112 in a few short months.

She is the longest serving pediatrician in American history. She retired at 103.

She was the only woman in her class in Med school.

Oh, she is also a co-developer of the pertussis vaccine.

She doesn't drink cow's milk or fruit juices. She only drinks water, and she thinks you should follow suite ... or at least your children should. She refused cake at her 100th and 110th birthdays because it contained processed sugar.

That might sound a little extremist, but that's what people said when she was one of the first doctors to recommend that pregnant women shouldn't take drugs and that adults shouldn't smoke around children.

It literally feels like everything just fell into place. Dates lined up perfectly. There is clarity where there had been confusion.

I really needed this. Even if things don't go as planned, this sense of calm has been amazing at this point in my life.

I've never felt so at peace with the notion that everything I build up can come crashing down, and everything God has accomplished will stand strong.

Theological Thoughts for Thursday

I used to quote a Bible verse I learned in French class when I was in trouble.

"Car je suis fier de l'Evangile: c'est la puissance de Dieu par laquelle il sauve tous ceux qui croient, les Juifs d'abord et aussi les non-Juifs" Romans 1:16

It really doesn't have anything to do with being in trouble ... but often, in a difficult situation, my mind goes a little blank.

I was climbing Mt Curahee with the youth group kids last year, and I didn't think I was going to make it. I quoted the verse over and over again. I climbed and climbed, and quoted and quoted. And then I threw up. And then I sat down. And then I didn't make it up the mountain.

I'm not a quitter. It's not who I am. And when I couldn't make it up that mountain, it was a real low point in my life. I didn't quote the verse in French anymore. I didn't quote any Bible verse for a while.

I couldn't put my finger on it, but some part of my faith had been crushed under the weight of that mountain.

My part. The me part. The part where it's all about what I have done. I'm a red-blooded American, and we stand proud on our accomplishments. It's hard to move past my culture and accept aspects of faith that fly in the face of my traditions.

It's not about us. It's about God. I was trying to rely on myself and a "magic" Bible verse to get me through difficult situations - and I needed to learn to rely on God.

I think that the Christmas season is a perfect time to re-learn this lesson. As we obsess over the rich, powerful, and in-charge in our daily lives ... Christ comes to us as the lowest expression of our humanity. A poor baby. Born in a backwater. Of possibly illegitate circumstances.

I see this tiny Baby, and He reminds me what my faith needs to look like.

Yeah ... sorry.

OK, so obviously this experiment didn't work out. I haven't been slacking, though. I promise. I had to move out of my home in an emergency situation and I lost my internet. I now have to pay a hefty sum on a per-minute basis ... and I've had a lot to accomplish on the internet these last few days!

I'm trying to figure out what I'm going to do for Christmas ... I will be in Korea and will be family-less! It's always fun to try and figure out new ways to celebrate an old holiday. I might go on a cruise - that captures the true spirit of Christmas (well, it captures it at least as well as an x-box would!)

Theological Thoughts for Thursday - Advent 3

We sometimes compare advent to waiting for Christmas gifts. And, truly, Jesus Christ was the world's greatest gift.

But waiting isn't always a positive thing.

Sometimes waiting can be dreadful. It’s not always the wait that is difficult, sometimes it’s what’s at the end of the waiting period that makes it painful.

When we wait for lab results – we don’t wait in anticipation, we wait in dread.

We wait for the other shoe to drop.

When we wait for the police officer to walk up to our car – when we find out if we are going to get a ticket or a warning – we wait in dread.

The religious leaders of the day waited for the coming Messiah filled with anticipation. They longed for the strong and mighty political and military leader they had been promised. Perhaps, had they known what the Messiah would bring; they would have waited in dread.

Jesus came and turned the world upside down. The religious elite could only grasp salvation if they were willing to let go of their power. The poor, brokenhearted, hungry, and meek became the new power-players.

The rules no longer existed – if your intention was to keep trying to work your way into the Kingdom of God; it would be much harder. If you were willing to give up your life – salvation was simple.

We look toward Christmas with anticipation. But, perhaps we should take this season to examine our hearts. Perhaps we should take this moment to decide if we are willing to give up our lives. That might instill at least a moment of dread.

In many ways, I’m part of the religious elite. On Thanksgiving I said the Thanksgiving prayer. I have an eclectic group of friends – some Christian, some not, some anti-religious, some ambivalent. I love all of them and appreciate their unique faith journeys. I was so challenged to pray without using my familiar “Christianese” vocabulary. Praise, grace, mercy, savior … all words that lack meaning outside the context of the Christian church.

Am I willing to give up my power and position? As a Christian, a missionary, a well-behaved church boy? Am I willing to lose all of those titles so that my friends can know the good news? Jesus said, “prostitutes and tax-collectors will enter the Kingdom of God before the religious elite…” and I never got that. I still can’t articulate the meaning I’ve found. But, I think it has something to do with me, with my church, and with my friends.

Anticipation mixed with a little dread?

