Which Carolina will we be?

    My daughter and I were in England last month.  A young woman, as she took our tickets as we entered a museum, identified us (by accent? dress? gawking faces?) as Americans, and asked “Where are you from?”  We said “North Carolina.”  She thought a moment, and asked, “Isn’t that the progressive one of the two Carolinas?”  I was impressed she’d know such a thing, but I only half-jokingly replied, “Well, we used to be.”

     I’m not sure what she or any of us mean by “progressive.”  Not all progress is a happy thing, and even good progress has its casualties, just as clinging to old ways can be a lovely cherishing of tradition or a paralyzing refusal to embrace fresh life, and changed circumstances.  I’m weary of the worn out labels, “liberal,” and “conservative,” which don’t fit most people I know who are weary of the nasty combat.  We want to find some common ground, and get something done.

     I’ve been pretty disturbed about Moral Mondays.  When I was a little boy, I saw protesters on TV and begged my mother to let me make a sign and take to the streets with them and even go to jail.  She quite rightly insisted as an 8 year old I just was too young.  Once I was of age, the streets had emptied.  As an adult I’ve tried to stir up some protests, but to no avail.  Then back in the Spring, I left the country for a three month sabbatical – and as soon as I left, thousands stormed Raleigh in protest.  I feel like Rip van Winkle, sleeping through the revolution.

     I support moral, peaceful, respectful protest.  Outside of the Democracy we say we treasure, if you protest you wind up in the slammer or worse.  Too often our citizenship is reduced to looking at some narrowminded “news,” and them fuming in our living room.  How good that people care enough, not just about their own personal, backyard issues, but about people other than themselves, that they take hours, travel, stand, declare, and hope.  Which “side” the protesters are on is far less important than the lovely reality that we have citizens who have a dream they insist must be heard – but without violence, or meanness.

     We’ve never settled on the best way to navigate the unavoidable intersection of faith and politics.  But people of faith do have the right to be heard – and not just heard, but noticed.  Way too often in North Carolina, the religious people pour great energy into little shows of religion, instead of actually doing something that matters and effecting real change.  If protesters merely hoist signs and declare they are advocating for the women and the poor, but don’t actually engage at a high level and change things for the women and the poor, the protest is a travesty.

     The same holds true regarding public prayer.  I never quite understand why people get upset if explicitly Christian prayers cannot be offered at government meetings.  The law can prohibit many things, but it can never stop me, or a board member, or a student from praying – although why anyone would be so inconsiderate as to pray in Jesus’ name when Jews or Muslims or atheists were in the room, I do not know.  Prayer is an insubstantial thing if it isn’t buttressed by deep and abiding labor.  If the Christians want Jesus to look good, they merely need to get busy doing good, investing their time, energy and resources in the people God cares about. 

     My dream for North Carolina is not that we become roundly Republican or resoundingly Democratic.  I yearn for us to strive to be good.  Inevitably we won’t agree on the precise definition of this good, but we can be sure that divisive rancor is not good.  We are all North Carolinians; we need each other.  We need our elected officials to recall that they represent not just the narrow faction that made donations or corralled votes to get them elected; they represent all of us, even those with whom they disagree.  Moral passion may veer far to the left or right, but the middle is a healthy place from which to govern.

     So let’s talk to each other.  And far more importantly, let’s listen to each other, and even dare to work together – and this applies to the good public servants we sent to Raleigh, not to bicker or represent only some few of us, but all of us.  Which Carolina are we going to be?

 

an experimental sermon...

  so Sunday I said more about my visit to Good Shepherd, and some other "unseen" things - and played the piano, having failed to practice ahead of time.  Oh my...  Give it a watch/listen.

My Visit to Good Shepherd

    What fun for me to get to visit a church, and nobody knows I’m there.  This morning I popped in to the 10:00 service at Good Shepherd – United Methodist just like Myers Park where I usually find myself up front on Sundays, but pretty different.  Here’s a photo I took from the back (where I sat) next to one from the back of Myers Park.

     Facing a free Sunday morning, I’d chosen Good Shepherd largely because the pastor, Talbot Davis, is a good friend – and he visited my place back on Nov. 11, and wrote a great blog reflecting on his experience.  Here’s mine – on visiting Good Shepherd.

