Pastor of a Champion

I love my calling. Now, there are definitely days in which I am not so quick to thank God for calling me into the ministry, but it seems that I am always fed just enough to keep me energized and excited about what I have been chosen to do. I get to see things and be a part of some very interesting things. Today, I found myself in some uncharted territory. I called to ask several of my friends if they had every experienced what I saw today. The conversation went like this, “Have you ever seen a pumpkin seed spitting contest?” “Um, No.” “Well, then that means you have never seen a pumpkin seed spitting contest in which all fifteen competitors were 90 year old women.” That’s right friends and neighbors, I got to experience a group of 90 year old women spitting pumpkin seeds. How great is that? While I was visiting one of our more experienced members at her assisted living community, the activities coordinator came around to gather up the residents for the fun. You should have heard them. They were fussing and complaining. “I don’t know how to spit.” Not true. Everyone knows how to spit. It’s one of the first things we come out of the womb doing (I’m sure I’ll learn more about that in about five weeks.). And sure enough, it didn’t take long for the women to get the hang of it. And not only that, in spite of the complaining, several actually enjoyed it. They would spit and then giggle, like little school girls. It was hilarious. And the best line I’ve heard in quite some time, “Now, don’t spit so hard your dentures come out. The nurse wouldn’t like that at all.” When it was all said and done, my church member actually won, she spit her seed the farthest. She was the champion. Never has there been a more proud pastor. God sure does have a great sense of humor.

The Spirit, she’s amovin

One of the great things about God is the fact that you never know what’s going to come your way day in and day out. I love how I can come to church and have absolutely nothing on my plate for the day and plan on getting some much needed paperwork done, only to find out that the Spirit is moving and God has plans that I did not even know existed. Take today for example. Out of nowhere, I was able to meet two guys from The General Board of Global Ministries spending about two hours with them at the church and over lunch. We talked about mutual friends who are doing amazing work as well as discussing plans for a very exciting and innovative conference/summit/gathering that hopefully will occur in Columbia around May of next year. It was refreshing, to think yet again about the fact that our calling as Christians is so much larger than just what we see in front of our eyes in our own community. And to think, I thought today was going to be boring.

More than a professor, a friend

About two years ago, Megan bought me a madras jacket, the one above. She had no idea why I wanted one, just that I had said several times I would like one. So finding one on ebay, she ordered it and gave it to me as a present for some occasion. The real reason that I wanted one was because Dr. Larry McGehee always wore them at Wofford.

Second semester my junior year, if I recall correctly, I signed up for five classes. This was a break from the norm for me, a slack student who always signed up for the bare minimum. It’s still any wonder how I ever got out of school on time. But this particular semester, I had decided to reach out and to extend myself a bit, taking fifteen hours, rather than twelve. I received an invitation from a fairly odd faculty member named Dr. Larry McGehee, asking me to take his Religion 340 course, Religion in America. Being a religion major, he felt like I fit the mold, whatever that was, to take his seminar style class. I walked in for the first class, meeting in the Presidential suite in Gibbs Stadium to find a class mostly dominated by seniors. I was extremely intimidated. Finding my seat, I immediately realized I was in over my head. I was taking a second semester of Greek as well as several other classes that were challenging at the time. So my only option, or so I thought, was to politely drop out. I can remember that feeling, when I told Dr. McGehee that I was going to drop his class. I knew it was a privilege to be invited to take the class, but I just didn’t believe that I was up for it. He was sad, you could tell. I felt terrible, like I had let him down, like I had disappointed him. You know that feeling like when you let your parents down by making a bad decision.

As the semester passed, and fall of my senior year came and went, a week did not pass in which I did not have some interaction with Dr. McGehee. It was as if he was stalking me for not sticking with it, not in the bad kind of way, but in the supportive, ‘I’m here for you’ kind of way. I will never forget the surprise I felt that when I started to sign up for my final semester at Wofford, when he approached me about yet again participating in his seminar class. Now that I knew him, there was no way I was passing up another opportunity.

