A new face in heaven...

My dear colleague and friend like-a-brother, Mark Walz got to go home tonight. Home to the Savior that he had given his life to. Home to a healing that is complete and permanent after nearly 5 years of a valiant fight with cancer.
Mark was the associate pastor when my father served at Park UMC in Lexington. Mark was young and single and bursting with creative energy. There was no such thing as a routine children's sermon with Mark Walz around. He was funny, entertaining, gifted and deeply committed to winning others to Christ. He had a charm that was contagious and a humility that kept him grounded.
He was very effective in ministry and became very close to both my parents. Mark and my mother shared a gift of hospitality. They were always swapping recipes and ideas. And Mark had enough creative ideas to always keep things moving. He had a very vital youth and young adult ministry at Park and, in these years of shared ministry, became part of our family. Later, he became the chaplain at Pikeville Methodist Hospital where my sister was a neonatologist. Two summers ago, Mark came to Charlotte for surgery and, although I was recovering from major surgery myself, I didn't think twice about saying that, of course, he could recuperate in my home until he was strong enough to travel back to Kentucky. We were family.
We were pitiful together. I was just recovering from surgery for a pancreatic tumor when he came for his surgery. While neither one of us had much strength, because our hearts are anchored in God, we had a profound awareness of how precious life is -- both life on this earth and for all eternity. The wealth of shared history, family connections, common experiences in ministry and commitment to Christ was good medicine. We trusted completely God's healing hand, no matter what was coming.
Although Mark died tonight, nothing changed--for either of us--about that complete trust that our lives, in God's hands are safe. Mark lived and died completely trusting his life to Jesus. God does not let us down when death comes. God is providing a healing more extensive than anything this world can offer.
For someone as creative as Mark, I can't help but smile afresh about the idea of heaven. He'll be having a ball and only God knows what he will be instigating and enjoying in perfect wholeness. Having endured incessaat indignaties that are inherent in surgeries and cancer treatments, he will feel like a bird out of a cage. My heart is more celebrative than sorrowful. And I am so grateful for companions on the Christian journey. One more familiar face in heaven...so much to live for!

My flowers talked back...

When I got home tonight--full heart, tired body, I discovered that my flowers looked as tired as I felt. When I went out to water, my tiredness set in and I could feel myself scolding all the pots that needed watering.

"We have had lots of rain..."I was thinking...and, almost as if the flowers could talk back came the thought, "Yes, we have had lots of rain...last week, two weeks ago, three weeks ago....but not recently. In fact, not a drop in the past week. What makes you think that a good rain two weeks ago can nourish us now?"

Ouch.

Our spiritual lives are the same way. Devotions or prayer time that we had a month ago--even rich moments with the Lord--can't keep us flourishing spiritually indefinitely. The meal that we ate a week ago doesn't stop us from being hungry today. Churches that flourished decades ago and then refused to change seem surprised that they are drooping today.

Our United Methodist emphasis on Christian perfection is just the nourishing theological foundation to keep us alive spiritually. We know -- we emphasize--we remind ourselves that continuous spiritual growth is essential. And when we fail to let God's Spirit water our souls, we droop...we really droop.

My flowers have been gorgeous this summer. When they droop, I can see the difference.

Lives are no different.

Living things need care...

Flowers from my back yard....

When it's dry, I need to do the watering.

When God provides the rain, I need to do the weeding.

Every living thing needs care and tending to be beautiful.

What we learn about the news....

Our reactions to the news teach us more about ourselves than the public figures who are making the news.
I, for example, learned this week that I am thoroughly, hopelessly old-fashioned.

I applaud President Obama for hosting a conversation between the Harvard professor Gates and the Cambridge law enforcement officer Crowley. The world would be a better place, I am convinced, if more people sat down together for face-to-face conversation after a volatile exchange. That's a great model. People make mistakes and we need to learn from mistakes and move on. I am very happy about the model of the meeting.
But did they have to drink BEER?