     Driving past Carowinds’s Intimidator whirling up high, I was tempted to stop and ride – but drove on to the church’s parking lot, which featured marvelous signage, beginning at the street and on into the lot, welcoming me.  One sign was intended for me:  “First-time visitor parking.”  Great idea, but I found a shady spot instead. 

     Entering the place was intriguing.  Wearing khaki slacks and a short sleeve dress shirt, I felt a little bit overdressed.  A teenager at the door handed me a nametag.  I asked her if I should put my name on it, and she laughed and said, “Yeah, that’s kind of the idea.”  I stood at an information desk, where the people behind it were chatting with one another.  I interrupted and asked what they had.  The woman claimed “Oh, all kinds of things, including cds and dvds.”  I told her I would check out the quality of the preaching and then decide whether to get a dvd.  She said “I promise you, unequivocally, that the preacher is the best you’ve ever heard in your life.”  Hmm…

     I found a seat, and even though at least one-fourth of those attending wandered in late, I was impressed that the place was packed – on August 4.  Excellence, attention to detail - lots of kinds of people. 

    I sat down and pondered the bulletin,
which was very cool and captivating - but it made me grow uneasy, as it didn’t tell me what was going to happen or when.  Two cards were stuffed inside inviting me to something or another; well-done, they made me want to come. 

     One guy (named David) came up, shook my hand in with immense warmth, and welcomed me.  I was again impressed – but then when the music started I noticed he was a guitarist on stage.  An official greeter.  No unofficial person spoke – but I know this is normal in big church life.

     There was an information sheet in the bulletin, which I filled out, but couldn't figure out what to do with it - so now it is on the seat of my car.  It asked amazing things - like my birthday, and the birthdays of my children.  Will I get a card?  We pass an attendance pad at my place - which I see is probably outmoded and not as helpful as this card.  I should have listed a prayer request.

     The music then started.  Very professional, warm – but I didn’t know any of the songs, and there was no music to help me know to go up or down.  The music was catchy, but the words were all about “me,” “I,” no “we” or “the church.”  God was a “he”; it would be hard to get away with that where I work.  And we stood for quite a long time – which was difficult for somebody like me with a bad back.  And it was dark…  The lights did come up (thankfully) when the sermon began.

     During this extended singing, I counted about 50 people around me I could see well.  About one-third were singing, about one-third were maybe singing a little bit now and then, and another third didn’t sing one note.  But the music from the front was loud, so it didn’t feel like there was a lack of singing.  Almost every person, even those not singing, was bobbing up and down, and seemed to be digging the experience.  I think I bobbed a little.  At Myers Park, nobody bobs – but we really do need just about all of them to sing for the sound to be full.  My folks actually sing really well.

     My friend Talbot handled the major welcome – and announced a major staff change right on the spot!  Very engaging, enthusiastic, speaking of God’s role in the decision, with lots of “your board,” “we,” group language… and then he prayed over it.  Lovely.  No robe, no tie; not 1 person in the place wore a tie!  Felt like he was up close, even in the huge auditorium.

     At sermon time, Talbot walked on stage to sound effects, like a storm at sea (which was his topic).  I’d studied ahead and knew he’d be preaching on that kooky text in Genesis where Noah gets drunk and naked, only to be covered up by his sons.  He prayed, saying “God, I can’t do this without you” – and then talked.  Very warm, clear, loads of charisma, a genuine feel, and wicked funny.  Hilarious intro stuff, and then, 7 minutes in, he made his first memorable point:  we are vulnerable after a success.  Well-played. 

     Talbot debunked crass misreadings of Genesis 9 (pointing out quite humorously that Noah’s curse was in fact made when he was drunk and naked…), and focused on the idea of the messes we make, and who cleans them up.  He spoke of edgy things that might make my folks shiver:  incest, drunkenness, nakedness, taking advantage of someone drunk.

     The sermon lasted precisely 31 minutes.  That’s 2 sermons for me at Myers Park!  Talbot is a terrific preacher, very real-life, personal without getting maudlin.  I wanted him to work on Jesus and grace a little more…  We pastors always rewrite other’s sermons while we’re semi-listening to them, and I thought about the sons covering Noah’s mess, and thought if I were preaching this I’d pick up on the image of the "covering" of mercy and grace, and healing power of that covering mercy.  But then the sermon would have stretched to 41 minutes…

     And then it all ended, sort of "Okay, we're done now" – and they hadn’t taken up an offering.  I was planning to drop a check for $15,000 in the plate… so they missed that opportunity.  I wonder how they raise money.  As I exited, I noticed the folks were friendly with one another, although nobody spoke to me, which was fine.  Talbot seemed – happy? – to see me; we clergy never expect to see one another on Sunday morning!  And another young person handed me a little piece of paper I could use to find an online ebook.  Back to the parking lot where I was even happier not to be in visitor parking, as I was still in the shade! 

