Take a Piece of My Heart

I was a child of the 70s, and as such I attended my share of rock concerts and major sub-culture events. I have memories of seeing such legends as The Rolling Stones, Johnny Winter, Poco, Jethro Tull, The Greatful Dead....you get the picture. Unfortunately the one person I never had the privilege of seeing in concert was the one I wished to see most, Janis Joplin, who died in 1970 before I was old enough to begin my concert attending career which started two years later when I was 17.

I loved Janis, her raw edgy voice coupled with her honest lyrics stirred something deep and primal in my soul. Through her music she bared to the world her deepest joys and greatest pain. My favorite song which Janis covered along with her band, "Big Brother and the Holding Company" in 1968 was, "Piece of My Heart." It was written by Jerry Ragovoy and Bert Berns, and produced by John Simon. At the risk of copyright infringement I will tell you my favorite line in the song, "take it, take another little piece of my heart..."

Although Janis was not the first to sing this song and certainly not the last, there is something about the Joplin rendition that for me, reflects deep seeds of hope. In the gravely depths of Janis' voice lurked a plea for restoration and healing. It was almost as if she was giving the deepest part of herself in the hope of rebirth.

I've spent the last several days humming that song and weeping as I have experienced two different events which have given me cause to contemplate what it means to "give one's heart."

The first being one of my beloved parishioners entering hospice this week. I will have the privilege of walking the path along side them as they process and experience what it means to move from this life into the next. Of course at some point on the path we who will remain will reach that place where we must stop and our beloved will continue on taking "a little piece of our hearts."

The other event was within my discernment process as I continue to pray how and where exactly God is calling me to serve. While preparing the power point for Sunday's worship I read the words to one of the hymns we will sing this week, "The Church's One Foundation." Of course I started to cry as I read of Christ's gift of the Church given to us and of the many, many saints who through the centuries have willingly given their hearts and lives for its continued life. It was then that I realized that my heart too belongs to the Church and as one called to a life service I too will give pieces of my heart and life over and over again. A piece for God, a piece for the Church, a piece for this world, a piece for a brother or sister in Christ...

Some of those pieces will hurt, others will be glorious expressions of relationship and growth. All will be a gift, both to the recipient and to the giver. Amen.

Livin the Dream

Well, I've survived another Holy Week of church activity. If you serve in ministry then you know what I am talking about. The post Easter exhaustion, the part where, to paraphrase my friend Robin, "you long for three days in a grave." The physical and emotional exhaustion can be overwhelming to say the least.

One spends weeks planning and executing a number of services or observances for the week of Christ's Passion. (If you've ever been part of wedding planning you know what I mean.) Many things are taken into consideration, the group of people present determines many times the way in which the observance is approached. Learning styles, life outlook etc., etc. Again, I say exhausting. Finally the finished product is presented and we observe, grieve, experience, and celebrate in a whirlwind of emotions. By Easter Sunday afternoon most in church service are ready for, "The Big Nap." Easter Monday finally dawns, a new week begins, and we start all over again. The question is, "What is it we start?" And for that matter, do we start something or continue what we have already been doing?

I take consolation in knowing that Jesus' disciples faced the same dilemma.
"What do we do now?"
They had experienced three years of amazing events; encountered feelings and concepts they never dreamed of before they met Jesus. They rode the roller coaster of Holy Week with its devastation and elation. They mourned the death of their Beloved, along with their hopes and dreams only to be smacked in the head with Resurrection. I don't know how they didn't implode. So, after all of this upheaval what do we find the disciples doing? Fishing. That's right, fishing. When one is not sure what the next step will be the natural human response is to go back to the thing you know. For many of the disciples that was fishing.

John 21 tells us that Peter, James, John, Thomas, Nathanael and two other disciples were together when Peter declared his intention to go fishing. Everyone present agreed and the seven spent the night on a boat. As the story goes, they caught nothing on their own until morning when Jesus shows up and tells them where to cast. Just like the beginning of their time together the nets are full but this time, Jesus feeds them with their catch. This was the third appearance of Jesus, to His disciples, since His resurrection.

As Jesus enters conversation with Peter after breakfast the reader sees Him laying out the plan for Peter. That plan was to live the resurrection life and to offer it to Jesus' sheep. Peter now had his next step, his road map and therefore didn't need to go back to what he knew before. Peter could now, "live the dream."

Now that Holy Week has ended with its pageants, prayers and pomp, one needs to be clear on what to do next. Many times folks float through Easter as if it is a one day affair with no eternal implications. Whisking out of an inspiring worship service clad in Easter finery having been sated with enough "holy" to last the week maybe two, only to find that once the "pink cloud" feelings dissipate one too is faced with the idea to, "go fishing."

Hymn number 304 in The United Methodist Hymnal is entitled "Easter People, Raise Your Voices." tells us that for "Easter People," every day is Easter. As we live out our lives this Eastertide and every Easter day, my prayer is that we do not fall into the trap of the next thing or the last thing. May we live the dream, live the resurrection life this day and all days.