Advent 2

I recommend a new tradition in gift giving for your family this year. Please read this article about The Advance - Alternative Gift Ideas.

My personaly philosophy is that gifts should be meaningful - not expensive. But, if you have someone who is difficult to shop for; perhaps this could be the perfect gift.

Advent 1

To celebrate Advent I've decided to attempt an ambitious blogging project. I'm going to blog every day until Christmas. I'm not going to promise anything inciteful, just an attempt to think, write, and post during the advent season.

I've managed to only miss a few Thursdays this year ... so we'll see how I do on my new challenge.

Although I tend to discuss politics in a rather abstract way on my blog - and I tend to stay away from particulars - there is one particular issue that I would like to address.

Omar Khadr was 15 when he was captured and imprisoned at Guantanamo Bay. He has been there for 6 and a half years without a trial. That's over a quarter of his life.

Holding a child in prison without a trial (and a guilty verdict by an impartial jury!) is a social injustice. It reflects poorly on all Americans - that we would allow our fears and prejudice to overcome our common sense paints a sad picture of our humanity.

Theological Thoughts for Thursday

I watched 2012 this weekend. It's an interesting blockbuster movie. The action scenes are a lot of fun if you can suspend reality.

This isn't a movie review. There are a ton of those out there for this movie - all mixed to say the least.

This is a post where I explore my biggest problem with the film.

6,999,650,482 people die. That's a quick estimate - not an actual number. But it holds up for my point. Most of the world perishes, but we root for one family to "make it" and we're happy when they're alive at the end. It's more comedy than tragedy.

When the main character's plane barely manages to take off from a sinking California, there's a moment of lighthearted banter - while in the background millions of people are dying.

Now, I'm well aware of the fact that it's "just a movie" and as a blockbuster it's supposed to feel good. But it left me feeling empty.

How many times does this scenario play out in our lives? We ALWAYS care more for ourselves than for the world around us.

Tony Campolo was speaking to a crowd of upperclass evangelical Christians. This is his opening statement. "I have three things I'd like to say today. First, while you were sleeping last night, 30,000 kids died of starvation or diseases related to malnutrition. Second, most of you don't give a SHIT. What's worse is that you're more upset with the fact that I said shit than the fact that 30,000 kids died last night."

We care more for the propriety of our event than for the lives of 30,000 kids.

Mike Luckovich is a political cartoonist extraordinaire. He shocked readers across the country a few years back with a striking political cartoon concerning our dead soldiers.




The cartoon provoked a tremendous amount of controversy. Seeing the names of 2000 dead soldiers is heartbreaking. Now consider the fact that nearly 100,000 Iraqi CIVILIANS have died since 2003. Their names could take up most of a newspaper.

We're taught to value our own from a young age. We pick a sports team to cheer for and we immediately show a disdain for their competitors. In some areas of the world, students are taught to hate anyone who doesn't look like and act like them. Our Christian parents teach their Christian children to not hang around with "bad kids" because you are known "by the company you keep." Giving to charity is well and good - after our bills are paid and we've supersized our lives just "one more time."

But Jesus speaks and the world turns upside down. He teaches us to love our enemies. To value others as much if not MORE than we value ourselves.

In the upsidedown kingdom we know the names and faces of the Iraqi civilians (and even their soldiers, God forbid!) who died at the hands of our government. We mourn their deaths with the same passion we show for our fallen soldiers. In the Kindgdom of God we care less about the size of our homes and more about the size of our hearts.

Theological Thoughts for Thursday

In Korea we drink everything from small metal cups. There are no water fountains - all water is dispensed from little machines; either into small slips of paper folded into a cup (it's a soggy mess) or into little metal cups. At church functions everyone is issued a small metal cup.

The first time I drank from a small metal cup, the overwhelming sensation was the size. It was tiny, two gulps or 4 sips small. The other sensation was the cold slipping away. When you put cold liquids into the cup, the coolness transfers to your hand by the 4th sip.

When you put hot liquids into the cup, it's even worse. The cup become much too hot to hold, so you set it down for a second - and by the time you pick it back up, your hot coffee is now luke-warm coffee water.

Metal is a perfect conductor. Which is great for lots of things - like wires that transmit electricity. But that's a terrible predicament for a cup to be in.

It's the opposite of a thermos. It makes hot things cool and cold things warm.

Who wants to drink a luke-warm beverage? Ever?

Revelation 3:16 "So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth."

Hot water is useful. Cold water is useful. Lukewarm water is useless.

But it's not the water's fault - it's the cup. The tiny metal cup is the problem.

Sometimes our faith is hot or cold - sometimes it's usefull to those around us. Sometimes our faith is lukewarm - it's useless to those around us.

It's not the fault of the faith ... it's the fault of the container.

So how do we order our lives to be less like a little metal cup and more like a thermos.

Theological Thoughts for Thursday

I'm reading "God Has A Dream" by Bishop Desmond Tutu.


