A few people (whom I consider good friends) have asked me recently “how do you prevent from being burned out?” That’s a good question. Since the invention of the light bulb and subsequent inventions (television, internet, etc.) the work day now stretches far passed the past the former marker of “sundown”.
It is no secret that I enjoy working. In fact, much of what I do I do not consider work. Between working with young adults and college students, preaching and teaching, and teaching college religion courses—I’m actually energized by most of this work.
Here’s what I do to prevent burnout.
First, I love to read. I read books other than theology, philosophy and history. I actually prefer a good novel like this one or this one.
Second, I love to exercise by running and lifting weights. Nothing remedies stress like the bench press and a three mile run. One of the great discoveries of living with Kara is that we enjoy working out together.
Third, I love a good movie (too many to name) or the occasional television show (The West Wing, Lost and 24 have been the escape points over the last few years).
Fourth, I love the Tigers and Pistons. Whether it’s going to a game (rare but fun) or watching a game, it gives me pleasure to know who the “good guys” are (the Pistons and Tigers) and who the “bad guys” are (anyone playing the Tigers and Pistons).
There are other ways I “regroup”. How do you relax? What fills you up when you are depleted? What breaths life into you?
24 July 2007
23 July 2007
God in the City
If Cass Park is a novel, we are constantly being introduced to new and intriguing characters. Yesterday, for instance, was one of the more interesting Sunday’s we’ve had at Cass Park over the last several months.
We had several new Cass Parkers yesterday: Emily, Sean, Alex, CJ, Liz, Andrew, and Jenn came to the Park not knowing what to expect. I gave them a mini tour of the neighborhood, told them a bit of the history, etc. These young women and men did an amazing job: they cooked shared meals with people, listened to stories—they were fully present in the moment.
At one point in the beginning of the afternoon, I told this group, “I love Detroit. I love this city. I love the history, the people, the brokenness, and even the despair. This city is in my bones, it has become a part of who I am. It teaches me, challenges me, and pushes me to think deeper about reality, justice, the poor, and addiction. I cannot tolerate people, to my own demise at times, who bash Detroit and have never spent time in the D save a sporting event.”
I have been developing relationships with two women over the last year who, for the first time, welcomed me into their apartment yesterday. These two women have been fighting addiction and health issues for some time, but are on the path back to recovery. By the way, a little glimpse into life in sections of Detroit—there apartment is known in the neighborhood as the Dog Pound. If that doesn’t disturb you…
I met a man named Mr. Charity. He lives in the ‘burbs (like me) but spends three or four days a week in Detroit working with the poor, particularly with the VETS who live in the various veteran shelters sprinkled all over the city.
One group of Christians, whom we’d never met before, held a powerful worship service as we were ending the meal time.
I met three pastors who have a heart for Cass Park who constantly pray for the addictions to relinquish their control over some of the women and men who call this area home.
John Gresham (veteran Cass Parker) introduced me to a young man who lost his wife approximately a year ago and has been living on the streets while keeping a job as a security guard. We are going to work with him this week to see if we can’t get him into SOS—the best transitional shelter I know of in Detroit or Metro Detroit.
Each afternoon spent in Cass Park uncovers new stories, new people and new possibilities. There will be stories of death and failure…but we hold out hope that there will also be a few more stories of transformation and new life.
God is at work in the places we often ignore.
18 July 2007
My Wife is Smarter Than I Am
Husband: Do you ever wonder what it would be like to have your own brain, thoughts, passions, values, and interests switched with another person?
Wife: I’m not sure I know what you mean.
Husband: Ok, here’s what I mean. What if I had my brain, thoughts and sensibilities transferred to your body and voice. So, essentially, I would be you and no one would know it.
Wife: So, what you are saying is that you and I would switch personalities without switching bodies. Right?
Husband: Exactly. Would that not be crazy?
Wife: If that happened, you’d be the man of the house.
Wife: I’m not sure I know what you mean.
Husband: Ok, here’s what I mean. What if I had my brain, thoughts and sensibilities transferred to your body and voice. So, essentially, I would be you and no one would know it.
Wife: So, what you are saying is that you and I would switch personalities without switching bodies. Right?
Husband: Exactly. Would that not be crazy?
Wife: If that happened, you’d be the man of the house.
16 July 2007
Spanish Eyes
Tomorrow marks three years being married to Kara. We’ve moved from Rochester to Nashville, Nashville to Abilene, Abilene to Nashville, and Nashville to Rochester in the five short years we’ve been dating/married. Hopefully, the next five years is not nearly as disorienting.
God knew it would take a special girl to be able to handle someone who’s constantly dreaming, thinking of new places and ideas…yet; Kara’s handled me with grace, direct and open speech, and consistent love.
So, this girl with “Spanish eyes” (to quote “In a Little While”—one of my favorite U2 songs that describes how I feel about Kara) still takes my breath away, still makes me a believer after all.
10 July 2007
Insanity
I read this in the Free Press today. This is crazy.
According to a June 22 report by Wisconsin-based Runzheimer International, Detroit is the most expensive U.S. city in which to insure a vehicle, with an average yearly premium of $5,072. Philadelphia is a distant second, at $3,779.
Add to that the rising costs of gas and you can understand why it is difficult for the working poor in our country to get out of the danger zone of the cycle.
For many working poor (often single parents)--they are one accident, freak injury away from being completely powerless.
When I have spent time in places like Atlanta, Dallas, and The Bronx, I've learned that food in the city costs much more than food suburbanites buy in their grocery stores.
Injustice is a word that the writers of Torah and the New Testament care about. Perhaps some of us should too.
According to a June 22 report by Wisconsin-based Runzheimer International, Detroit is the most expensive U.S. city in which to insure a vehicle, with an average yearly premium of $5,072. Philadelphia is a distant second, at $3,779.
Add to that the rising costs of gas and you can understand why it is difficult for the working poor in our country to get out of the danger zone of the cycle.
For many working poor (often single parents)--they are one accident, freak injury away from being completely powerless.
When I have spent time in places like Atlanta, Dallas, and The Bronx, I've learned that food in the city costs much more than food suburbanites buy in their grocery stores.
Injustice is a word that the writers of Torah and the New Testament care about. Perhaps some of us should too.
09 July 2007
My favorite preacher/teacher/writer on the planet is Barbara Brown Taylor. She captivated my imagination concerning God when I was 19 years old and I've spent many days and nights wrestling with her words and insights.
Here's an example of Taylor's ability to connect.
"Gradually I remembered what I had known all along, which is that church is not a stopping place but a starting place for discerning God's presence in this world. By offering people a place where they engage the steady practice of listening to divine words and celebrating divine sacraments, church can help people gain a feel for how God shows up--not only in Holy Bibles and Holy Communion but also in near neighbors, mysterious strangers, sliced bread, and grocery store wine. That way, when they leave church, they no more leave God than God leaves them," (from Leaving Church: A Memoir of Faith).
Here's an example of Taylor's ability to connect.
"Gradually I remembered what I had known all along, which is that church is not a stopping place but a starting place for discerning God's presence in this world. By offering people a place where they engage the steady practice of listening to divine words and celebrating divine sacraments, church can help people gain a feel for how God shows up--not only in Holy Bibles and Holy Communion but also in near neighbors, mysterious strangers, sliced bread, and grocery store wine. That way, when they leave church, they no more leave God than God leaves them," (from Leaving Church: A Memoir of Faith).
02 July 2007
The 313, Or, Why Detroit is the Best Sports Town in America
Detroit is the best all around sports city in the United States. I offer the following top five reasons (and no, I’m not writing this from work…I thought of this while spending too much time on the treadmill this weekend).
