Sabbath

Confession...I had told my family that I would do better about taking Sabbath...and I haven't. 

But I'm not alone...

But that doesn't make it right...

I realized yesterday that I've been home 3 nights since the Tuesday before Easter.  That was 25 days ago, and I've been home with my girls 3 nights since then. 

But I'm not alone...and that still doesn't make it right. 

This past week my heart has been broken for some of my colleagues, brothers and sisters in Christ, who I see are heading for exactly where I was last summer...total burnout.  I've heard them say things like: "I've not had a day off in 3 weeks..."  or: "I've looked at my calendar and my next day off is in June...or July..."  or, like me, "I've just come off of 10 days in a row of 10-14 hour days."  It almost sounds like we treat that as a badge of honor.  It's not.  It's self-destructive behavior. 

For me, it's the result of past PPRCs (Pastor-Parish Relation Committees for those who are not United Methodist.  It's the group I'm amenable to as a pastor.) telling me that I'm not doing enough or constantly badgering me about how I spend my time.  So, for me, many days I ran like I did because of past scars from being told I never did enough.  Then I crashed...and burned...and it's taken me a year to recover from it. 

I could blame my behavior on those past experiences...scars...whatever I want to call them...but the truth is...it's my fault.  Only mine.  I have chosen to let those things guide my work ethic and I've believed the lie that to be faithful...and successful...and to keep people happy...I had to stay busy.  Well, it's a lie from the pit of hell and it smells like smoke.  (To quote Chuck Swindoll) 

So to my brothers and sisters of the cloth...stop it.  Stop trying to be the hero.  Stop trying to do it all by yourself.  Stop sacrificing your family and your health for your calendar.  I've been there.  I know what it's like.  I've sat in the ashes and watched as everything around me crumbled because I was too stubborn to listen to those who were telling me to take care of myself. 

See, here's the thing.  Sabbath rest is not a suggestion.  It's not some quirky little self-help, new age idea.  It's not an excuse to get out of doing this or that.  It's a commandment.  In fact, if I'm not mistaken, it's one of the Big Ten.  The God who created us and called us into a life of service commanded that we take a day to rest and worship.  When we don't, everyone suffers. 

Your church suffers because you're exhausted. 
Your kids suffer because you're not home. 
Your marriage suffers because there is no time to maintain the relationship. 
Your health suffers. 
Everyone around you suffers. 

As clergy, I'm guessing that we can control probably 90% of our schedule.  There are mandatory meetings.  There are church responsibilities.  There are deadlines to meet.  (As I write this, I'm not writing my newsletter article for this month...but it still has to be done.)  I understand that we are busy...we all are...but we are not too busy to take care of ourselves.  It starts with saying this..."No..." 

Practice that with me.  "No....."

Your church leadership will appreciate that you are taking time for self-care...eventually.  Your boss will appreciate that you are taking time for self-care.  Your spouse and kids will definitely appreciate it.  Your God will appreciate it.  And in time...so will you. 

Honestly, I still suck at this.  But at least now I'm aware that I suck at it and try to be more intentional about time with my kids...my wife...and myself.  I've started doing yoga in the mornings after my girls all head out.  Sometimes it makes me a couple minutes late getting into the office, but I can actually tell a difference between the days I take those couple minutes for myself and the days I don't.  I still suck at saying "No," but I'm working on it. 

I know this isn't anything new, and you've heard before about the importance of self-care, but I went to bed last night with this on my heart. 

Brothers and sisters...it's important that we care for ourselves and our families.  This life is tougher than most realize, and the difficulties it brings to our closest relationships are real.  My prayer is that as we all learn to take better care of ourselves we can be better disciples and better shepherds. 

And She Also Went...

In honor of pastor's spouse appreciation month...


If there's one regret I have over answering the call to ordained ministry it wouldn't be the long hours, being on call 24/7, having to constantly put out fires, always having to field complaints, or even having to live in someone else's house.  If I had one regret about answering the call to ordained ministry it would be the effect it has had on my family...in particular, my wife.




Since March is "Pastor's Spouse Appreciation Month," I've come up with a little list of things I wish members of every congregation would remember about the pastor's spouse.  Forgive the gender language, as I know not all pastor's are male, nor are all pastor's spouses female. 