Bishop Tutu covers a wide range of theological issues. His theology is progressive and inclusive and I'm rarely opposed to anything he writes. His vast experience gives meaning and weight to every word. He calls Christians to a life of social justice; to love others and treat every human as an equal. He sounds the trumpet, alerting Christians to the battle at hand; Christians live in a world where greed is valued as an asset, where fear of the unknown is a political platform, and where faith is linked with scandal and hypocrisy. We are in this world to transform it. God uses us to change the world.

Tutu writes, "You are the indispensable agent of change. You should not be daunted by the magnitude of the task before you."

Mary is the example. Everything is going well for her. She's young, engaged, virtuous ... and then God throws the curve ball of the millennium and knocks her up. The little girl, about to be married, ends up the scandal of the village ... and then gives birth to the savior of the world.

God uses human beings, and uses us in radical ways.

And it seems that everyone acknowledges this fact except those whom God would use. Christians timidly wait for God to act, while their non-Christian brothers and sisters wait for them to act on behalf of God.

Ani DiFranco sings, "The work of God isn't done by God, it's done by people." What an insightful thought. Knowing that others feel this way, how can we not act?

I think that God has BIG plans for each and every one of us - I believe with all of my heart that God has a plan for the transformation of the world; and that you and I are a part of it. God wants to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, end the cycle of poverty, give shelter to those displaced, change hate to love, and end the fear of "other." God wants you to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, end the cycle of poverty, give shelter to those displaced, change hate to love, and end the fear of "other."

What curve ball is God throwing you this day?
What small (or large) step is God calling you to take for the transformation of the world?

Theological Thoughts for Thursday

Theological (Random) Thoughts for Thursday

If you're looking for coherency; look away.

"You ought to live your life with such freedome and joy that most uptight Christians will doubt your salvation." - Steve Brown

I came in third place in the last poker tournament.

"Above all, love each other deeply, for love covers over a multitude of sins" 1 Peter 4:8 - I sometimes wonder if this verse can be the cornerstone of my personal theology.

I've realized that the most missional thing I do in Korea is helping my little kids put their shoes on. My little 3 and 4 year olds aren't old enough or coordinated enough to put their own shoes on. So, every day I spend a few minutes helping their teacher with the shoe festivities. Koreans have stopped me and told me not to do that. In a culture that respects age, position, and societal place it is quite improprietous for an adult, male, American, respected teacher and missionary to bend low to the ground and touch someone's feet. I think that's the point. It's a small act of service that makes all the difference in my day and my attitude.

I think more and more that most of my theological training was useless because it lacked practicality. I think back to so many lectures that soared over ivy towers and so few that grew legs and learned to walk. It makes me all the more thankful for Profs like Dr. Smith who made certain every class made the rubber hit the road.

Sorry I didn't have anything on Thursday. I am, however, glad that it's Friday now!

Happy Halloween!

I enjoy going back and looking over my older posts. For my own memory it's important to see what themes were most important in my life.

Love.

Freedom.

Grace.

Joy.

Community.

Sometimes I get red in the face when I see the things I wrote. Sometimes I have that exact thought. I'm writing and I think, "I'm going to be embarrassed by this later."

Sometimes I'm too honest and sometimes I'm too subtle.

I pray that I don't come across as being arrogant. I guess it's the nature of the beast. You have to really enjoy hearing yourself speak to decide to write it down for the world to read! But, I hope that people understand that this is just an outlet. I can write about things that are important to me, but that perhaps just wouldn't come up in normal conversation.

I'm in a different spot in my life than I was a few months ago. I'm wrestling with different ideas and ideals than I was just last Christmas. There are new elements of faith I wish I understood better.

So, I'm here. I'm going to keep writing, to keep struggling, to keep trying to understand. This has become part of my faith formation, and I hope you enjoy being along for the ride.

Theological Thoughts for Thursday

I'm on the fence about my grad school options. I'm working toward a certificate (and then a masters) in Community and Economic Development at Penn State (available while in Korea through on-line classes.) So far the material just hasn't grabbed me. I'm more than a little reticent about spending $20,000 and a few hundred hours of my life on something I'm not passionate about.

I'm taking a class this semester, and we'll see if I decide to keep going or to look for a different program.

We discuss the concepts of community often. Why community is important. What community looks like. As a Christian and a missionary this is an important topic for me.

"Community ... is something taken for granted, something self-evident in one's social behavior. Recognition of community can arouse feeling, but community itself simply refers to the fact that one naturally is connected to other people." - Wilkinson, pg 14.

In Sociology there is a different term for community we take for granted and community that we celebrate. When we move beyond recognizing that there are other people in our midst - when we embrace and celebrate our community it is called - communion.

Communion is a celebration of community.

In our churches we fail to celebrate community. We hold up an abstract, impossible ideal of community and chide ourselves when we fall short ... and we always fall short. We pretend that things were different in the past. That in the 50s no one fought at church. That Jesus' disciples never argued. But, deep down we know that's a lie from Satan. People in our churches fight sometimes. Sometimes people in the church can get downright nasty and we feel that all community is lost. But we fail to embrace the fact that fighting is part of community.

