I Watched My Mom and Dad Pray

I watched my Mom and Dad pray.
Some kids grow up remembering the fights their parents had, the places their parents always wanted to go, the baby-sitters their parents always called for them so that they could go out, the late nights before parents would come home from work, or the disappointment they felt when parents weren't available to see them in a play or game at school. Some kids grow up remembering parents who went to church every Sunday, but left their Christianity at the door of the church, and some grow up remembering parents who never wanted anything to do with that 'God-stuff' and the hypocrites who gave away their wealth when times were hard, some kids even grow up remembering parents who had nothing at all to do with faith or a faith community . . . earning a living was tough enough, nobody cared what you believed. Some kids grow up remembering very little of their parents . . . what their parents did, what they believed, what they hoped, what they wanted . . . either because their parents were never there or their parents just thought those were things you had to find out for yourself.
I watched my Mom and Dad pray.
Prayer was always a powerful part of our family journey. Not just the Sunday morning 'in church' type of prayers, and not just the gathered around the dining room table or on the side of the bed at night types of prayers, lived prayers were part and parcel of what I observed in my Mom and Dad nearly every day. Dad always listened to KMOX radio in the morning while we milked cows and, as the "Lord's Prayer" was sung, things in the barn sort of came to a stop. The same thing would happen as Dad started to work in the fields, or tend to the cattle, or just take a walk along the field roads . . . I have vivid recollections of him just stopping in silence and just looking up. I knew what he was doing, I didn't need to be told. There was a conversation going on of which I was a blessed observer . . . God and Dad just talking things over. All this doesn't mean that Dad didn't get upset with me or my brothers when we screwed up, or didn't get frustrated when things on the farm didn't go well, or didn't worry when the Summer sun was hot and the crop prices were down . . . but all that happened in the context of Dad's continual prayers.
Similarly with Mom, my sainted Mother of four boys, who was also blessed to have both, her Dad and my Dad's Dad, live with us for several years as we boys were growing up. Mom was consistently outnumbered, which may explain why she played the organ in church each Sunday for over thirty years . . . that was the one place she would sit by herself and talk with God without some male voice saying, "Mom!" or "Virginia!" Mom, much like Dad, would pause while hanging the laundry, would stop while hoeing in the garden, would play the piano or organ in our home and pause on particular chords, or would just sit on the front porch on the swing in the evening and be quiet. Prayer was the foundation upon which everything else was built which, in retrospect, may explain much about why Mom took so many pictures with her camera . . . and why so many of them were of nature: she just loved to 'be' with God.
I watched my Mom and Dad pray.
People are constantly doing studies as to why people do what they do and why our nation is struggling and why values seem to be slipping and why . . . and why . . . and why . . . well, you get the picture. Maybe we just need to spend a little less time studying all our struggles and more time modeling what matters. I don't know that Mom or Dad ever made a conscious decision to behave in certain ways so that their children would turn out thus and so, but I do believe that Mom and Dad exemplified in life what they believed in their souls, for of such they had been taught by their parents and in such they found great strength and peace.
I watched my Mom and Dad pray ~ and it made all the difference.