#5 The Detroit Lions: Now, before you laugh, hear me out. The Detroit Lions have been one of the worst Pro Football teams in the NFL over the last 20 years. And yet, do you know who is consistently in the top echelon of ticket sales, year in and year out—you guessed, the Detroit Kittens.
#4 The Detroit Red Wings: I don’t know much about hockey but I know the Red Wings are one of the storied franchises in the NHL with three recent Stanley Cup Championships.
#3 U of M Football: One of the oldest and most accomplished programs in the history of college football, Michigan plays in front of 100, 000 people plus every Saturday. While I admit that the Big Ten is not in the same class as the SEC, it is still one of the great football conferences around.
#2 The Detroit Pistons: Three championships over the last two decades, along with five NBA Finals Appearances in that same stretch, and too many Eastern Conference championships to count. Dave Bing, Isaiah Thomas, Adrian Dantley, Dennis Rodman, Joe Dumars, Vinnie Johnson, Grant Hill, Ben Wallace, Chauncey Billups and Rip Hamilton all make this one of the top five NBA franchises. And they play ten minutes from where I live and work. I've written about my obession with the Pistons in previous posts.
#1 The Detroit Tigers: I might have included the Tigers number one even if Leyland et al had not resurrected the Tigers last season. The Tigers play in one of the premiere ball parks (Comerica) with the one of the best (save Tampa Bay) core of young prospects in Brandon Inge, Curtis Granderson, Andrew Miller, Jeremy Bonderman, Justin Verlander, Joel Zumaya, and Cameron Maybin. Not too mention Ordonez, Polanco, Guillen, Sheffield, and Kenny Rogers! One of the original teams of baseball, the Tigers are a joy to watch. Some of my best memories with my grandfather are from the rightfield bleacher seats at Tiger Stadium.
One writer for ESPN agrees with me.
27 June 2007
A new friend of mine, Mitch Albaugh, whom I met at the ZOE Conference in Orlando, wrote the following to me in response to yesterday's blog. I figured this is the kind of insight that must be shared.
It is insightful, prophetic, and true.
Hi Josh.
You’ve probably figured out that I read your blogs. Mainly because I want to know what makes you what you are. You didn’t say much about your friends whose son died.
Twenty-three years ago my first son (coincidentally, named Josh) died in Children’s Hospital in Boston following open heart surgery. He was 6 days old. Three days later, we buried him in our small family plot in Clearwater. Even after 23 years, I can’t IMAGINE hurting that much a second time. In fact, as my 3 living sons (ages 22, 16 and 10) have grown up, I have often drawn peace and security from the belief that God would NEVER allow me to go through that again because it would destroy me.
As I read your blog, I wondered if your friends felt like that, too. My heart and prayers really go out to them.
You probably don’t need to hear this advice, but ...
1. Don’t let appearances fool you; your friends may look like they’re doing ok. They’re not. They will need CONSTANT love and support. You CANNOT overdo, in this respect.
2. Don’t be afraid of making them sad or making them cry. Trust me, there is nothing you can do to make them any sadder than they already are. And crying is GOOD; it’s helpful and healing. This is especially true for the dad if he’s anti-tears. They HAVE to cry ... be there to cry with them. (When Josh died, I had to return to work the day after his funeral. I was a mess. I made a rule for myself that if I felt like crying, I was going to cry, no matter what situation I was in. There were a couple of times when it caught the people around me a little off guard, but they were fine – and sympathetic -- once I explained.)
(On the one-year anniversary of Josh’s death, we were informed by telephone that we were being disfellowshipped by a church in Tampa that we had recently left because of its adoption of the Boston/Kip McKean ideology ... the minister there (the fraternity brother who led me to Christ) was Kip McKean’s brother-in-law. The person who called was a longtime “friend” ... when I mentioned what day it was, he said he remembered, but hadn’t said anything because he didn’t want to remind me. That brother and I are once again close friends, but on that day he was a complete idiot. How could he possibly think he’d remember something that I’d forgot? My point: It is not wrong to bring it up. Your friends will NEVER tire of talking about their sons .... EVER! They’ll appreciate you for wanting to.)
3. Remember that 80% of couples that lose a child end up divorced. I don’t have a statistic for losing 2 children. The reason for this (I think) is because the grief cycles don’t coincide; one is up when the other is down ... and they begin to see each other from a different perspective (“Why doesn’t he/she care?” “How can he/she be so happy?”). Your friends may need someone there to remind them that they will grieve/mourn/heal differently.
It is insightful, prophetic, and true.
Hi Josh.
You’ve probably figured out that I read your blogs. Mainly because I want to know what makes you what you are. You didn’t say much about your friends whose son died.
Twenty-three years ago my first son (coincidentally, named Josh) died in Children’s Hospital in Boston following open heart surgery. He was 6 days old. Three days later, we buried him in our small family plot in Clearwater. Even after 23 years, I can’t IMAGINE hurting that much a second time. In fact, as my 3 living sons (ages 22, 16 and 10) have grown up, I have often drawn peace and security from the belief that God would NEVER allow me to go through that again because it would destroy me.
As I read your blog, I wondered if your friends felt like that, too. My heart and prayers really go out to them.
You probably don’t need to hear this advice, but ...
1. Don’t let appearances fool you; your friends may look like they’re doing ok. They’re not. They will need CONSTANT love and support. You CANNOT overdo, in this respect.
2. Don’t be afraid of making them sad or making them cry. Trust me, there is nothing you can do to make them any sadder than they already are. And crying is GOOD; it’s helpful and healing. This is especially true for the dad if he’s anti-tears. They HAVE to cry ... be there to cry with them. (When Josh died, I had to return to work the day after his funeral. I was a mess. I made a rule for myself that if I felt like crying, I was going to cry, no matter what situation I was in. There were a couple of times when it caught the people around me a little off guard, but they were fine – and sympathetic -- once I explained.)
(On the one-year anniversary of Josh’s death, we were informed by telephone that we were being disfellowshipped by a church in Tampa that we had recently left because of its adoption of the Boston/Kip McKean ideology ... the minister there (the fraternity brother who led me to Christ) was Kip McKean’s brother-in-law. The person who called was a longtime “friend” ... when I mentioned what day it was, he said he remembered, but hadn’t said anything because he didn’t want to remind me. That brother and I are once again close friends, but on that day he was a complete idiot. How could he possibly think he’d remember something that I’d forgot? My point: It is not wrong to bring it up. Your friends will NEVER tire of talking about their sons .... EVER! They’ll appreciate you for wanting to.)
3. Remember that 80% of couples that lose a child end up divorced. I don’t have a statistic for losing 2 children. The reason for this (I think) is because the grief cycles don’t coincide; one is up when the other is down ... and they begin to see each other from a different perspective (“Why doesn’t he/she care?” “How can he/she be so happy?”). Your friends may need someone there to remind them that they will grieve/mourn/heal differently.
26 June 2007
Burying Two Sons, Praying for a Brother
It is a tragedy for a mother to bury one son. It is sheer calamity when a mother as to bury two sons.
This week, we mourn with our sister and brother in Christ, the founders of God's Helping Hands, as they have now buried their second son in five years.
We pray from The Book of Common Prayer:
Direct us, O Lord, in all our doings with thy most gracious favor, and further us with thy continual help; that in all our works begun, continued, and ended in thee, we may glorify thy holy Name, and finally, by thy mercy, obtain everlasting life; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
My other brother (Duncan) is in Marine Boot Camp right now. Yes, The Book of Common Prayer gives us language for this season as well.
Almighty God, we commend to your gracious care and keeping all the men and women of our armed forces at home and abroad. Defend them day by day with your heavenly grace; strengthen them in their trials and temptations; give them courage to face their perils which beset them; and grant them a sense of your abiding presence wherever they may be; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
---
When I asked a world-known theologian who recently visited Rochester College why he was Anglican (where The Book of Common Prayer comes from), he reponded by saying, "I needed more words."