"Moreover, community entails squabbles and fights as well as cooperation and affectionate touches." - Wilkinson, pg. 15

We celebrate the ups and downs - we celebrate human interaction under the blessing of an all loving and all forgiving God.

We share in communion and we celebrate the community God has given us. Even when that community includes people we don't much like. Even when that community is unlovable.

Theological Thoughts for Thursday

You should watch this video from Newsweek. There will probably be an advertisement somewhere in it.



This clip might be the best thing I've seen in the last month.

I wanted to share this with everyone. How cute are they?

I think it's an interesting how we typecast people.

No one had to audition ... if you're a little person you belong in this movie! You must be this short!

We typecast people instantly. He doesn't belong in the church. She shouldn't be teaching Sunday School. He deserves to spend Sunday morning at the bar.

We typecast when we think about sharing our faith. Oh, I don't think he would be interested. She would probably get angry if I tried to tell her about my faith.

We typecast who should be leaders in our chuch. He's too young, maybe he can be a leader in the youth group ... but not in big church. Just look at her whorish past; she's not going to teach MY children in Sunday School.

Maybe we should typecast like they did for this movie ... if you're a person you belong here! You must be this human!

Theological Thoughts for Thursday

"When people gather together to hate, they will find hate. When people gather together to love, they will find God."

I work in a kindergarten in the mornings. 4 classes, 30 kids, 4 teachers, 1 book per month. I read one book per month. We just read the same book every day for a whole month. I can't believe it, really - so I'll say it again. My job is to read the same book, day after day, to the same group of kids - for a whole month.

And the kids love it. They can't get enough of book.

They asked me to parse down some Bible verses for the kids to memorize. I first looked for short Bible verses. There really aren't that many, at least there are few verses that are memorable, short, and meaty. So I whittled down the 10 commandments into bite size, English language, nuggets of "don'ts" at their request. Don't lie, Don't steal, No idols - that sort of thing.

And now we say those things over and over. We condensed them down to something they might possible understand and we say it over and over again. Maybe the church in America just needs it broken down for them. Maybe we just need to say it over and over until it's part of our hearts, until it becomes who we are.

"When people gather together to hate, they will find hate. When people gather together to love, they will find God."

Before and After

I'm procrastinating at the moment. I have a paper I don't want to write, that I'm avoiding like the plague.

I procrastinate when I'm unhappy. Specifically when I'm encountering an obstacle and it's part of something that I thought would make me happy.

I thought living off campus would make me happy (and, honestly those 3 years were amazing) but every time I had to wash the dishes, do laundry, or the mow the grass (I hate all repetitive non-rewarded tasks) I would procrastinate something fierce.

I would spray lemon scented kitchen/bathroom cleaner on my dishes so they could go another day without stinking up the house!

I would buy an extra shirt to make laundry days one day further apart!

At one point I almost broke my mower because I had to use it like a weedwacker instead of a mower!

Embarrassing, but all too true!

I can't make decisions based on my happiness quotient. I can't make decisions based on my happiness quotient. I can't make decisions based on my happiness quotient.

I need to be happy and then make my decisions. I need to be happy in the knowledge that I'm following God and move from there.

My sophomore year I weighed 316 pounds. I was really depressed about a number of things and I had been sick for a while. I decided that I was going to love myself no matter how fat I got and that I was going to be a happy person. I've lost 45 pounds since then. I'm down to 271. I'm going to buy a pair of jeans on Thursday ... a size 38 ... a size I outgrew in High School.

Before

This is from a play we did (I cropped out the other people because they would be embarrassed by this picture as well, but I think even without a comparison I still look huge)

After

Me and a pastor friend in the Philippines.

The funny thing is, I'm still happy. I didn't have to lose weight in order to be happy ... I had to be happy in order to lose the weight.

Maybe I need to be happy about writing this paper!

The new episode of Family Guy might just be the best episode yet. I'm so excited for this season. Reportedly, the next episode will be about jews. Score!

On Yom Kippur I elected to avoid light switches. It was a fun experiment.

Theological Thoughts for Thursday

(lyrics are at the end of the post.)

Sufjan Stevens is an incredibly talented singer/songwriter. He is creating a set of CDs featuring each state. One of the songs from his Illinois album is about John Wayne Gacy Jr.

Honestly, your gut reaction when you hear the song will be that it is much too pretty to be about a serial killer.

The last few lines really sum it up.

Sufjan Stevens is a person of faith. His act isn't branded as a "Christian Band" and some Christians object to his attitude about being public about his faith. He says, "I don't like talking about that stuff in the public forum because, I think, certain themes and convictions are meant for personal conversation." But he's a person of faith, who writes openly and honestly about spiritual themes ... and compares himself to notorious serial killers.

John Wayne Gacy is in a special category of serial killers. He's the one that no one suspected and who never repented. His neighbors brought their children to his block parties to watch him perform as a clown. His dying words, as they brought him to the execution room, were "Kiss my ass."

