There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
the holy place where the Most High dwells.

Years ago, the professor in one of my Old Testament classes suggested that these words – rather than being an inspirational description of the Holy City – were actually an expression of faith and hope. Because there was no river in Jerusalem. Just the trust (as the Psalm goes on to say) that

God is within her, she will not fall;
God will help her at break of day.

Of course, I’ve not had the chance to visit Jerusalem. So I can’t testify one way or the other to its rivers and streams (or the absence thereof). But for this afternoon at least, my heart could certainly resonate with the idea of a river “whose streams make glad.” And the gladness came, I think, not from the beauty of the river (although the Ararat certainly was beautiful today)…nor from the utility of the river (although I’m sure that Ararat serves some useful function as it flows through Mount Airy)…but from the simple “is-ness” of it—from the fact that “there is a river” that flows through my hometown, just like there is a God, who allows his good and beautiful and gracious Spirit to flow through me.

So thank you, Father, for time to ride…time to notice…and time to give praise to You, who are my all.

One element of the funeral experience that still has a surprising power for me is the drive from the chapel to the cemetery. I don’t know what other people do with those moments, but for me they are usually silent ones—used to reflect on the comments that have been shared in worship and that will be shared at the graveside. But the thing that makes the drive “surprisingly powerful” is the way that the community responds to the funeral procession as it passes.

You need to understand; I spent the early years of my ministry in a very busy, urban area. In that environment, there was no way that you could stop traffic for a long line of cars, making their slow trip to the cemetery. So after a funeral ended, the time for the graveside service was announced, and people generally got there as well as they could…by whatever route they could.

But here in Mount Airy (and, I’m sure, in other small towns throughout the South), we still make that slow and solemn journey of grief together, and—in an amazing way—the town grieves with us. People let the parade move along uninterrupted, regardless of what the traffic lights say. And many drivers still pull off to the side of the road as a sign of respect for the deceased.

Now, as a sign of respect, this practice of pulling off the road does seem to have a certain “holy appropriateness” to it. It helps us remember, I think, that we truly are connected to one another in a deep and sacred way (regardless of whether or not we like to admit it). I’m reminded of the famous passage from the 17th century poet, John Donne: “No man is an island; entire of itself…Each man’s death diminishes me, for I am involved in mankind. Therefore, send not to know for whom the bell tolls. It tolls for thee.”

But I also wonder—in this case, at least—if our practice is somehow backward. Don’t get me wrong; it is a good thing to pull over for a passing funeral. But the fact is that we’re paying respect to someone who can no longer appreciate it. At the same time, we rush and speed past living souls…persons created in God’s image and made uniquely for His purpose…individuals who certainly deserve at least as much respect as we show to those who are deceased. As theologian C.S. Lewis reminds us:

“It is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses…to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you meet may one day be a creature which—if you saw it now—you would be strongly tempted to worship…or else a horror and a corruption such as you now meet, if at all, only in a nightmare. All day long we are, in some degree, helping each other to one or other of these destinations.” (C. S. Lewis in Mere Christianity)

I’m sure that my work will continue to involve me in funerals. And I suspect that members of our community will continue to show respect by pulling over as funeral processions pass (at least I hope they will). But maybe once in a while, we ought to pull off to the side of the road (or stand off to the side of the hall) and pay attention…because passing by us is a glorious procession of God’s children, all so valuable that Jesus Christ would give his life for each and every one. Maybe then, we’d show some respect for the living. And wouldn’t that be a practice worth celebrating?

So to everyone who has been part of this week—family and friends, co-workers, church members and others—I’m so grateful to have you in my life. And to those who have humbled and honored me by sharing with me parts of your story—you’re in my prayers. And to the Father who gives me a quiet Friday night to sit back and reflect on it all—just thanks.

The Prophet Isaiah, Ancient Israel

“Loose Lips Sink Ships.”