This week, we mourn with our sister and brother in Christ, the founders of God's Helping Hands, as they have now buried their second son in five years.
We pray from The Book of Common Prayer:
Direct us, O Lord, in all our doings with thy most gracious favor, and further us with thy continual help; that in all our works begun, continued, and ended in thee, we may glorify thy holy Name, and finally, by thy mercy, obtain everlasting life; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
My other brother (Duncan) is in Marine Boot Camp right now. Yes, The Book of Common Prayer gives us language for this season as well.
Almighty God, we commend to your gracious care and keeping all the men and women of our armed forces at home and abroad. Defend them day by day with your heavenly grace; strengthen them in their trials and temptations; give them courage to face their perils which beset them; and grant them a sense of your abiding presence wherever they may be; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
---
When I asked a world-known theologian who recently visited Rochester College why he was Anglican (where The Book of Common Prayer comes from), he reponded by saying, "I needed more words."
25 June 2007
Fentanyl (pronounced Fen-ta-nawl)
Here’s an excerpt from an outstanding piece on the devastating results of Fentanyl, a drug that some estimate to be ten times more potent than heroin. Fentanyl is on the streets of Detroit, having killed almost 300 people in the Greater Detroit area. This drug is an equal-opportunity killer—just as many rich folks from the Burbs are dying…
I’ve heard people who live and around Cass Park talk about “Super Heroin” (among other names), but I did not realize its potent destructive power as compared with Cocaine, weed, and heroin.
BY JIM SCHAEFER and JOE SWICKARD
FREE PRESS STAFF WRITERS
In the basement, anything goes. That's where everybody buys their dope. They can shoot it, snort it or smoke it down there. They can turn tricks to earn money for more drugs. It's all good.
Except tonight, something's bad. There are shouts from upstairs, and smacking sounds. And now water is dripping through the basement ceiling.
In this lair of strangers, where Detroiters get high next to users from Sterling Heights, Royal Oak, Pontiac and Ferndale, all of them drawn together by the pangs of heroin addiction, this is something different.
This is something alarming.
"Lauren!" someone shouts from up above, on the ground floor at 20152 Keating St. in Detroit. Then more of those smacks. "Lauren, wake up!"
"Sit her up!"
A guy known as Tommy comes through a side door with bags of ice, which he hauls upstairs.
The basement people watch him climb out of view.
What's going on?
Ralph, the man upstairs selling the drugs tonight, assures the people below that the girl's OK. Ralph is in charge of the dope house right now. And as lawless as a drug den might seem, there are rules. And one of them is: Customers don't go upstairs. She's OK, Ralph tells the basement people.
And so they return to their business. This isn't their sister or their classmate or their daughter. It's just another doper in a dope house, and, reality is, people overdose.
She'll be OK.
And the water drips. Someone moves over a bucket.
But it's not OK.
Upstairs, Ralph is shaking Lauren Jolly, a 17-year-old with a pretty face and light, shoulder-length brown hair, a former Brownie Scout, a junior at Birmingham Groves High School, a heroin addict her friends can no longer help.
It's May 24, 2006, and she is about to become the public face of fentanyl, a nasty laboratory concoction often mixed with heroin that exploded on the streets of Detroit, ending the lives of hundreds of metro-Detroit drug users, and more than 1,000 people nationwide.
The drug stole a once-promising young bowler from Shelby Township, a retired autoworker from Detroit, an ex-logger from out state and the lead guitarist in a rock band.
Inside the house in Detroit, a 21-year-old from Pontiac named Ben puts his fingers to the neck of the Bloomfield Township teen and feels a slow pulse.
Someone draws cold water and pours it over Lauren.
The girl is still breathing, but her pulse is faint, her blood pressure plummeting. Her eyes roll back ... and she is somewhere else.
***
The article can be read here.
I’ve heard people who live and around Cass Park talk about “Super Heroin” (among other names), but I did not realize its potent destructive power as compared with Cocaine, weed, and heroin.
BY JIM SCHAEFER and JOE SWICKARD
FREE PRESS STAFF WRITERS
In the basement, anything goes. That's where everybody buys their dope. They can shoot it, snort it or smoke it down there. They can turn tricks to earn money for more drugs. It's all good.
Except tonight, something's bad. There are shouts from upstairs, and smacking sounds. And now water is dripping through the basement ceiling.
In this lair of strangers, where Detroiters get high next to users from Sterling Heights, Royal Oak, Pontiac and Ferndale, all of them drawn together by the pangs of heroin addiction, this is something different.
This is something alarming.
"Lauren!" someone shouts from up above, on the ground floor at 20152 Keating St. in Detroit. Then more of those smacks. "Lauren, wake up!"
"Sit her up!"
A guy known as Tommy comes through a side door with bags of ice, which he hauls upstairs.
The basement people watch him climb out of view.
What's going on?
Ralph, the man upstairs selling the drugs tonight, assures the people below that the girl's OK. Ralph is in charge of the dope house right now. And as lawless as a drug den might seem, there are rules. And one of them is: Customers don't go upstairs. She's OK, Ralph tells the basement people.
And so they return to their business. This isn't their sister or their classmate or their daughter. It's just another doper in a dope house, and, reality is, people overdose.
She'll be OK.
And the water drips. Someone moves over a bucket.
But it's not OK.
Upstairs, Ralph is shaking Lauren Jolly, a 17-year-old with a pretty face and light, shoulder-length brown hair, a former Brownie Scout, a junior at Birmingham Groves High School, a heroin addict her friends can no longer help.
It's May 24, 2006, and she is about to become the public face of fentanyl, a nasty laboratory concoction often mixed with heroin that exploded on the streets of Detroit, ending the lives of hundreds of metro-Detroit drug users, and more than 1,000 people nationwide.
The drug stole a once-promising young bowler from Shelby Township, a retired autoworker from Detroit, an ex-logger from out state and the lead guitarist in a rock band.
Inside the house in Detroit, a 21-year-old from Pontiac named Ben puts his fingers to the neck of the Bloomfield Township teen and feels a slow pulse.
Someone draws cold water and pours it over Lauren.
The girl is still breathing, but her pulse is faint, her blood pressure plummeting. Her eyes roll back ... and she is somewhere else.
***
The article can be read here.
21 June 2007
Cass Park Meditation
This past Sunday, a group of friends spent the afternoon working in Cass Park hosting a love feast for the poor and homeless. I’ve written about Cass Park several times over the last year. In all, we fed over 400 women, men and children BBQ chicken prepared by Stephanie Corp (one of the most dedicated disciples of Jesus I know).
One person commented to my wife upon seeing the “spread” of great food we brought: “Some days, being homeless ain’t so bad.” Those are words that stay with me through Monday mornings, and Thursday afternoons.
As you know, this Sunday I’m referring to was Father’s Day. Almost every person who came to the love feast knew this and welcomed us with hugs, smiles and “Happy Father’s Day” greetings. I don’t know why but I hadn’t thought about how regular holidays are perceived by those on the margin of society. I also hadn’t thought how grateful our friends would be for the time we gave to them when we could have been hiding out in our air conditioned homes, sipping lemonade (not that those are bad things).
It is easy to point out, as many do, the fact that many of the homeless men we work with are not exactly ideal fathers. Communication with their children is limited at best, non-existent at worst. Some are hooked on crack, heroine, speed, prescriptions drugs. Most are alcohol-dependant. Yet, these men are full of life, love, ideas, and generosity. One man, named Sid, drew a picture of Jesus with this inscription: “Josh, Jesus loves you.” Now there’s a message I never grow weary of hearing.