Too much of "Christian music" is just awful. We listen to and sing songs that are simply lies. We tell God how much we want to praise Him more than anything else ... and most days, for most people in the pews - that's simply a lie. How many Christian recording artists have written beautiful lies about their never ending devotion to God only to end up recanting their faith or falling into scandal?

I applaud Sufjan Stevens for the courage it takes to be real and honest. I think the church would be in a much better place if we could live with this knowledge. God loves John Wayne Gacy. And God loves you.

His father was a drinker
And his mother cried in bed
Folding John Wayne's T-shirts
When the swingset hit his head
The neighbors they adored him
For his humor and his conversation
Look underneath the house there
Find the few living things
Rotting fast in their sleep of the dead
Twenty-seven people, even more
They were boys with their cars, summer jobs
Oh my God

Are you one of them?

He dressed up like a clown for them
With his face paint white and red
And on his best behavior
In a dark room on the bed he kissed them all
He'd kill ten thousand people
With a sleight of his hand
Running far, running fast to the dead
He took off all their clothes for them
He put a cloth on their lips
Quiet hands, quiet kiss
On the mouth

And in my best behavior
I am really just like him
Look beneath the floorboards
For the secrets I have hid

And sometimes the wind changes, sometimes we pray the wind will change. And always God is in control.

Theological Thoughts for Thursday

We greet each other warmly. The swine flu prevents hands touching. We smile and bow our necks like dainty China dolls. We say words of affirmation; Korean mumbled by them, lost by my Anglophile ears. I'm sure it's pleasant and affirming. It's the closest I'll get to a hug for at least a few weeks.

Hugs are measured out, like sugar by a diabetic's baking wife. Not too many, scarcely any.

Sometimes my prayers consist of nothing more than statements. [[I hate waking up alone every day.]] or [[I know school will get paid for.]] or [[I'm tired.]] My heart doesn't dare ask, but refuses to remain silent. Truman Capote might have been on to something when he said, "More tears are shed by answered prayers than unanswered ones." Perhaps I'm too afraid to pray for the things I really want because I'm too afraid his statement is true. But I need God to know that I need something.

I mumble something back. My long angular body tries to muster a graceful neck bow - probably more Quasimodo than quaint Korean. I do appreciate their affirmation. I need all the affirmation I can get. I surround myself with affirming people; when I have options. Options are lacking from my life. [[I like Options, God.]]

It's like we have an understanding. I'm keeping God "in the loop." I make my statements with the full knowledge that God will act and that I may or may not be pleased by the result - but at least, if the situation gets worse, I can say, [[I didn't ask for this...]] and it will be true by technicality.

I remember the time Lori told The Awkward Story. Lori is a beloved, single, female clergy friend. She taught me a lot about living gracefully through a bad situation. Intimacy with God is one of those sujects that most pastors would sterilize beyond recognition - all fuzzy feelings and no pain and desire. Lori refused. She told a story from her life as part of her sermon on the subject. She explained the lonliness of being "a single gal" in her forties. She prayed for comfort, for a companion. And she literally felt God embrace her in the bed.

It was the most uncomfortable, awkward moment I've ever experienced in church. It was the most beautiful gift she could ever give. In a culture where make-up is a necessity for a woman to take out the trash and no one is ever really honest about anything; her frank honesty about the most intimate aspects of life was shocking and beautiful. It might be the closest we will ever get to honesty.

Perhaps my smile gives away the utter truth that I don't know what words are being shared. I wish I knew, [[I like knowing what's going on.]] I wish I could comprehend. But more, I wish I could lean in for a hug and feel one second of connection with someone here.

Theological Thoughts for Thursday

Do you know what QWERTY is? If you look to the top left of your keyboard you will see the acronym used for the common configuration of letters on keyboards. When typewriters first came out the letters were in Alphabetical order. This made sense to everyone at the time. The problem occurred as typists got better at typing and typewriters couldn’t keep up. The keys would get stuck, the teethy spokes would get clogged together.

My mother had a typewriter when I was little. She pulled it out once a week to write a letter to grandma. I loved playing with that typewriter. I would just bang on the keys and watch the twines get intertwined. Mom hated it when I pulled that stunt.

But that was a daily occurrence when the letters were arranged in a common sense fashion. So someone hired someone (fact checking is for sissies) to come up with a completely ridiculous new system. Thus QWERTY was born. It was literally designed to slow us down.

Today we don't have the problem of a machine that needs our fingers to move more slowly - our fingers could move much, much faster without any problem at all for any of our modern machines - but, who wants to change something we already all know?

Fun Fact: In Korean Typewriters the vowels are the keys on the right and the consonants are found on the left. The more you know.

When it comes to the church I don’t think anyone was intentional in trying to slow us down. I think it was (and is) a natural process. We are slowed down by any number of things. Routine, tradition, theology, etc. None of these things is bad in its own right (just like there’s nothing inherently wrong with having E next to W on a keypad) but the culmination is an ineffective church – which is a bad thing.