     And then I drove home, grateful for the chance to be in a place with décor and music and dress and the whole experience so different from my home church, and yet both certainly United Methodist, both very devoted to the living God, who makes all of us unidentical children into holy sons and daughters in God’s family.

Sabbatical Musings #8 - Walking........

     In the eight weeks I have been on sabbatical, I have walked many more miles than during the previous eight months – or I wonder if eight years might be closer.  My feet hurt some, and my legs are a little sore.  But I’ve covered some wonderful ground – both in terms of where my shoes have pressed into roads and paths, and also inside somewhere.

     When I was getting ready to leave, I canvassed friends, asking for book recommendations.  The perfect book for this particular journey turned out to be The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry, Rachel Joyce’s quirky and moving novel about an elderly man who embarks upon a walk across England, hundreds of miles from Kingsbridge on the south coast to Berwick-upon-Tweed far to the north, all in hopes of saving an old friend’s life. 

 He’s determined that at long last his life will matter, and he learns much about himself, his marriage and family – and touches the lives of total strangers.

     I’m still sorting through what I’ve learned, and I still have a hundred miles to go.  Starting in Newcastle on the eastern coast of England, I will be walking (with Lisa, and two friends) all the way to Carlisle in the west – tracing the path of Hadrian’s Wall.  Two thousand year old stone remains of a wall, with forts, castles, and convenient bed & breakfasts where we can sleep.  Old rocks, of which I never tire.  Adventure, of which I can’t get enough.  

     And walking.  For centuries, if you sinned, one way you could work off the penalty was to make pilgrimage to a holy place:  Jerusalem, or Rome, or Santiago de Compostela (the camino to which is featured in the marvelous film, The Way).  I’ve got things to work off, things to learn, a future to discern, some peace to be made with God, my self, and quite a few people.  Walking, the physically arduous aspect, and the stillness of mind, far from internet, TV, office and shops, creates a pace in the soul, a chance at the dawning of eternity.

     I’m promising myself far more walking when I’m back home later this month.  So please, if you see me, don’t think I’m crazy, and don’t offer me a ride.  I need to walk.

 

Sabbatical Musings #7 - Disappointment

   Disappointment?  How could you be disappointed with 3 months away from work, and travelling?  I'm not disappointed - although it's harder than you think.  I love working, and miss the routine, and being useful.  Working out travel details with various family and/or friends can get complex.  One person told me, "If I had a sabbatical, I'd go totally offline and not be in touch with anybody."  But I have a wife, 3 grown children, aging parents, and all the ongoing issues that don't just vanish because I'm on sabbatical.
   So why the title "Disappointment"?  The worst part about my sabbatical is the truth that grieves me:  I have disappointed people.  Some I probably am not even aware of!  But I know parents who were very disappointed I wasn't there for their child's Confirmation last Sunday, people who were disappointed I didn't attend a funeral, helping professionals who needed me to do something for them but I was just flat out gone, church members who brought visitors to hear me preach and were disappointed (three have told me this!) I was absent, preachers who were disappointed I wasn't speaking at my usual preaching conference, and even a high school classmate I haven't seen for years who heard about my sabbatical and felt crushed because she has a tough job that would never permit even 3 weeks off, much less months - and she Facebooked me to say she was disappointed (her word) in me. 
   I hate disappointing people.
   I love the fact that I have the privilege of living a life that matters, at least a little, to some people - and so they are disappointed when I'm not there, when I can't help.  I love being able to help, at least a little, and have built my life to be as dependable and accessible a person as possible.  So the disappointment is sad for me.  A few have asked why I didn't do the sabbatical at some other time and not miss what they thought of as important.  Good question - but it's tough to block out time that doesn't block out something, and that works for my family.
   I hope anyone who might be disappointed in me might be merciful, and count on me again once I'm back.