I’ve been holding on to this treasure from Barbara Brown Taylor’s memoir Leaving Church. Quoting Walter Brueggemann, Taylor reminds herself of God’s mysterious way of working in our lives: “The world for which you were preparing for all these years is slowly being taken from you, by the grace of God,” (my paraphrase).
I never imagined myself becoming a pastor, and teacher. I never imagined that one day I would look as forward to working with the poor and broken of Detroit as I do watching a great movie or attending a Pistons basketball game. I never imagined I would, week to week, stand between humanity and God, communicating to one side on behalf of the other. I never imagined I would cry with some as they bury another child, receive negative news regarding their cancer, or find out about their spouse’s infidelity. But here I am, the young boy who wanted to be a college coach, serving the church that introduced to me Jesus.
The world I was preparing for, by the grace of God, is not the world God was molding me to live in.
One person commented to my wife upon seeing the “spread” of great food we brought: “Some days, being homeless ain’t so bad.” Those are words that stay with me through Monday mornings, and Thursday afternoons.
As you know, this Sunday I’m referring to was Father’s Day. Almost every person who came to the love feast knew this and welcomed us with hugs, smiles and “Happy Father’s Day” greetings. I don’t know why but I hadn’t thought about how regular holidays are perceived by those on the margin of society. I also hadn’t thought how grateful our friends would be for the time we gave to them when we could have been hiding out in our air conditioned homes, sipping lemonade (not that those are bad things).
It is easy to point out, as many do, the fact that many of the homeless men we work with are not exactly ideal fathers. Communication with their children is limited at best, non-existent at worst. Some are hooked on crack, heroine, speed, prescriptions drugs. Most are alcohol-dependant. Yet, these men are full of life, love, ideas, and generosity. One man, named Sid, drew a picture of Jesus with this inscription: “Josh, Jesus loves you.” Now there’s a message I never grow weary of hearing.
I’ve been holding on to this treasure from Barbara Brown Taylor’s memoir Leaving Church. Quoting Walter Brueggemann, Taylor reminds herself of God’s mysterious way of working in our lives: “The world for which you were preparing for all these years is slowly being taken from you, by the grace of God,” (my paraphrase).
I never imagined myself becoming a pastor, and teacher. I never imagined that one day I would look as forward to working with the poor and broken of Detroit as I do watching a great movie or attending a Pistons basketball game. I never imagined I would, week to week, stand between humanity and God, communicating to one side on behalf of the other. I never imagined I would cry with some as they bury another child, receive negative news regarding their cancer, or find out about their spouse’s infidelity. But here I am, the young boy who wanted to be a college coach, serving the church that introduced to me Jesus.
The world I was preparing for, by the grace of God, is not the world God was molding me to live in.
18 June 2007
It is Important to Disagree
I believe it is important to disagree.
Here's a story from the Talmud that illustrates why I feel this way.
And Resh Lakish died. And Rebbe Yochanan suffered his loss greatly. The Rabbi’s said, “Who do we have that hand help settle his mind? Let us bring him Eliezer ben Padat, for he is sharp in his learning.” Eliezer ben Padat went and sat before Yochanan and for everything Yochanan said, Eliezer ben Padat brought a text to support Yochanan’s argument. Rebbe Yochanan said, “You’re not like Resh Lakish. When I said something in front of him, he would challenge me with twenty-four questions which I would have to answer, and from that the Torah would be richer—and you, you just support me! So, I have no way of knowing whether what I’m saying is right!” Yochanan then ripped his cloak and wailed, “Where are you son of Lakish, where are you?” (From the Talmud as recorded in Judith Kunst’s The Burning Word, 44)
Here's a story from the Talmud that illustrates why I feel this way.
And Resh Lakish died. And Rebbe Yochanan suffered his loss greatly. The Rabbi’s said, “Who do we have that hand help settle his mind? Let us bring him Eliezer ben Padat, for he is sharp in his learning.” Eliezer ben Padat went and sat before Yochanan and for everything Yochanan said, Eliezer ben Padat brought a text to support Yochanan’s argument. Rebbe Yochanan said, “You’re not like Resh Lakish. When I said something in front of him, he would challenge me with twenty-four questions which I would have to answer, and from that the Torah would be richer—and you, you just support me! So, I have no way of knowing whether what I’m saying is right!” Yochanan then ripped his cloak and wailed, “Where are you son of Lakish, where are you?” (From the Talmud as recorded in Judith Kunst’s The Burning Word, 44)
13 June 2007
Routine
I am, by experience and choice, a person of routines.
I need routines for they provide a framework of familiarity and transformation in my everyday life. When I pay attention to my life, I notices that God seems to be just as much interested in the minute knitty-gritty as he is the big and spectacular.
Justin Verlander, the phenomenal young pitchers for the Detroit Tigers, threw a no-hitter last night: The first since 1984 for a Tiger pitcher and only the sixth in the 107th season of Detroit Tiger baseball.
Last night and this morning people talked about the routines they kept during the no-hitter. One sportswriter said he kept his hand on his head, without ever moving it, from the sixth inning to the conclusion of the game. For you non-baseball fans, that’s at least one hour of resting one’s hand in the same awkward position. Another writer for the Detroit News made a similar confession in an interview. I confess that I did not move from the sixth inning on from my spot on the floor in my living room. The announcers calling the game never dared mention the phrase “no hitter” throughout the course of the telecast. We slip into routines because it allows us to be fully present in the moment at hand.
Here are some of my most common routines:
Studying/Reading. Reading is what calms my mind and my soul. Reading takes me into unknown worlds, changing my beliefs and awakening my imagination. I rarely go one day without reading.
Writing. Writing is so connected to reading (and teaching for that matter) that it is often difficult to distinguish between the two. I sometimes write so I even know what I think or feel about a particular person or experience. It is not as if I know what I believe and then try to figure out a way to articulate it. No, usually, as I sit down with a blank sheet of paper to prepare a class/sermon/teaching time (after I’ve studied of course) I write to see where my thoughts and convictions will lead. I’m often surprised at some of the things that flow out of me, things I did not know about myself. I rarely go more than one day without writing.
Sleeping. You may not think about sleep as part of your routines but sleeping is a spiritual experience for a few reasons: first, it reminds you that you are not God. Second, it reminds you that God is the one who is able to raise us from the dead (sleep as it were). I never go a day without sleeping.
Exercising. In an era where many sit behind desks, or drive cars, etc. exercise is as close to physical labor as many have the opportunity to experience (home improvement plans notwithstanding). There is a mysterious connection between our bodies and our soul—and that relationship is unlocked in physical exercise.
Working. I love to work. I love projects, problems, ideas, challenges, and yes, even people (one friend is famous for saying, “Church would be great if not for the people”). I believe that work can be redemptive if and when we see our particular vocations as contributing to the betterment of creation and other people. Whether one is a teacher, minister, accountant, or engineer, God gifts us with ways to bring about justice, solidarity, community and good. I rarely go a day without working and I’m working on that.
"Routine is one of God's great gifts to humanity." Fred B. Craddock
I need routines for they provide a framework of familiarity and transformation in my everyday life. When I pay attention to my life, I notices that God seems to be just as much interested in the minute knitty-gritty as he is the big and spectacular.
Justin Verlander, the phenomenal young pitchers for the Detroit Tigers, threw a no-hitter last night: The first since 1984 for a Tiger pitcher and only the sixth in the 107th season of Detroit Tiger baseball.
Last night and this morning people talked about the routines they kept during the no-hitter. One sportswriter said he kept his hand on his head, without ever moving it, from the sixth inning to the conclusion of the game. For you non-baseball fans, that’s at least one hour of resting one’s hand in the same awkward position. Another writer for the Detroit News made a similar confession in an interview. I confess that I did not move from the sixth inning on from my spot on the floor in my living room. The announcers calling the game never dared mention the phrase “no hitter” throughout the course of the telecast. We slip into routines because it allows us to be fully present in the moment at hand.