It is a proven fact that long monologues (sermons) are the least efficient means of communication we attempt. Sermons really only resonate with about a third of the population. Most people retain less than 10% of a sermon. [For proof of this, think back to the sermon last Sunday and try and write up an outline. Good luck.] However, most of our churches would never dream of scrapping the sermon. We got QWERTY'd.

We have worship wars. People who don't like hymns don't like people who don't like "the new stuff" (antidisestablishmentarianism at its finest) and we all forget that worship isn't about music. It’s about the heart. We got QWERTY’d.

It's incredibly frustrating for young adults in the church. We watch as each piece of tradition bogs down another chance for change. Sometimes churches try to do good by highlighting the accomplishments of young people, but they end up sounding old, outdated and stodgy.

The business world hasn't moved past the QWERTY problem, yet. So, I don't feel so bad for the church. I think it's even possible that we will solve our problem long before the world moves past QWERTY.

Theological Thoughts for Thursday

I have dreams of being an old man. I wake up and feel so uncomfortable. I have no earthly desire for old age.

When our family cat died, my mother was devastated. She cried for weeks at the sight of his hair. She made a little scrapbook and keeps a bag full of his hair.

It's not that I have some plan or premonition. I just think that I will die young. 15% of people my age think we will die young. By young I mean in my forties or fifties.

But I could die today with a great sense of satisfaction and joy with my life. Every time I'm taking off in an airplane I thank God for a long and productive life. I realize that I've accomplished more in 22 years than most people do in 80.

Great Grandma Gillotti lived to be 97. When she died I was very, very sad. I was 7. Mom comforted me by explaining that she wanted to go to heaven. All of her friends were in heaven. Her one wish had been that she would die with her husband (like in a car crash or together in their bed) but that he had died almost 30 years before she did.

Mom was a little sad too. I think deep down that she realized she would share her grandmother's fate. I imagine mom will live to be 100. If her eyesight could hold out and she could continue to play the organ into her oldest age I imagine she would go on indefinitely. I think mom will die at her organ. She'll be playing one moment here on earth and the next moment she'll be playing in heaven. She won't even miss a note, in true Debbie fashion.

I lost a friend to suicide this summer. It made being here, away from everyone I love, ten times harder. I'm still sad about it. I think I will be for a long time to come.

We sometimes have a terrible fear of death. We don't talk about it. It's taboo. Even when I re-read this post I find it morbid. It's not an okay subject to talk about.

I bought a decorative soap from the youth at my church. I haven't used it. I decided it was too nice and too pretty to use. While I was gone on vacation it melted and molded. It shrunk and grew a weird film over it.

This is how I feel about life and death. We can't take life so seriously that we don't enjoy it. We never know when it will be gone. Or ... when it will grow a weird film.

Theologica Thoughts for Thursday

Today is a good day. I feel that on some level every day is a good day. I think it's funny how we categorize days based on the first few minutes. We decide if our day will be pleasant before we brush our teeth. I feel that millions of dollars should be spent studying how to build the most pleasant alarm clock and in getting that alarm clock installed in every home.

Malcolm Gladwell's Blink explores the initial reaction we have to things compared to our long term understanding. People almost always pick Pepsi over Coke in a single-sip blind taste test. People almost always pick Coke over Pepsi in a whole-can blind taste test. Our initial reaction to Pepsi is much more favorable, but it fades as we finish the can.

We had a near perfect Sunday once in Toccoa. We planned this sermon series about the Upside Down Kingdom, the idea that Jesus came to flip the whole world on its head. One of the ideas we had was to shake up a service (just the contemporary, of course) by starting with the sermon and ending with the greeting. We figured a change would at least get people to notice. The whole Sunday went off without a hitch. It was one of the best sermons I'd ever heard at the early morning service. The following Tuesday at our meeting the pastor explained that he is usually groggy at the beginning of a service and needs to music to wake him up ... so the previous week he had started his i-pod when he woke up so he would be ready. It made all the difference in the world when he took an active step to improve his mood first thing in the morning.

We all looked at each other around the table, wondering who would be the willing one to recommend he try the same thing next Sunday ... and every Sunday after that. But, wouldn't that make sense. What if every pastor in the country got up on the right side of the bed, on the right foot every Sunday morning?

What if we stopped allowing our first few negative minutes to color our day negative? Just a thought.

Theological Thoughts for Thursday

I read the most intriguing article today. Ok, the article is from Esquire magazine, but I found it through a link on Slate.

Warren Hern is an abortionist. The write up, while not written in my favorite style, takes a unique approach to an ubiquitously political issue. The author chronicles the life of the doctor, his mother, his wife and his clinic. Constantly reminding the reader that he can't give names, he can't divulge facts, and he must do everything possible to protect the safety of everyone involved. After the murder of George Tiller , who was, according to the article, labeled "George Tiller the Baby Killer" by Bill O'Reilly [Before he was shot and murdered while serving as an usher in his Lutheran congregation.]Warren Hern remains as the last abortionist to specialize in late term, medically necessary abortions.