US Civil Defense Slogan, World War 2

I don’t know how many of you are aware of it, but we recently received word in the church office that Calvary Baptist had been named the recipient of a 2011 “Mountie Award.” This means that our congregation was chosen by readers of the Mount Airy News as the Surry County area’s “Best Church.” Naturally, I’d like to be able to say that this has something to do with the arrival of our handsome and talented new pastor (wink, wink)…but the voting on this year’s Mountie Awards clearly took place before I came on the scene. So I guess the best thing I can say is, “Congratulations, Calvary Baptist! You have been ‘letting your light shine’ in such a way that those around you have seen your good works and are glorifying your Father in heaven”…or at least…“They’ve seen your good works and are giving you an award (which doesn’t sound quite as biblical, but which is nice, all the same).”

Now somewhat ironically, in the very same week that we received news about the Mountie Award, I received a phone call from someone who had a very different impression of our church. This individual apparently had what I’ll describe as an “unpleasant encounter” with someone from our congregation, and—when she combined her impressions of this encounter with some unresolved feelings that she had from a prior experience—this was enough to make her question whether we had any true Christians in our midst at all.

In the end, of course, the truth of our church’s character is probably somewhere in between these two poles. We are likely not as good as our ‘best press’ would suggest…nor are we as bad as our ‘worst detractors’ would insist. Our church—like each of us individually—is a sometimes-frustrating mixture of sinner and saint. And perhaps the best we can pray for is that we’re slowly but surely making some kind of progress toward greater Christ-likeness.

But having these two interactions so close together has reminded me (as I hope it will remind all of us) that we are being watched. Whether we realize it or not…whether we like it or not…people are observing our behavior and listening to our words. And they are drawing conclusions—not only about us but also about the Savior we serve—based on what they see.

So what will we show them? Lovely feet that bring good news? Or loose lips that sink ships?

May we aspire to live in such a way that everything we do—in thought word and deed—is done in the name of the Lord Jesus. And may the warm glow of our fellowship cast such an appealing light that others are drawn to the beauty of Christ, who loves us and gave himself for us.

My in-laws did exactly that, and here’s a snippet of the email they sent me in the wake of that experience…

I just got back from visiting with that young boy and his mom.  He is a precious little 5-month old.  His mother was remarking about how amazing God is to make the connection of you receiving the letter and having family here  that could look in on them.  I”ll be checking back with them again…they are handling a huge load. 

Thank you for letting us know about this child. I love the way God works. Being a part of that just makes it all the more amazing.

Isn’t it neat what a little ‘twist of faith’ will do?

As I prepare to mark my official “one week anniversary” as a pastor here in Mount Airy, I suppose that some similar things could be said about my ministry. I’m doing a lot of the same things: developing sermons, visiting church members, working with leaders and so on. But wow. It sure feels different: different challenges…different opportunities…different spirit.

Of course, in ministry as in cycling, I need to remember to pace myself. But I’m excited to be engaging in the same old ride (but different) as I join God’s people in seeking Him and serving other.

This year, the greening around Marshville coincided with a journey that my family and I made to visit with the church family at Calvary Baptist in Mount Airy, North Carolina. We were there to meet with individuals and groups within the congregation and to preach in view of a call at the Sunday morning worship gatherings. And for me this experience, too, was both hope-full and grace-full: full of hope because it allowed me to anticipate the fruitful ministry that I believe we can share as we begin growing together…and full of grace because it, too, was a gift. God has been so good to open the door that has connected me with this church family; and even though we’ve only begun to get to know one another, I’ve been richly blessed.

Jesus once spoke about fields “white for harvest” (John 4:35). But before the growth and harvest come, there is a greening—a joyful beginning to announce a new season. Thanks be to God for all our new beginnings, and for the hope and grace that allow us to see them through.

The great heartache in the project, however, was that I had never intended to let so much brush accumulate in the first place. The back-story goes like this: I had been visiting with a friend who had a large section of cement conduit (about 2 feet high and 5 feet across) that he was using as a backyard fire-pit. It was the perfect thing for gathering friends to engage in warm conversation (and the occasional marshmallow roast), and—when I expressed admiration for it—he promised me that he could get one for me, as well. So I started stockpiling broken limbs and sections of fallen tree, just waiting for the day that they’d become the fuel for many a family campfire. But that was three years ago…and my section of conduit never came. I suppose I should have realized when my friend moved away about a year ago that it was never going to happen. But by that time, I already had a big pile. So I just kept adding to it until—at last—the task of clearing it could wait no longer.