Here are some of my most common routines:
Studying/Reading. Reading is what calms my mind and my soul. Reading takes me into unknown worlds, changing my beliefs and awakening my imagination. I rarely go one day without reading.
Writing. Writing is so connected to reading (and teaching for that matter) that it is often difficult to distinguish between the two. I sometimes write so I even know what I think or feel about a particular person or experience. It is not as if I know what I believe and then try to figure out a way to articulate it. No, usually, as I sit down with a blank sheet of paper to prepare a class/sermon/teaching time (after I’ve studied of course) I write to see where my thoughts and convictions will lead. I’m often surprised at some of the things that flow out of me, things I did not know about myself. I rarely go more than one day without writing.
Sleeping. You may not think about sleep as part of your routines but sleeping is a spiritual experience for a few reasons: first, it reminds you that you are not God. Second, it reminds you that God is the one who is able to raise us from the dead (sleep as it were). I never go a day without sleeping.
Exercising. In an era where many sit behind desks, or drive cars, etc. exercise is as close to physical labor as many have the opportunity to experience (home improvement plans notwithstanding). There is a mysterious connection between our bodies and our soul—and that relationship is unlocked in physical exercise.
Working. I love to work. I love projects, problems, ideas, challenges, and yes, even people (one friend is famous for saying, “Church would be great if not for the people”). I believe that work can be redemptive if and when we see our particular vocations as contributing to the betterment of creation and other people. Whether one is a teacher, minister, accountant, or engineer, God gifts us with ways to bring about justice, solidarity, community and good. I rarely go a day without working and I’m working on that.
"Routine is one of God's great gifts to humanity." Fred B. Craddock
08 June 2007
Snickers Ice Cream Bars
Today and tomorrow, Kara and I are in Orlando (finishing our vacation) working with the ZOE Group who is putting together the Growing Deeper Worship Conference. Metro Church is hosting the conference—they are a fascinating church with a history of God working and moving them. The ZOE Group and the ZOE conferences are some of the best teaching and worship done in Churches of Christ. If you’ve never been a part of one, you should seriously consider it. The main conference takes place the first week in October in Nashville.
Today, in the leadership conference, I shared the story of Professor Jack along with the short film my good friend Sean and I put together.
Tomorrow, we board the plane to head back to Deeetrooooit—I miss home. I love living in the Greater Detroit Area. I love the people, the smell, the teams (Tigers and Pistons), the vibe—I love everything about it.
Sunday is a big day for the Rochester Church as we continue to move forward with our launch of Christ Church: Macomb.
I wrote the following in one of the books I read this week on the beach.
Kara's plane ticket to Orlando $150
Meals $150
Car Rental $250
Tickets to minor league baseball game: $20
Eating Snickers Ice Cream Bars for breakfast with your wife every morning: Priceless
Today, in the leadership conference, I shared the story of Professor Jack along with the short film my good friend Sean and I put together.
Tomorrow, we board the plane to head back to Deeetrooooit—I miss home. I love living in the Greater Detroit Area. I love the people, the smell, the teams (Tigers and Pistons), the vibe—I love everything about it.
Sunday is a big day for the Rochester Church as we continue to move forward with our launch of Christ Church: Macomb.
I wrote the following in one of the books I read this week on the beach.
Kara's plane ticket to Orlando $150
Meals $150
Car Rental $250
Tickets to minor league baseball game: $20
Eating Snickers Ice Cream Bars for breakfast with your wife every morning: Priceless
03 June 2007
Idolatry
I have a good friend who, every time I mention the Pistons, thinks of the “Bad Boys” he loves to hate. This friend, I’ve concluded, only remembers the Pistons for the era in which they were known for hard fouls, trash talking, intimidation, and a little rough-housing.
I have been a Detroit Piston fan since the 1987-88 season—I was eight years old and the Pistons were the young, upstart team on the NBA block. They were formidable going into the ’87 season, but they were not yet feared.
Isaiah Thomas was the fearless leader. Pound for pound, Zeke is one of the best basketball players in the history of the game.
Joe Dumars was the glue: the team’s best defender and clutch three point shooter. Dumars, according to Michael Jordan, was the best defender he’d ever faced, period. Add to that Dumars character and integrity and you know why this unknown college player from McNeese State, and you can understand why he is one of Michigan’s most respected sports icons. In a blue collar town full of self-made men and women, Dumars epitomizes the Detroit ethos of effort and humility. This is why, for instance, Ben Wallace was adored during his time in the D. Detroit, like Pittsburgh and Cleveland, prides itself on not being “LA”-ish. This also explains why some point out the hypocrisy of adoring any NBA player for the $60 million dollar contracts one can secure in an inflated system.
Back to the Bad Boys.
Vinnie Johnson, the microwave, could come off the bench and score ten points in two minutes. It is said that Vinnie would have started for any team not named Detroit, LA, or Boston.
Adrian Dantley/Mark Aguirre played small forward. Dantley, a great player and rare scorer, was traded during this era to the Dallas Mavericks. Mark Aguirre was a childhood friend of Isaiah—they grew up on the tough streets of Chicago. Aguirre played at DePaul, Isaiah went to Indiana. The two remained close friends and it is thought of by most Detroit sports gurus that Isaiah demanded that Aguirre (his guy) be brought to the Bad Boys. Even if that meant parting with Dantley.
The post players for the Pistons were by “committee”. John Salley, from Georgia Tech, was an athletic shot blocker who brought swagger and confidence. I met Salley when I was in the seventh grade. I though he was a god. Then I touched his ring and I believed I’d received some of his deity. Dennis Rodman (before he went loco) was the energy, diving for loose balls, mixing it up with the other teams elite players. James “Buddha” Edwards was a seven foot small forward, raining fade-away jump shots from anywhere on the floor. Rick Mahorn was the muscles and grit. Bill Laimbeer was the hatchet man, Isaiah’s bodyguard and thug. Laimbeer, much to the chagrin of NBA enthusiasts, might be the best shooting seven footer (save Dirk) in the history of the league.
In all, the Pistons one back to back NBA Championships in 1989 and 1990. In ’89, the Pistons swept the Lakers, and in ’90 they defeated the Trail Blazers in five. The Pistons had to get past the mighty Boston Celtics, led by my earl childhood hero, Larry Bird. By now, ESPN has engrained this fact: every great team/player has to overcome another terrific team. The Celtics had to beat the 76ers. The Pistons had to beat the Celtics. The Bulls had to beat the Pistons. And on and on and on it goes.
Now, the Cavs have beaten the Pistons.
I’ve enjoyed watching, studying, and cheering for the second championship wave Pistons over the last five years. Who could ever forget their upset of Kobe and Shaq in the 2004 Finals, breaking up the best duo in the history of pro ball? Like the Bad Boys (who will be remembered for not shaking the Bulls hands after they swept the Pistons in ’91), there are things about this group I don’t care for (their haphazard attitude, Rasheed’s constant complaining)—but all in all, they have been a rare thing: a true team in an era of superstar promotion and attention.
Now it’s Nash (the best player in the world) Kobe, LeBron, DWade, and Dirk for the next several years. The problem with “team basketball” is that it’s too boring. That’s why the NBA is thrilled that the Pistons and Spurs will not be playing again in the Finals. It’s all about ratings. It’s all about money.
If I have a glaring idol in my life, it’s basketball. I fight it and fight it, and probably always will. “My name is Josh and I’m addicted to basketball.”