I've got to tell you -- and I'm not embarrassed about it--I wish the President had chosen something else. Am I hopelessly naive? Maybe so. But I just don't think it is a good model to sit down over a beer.
I recognize the roots of my reaction. God bless my mother--a saint on earth if ever there was one! A moral dilemma for my mother took place when someone threw a beer can in her yard. She didn't want to pick up the beer can and put it in HER garbage. (The garbage man might get the idea that someone in OUR home had been drinking. That was unthinkable.) But, if she left it in her yard, it violated her impeccable standards of cleanliness and was a constant reminder that SOMEONE was drinking beer. A true moral dilemma.
But back to the president. I don't think he should be meeting over a beer.
I know that millions of people do it. But I just wish he'd choose something else.
Meet over pie. Meet over coffee. Meet over dinner. Whatever. But beer became the focus of this conversation for reconciliation. And that's too bad.

We live in a world where people desperately need to learn the art of reconciliation, learning from mistakes and moving on. God knows we don't do much moving on in our lives, our families, our churches or our culture. We are terrible offenders to the gospel. We don't reconcile with those who have hurt us, we complain about them. We don't learn from our mistakes -- we just turn to sympathetic friends to replay how badly we have been done wrong. We don't move on. We go over and over and over and over the sound bite mistakes of others. We rally support. We keep things stirred up. We ignore the gospel mandate to love others as Christ loved us. We defy Christ's command to love our enemies. We desperately need to get back to our theological roots here!

But, please, let's don't do it over a beer.
I hope that I can live into my beliefs and be a model for reconciliation. But you aren't going to read about me meeting with opposing parties in a church over a beer.
I'm not trying to be part of the vulture, find-something-to-criticize culture.
Like I say, we learn more about ourselves in our reaction to the news than we learn about the news makers. I'm all for reconciliation, new learning and creating open doors for forgiveness. But leave the beer out of the mix.

How confusing can this be?

I am trying to be patient.
Granted, patience is not my natural inclination.
But I am trying to be patient.
Maybe patience isn't such a virtue.
What--pray tell--is so confusing about the idea that United Methodists are part of a connectional system not Southern Baptists in a congregational system?

For the second time in two years, I've gotten a call from a longtime United Methodist in JULY saying that the preacher had to move. Both times, the preacher has not done anything wrong. Both times it was from churches where the Pastor Parish Committee had not requested a move. Sometimes, when I am listening to these phone calls, I pinch myself. Surely I am asleep and having a DS nightmare.
What United Methodist doesn't know that we have a METHOD for moving preachers? Even strangers to our church know that we our METHOD (as in the name METHODist) has a regular, annual schedule. Except for emergencies, we do not deviate from the schedule. Having someone mad at the preacher is not an emergency. (Trust me on this one: being mad at your preacher is not an emergency.)
The annual schedule is this: early in the calendar year (usually January), every church has a chance to request consideration for a change of pastor. This is called an appointment advisory. It is called an advisory because it is just that: advisory to the cabinet. Every spring, the cabinet considers all the requests of pastors and churches...along with the needs of churches and pastors across the conference. The cabinet makes a set of appointments, consults with pastors and churches and, at the close of Annual Conference, the bishop FIXES the appointments. United Methodists everywhere: there is a reason we use that word "fix". It means that, except for emergencies that come up, appointments are set for the next conference year. One more time: getting mad at your preacher will not constitute an emergency for the cabinet.
Who could be a longtime United Methodist and, in the absence of an emergency (remember, hurt feelings do not constitute an emergency!) call for a change of pastor less than 30 days after the moving day of the Annual Conference? How does that happen? Have we failed so miserably in educating our laity about the METHOD of METHODist life that they think they can fire a preacher anytime they get mad?
And this is the tragedy: our orderly system is designed to help everyone in the church move toward spiritual maturity. If you like your preacher, great. Enjoy, appreciate, honor that person. Glean the most you can from your time together. If you don't particularly like your preacher, great. You belong to a church that moves preachers. No need to kick up a fuss and show your less-than-flattering, mad-as-a-wet-hen self. Use this time to grow in your spiritual maturity. Relax. In just a few months, every church will have a chance to give an opinion about the pastor's appointment. There's an open system in place for constructive concerns and a discernment process for unfair criticism. Church members -- whether they like the pastor or don't--can grow in Christ and stay focused on what really matters: making disciples for Jesus Christ.