The author writes about Hern's wife and mother in tones and hues that could be used to sell sweaters on QVC, but makes no qualms highlighting the destructive anger of a man so far swayed to one side in this debate that he can't even hear about the opposition without flying into a rage.

Abortion is a very difficult subject. The language we use is so tainted by politicized thinking that one can detect a position purely by word choice. "Baby" means you're pro-life, "fetus" means you're pro-choice. Or, Anti-choice and Anti-life respectively, un-respectfully. Do you support the murder of millions of innocent lives? Do you think a woman is a piece of property? We can't even think about the topic without using words, phrases, and rationals so steeped in the political culture that they are only good for fighting and not for thinking.

My own position is highly nuanced. It's evolved to the point where I need a car ride and two lattes to diagram my stance. I'm influenced as much by the songs of Ani DiFranco as I am by my conservative Evangelical education.

To summarize as briefly and carefully as I can; I am almost entirely against abortion from a socio-emotional perspective, but I am almost entirely in support of abortion from a legal-ethics perspective.

I think that every life is precious and worth saving, but I also believe very strongly that the government has zero right to anyone's reproductive health.

I love kids and can't wait to have and adopt my own kids (well, I CAN wait, and will do so until I am married at least). I celebrate the sanctity of life through political positions on abortion, health care, war, the death penalty, global poverty, HIV/AIDS, environmental concerns, GLBT rights, and international genocide. I pray that all Christians will some day grasp a broader definition of "sanctity of human life." I fully support ministries that work with pregnant teenagers and teenage mothers. We need to work on improving their quality of life. We need to be concerned for them before they have an unwanted pregnancy. Teenage girls must be taught to respect themselves. Condoms should be free and easily accessible. Technology and human opinion must advance until the term "unwanted pregnancy" is filed away with polio and smallpox: another term our grandchildren will never know or fully understand.

Christian groups often use China's one-child policy as evidence that abortion is a terrible practice and a slippery slope. I've read pamphlets in support of pro-life groups that belabor the fact that China forces abortion on women who get pregnant a second time. I've never read anything that points out that this argument is a double edged sword. Abortion isn't the culprit in China (which has, since the 90s, really relaxed it's one-child policy and deserves a better reputation now)the evil lies in the fact that the government has total control over reproductive choice. Forcing abortion, illiminating abortion, etc. if the government has the right to choose for individuals in these extremely personal decisions it will always have a negative result.

Perhaps if we could re-define our conversations. If we could call the positions Side 1 and Side A. Perhaps then we could see beyond the political discourse and see eye to eye on some common ground.

Theological Thoughts for Thursday

I've come to the conclusion that I don't really understand prayer.

Or, at least that I have several separate understandings of prayer; none comprehensive, some necessarily exclusive.

Sometimes I think that we pray to change things. I believe with all of my heart that prayer changes things. If we didn't believe prayer changes things, why would we pray for things to be changed?

I pray for the dead sometimes. After Zach's suicide I begged God for mercy; for him. Sometimes I wonder if I pray to the dead, too. I talk to Aunt Mabel sometimes. I ask her to talk to the "Big Guy" for me. I figure that if anyone has any pull in Heaven it would be her. I don't think these things are theologically correct or accurate ... but I still do them.

Steven Greenberg is an Orthodox rabbi. He believes that we can petition God for the change of God's mind. Most famously, Rabbi Greenberg leads a group of gay and lesbian orthodox jews in prayer asking God to change the Biblical stance on homosexuality. While his views are quickly dismissed by most, he has a valid point. In the Bible, people argued and debated with God until God changed his mind.

He cites the story of Sodom and Gomorrah, an odd choice of text for a pro-gay theologian, where Abraham pleads with God to save Sodom if only 50 righteous people can be found. Then he jews God down to 45. 30. 20. 10. Openness Theologians point to passages where God "hopes" and servants of the Almighty challenge and find compromise with God.

Sometimes I think that we only talk to God for our own benefit. That we pray primarily for the connectedness to God. I'm not implying that our prayers are futile, just that the primary benefactor isn't the subject about whom we pray but ourselves. Prayer (and meditation) has wonderful, medically proven effects on the body. If a Christian doesn't believe he or she can change the will or mind of God, is his or her prayer exclusively to stay connected to something bigger?

In the New Testament, no one ever prays for a persons salvation. Jesus prays for more workers for the harvest, but not that people would be saved. In our churches we pray for people's salvation all the time. Almost as much as we pray for the sick and the dying.



I'm reading Train Go Sorry, a book about growing up as a hearing person at a deaf school. It sums up a few of my thoughts on prayer. In the story, the teachers and pupils are in a state of constant misunderstanding. The school looked down on American Sign Language and instead taught the students to mimic sounds they couldn't hear. Teachers used tongue depressors of various shapes to teach the kids how to hold their mouths while they vibrate the vocal chords they can't hear. The students read the teacher's lips and sounded out words to respond to the instructor. Although most of the students knew sign language, many of the teachers did not.