Vanished

My son Blain's death came at a time when everything in his life seemed to be coming together. He was working a steady job, (finally) he was taking responsibility for his actions, (hooray) and he was taking baby steps toward active participation in his relationship with God. All was well with the world.

The previous week I made the hour and a half trip to the new apartment he and his fiance were setting up. It was a time of healing for him and me as we struggled to make our amends with one another. I remember telling him that I was still angry with his behavior but that I loved him very much. I can still feel the roughness of his cheek against mine as I hugged him goodbye that day.

That weekend he and Megan came to spend time at our home and by his own choice attended our early worship service that Sunday morning. My last moments with them were spent standing in the back of the sanctuary hugging and kissing them while telling them I was proud and loved them very much. On Friday evening of that same week they were enjoying a four wheeler ride when the throttle stuck open and Blain lost control hitting a tree. They were both killed instantly. The news of their deaths was so sudden, so unexpected it was as if they hadn't died but had vanished. The human mind is a strange and wonderful thing, and works to protect us quite quickly, letting only the tiniest bits of horror filter through from time to time. Even when presented with the body of a loved one denial and shock are at work keeping us from imploding.

The week after the funerals while driving past the building that held their apartment I looked up in anticipation only to realize that they weren't where I had seen them just two weeks earlier. The realization was so sharp I felt panicked and was overcome by the need to rush into every building in town to find them, but I knew the truth....they weren't there. They weren't anywhere on this earth. I could drive to every town around the world and look but I wouldn't find them.

I have thought of that feeling every Easter Saturday since. (Three) I imagine the disciples feeling that shock and denial of what had transpired just the day before. I wonder if any of them felt the overwhelming desire to run to every town and look for Jesus, just to be sure it wasn't a dream or some cruel joke. I feel compassion for their loss as they struggled to come to terms with not only the loss of their friend, Lord, Master, but the loss of their dreams. For all intents and purposes they had no hope. Thankfully those feelings were to be short lived as they came face to face with the hope of resurrection the next day.

The feelings of relief and joy had to be overwhelming. I don't know how their finite minds handled the Resurrected Christ. But, I think I know something of the joy they experienced that day as they received their beloved friend back from the grave. It is that same joy, that hope in the new creation of eternal life that keeps me going. It is that hope that assures me that I will one day live in the presence of my Creator free from the limitations that bind me now and that somewhere nearby I will see Blain and Megan. Until that day, I hold tight to the hope accomplished in Christ Jesus.

My prayer this Eastertide is that we all experience the hopefulness of Easter as if for the very first time. A happy Easter to all.

Distillation

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I'll meet you there. When the soul lies down in that grass, the world is too full to talk about. Ideas, language, even the phrase "each other" doesn't make any sense.

mevlana jelaluddin rumi - 13th century

This is the first Holy Week that has impacted me in quite some time. The weeks leading up to this time have been weeks of growth and discovery. First, discovery about God; who God is and God's very nature. Next, discovery about me; what I believe and don't believe. It involves questions of identity and how that identity is expressed....lived.

This process involves much housecleaning. (Unfortunately not the literal kind.) As I move toward new understanding and new concepts I must make room for these discoveries by cleaning out the old or keeping only what is necessary. It has also led me to examine the heart of Holy Week and to wade through the hoopla to which a world of security seeking humans, such as myself, wish to cling.

Big flashy pageants full of high tech visual images that can, if gone unchecked, lead to emotional manipulation and dependence. Each hoopla laden offering must top the former and before one knows it they may end up more attached to the hoopla than the original tenet intended to be expressed.

My explorations and housecleaning these last weeks have led me to the heart of Holy Week...Love. Love in it's purest most distilled form. Love that transcends the finite while at the same time embraces it, heals it, transforms it. Love that is so complete nothing else holds credence. This love has the quiet power which compels one to both respond to its source and share with the world.

For me, that distillation of love is found in the person of Jesus Christ, who's very essence, very being, (fully human and fully divine) is reconciliation. Incarnation. God embracing humanity to God's Self and there by empowering humanity to become one. Ah....Holy family.
Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I'll meet you there...Ideas, language, even the phrase "each other" doesn't make any sense.

May this Holy Week and Eastertide be a time of reconciliation and transformation. I know it will be for me as I journey...All Around the Carpenter's Bench.

It's all about Call.

Who'd a thunk it? Me a seminary student/pastor at the age of %#*@? And yet here I am. In the grand scheme of things I'm sure it somehow makes sense, that's what people keep telling me anyway. That God has gifted and called me to the pastorate is an amazingly gutsy thing for God to do because I have to tell you, it makes no sense to me.

The world asks, "Why would you want to be a pastor?"

To which I answer, "I don't. It's all about Call."

Describing a Call to ministry is hard enough when talking to others, coming to terms with that same Call within one's self is quite another. God is supposed to call "holy people" not rebellious, irreverent, slackers like me! And yet here I am over half way through my first year in seminary and no one has asked me to leave.

So, holding on tight, or letting go completely I'm on a wild ride. Join me on the journey around, The Carpenter's Bench.