That was so like Dr. McGehee. He believed in his students, way more than we ever believed in ourselves. He constantly sought us out, wanted our opinions, desired to learn from us, rather than just sitting back and teaching us all he knew, which was the world. He could have spent hours upon days upon weeks and years, sharing his knowledge, he had that much, but instead he invested his time and energy, learning with us, experiencing life with us. Never was a man his age more proficient in the ways of technology, leaving his students trying to catch up with him. He was always quick with a small and something funny to say, lightening the mood whenever he could. The only thing he loved more than learning was his family and the Wofford community, which most of the time, you couldn’t tell the two apart, except for ‘the Queen Mother’, his wonderful wife Betsy, who knew us probably just as much as Larry did because I’m sure he shared everything with her.

Dr. McGehee was first and foremost a word-smith, a vocabulary genius or any other way you could describe someone who has complete mastery of language. Here’s an example. These words were the last I, along with many others, received from Dr. McGehee. They came via an email thank you following this year's Homecoming. “When I arrived at Wofford in 1982 and for every day since, Wofford College has laid her hands upon me, levitating, elevating, and otherwise ever uplifting me. She embraced me so tightly that I went without vacations, holidays, and Saturdays and Sundays, for a quarter century. I was unaware of how dependent, Antaeus-like, upon being on campus I had become, until late April of this year, when some virus complicated my existing fibrosis condition and laid me low. I have been unable to return to campus since then, and have given up my office. The daily lunches with colleagues in the faculty dining room, lunch once or twice a week with students, Acorn café coffee visits, and post office runs are missed sorely, making me ever more mindful of the Wofford magic kingdom that inspired me and sustained me. I am thankful for Wofford College.”

No, it is we, who are thankful of you, Dr. McGehee. I didn’t know Dr. McGehee nearly as well as some of my peers, for they were much better students of the master than I was. But I did learn from him that it didn’t matter what kind of student I was because he loved us all. Dr. McGehee passed away last night from his recent illnesses. I, along with all the others that he touched over the years, will miss him greatly. I, for one, will think of him every time I slip my jacket on, you can count on that.

My idealistic ways

I was out the other day and noticed a young child in a stroller who had a bottle of milk in her mouth, propped up on the side, just sitting there. Wanting to impress my wife and my mother, I said to them, “You know, you are not supposed to do that with a child because it could lead to problems later on.” I had read that in one of the books that I am desperately digesting in preparation of Isaac’s arrival. I know, I know, books are nothing like the real thing. But, what will it hurt in trying to be better informed? Books are a guide, they are not the concrete rule. Anyways, my mom’s response to my comment, which I thought was a very insightful assessment of the situation, was to roll her eyes, like she often does with me, and claim, “You are so idealistic.” Shaking her head she says, “Just you wait.” I love my mom.

For the second time in a couple of days, this idea of being idealistic verses realistic has come up. I had talked with a friend of mine about ministry and new ministers. He had commented about how when talking to new ministers, those just starting out, candidates for ministry even, that you find a level of excitement that you do not see everyday. “Before they become jaded by the church”, he says, which I can totally relate with. You learn things in school and you see the church a certain way when you first start out and then when you get into the church, you find things that you are not prepared for and you end up dealing with things that are totally different than anything you ever imagined. This is not just in ministry, it seems to be pervasive throughout our lives. It seems that this struggle is on-going, the battle between idealistic and realistic. Does it always have to be this way? I mean, in order to be realistic and in the moment, must we give up a desire for things to be better, to be idealistic? We feel this when we are young. The idea that the world is ours to conquer, we can do anything and we can be anything. And then, something happens, we get a little older, we have an experience or two, and the next thing you know, our idealism is gone, and we think, “I guess this is it. This is what they warned me about.” And then, and this is where it really gets bad, we start raining on other people’s parades. We think, well, if I cannot be idealistic, neither should you. And then we become cynical and jaded toward other people and their idealism.

I believe this goes much deeper than just being optimistic or pessimistic. For me, if optimism sees the glass half full, then idealistic means working actively to fill the glass the rest of the way up. Now, if this metaphor holds true, and if pessimism sees the glass half empty, does being cynical and jaded means that you are actively trying to pour the rest of whatever is in the glass out? If we live our lives jaded and cynical, do we not fall into the trap of trying to hold down the dreamers of this world because our dreams have not been realized? Possibly, if we are not careful.