Sabbatical Musings #6 - 5 thoughts from the past few days

     1. Yesterday, I had a profound thought, but I didn’t write it down, so I can’t remember it today.  Word to the wise:  take notes.

     2. I LOVE not worrying about how I look, what I wear, if my hair is in place when I’m on sabbatical.  When I’m in Charlotte, if I wear jeans, inevitably I bump into someone who is compelled to inform me, “Oh, I see you’re wearing jeans.” 

 3. At home, I spend way too much time indoors, and in my car.  On sabbatical, I’m outside, even if it’s pouring down rain or wicked cold, and every day I walk further than I’d walk in a month at home.  Today Noah and I hiked to the top of the Devil’s Staircase – an arduous climb.  Right after we took photos, it started sleeting.  Then after 30 minutes of being pelted by flecks of ice, the sun came out and we were presented with a rainbow.  My legs hurt, my shoes were soaked, mud everywhere, shivering, hands shaking… and I’m invigorated.  I need to engage with and participate in the beauty and peril of God’s good earth in order to be more genuinely human.

     4. We did something really hard today, and we have every day, trying to find places that aren’t on the map, ducking under “Trail closed” signs, climbing beyond weariness.  I suspect that if we did things that were hard more often, we’d be better prepared when we were faced with something hard.  Typically at home we cultivate easy, comfortable lives, and avoid the difficult.  No wonder we’re not very adept at crises when they pop up.  Ancient people had a huge advantage over us in this.

     5. And finally, as I travel I witness everywhere the innate goodness in people.  A waitress is patient with my fumbling to order food I’m not familiar with.  Drivers look amused when I get on the wrong (that is, the right) side of the road.  And a total stranger on the train overheard me saying I wonder why they don’t sell Hobnobs and McVities chocolate digestives in the U.S., and that I plan to take some home – and when we reboarded the train after a short break in Mallaig, he handed me a bag of Hobnobs and McVities.

     Maybe tomorrow I’ll have another profound thought.  If so, I’ll certainly write it down and tell you about it.

Sabbatical Musings #5 - day 30

     So as of today, I haven’t worked for a month.  That’s not entirely true.  A few little things have come up (oh, and one fairly large crisis), and a couple of dozen people have approached me with “I know you’re on sabbatical, but…”  I don’t mind at all.  But what’s surprising is how busy I have been – helping me understand what retirees mean when they say “I don’t know how I ever had time to go to work.”  This sabbatical does make me wonder what my own retirement, looming out there a decade or so from now, will be like.

     One person reprimanded me for blogging, declaring I should be totally off line.  But I like to write, it's energizing, not work at all - and I assured her I wouldn't mind if she took a little sabbatical from reading.  She laughed; we're pals.

     My great comfort in being away is how great church is going without me!  Attendance is steady, even above average for this time of year.  I watched the live stream this past Sunday, and heard stellar music and powerful preaching.  The Church is the people, the Church is of God…  I have labored under no illusions that I am necessary to the Church, and it is tremendously gratifying to see the Church being the Church without me lifting a finger!  I do miss worshipping with my Church family.

     I’ve spent some time with a spiritual director – a warm, gregarious diocesan priest who listened attentively to me talk about my life, and did so through the lens of God’s love, holiness and call.  We spoke of how to pray, and how to be grateful to God and joyful in life.  I recommend this kind of conversation to everybody.

     It has been quirky and a tad unsettling to run into people who know I’m on sabbatical.  At the Harris-Teeter the other night, a woman’s eyes flew open, and she told me quite resolutely “You’re not supposed to be here!”  But I really was supposed to pick up the items on my list. 

     If you have seen me, you will know I’m attempting to go semi-incognito by sporting facial hair.  Don’t worry, I’ll shave it soon.  I didn’t really plan to grow a beard.  I just didn’t shave one day, nor the next… and it’s a lousy beard.  I remember in high school wanting desperately to be able to grow a beard, and it’s fascinating to contemplate the meaning of facial hair throughout history.  For instance, during the Civil War, men grew beards to assert their masculinity.  I think the only thing I’ve been asserting is I’m out of the routine.  But not for long:  it gets on my nerves and requires more maintenance than I’d imagined.

     So, more sabbatical to come.  If you’re reading this, I’m honored, humbled, and a little surprised you’re interested.  But friends do these things with one another, so thanks for reading.