Basketball has been a huge part of my life. I’ve spent hours upon hours in the gym either a) practicing b) playing or c) watching (my father took my brother and I all over the state of Michigan when I was in middle school and high school watching other great players such as Chris Webber, Jalen Rose, Robert Traylor, and Howard Eisley). It was the afore mentioned Pistons who captured my imagination with passing, defense, emotion and raw guts.
As trite as it might sound, until five or six years ago, basketball gave me a purpose, something to concentrate on, something to consume my mind.
Basketball has also forged unshakable relationships. A young man can never forget his father spending an entire Saturday, as mine did, installing a light on top of the garage which neighbors came to detest claiming the light “lit up the entire street.” How many cold fall, winter and spring evenings did I spend in the driveway with my dad first shoveling snow (it’s Michigan) then working on 10ft, 12ft, 20 ft jumpshots? Too many to count. A thousand? Five thousand?
I’m still friends with one of my high school teammates, who became a much better college play than I, earning All-American his senior year for a team that was ranked number one in the country.
And I’ll always be close to the guys I played college hoops with, along with the coaching staff. I tell people that this team was one of the best examples of church I’ve ever experienced.
Perhaps that’s why I’ve enjoyed the last five years of my life—playing my last college basketball game in March of 2002. I’ve been able to find new passions: theology (which was emerging as I entered into college and sat at the feet of teachers like David Fleer, Dave Greer and Greg Stevenson), ministry in the church and with the poor, and writing.
Just to show you how engrained hoops is in my soul—I could not turn down the chance to coach college basketball when my friend Klint Pleasant invited me to join his staff at Abilene Christian University. Balancing grad school, work, and Kara (we’d just gotten engaged) proved too much—I only lasted one year at ACU before I returned to Nashville to finish seminary and work with my rabbi, John York.
So, if blogs have replaced journals than this is the closest I’m getting to painful confession. I love hoops. I am a recovering hoops addict. There, it’s out in the open.
I have been a Detroit Piston fan since the 1987-88 season—I was eight years old and the Pistons were the young, upstart team on the NBA block. They were formidable going into the ’87 season, but they were not yet feared.
Isaiah Thomas was the fearless leader. Pound for pound, Zeke is one of the best basketball players in the history of the game.
Joe Dumars was the glue: the team’s best defender and clutch three point shooter. Dumars, according to Michael Jordan, was the best defender he’d ever faced, period. Add to that Dumars character and integrity and you know why this unknown college player from McNeese State, and you can understand why he is one of Michigan’s most respected sports icons. In a blue collar town full of self-made men and women, Dumars epitomizes the Detroit ethos of effort and humility. This is why, for instance, Ben Wallace was adored during his time in the D. Detroit, like Pittsburgh and Cleveland, prides itself on not being “LA”-ish. This also explains why some point out the hypocrisy of adoring any NBA player for the $60 million dollar contracts one can secure in an inflated system.
Back to the Bad Boys.
Vinnie Johnson, the microwave, could come off the bench and score ten points in two minutes. It is said that Vinnie would have started for any team not named Detroit, LA, or Boston.
Adrian Dantley/Mark Aguirre played small forward. Dantley, a great player and rare scorer, was traded during this era to the Dallas Mavericks. Mark Aguirre was a childhood friend of Isaiah—they grew up on the tough streets of Chicago. Aguirre played at DePaul, Isaiah went to Indiana. The two remained close friends and it is thought of by most Detroit sports gurus that Isaiah demanded that Aguirre (his guy) be brought to the Bad Boys. Even if that meant parting with Dantley.
The post players for the Pistons were by “committee”. John Salley, from Georgia Tech, was an athletic shot blocker who brought swagger and confidence. I met Salley when I was in the seventh grade. I though he was a god. Then I touched his ring and I believed I’d received some of his deity. Dennis Rodman (before he went loco) was the energy, diving for loose balls, mixing it up with the other teams elite players. James “Buddha” Edwards was a seven foot small forward, raining fade-away jump shots from anywhere on the floor. Rick Mahorn was the muscles and grit. Bill Laimbeer was the hatchet man, Isaiah’s bodyguard and thug. Laimbeer, much to the chagrin of NBA enthusiasts, might be the best shooting seven footer (save Dirk) in the history of the league.
In all, the Pistons one back to back NBA Championships in 1989 and 1990. In ’89, the Pistons swept the Lakers, and in ’90 they defeated the Trail Blazers in five. The Pistons had to get past the mighty Boston Celtics, led by my earl childhood hero, Larry Bird. By now, ESPN has engrained this fact: every great team/player has to overcome another terrific team. The Celtics had to beat the 76ers. The Pistons had to beat the Celtics. The Bulls had to beat the Pistons. And on and on and on it goes.
Now, the Cavs have beaten the Pistons.
I’ve enjoyed watching, studying, and cheering for the second championship wave Pistons over the last five years. Who could ever forget their upset of Kobe and Shaq in the 2004 Finals, breaking up the best duo in the history of pro ball? Like the Bad Boys (who will be remembered for not shaking the Bulls hands after they swept the Pistons in ’91), there are things about this group I don’t care for (their haphazard attitude, Rasheed’s constant complaining)—but all in all, they have been a rare thing: a true team in an era of superstar promotion and attention.
Now it’s Nash (the best player in the world) Kobe, LeBron, DWade, and Dirk for the next several years. The problem with “team basketball” is that it’s too boring. That’s why the NBA is thrilled that the Pistons and Spurs will not be playing again in the Finals. It’s all about ratings. It’s all about money.
If I have a glaring idol in my life, it’s basketball. I fight it and fight it, and probably always will. “My name is Josh and I’m addicted to basketball.”
Basketball has been a huge part of my life. I’ve spent hours upon hours in the gym either a) practicing b) playing or c) watching (my father took my brother and I all over the state of Michigan when I was in middle school and high school watching other great players such as Chris Webber, Jalen Rose, Robert Traylor, and Howard Eisley). It was the afore mentioned Pistons who captured my imagination with passing, defense, emotion and raw guts.
As trite as it might sound, until five or six years ago, basketball gave me a purpose, something to concentrate on, something to consume my mind.
Basketball has also forged unshakable relationships. A young man can never forget his father spending an entire Saturday, as mine did, installing a light on top of the garage which neighbors came to detest claiming the light “lit up the entire street.” How many cold fall, winter and spring evenings did I spend in the driveway with my dad first shoveling snow (it’s Michigan) then working on 10ft, 12ft, 20 ft jumpshots? Too many to count. A thousand? Five thousand?
I’m still friends with one of my high school teammates, who became a much better college play than I, earning All-American his senior year for a team that was ranked number one in the country.
And I’ll always be close to the guys I played college hoops with, along with the coaching staff. I tell people that this team was one of the best examples of church I’ve ever experienced.
Perhaps that’s why I’ve enjoyed the last five years of my life—playing my last college basketball game in March of 2002. I’ve been able to find new passions: theology (which was emerging as I entered into college and sat at the feet of teachers like David Fleer, Dave Greer and Greg Stevenson), ministry in the church and with the poor, and writing.
Just to show you how engrained hoops is in my soul—I could not turn down the chance to coach college basketball when my friend Klint Pleasant invited me to join his staff at Abilene Christian University. Balancing grad school, work, and Kara (we’d just gotten engaged) proved too much—I only lasted one year at ACU before I returned to Nashville to finish seminary and work with my rabbi, John York.
So, if blogs have replaced journals than this is the closest I’m getting to painful confession. I love hoops. I am a recovering hoops addict. There, it’s out in the open.
31 May 2007
Florida
I have one measure for a good vacation: a stack of good books. Kara has one requirement for a good vacation: a beach on the ocean. So, you can picture me on vacation reading a bunch of books at the beach. Occasionally the old man (me) will venture into the ocean. Occasionally the young girl (Kara) will sit down to read a magazine…neither will give in too much to the other.