The prophet Joel once described the Day of the Lord by quoting God saying, “I will pour out my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughter will prophesy, your old men will dream dreams, your young me will see visions. Even on my servants, both men and women, I will pour out my Spirit on those days (2:28-29).” This message was so important that Peter repeated it in his first sermon at Pentecost (see Acts 2). What’s truly important is that we do not let the day to day junk that we deal with take away from our desire to be better and to live differently than we are right now. We should never stop dreaming and we should never forget about God’s Spirit that resides with us, throughout all of our junk. Realistically, we should live in the world in the most idealistic way possible, dreaming dreams and visioning visions of the way things can be. God wants nothing more and demands nothing less than for us to a little bit better today than we were yesterday.

"O God of Every Nation"

In celebrating World Communion Sunday yesterday, we sang the hymn “O God of Every Nation”. I am not sure if you are familiar with it or not, but I found the words to be extremely powerful and moving, especially when thinking about war and our world and America’s role in it all. It may be my new favorite hymn.

O God of every nation, of every race and land, redeem your whole creation with your almighty hand; where hate and fear divide us, and bitter threats are hurled, in love and mercy guide us and heal our strife-torn world.

From search for wealth and power and scorn of truth and right, from trust in bombs that shower destruction through the night, from pride of race and station and blindness to your way, deliver every nation, eternal God we pray.

Lord, strengthen all who labor that all may find release from fear of rattling saber, from dread of war’s increase; when hope and courage falter, Lord, let your voice be heard; with faith that none can alter, your servants undergird.

Keep bright in us the vision of days when war shall cease, when hatred and division give way to love and peace, till dawns the morning glorious when truth and justice reign, and Christ shall rule victorious o’er all the world’s domain.

It reminds me of Israel. When we were over there, we said on several occasions, “The only thing that can change this land and bring peace is Jesus Christ, the Prince of Peace.” As we look over the landscape of our world, specifically our nation, and see the divisiveness that exists everywhere, it appears Jesus is the only answer for all of us.

Balance

I’ve written about this before, but it came up again today. I visited an older church member who is living in an ‘extended care’ facility, a step beyond a nursing home, meaning the staff interacts more often with the resident. At least, they are supposed to. The place was noisy, cluttered and smelled bad. The residents live two to a room. It truly is an awkward situation at best. She is well on up in her years and I was struck by the difficult situation that she was now facing. Modern medicine and technology had allowed her to live more years, but those years have not been ‘good’ years, they have been years spent going in and out of hospitals and nursing care facilities. The quality of life has declined, while the quantity of years has increased. It leaves me wondering, ‘Is it truly worth it?’ I see people like this more than I would like and I am always plagued by the same question. Have we gotten ahead of ourselves with technology and medicine? Obviously, the desire to prolong life has to be due to the fact that we value life above all else. I recently heard a line on a radio advertisement. It said, “And nothing is more important than life.” Is that true? As a Christian, as one who is trying to follow Jesus and live into his teachings, I want to finish that line by saying, “Nothing is more important than life in Christ.” Without Christ, this life is all we have and personally, I believe God is calling us to more. Don’t get me wrong, I am not being fatalistic or anything, I do not want to die any more than the next person. But death is not the end. I’ve been working through Philippians recently and I am drawn to Paul’s line, “For to me, living is Christ and dying is gain.” Dying is more Christ. That’s something to be excited about, even if it is a little scary. But we fear death so much that we are doing anything and everything to prolong life, even if the quality of life is poor, thanks to the advancements in technology and medicine.

Now, to be sure, there is a balance with everything. Thanks to the advancement in technology and medicine, I was able to see an absolutely amazing picture of my son this morning. While I continue to ponder life, let me introduce you to Isaac Hamilton Gray. (Around the 50 second mark, it shifts to 4-D imaging. It will blow your mind.) He is not due until December 5th, but yet we are able to see some really cool pictures. I am thankful for the ways technology and medicine make our lives amazing, but want to make sure that our lives remain amazing, rather than just adding on some years.