Thinking of Teachers

I've been thinking about teachers this morning. My First Grade teacher was Mrs. Dorothy Campbell, a wonderfully patient, nurturing woman . . . whose retirement from the teaching profession probably had much to do with having taught my class. Similarly, Mrs. Stewart, my Second Grade teacher and Mrs. Church, my Third Grade teacher, both retired not long after having had me in class. My Fourth Grade ...teacher, Mrs. Stephens, new to the teaching profession the year my class came through, left the profession after that one year, and our Fifth Grade teacher, Mr. Ruester, retired not long after we came through. Is there a reoccuring theme here? I think so . . . my class of students was the product of an aging teaching staff! God love them all, the Class of 1975 was just enough to make nearly all of them see the viability of retirement as preferrable to staying in the classroom!
Yet, what got me to thinking about teachers this morning was not the list of sainted folk who endured my class, but rather, two very special teachers whose lives and journey have blessed my life these last few years. Rob and Amy Nunn are incredible Elementary teachers in the Edwardsville School District and their relationship with students and staff alike speaks volumes as to their effectiveness, both academically and professionally. They are, in the words of their colleagues and many of the parents of their students, "Wonderful Educators".
In the spirit of full disclosure, I have never spent a moment in either of their classes, but I have been blessed to be an observer of the many lessons they teach at home. You see, Rob and Amy's daughter, Savannah, was born with a very rare disorder, so unusual in fact, that the medical community is still studying Savannah's progress, growth and development to assist them in working with others who have similar challenges. Savannah is a bright, articulate, strong-willed little girl who is too much aware of medical communities and routines and too little accustomed to just being a little girl. Therein is the point: Rob and Amy are teachers. They teach life lessons to Savannah and are, themselves, adept students of life wonders from Savannah, thereby deepening by volumes the skill-sets they each have to share with others. The most treasured and challenging teachers among us are, first and foremost, committed students themselves. The world is their classroom and never would they assume to teach that which they hadn't spent time learning . . . and Savannah is both student and instructor for them. The rest of us around them are blessed observers, humbly receiving the faith and joy Amy and Rob share each day.
Savannah went into the hospital yesterday and, at the time I visited with them, was in Pediatric ICU being treated for a bacterial infection. It is hard to be courageous when you are little, tired, being poked and proded, and just flat out don't feel well, yet, there was Savannah, laying in Amy's lap, occasionally calling for her Daddy to hold her hand and taking in all that the doctors and nurses were trying to do for her . . . Rob and Amy explaining each procedure, each new test along the way. The connection between parent and child for most families is an amazing bond, yet for Savannah, Rob and Amy, that connection has the feel of a womb-like experience, whose umbilically-bonded existence pumps the lifeblood of family back and forth between them, even at the mere touch of their hands. Rob and Amy are parents who are becoming master teachers of life, not only for their daughter, but for all who dare to pause and watch. Like the Christ of their faith, the Master Teacher among us all, there is no going back, no doing over, no other way than forward in faith, trusting each step, each lesson learned, each moment to be taught, to the God who is all Wisdom.
Maybe that is why I have been thinking of teachers today: Rob and Amy remind me of those who are among the best at answering the call to their vocation. After all, did you notice? I can name all of my teachers, such was the impact they had on me. Amy and Rob, much like the students you teach at school, I doubt your names ever leave the depths of my soul for the lessons you teach me each day. Thank you for continuing to teach that which you are still learning in faith, hope and love.

Of Ladders and Faith

I had the aluminum extension ladder out at church this morning to put up some Lenten banners in the sanctuary. The extension ladder has two 14' sections, so the safe extension length of the ladder is somewhere around 21'. Looking at the ladder as I carried it from its storage spot to the sanctuary I realized that the extension section was bent . . . clearly a result of having been extended beyond its safe range, then having someone who is a 'tad overweight' climb up to its furthest reaches (Come on! You really didn't expect me to fess us to be a 'lot overweight', did you??). Having such a notion in your mind as you climb back up that same bent ladder makes one just a bit more cautious as each step upward is taken - all the while humming under my breath, "Nearer My God To Thee". "I was glad when they said unto me . . . " the job is done, you can put the ladder away. 'Whew! Thank you, Jesus! You improved my prayer life a hundredfold in just these few brief moments!'

A bent extension ladder is a practical matter really, after all, bent is not broken. The ladder is still usable until proven otherwise, right?

This got me started thinking about faith. Sometimes it is pretty bent up, fairly strained, nearly stressed to the breaking point, yet, still we keep climbing 'Jacob's ladder'. Still we keep moving upward, sometimes in the face of steady opposition, oft-times the weight of our sins straining every step we make. The ladder creaks and groans, the goal appears distant, even beyond reach.

Therein is grace. Where our faith would break, God's faith in us will not even bend. Where the weight of our sins would compromise the steps we take, God's forgiveness shown to us in a cross and an empty tomb lightens our load. When others would tell of the impracticality of our journey, God whispers of love and peace, granting strength and courage for the way. The ladder we are on in faith is God . . . and the steadfast love of God for each of us will not be broken. We are on sacred ground when we dare to ascend to the heavens in faith.

Maybe it is time to replace the aluminum extension ladder at church, before a step gives way or a section bends beyond safety. But I pray the wisdom never to replace, either the faith God has in me or the faith I have in God's steadfast love for all of humankind. For of such the Kingdom of heaven is made known. Thanks be to God!

Taking Sides

I've decided to take sides . . . in the middle. As I read through two newspapers this morning, watched the "Today" show for a bit while getting ready for work, then glanced down the Facebook posts, I am more and more convinced that what once passed as Conservatism or Liberalism is now rapidly becomeing Right-Wing Conservatism and Left-Wing Liberalism: "You are either with us or you're not", "You a...re either right or you are wrong", "You either agree with us specifically or you disagree with us completely" . . . and I am tired of the bullying, I am disgusted by the tactics. Political party affiliation is being thrown up at others, both ways, as though such affiliation is the entree to the Kingdom. Sorry, my friends, I have found little evidence of any political party being given the priority in the Gospels. Participation in a political party can assist to accomplish goals, but it can also be the hammer to silence genuine empathetic healing dialogue in the midst of the peoples. What I am hearing and seeinig, from Christians and non-Christians alike, is simply not Christ-like. Words and behaviors are just not matching up with the stated motives.