I also like scuba diving, good Mexican food, lots of access to Dr. Pepper, and a TV to watch the Pistons struggle through the NBA Playoffs. But, alas, if I have to choose one—give me some books.
On this trip, I’ll be reading The Kite Runner (Hosseini), Leaving Church (Barbara Brown Taylor), The Next Christendom (Jenkins), and No Future Without Forgiveness (Tutu). It’s a good lineup from top to bottom: a novel that’s received critical acclaim by several trusted friends (Kite Runner); a memoir of the paradox that is faith by a preacher/writer bar none and future professor of mine (Leaving Church); a scope of the globalization of Christianity, or…why Christianity isn’t about America and Europe anymore; And…Desmond Tutu’s account of one of the most fascinating achievements of the twentieth century: The Truth and Reconciliation Commission in South Africa.
The truth is actually a bit deeper, I have two requirements for a good vacation: good books and Kara (not in that order).
I also like scuba diving, good Mexican food, lots of access to Dr. Pepper, and a TV to watch the Pistons struggle through the NBA Playoffs. But, alas, if I have to choose one—give me some books.
On this trip, I’ll be reading The Kite Runner (Hosseini), Leaving Church (Barbara Brown Taylor), The Next Christendom (Jenkins), and No Future Without Forgiveness (Tutu). It’s a good lineup from top to bottom: a novel that’s received critical acclaim by several trusted friends (Kite Runner); a memoir of the paradox that is faith by a preacher/writer bar none and future professor of mine (Leaving Church); a scope of the globalization of Christianity, or…why Christianity isn’t about America and Europe anymore; And…Desmond Tutu’s account of one of the most fascinating achievements of the twentieth century: The Truth and Reconciliation Commission in South Africa.
The truth is actually a bit deeper, I have two requirements for a good vacation: good books and Kara (not in that order).
27 May 2007
Small Things
On Friday night, I and a group from the Rochester Church stayed the night with the South Oakland Shelter at St. Philip’s Episcopal Church. Over 70 people from our church worked with St. Philip’s to care, nurture, feed, and share our lives with the 30 or so guests now homeless, trying to get out of the cycle of poverty that is consumes many in the Detroit area.
It was a relatively normal night, at least compared to some of my other experiences. I and two other friends had the distinct honor of pulling an all-nighter—we were tagged security for the night. I learned how to play chess (how I’ve avoided learning this game is beyond me), talked about life, politics, etc.
Three young women were in the shelter with their children. It’s one thing to fend for yourself in those conditions; it’s another to fend for your family.
Charles, Mary, Lucky, Steve, LaKeisha, Justin, Edward, Norma, and Tammy among others. It might seem like a small thing, to give up one night of your week to care for the invisible people of Metro Detroit. But the Gospel is all about the small things. To paraphrase one of Christianity’s greatest ambassadors, “We cannot do big impressive things, only small insignificant things with great love.”
It was a relatively normal night, at least compared to some of my other experiences. I and two other friends had the distinct honor of pulling an all-nighter—we were tagged security for the night. I learned how to play chess (how I’ve avoided learning this game is beyond me), talked about life, politics, etc.
Three young women were in the shelter with their children. It’s one thing to fend for yourself in those conditions; it’s another to fend for your family.
Charles, Mary, Lucky, Steve, LaKeisha, Justin, Edward, Norma, and Tammy among others. It might seem like a small thing, to give up one night of your week to care for the invisible people of Metro Detroit. But the Gospel is all about the small things. To paraphrase one of Christianity’s greatest ambassadors, “We cannot do big impressive things, only small insignificant things with great love.”
25 May 2007
Ramblings...
Tonight, I am staying (with some close friends) at the SOS homeless shelter in downtown Rochester with St. Philip’s Episcopal Church. But before I do that, some reflections on a great week. I hope to be able to relay some of the stories from this week’s work between the Rochester Church and folks at St. Philip’s. More on that to come.
---
The Rochester College Sermon Seminar was a smashing success. Gail O’Day (from Emory University) stole the show with her lecture on friendship in the Gospel of John. She combined great scholarship with deep pastoral convictions.
Richard Hays was, well, Richard Hays—one of the real studs in New Testament studies. Greg Stevenson (RC professor and good friend) was the equivalent of a great Major League pitcher: He throws in the mid-90s, with a great change-up, and is able to stay with those two pitches for all nine innings. D’Esta Love was the first woman to preach at this event. Women scholars have presented for several years, but this was the first time a woman has delivered a focal homily. Tom Boomershine challenged me about the inherent nature of the text. David Fleer and Jerry Taylor also delivered powerful and imaginative sermon’s from John’s Gospel.
Overall, it was a stellar gathering; one of the best events that occurs in Churches of Christ. Where else do Methodists, Presbyterians, Baptists, Catholics, Churches of Christ, Community Church, and Episcopal leaders gather under the umbrella of intense study of Scripture?
---
Seven days until I and the most intelligent and beautiful woman on the planet take our first vacation in a long, long time. The stack of books I’ve ignored in my office are crying out to me.
---
The Tigers continue to win in impressive fashion. This weekend’s series with the Indians will be fascinating to watch. One could make the argument that Guillen, Ordonez and Polanco are the most dangerous trio in any MLB lineup.
---
I’m trying hard to stay interested in the Eastern Conference Finals. Though the Pistons are up 2-0, I find myself thinking one thing and one thing only as this series unfolds: The San Antonio Spurs may as well get their rings fitted for Duncan’s fourth NBA Championship—because it does not matter who comes out of the East the way these Spurs are playing.
I hope I’m wrong, I really do.
---
The Rochester College Sermon Seminar was a smashing success. Gail O’Day (from Emory University) stole the show with her lecture on friendship in the Gospel of John. She combined great scholarship with deep pastoral convictions.
Richard Hays was, well, Richard Hays—one of the real studs in New Testament studies. Greg Stevenson (RC professor and good friend) was the equivalent of a great Major League pitcher: He throws in the mid-90s, with a great change-up, and is able to stay with those two pitches for all nine innings. D’Esta Love was the first woman to preach at this event. Women scholars have presented for several years, but this was the first time a woman has delivered a focal homily. Tom Boomershine challenged me about the inherent nature of the text. David Fleer and Jerry Taylor also delivered powerful and imaginative sermon’s from John’s Gospel.
Overall, it was a stellar gathering; one of the best events that occurs in Churches of Christ. Where else do Methodists, Presbyterians, Baptists, Catholics, Churches of Christ, Community Church, and Episcopal leaders gather under the umbrella of intense study of Scripture?
---
Seven days until I and the most intelligent and beautiful woman on the planet take our first vacation in a long, long time. The stack of books I’ve ignored in my office are crying out to me.
---
The Tigers continue to win in impressive fashion. This weekend’s series with the Indians will be fascinating to watch. One could make the argument that Guillen, Ordonez and Polanco are the most dangerous trio in any MLB lineup.
---
I’m trying hard to stay interested in the Eastern Conference Finals. Though the Pistons are up 2-0, I find myself thinking one thing and one thing only as this series unfolds: The San Antonio Spurs may as well get their rings fitted for Duncan’s fourth NBA Championship—because it does not matter who comes out of the East the way these Spurs are playing.
I hope I’m wrong, I really do.
20 May 2007
Rochester College, Rasheed, Birthdays, and the Tigers
The next three days marks a highlight event of the year for me: the 10th Annual Rochester College Sermon Seminar. One of my key mentors in undergrad studies (David Fleer) is the director. This seminar has had such teachers as Fred Craddock, Tom Long, Barbara Brown Taylor, Will Willimon, Stanley Hauerwas, Charles Campbell, and Walter Brueggemann. Evangelicals, Main-line, and Roman Catholics have come together to study Scripture, wrestle with contemporary situations, creating unexpected community.