Maybe when we pray we are speaking a language we don't quit understand, but one that God understands. Although we don't hear the sounds, they are there and with patience and training the sounds will be correct and will form words.

I think that there's a disconnect in our prayers. Maybe we don't understand. Should we really just pray for God's will all the time like helpless minnows being carried down stream? Or are we to be like the salmon and fight the current upstream? Is it okay to make demands of God?

My friend Deepa R. Joseph tells of her mother's prayers, in her native India, her mother would pray, "God you will provide dinner tonight. We have served you and my children will not go hungry." They never went hungry.

I have a secret hope that God answers the prayers of children more than the rest of us; that our prayers are weighted ~ and it's not the windbag prayer from the pulpit but the tears shed in Dora the Explorer nightgowns that God answers most readily.

My favorite paintings.

My favorite painting is the one on display every time you come to my blog. It was painted by Sara Wheaton, one of my sister's roommates. The original is currently on display at the residence of Jared and Janet Kaup in North Georgia. I love it because of the color, the turmoil, and the new sprout of growth. I also love it because it is the only original piece of art I own.

My second favorite painting is the Monet painting The Magpie. I own a print of it and it travels with me. It hung in my living room in Georgia and currently hangs in my bedroom. Although it looks like a sad picture, it represents hope. The magpie is a bird that returns before the snow melts. Even before the weather shows any indication of letting up, the magpie instinctively knows that things will soon be better and returns.


My third favorite painting is Alexei Savrasov's piece The Rooks Have Come Back. It's very similar to the Monet painting up above. I saw it in Russia and fell in love with it. The explanation is also the same. I want to be one of those people who sees possibility where others only see pain.


Monet's Boulevard des Capucines is my fourth favorite painting. I was in the Pushkin Gallery in Moscow and was walking quite close to the paintings. I walked by it and saw only dots of color. I really didn't get it. I stepped back a few steps and realized that it was supposed to be a street scene of some kind. When my back brushed the wall opposite the painting I saw the individual faces of the people. It was a tremendous experience. (Disclaimer: I'm not 100% sure this is the street scene I saw, it was the only street scene I have been able to find and my memory of the painting I saw that day is slipping - so if this painting isn't in the Pushkin Gallery ... I apologize for lying.) Sometimes I need a reminder that I need to step back from the current situation to see the full image.

Theological Thoughts for Thursday

I often wonder if I could do something truly heroic.

I was just reading about Irena Sendler, a catholic who helped 2,500 jewish children escape during WWII.

It's not an issue of courage, becuae I often feel that adrenaline counts more than courage in most cases and I generally have good amounts of both, but an issue of seeing and recognizing the problem.

I wonder if I lived in Nazi Germany if I would have even noticed the jews disappearing. I see my small handful of jewish friends on a semi-annual basis, if that, so it would take months before I realized any of them had fled the country.

And I wonder if I'm silly for making modern day comparisons. I know that our government isn't killing GLBT people, but at what point should I as a Christian and a minister of social justice get involved in the fight for their rights? Am I missing my opportunity to be a hero?

And so often things start so small. It's just one black joke, right? Afro-turf. It's funny, because their hairdo of choice is an afro and they play football. Haha. Why would I think I could be a hero who could dismiss country and cultural loyalty in order to save repressed minorities if I can't even shut down a racist joke?

I always assumed that if I had lived through the civil war I would have sided with the north - against slavery - it's a no brainer. But now I wonder if I would have sided with state's rights. And I wonder if that would have been wrong?

I would like to think that some day I will do something heroic and courageous, but this day I just pray for the eyes to see the opportunity and the courage to stop the small, painful wounds we inflict against each other every day.

I pray in Russian sometimes. Usually at night when sleep escapes my possibilities and I am left with my own thoughts. I never quite felt comfortable praying in Russian when I lived in Russia, and I did live there. I've decided that. Although seven months divided into 3 trips isn't much; I lived there - in every essence of the word.

I felt betrayed by God some nights when I was there. My friend Meredith summed it up nicely upon her return, "I wish someone had told me how hard it was going to be to live there." dark days of language doom would precede sick nights without any relief in the interim.

I loved it there and I miss being there, but there were moments of discontent. More than moments. Days of discontent.

It's odd to me how much my thinking and core values changed during my time there. While I would never claim to truly think like a Russian, I also can't say that my thoughts are entirely American either.

I wonder if some lonely night in the distant future I will find myself praying in Korean; or if my thoughts and actions will be molded by this place. Will I learn to lie without remorse to "save face?"

I'm in an odd spot at the moment.

Scientists recently proved that no matter how dirty a bar of soap looks (or actually is) it has the same cleaning effectiveness as a clean bar of soap.

Isn't that interesting?

I compare that to life experience. I think that it doesn't matter if life is going well or if you are struggling; it's still life experience and it's still valuable.

I have to continually remind myself that this is all an important teaching moment. That this experience - like all the others that have come before it - is ultimately good for me.