1)  Your pastor was called into the ministry, called to serve the church as a vocation...she wasn't.
     This one is listed first because I feel it to be the single most important thing we need to remember about the pastor's spouse.  She also went.  She followed her husband into the unknown because she loved him...and she loved God. 

2)  She has sacrificed a sense of home to follow your pastor where God has lead. 
     One of the toughest decisions we have made as a clergy family is the decision to sell the home we built for our retirement.  We built the house we wanted, hoped to be able to live in it at least part time, and dreamed of rocking grandbabies on the front porch.  Then reality hit and we knew there was no way we would be able to live in it until after retirement.  So she said goodbye to her dream.  Many pastor's spouses have said goodbye to dreams. 

3)  When things are not going as well as they should for your pastor, she is usually the one left trying to encourage him and remind him of God's presence even now.
     When a meeting goes bad, rumors begin to fly, and complaints come from every direction, she will be the one who has your pastor's back...every time.  Sometimes, the only one.  When your pastor begins to feel the symptoms of burn out, she will be the one to make sure he takes care of himself, so that he can serve you better.  Unfortunately, there is seldom support in place for her, and she's left carrying more weight than she should have to. 
 
4)  She does not usually complain about interrupted family time or rearranged vacations because she knows it just comes with the job.
     Your pastor is on call 24/7/365 and as a pastor, doesn't mind.  She knows that your pastor works weekends.  She understands that his people will need him at any time of day or night, and knows that sometimes the needs of the church must come first.  As a result, she and the kids eat supper by themselves many nights...and vacations...when they happen...usually have to be scheduled around church activities.  

5)  When she calls to check on you, or comes to visit you in the hospital, it's because she loves you and not because she has to.
     Your pastor is the one responsible for your spiritual care, for visiting you in the hospital and checking on you when your world crumbles...not your pastor's spouse.  She loves you and loves the church...so when she calls you, sends a text, or stops by to check on you it is that love that drives her...not the requirements of her position.  Likewise, if she doesn't for some reason, it's not because she doesn't care, but probably because she is balancing her own career with the extra responsibilities at home since your pastor is probably in a meeting somewhere. 

6)  It's not a package deal. 
     Let me repeat that one...it's not a package deal.  Your pastor was the one appointed or hired to serve your congregation, not his spouse.  This means she doesn't automatically have to play the piano during worship, organize VBS, or lead the women's auxiliary.  If she chooses to do those things, again, it's out of her love for you and for the church.  She is a volunteer just like everyone else. 

7)  She has feelings, too.
     This one is big.  Pastors have to develop thicker skin simply to survive.  She doesn't...and shouldn't have to.  She hears the whispers, rumors, and gossip about her husband...she is told about the complaints...she knows when things are going well and when they're not.  She just wants to be accepted for who she is and loved the way she loves you. 

8)  She suffers from loneliness in the church probably more than your pastor does. 
     It is a lonely life, and not one she asked for.  When your pastor told her that he was feeling called to the ministry, her life was changed forever.  Trust is a huge issue for her, so her circle of friends is infinitely small.  When...if...she can develop a close friendship with members of the church, let her have that.  She needs it.  She needs the support of people within the congregation that she knows she can trust.  When she's with her friends, she's not being stuck up, or snobbish, or aloof...she's recharging for God only knows what's coming next. 

9)  She is trying to balance the demands of her own career with the often implied demands of the associate pastor position.
       She probably has her own career, with it's own responsibilities.  She is just as tired from work as anyone else, and like most others, still has to fix supper and take care of the kids.  She doesn't need or want to be on every committee at church.  She will do all she can to support your pastor and your church, but to expect or demand those things from her simply because of who she's married to is disrespectful and unrealistic.  Let her be her own person. 

10)  She just wants to be herself, and serve God in her way.
      Your pastor's spouse is her own creation, lovingly formed by the Almighty, and given her own gifts, strengths, and weaknesses.  To force her into a mold of what the church thinks she should be is unfair, and sometimes dishonors her creation.  Ask her what she enjoys doing.  Find out where she would really like to serve, instead of where the church thinks she should.  Give her permission to be who she is and not what the church expects her to be.  I guarantee that if you do this, your pastor's spouse will blossom and give more to the church than you ever dreamed. 