My understanding of Jesus of Nazareth is that He stood in the middle, both as fulfillment of the Law and Prophets and as contemporary Mediator of God's grace. Yes, Jesus stands with the marginalized in every generation and, yes, God's priority is always for the disenfranchised around us, but never to the exclusion of the rest of God's people. God spoke to Peter, James and John on the Mount of Transfiguration and said, "Listen to him!", which requires both our attentiveness to His teachings and a heart to follow.Listen to Him . . . as the crowds gather round Him on the Mount and He begins to teach. Listen to Him . . . as He sits in the middle, in the midst of the disciples, and says my Body, my Blood. Listen to Him . . . as His cross stands in the middle between the thieves and He says, "Father, forgive them for they know not what they do." Listen to Him, as He stands in the middle and says see my wounds, place your finger in my side.

Listen to Him . . . I am choosing to take sides in the middle, with Jesus. The polarizing rhetoric being shouted out from both sides is doing more to injure and alienate than to heal and restore community. Yes, the issues are real and people of faith have to take a stand, but I would rather stand in the middle with Jesus any day, than be found on one side believing my own thoughts to be right, yet moving farther and farther away from His voice in my ears.

I will not disrespect the choices others make, but as for me, standing in the middle with Jesus isn't an 'either-or" choice, it is a 'both-and' for Christian liturgical and social justice behavior as I live into the Spirit's Baptism and strive to announce the nearness of the Kingdom. I now pray for the faith and strength such choices require of us all.

Named Buildings, Known Lives

Charles E. Mandley Memorial Gymnasium, Lebanon High School, Lebanon, IL; Hank Feldt Athletic Fields, Lebanon High School, Lebanon, IL; Harry M. Statham Sports Center, McKendree University, Lebanon, IL . . .Walking this morning in the Harry M. Statham Sports Center I began pondering the name of that place, then I began to wonder about other such places around town and their shared places in history. I have been blessed to be the public address announcer at one time or another in all three of these venues and am also blessed to know, or have known, all three of the gentlemen for whom these venues are named.

Charles E. Mandley gave unselfishly of his far too short life to the children of the community and the young men and women who gathered in the LHS gymnasium to learn the fine art of sports competition. Hank Feldt continues, now well into his 70's, to teach young men and women the skills they need to compete at a high level on the athletic fields and on the courts - and has been named to various halls of fame for his dedication and accomplishments. Harry M. Statham is the winningest college basketball coach in NCAA history and his storied career has been fully spent on the McKendree University campus. Known throughout the University, community and coaching circles, as a coach's coach, Harry Statham humbly dedicates himself to the building of productive citizens, tenacious students, and student athletes . . . in that order.

These three individuals did not finance the building of the venues where their legacies are etched, but they have completely given of themselves that the lives of others might be built upon the lessons they have learned there. The inherent human investment and cost which results in having a name painted on a wall or a sign, or having it etched on a plaque, far exceeds the financial value of any of the venues where such things can be found. These places haven't been named as they are for trivial reasons, but reflect lifetimes of perserverance, dedication, faith, and hope, all given for the sake of the other, for the lives of the ones known and unknown. God bless Charles, Hank and Harry, for their ongoing legacy of transformational commitment.

Yet, all this got me to thinking about 'named' legacies . . . and then I began mulling over the Church of Jesus Christ. Oh, we know the various expressions of the Church: United Church of Christ, Catholic, Methodist, ELCA, LCMS, Baptist, Church of God, Pentecostal, Nazarene and on and on ad naseum, each fairly certain that the name JESUS CHRIST FAITH CENTER is printed or etched on their walls exclusively. But, the fact of the matter is, the Holy Spirit established the Church of Jesus Christ first (Acts 2), all other names and expressions of that initial birthing came later, often as a result of internal theological and ecclesial war (So much for the Church of Jesus Christ fully reflecting the Son of God.). And, again truth be told, the only way to lift up the One by whom the Church is named, is to served as He served, to live as He lived, and to be faithful as He is faithful . . . not as an expression of denominational perfection, but as a reflection of the One who has laid down His life for all. It is, after all, the Church of Jesus Christ . . . or it is not the Church at all. Period.

It is something to ponder in this first week of Lent. In whose Church do you worship? In whose Name do you serve? By whose Name are you known? If the answers to those questions isn't Jesus Christ, you might think a bit about who paid the price that you might know life . . . and find a worship home where Jesus Christ is still the only Lord. Blessings on the journey!