United Methodists have the gift of a METHOD. And the method has a blessing and a challenge and a purpose for everyone. And when you have joined a United METHODist Church--a thoroughly connectional church-- stop complaining like you are from a congregation-based denomination. Hopefully, someday soon, our new and long-time members will appreciate the call to maturity that our METHODist way of life offers.

Unbounded joy

I am reading a wonderful book, Leading on Empty by Wayne Cordeiro which I highly recommend. As helpful as the book is -- with many insights to benefit veteran preachers --but the title i s wrong in describing my life. I'm not so much leading on empty. It's more like I'm leading on full. Too full. Overwhelm is still overwhelm.

This week, I had the great joy of hearing that there is no sign of the thyroid cancer I've been fighting all year. That would be joy a-plenty. But last Sunday, I also had the chance to worship as my daughter served her first Sunday as a United Methodist pastor. That was overwhelming joy of its own.

Christ UMC in Chapel Hill, NC where Christi is an associate. July 12, 2009

There are so many ways that both my daughters have made me proud and filled my heart with joy. On Christi's first Sunday, I was so completely proud of her. But I was also struck at how the world has changed since my first Sunday as a pastor 27 years ago. The changes I have witnessed in my life takes my breath away.

We have not arrived -- but we are so much farther down the path to godliness than the years of my growing up and early service. The hardships -- and there were many--have been worth the sacrifices and persistence. And not only gifted women like Christi -- but the church--will move on toward perfection in dimensions of holiness that earlier times prohibited.

I pray for Christi and for all the ministers -- male and female--who are beginning their ministry. The church needs all the excitement and exuberance and gifts and goals that they are bringing to us in these challenging times. Christ UMC has modeled the best kind of welcome and I have been blessed to be able to see it firsthand.

The most important healing grace...

Nobody has better doctors than I do--a very gifted internal medicine doctor who has detected two life-threatening conditions in the last two years; two extraordinary endoctrinologists (one in Statesville, one at Duke) and brilliant surgeons in Charlotte and at Duke. It's the best medical training and practice anyone could ever hope for. And in addition, my physician sister reads, evaluates and advises me every step of the way. I have absolutely the most abundant blessings imaginable when it comes to medical care.
I have seen first hand the best of medical technology/equipment/facilities both in Charlotte and at Duke. From a simple marvel to swallowing a camera to take a movie of my damaged vocal chords to innovative surgery techniques to high-tech scans. I have had the best.
I am grateful. I am SO grateful.
Don't think for one minute that I lack gratitude when I say that these exceptional blessings are gifts I cherish -- but not where I base my hope.
I have trusted my medical doctors. I have followed their advice to the letter.
As grateful as I am, the healing that grounds my life goes beyond the best doctors and medical technology. Yes, my life has, literally, been saved these last two years. And I plan to make the most of this gift.
But the save is temporary. All the best technology, the best team of doctors and all the prayers in the world cannot save me from the temporary nature of life. And that's why the ground of my grateful life isn't resting in even my most extraordinary doctors. The strength of the healing I've experienced reminds me of the vulnerability of life. God has been an integral part of the remarkable healing experiences of my life. And, when medical science comes to its inevitable limits--whenever that it-- God is going to continue to heal my life beyond this world in greater ways.
The ground of my hope, the foundation of my life, the sure and certain anchor of my soul is the Great Physician. And, from that great ground of love, I say thanks for the physicians, medical technology and prayers that have extended my life.