Funny, isn’t it, how things have a way of accumulating in our lives? We never intend for it to happen. But somehow a pile of “stuff” (or a mound of debt…or a stack of regret…or a heap of bitterness…or a mountain of sin) imperceptibly begins to grow around us. And we’d like to get rid of it, but at the time it doesn’t seem like a big deal…or its too close to things that matter to destroy without hurting something else…or it’s just too big for us to handle on our own. Then inevitably, the day comes when the pile can wait no longer; and dealing with it at that point is often far more painful than it would have been had we only acted sooner.

Thankfully, there are companies we can call to remove our piles of dead tree limbs. But a cause for even greater gratitude is the fact that there’s a God we can call to remove our other piles of stuff: a God who heals brokenness and forgives sin; a God who removes regret and restores our spirit. And unlike the local tree service (which charges a pretty penny, even out here in the rural south), God’s clearing service is offered as a gift of grace. Our Heavenly Father delights to haul the trash out of our lives, so that—in its place—something beautiful can grow.

Create in me a clean heart, O God.
Renew a loyal spirit within me.
You do not desire a sacrifice, or I would offer one.
You do not want a burnt offering.
The sacrifice you desire is a broken spirit.
You will not reject a broken and repentant heart, O God.
(Psalm 51:10, 16-17)

For the past couple years, the Boll Weevil Jamboree has provided the perfect opportunity for my church to experiment with a more “missional” mindset by finding ways that we could serve festival attendees. We’ve chosen to distribute free bottles of ice-cold water as a simple way of sharing the love of Christ. Our efforts have been well-received, and there have actually been a few other churches that have followed our lead. However, in order to keep things fresh (and to give a little break to the Jamboree’s bottled-water vendors), we decided to try something different this year.

So, last Saturday, a group of willing volunteers from First Baptist Marshville spent the day offering “Free Festival Photos” to passers-by. One of our members put together a beautiful back-drop with an autumnal theme, and we had a digital camera ready to go. As families or groups of friends came by, we offered them a free commemorative picture, taken in front of our back-drop. And this next week, all the photos will be mailed and/or emailed to the appropriate recipients…along with an invitation to check out our church if they don’t already have a church home.

I wish that I could say this project was an invention of my own clever imagination. But it actually was pattered after the ministry of a Christian outreach called Joe Pix that equips churches and other groups to offer a similar service at festivals and other events. It just so happens that we chose to borrow the idea and make it our own.

Neverthless, the project was a great success. Not only did we have a wealth of face-to-face contact with people in our community, but we also garnered several admiring comments from people who thought it was “neat” that church would do something like this.

My congregation has a journey out in front of us if we ever hope to embrace the potential of mission that God has entrusted to us. But on weekends like this past weekend, I’m encouraged enough to be able to say, “We’re on our way.”

My love for these “hole-y” little tastes of paradise has deep roots. As a boy, I made many a pre-dawn trip with my father to pick up Krispy Kreme doughnuts for my church’s Easter sunrise service. As a college minister, I built friendships and explored the journey of faith with students over boxes of “Original Glazed” and steaming cups of coffee. Even now, when my desire for good health leads me to avoid empty calories, there’s something about those deep-fried circles of dough that draws me in invites me to indulge.

Of course, as all true doughnut lovers know, the best time to visit Krispy Kreme is when the “Hot Now” light is on. What divine inspiration seized the chain’s founders and led them to erect a shining beacon in the windows of their stores, proudly proclaiming to all who passed by: “Now…right at this very moment…joy is freely available, wrapped in a hot, fresh pillow of heavenly manna”?  All I know is that if I ever see the “Hot Now” light burning, you can take it to the bank that I’ll be turning in to enjoy a doughnut…or three.

It makes me wonder: What if churches came equipped with a “Hot Now” light? What if—right on the corner of Church and Elm—there was a glowing neon sign that declared for everyone to see: “Now…right at this very moment…something so good and warm and inviting is taking place that you’d be missing out if you didn’t stop and visit”? Of course, this begs at least two other questions: First, “What would have to be taking place in the life of our church family for it to be worthy of such a bold announcement?” And second, “How often would the ‘Hot Now’ light be burning?”