This is the final Sermon Seminar as David Fleer is going to be teaching and working at my alma mater (and Kara's favorite school), Lipscomb University. I feel at a loss to see a mentor and friend move, but I know he'll bless the school richly.
This year, I’m leading a panel discussion on “The Many Faces of Faith”—Sean Stockman helped me write, produce, and film this video. Sean is extremely talented and I learn something new each time I work with him.
This morning, Tom Boomershine taught a special adult class at the Rochester Church on the power of Scripture being heard thus experienced in community rather than read as a scientific document to be examined. It was a powerful morning indeed. It was interesting sitting next to Tom and Amelia (his wife) during our Mosaic worship gathering. You do not realize how low church/charismatic you are until you are in a tight space with an ordained Methodist minister and an ordained Methodist elder/scholar. I will post the link to his class in the coming days.
----------------------------
Tonight, several of our friends threw a surprise bday party for the most beautiful woman on the planet. It was a great time of food, conversation, jokes, and music. What would a gathering of friends be without music?
-----------------------------
The Pistons are one the path for a re-match against the Spurs. It would be sweet vindication to beat the Cavs (to the dismay of NBA officials who are enamored with King James) and then take down the Spurs. I’m not convinced it will happen, but the prospects are fun to consider. If Rasheed plays like he did in Game 6, the Pistons could have their second championship in four years.
Meanwhile, the Tigers continue to win despite having a depleted pitching staff.
As for the Red Wings, I’ve never gotten “hockey”—sorry, it’s too hard to follow the puck. If they make it to the Stanley Cup, I’ll be a frontrunner, cheering.
This is the final Sermon Seminar as David Fleer is going to be teaching and working at my alma mater (and Kara's favorite school), Lipscomb University. I feel at a loss to see a mentor and friend move, but I know he'll bless the school richly.
This year, I’m leading a panel discussion on “The Many Faces of Faith”—Sean Stockman helped me write, produce, and film this video. Sean is extremely talented and I learn something new each time I work with him.
This morning, Tom Boomershine taught a special adult class at the Rochester Church on the power of Scripture being heard thus experienced in community rather than read as a scientific document to be examined. It was a powerful morning indeed. It was interesting sitting next to Tom and Amelia (his wife) during our Mosaic worship gathering. You do not realize how low church/charismatic you are until you are in a tight space with an ordained Methodist minister and an ordained Methodist elder/scholar. I will post the link to his class in the coming days.
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Tonight, several of our friends threw a surprise bday party for the most beautiful woman on the planet. It was a great time of food, conversation, jokes, and music. What would a gathering of friends be without music?
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The Pistons are one the path for a re-match against the Spurs. It would be sweet vindication to beat the Cavs (to the dismay of NBA officials who are enamored with King James) and then take down the Spurs. I’m not convinced it will happen, but the prospects are fun to consider. If Rasheed plays like he did in Game 6, the Pistons could have their second championship in four years.
Meanwhile, the Tigers continue to win despite having a depleted pitching staff.
As for the Red Wings, I’ve never gotten “hockey”—sorry, it’s too hard to follow the puck. If they make it to the Stanley Cup, I’ll be a frontrunner, cheering.
16 May 2007
You Would Do What?
Recently, I went to lunch with two friends and an acquaintance, Jeff Patton. Jeff is a hard guy to describe. Prophet is really the only word I know that comes close. Jeff talked about a lot of things with us over chips and salsa and quesadillas. Everything from preaching to politics, immigration to the recovery process of clergy post seminary (moving from experts to pastors).
At one point in the conversation, Jeff quipped: “Did you know the ten largest churches in the world are not in the West? They are in places like China, South Korea, Peru, and West Africa? Here in the U.S. we are impressed is a church can get a thousand people into a building on a Sunday morning. In some of these churches (in the margins—my word) they have tens of thousands meeting several times a week in homes, underground and above.”
After sipping on some (ok, a lot) Dr. Pepper, Jeff turned to me and said:
“Imagine this scenario. A man walks into your office completely at the end of his rope, he’s hit rock bottom. His annual salary, before losing his job, was $250k. In a span of 30 days, this man spent over $100k on alcohol, gambling, and food. That’s one hundred thousand dollars… His wife left him and took their children. He’s lost his house, cars…everything and now lives on the streets and in shelters sorting rags for $25 a week. This guy walks into your office and tells you this information, how would you respond?”
I thought for a minute, cutting through all the weak answers I could offer.
One person at the table chimed in, “I’d tell him to call someone who cares.”
I immediately felt something inside saying, “Ok, that’s not the best answer.”
So, I attempted to respond to my prophetic peer. “I would ask him if he wants to stop drinking.” I come from a family where alcohol addiction has been talked about openly. I know the first rule to addiction is that the addict has to desire change. “If he’s serious about changing, then I can help him.”
Jeff abruptly responded, “You all are such Westerners. I asked my friend from Africa what he would do and he said he’d grab the man right then and there in the office and start praying that God would release his soul from the bondage and captivity that was oppressing him. I don’t care if he wanted me to or not. I’m a Christian and I believe in the power and authority of Jesus.”
He continued much to my dismay.
“So, the next time this guy came into my office, that’s what I did.” Apparently this was a real situation!
“I grabbed him and started praying for the Holy Spirit to invade his life and create transformation, real change.”
“What happened?”
“I grabbed the guy as hard as I could, hanging on to him, praying with passion and fervor.”
“Then what?” I was quite the reporter.
“He ran screaming into the night.”
“Oh.”
“But you see…it’s not about being successful, it’s about being faithful.”
At one point in the conversation, Jeff quipped: “Did you know the ten largest churches in the world are not in the West? They are in places like China, South Korea, Peru, and West Africa? Here in the U.S. we are impressed is a church can get a thousand people into a building on a Sunday morning. In some of these churches (in the margins—my word) they have tens of thousands meeting several times a week in homes, underground and above.”
After sipping on some (ok, a lot) Dr. Pepper, Jeff turned to me and said:
“Imagine this scenario. A man walks into your office completely at the end of his rope, he’s hit rock bottom. His annual salary, before losing his job, was $250k. In a span of 30 days, this man spent over $100k on alcohol, gambling, and food. That’s one hundred thousand dollars… His wife left him and took their children. He’s lost his house, cars…everything and now lives on the streets and in shelters sorting rags for $25 a week. This guy walks into your office and tells you this information, how would you respond?”
I thought for a minute, cutting through all the weak answers I could offer.
One person at the table chimed in, “I’d tell him to call someone who cares.”
I immediately felt something inside saying, “Ok, that’s not the best answer.”
So, I attempted to respond to my prophetic peer. “I would ask him if he wants to stop drinking.” I come from a family where alcohol addiction has been talked about openly. I know the first rule to addiction is that the addict has to desire change. “If he’s serious about changing, then I can help him.”
Jeff abruptly responded, “You all are such Westerners. I asked my friend from Africa what he would do and he said he’d grab the man right then and there in the office and start praying that God would release his soul from the bondage and captivity that was oppressing him. I don’t care if he wanted me to or not. I’m a Christian and I believe in the power and authority of Jesus.”
He continued much to my dismay.
“So, the next time this guy came into my office, that’s what I did.” Apparently this was a real situation!
“I grabbed him and started praying for the Holy Spirit to invade his life and create transformation, real change.”
“What happened?”
“I grabbed the guy as hard as I could, hanging on to him, praying with passion and fervor.”
“Then what?” I was quite the reporter.
“He ran screaming into the night.”
“Oh.”
“But you see…it’s not about being successful, it’s about being faithful.”
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