11)  She's not your pastor.
      Hear that one...she's not your pastor.  If you're a CPA, and I take my taxes to you, I would never expect your spouse to file them for me...unless she were also a CPA.  The same goes for the ministry.  Unrealistic expectations do harm to clergy spouses that, sometimes, can never be undone.  Demanding more of her than you would any other volunteer in the church is unacceptable.  More than likely, there are days she secretly wishes her spouse wasn't your pastor, but she'd never voice that.  Not to you.  Not to them.  Instead, she paints on a smile, and goes on. 

12)  She loves you. 
      Really, she does.  She probably wishes she could do more, but life for her is insane sometimes.  She is proud to be your pastor's spouse...really.  She will wear the church T-shirts and tell people, "This is my church."  She loves you and she loves the God you worship together.  All she asks is that she be loved in return. 

So...twelve little things we should all remember about our pastor's spouse.  If you're a pastor, take your spouse out to dinner and leave the phone in the car.  They need your undivided attention sometimes.  If you're a pastor's spouse...God bless you...thank you for your support and love.  If you're a member of a church who has a pastor, love his/her spouse, and let them know you love them. 

At the end of the day, your pastor's spouse wants to do all they can to support your pastor's ministry and your church...but they're not your pastor.  Let them be themselves...beloved of the Almighty...the rock that holds your pastor up...child of God. 

Peace,
J     

HERE I AM TO WORSHIP...ME

     I inadvertently got pulled into a discussion this week on worship styles...or should I say, worship preferences.  This is nothing new, the worship war has been raging for decades now, since the Jesus movement of the 60's and 70's.  According to Wiki (the holy grail of all things unknown...I jest, of course) that was about the time folks like Mylon LeFevre starting doing things a little differently.  Evidently Mylon began to mix gospel music with southern rock, and the result...well, I guess you'd have to decide for yourself.
     I grew up in the 70's and 80's, and the only type of music I heard in the church was from the old Cokesbury Hymnal, or that little green paperback book with the image of the pearly gates on the front.  My only experience with "contemporary" Christian music was "Kum ba yah,"  (Gag.  I think I just threw up in my mouth a little)  or the songs we sang during VBS at the various little country churches in my small town. 
     Fast forward 40 something years, and I've grown up.  I've also changed careers.  A little over 15 years ago, God called me to hang up my carpenter's toolbelt and step out into a career as an ordained elder in the United Methodist Church.  So, for the last 15 years I've been struggling with the fact that God must have an insane sense of humor because I just don't fit the mold.  I've written about that before in a previous blog, but today it comes up again.  For the first two years I was in the ministry, I played the game.  If I was on the clock, I was in a sport coat and/or tie...clean shaven...clean cut...overly passive...southern gospel on the truck radio...all of the things that society had told me a pastor was supposed to be... 
     ...only I was being a fake...
     ...That's not who I was...
     So, one morning God and I had a long heart to heart, and my end of the conversation went something like this: "Ok, I will give the rest of my life to doing what you want me to do...I'll shepherd your people...I'll listen to their broken hearts...I'll do all I can to help them heal...I'll lead them in worship...I'll visit them when they're sick and bury them when they die...but this suit and tie,  gospel quartet, no goatee thing just isn't me.  You created me the way you did for a reason, and I feel that to be this new thing for you I have to deny your creation.  So I'll do it, but I have to be me."  I felt that, at that moment, God gave the proverbial nod.  Which brings me back to the conversation from this week.
     When it comes to worship, the Coke and Pepsi wars of the 80's look like a preschool dance.  Folks can get vicious when they feel their preferred style is being threatened.  The gist of the article that sparked the conversation from this week was really just about why people don't seem to sing in church anymore.  That launched a barrage of accusations about repeat choruses, unfamiliar songs, and CCM (Contemporary Christian Music) in general.  I get it.  Really, I do.  Folks don't sing what they don't know.  However, in my experiences as a worship leader for the last 15 years, all of which, with the exception of the last 4 have been in a traditional, rural to high church setting, folks don't sing what they do know either.  Not everyone.  Not much.  Not with passion. 
     I get that some of the CCM today is weak.  Some of it has little theology.  Some of it does depend on repeat choruses to just fill time.  I get that.  But not all of it.  Is CCM a show?  That was one of the points brought up in the conversation this week.  Sure, sometimes and in some places.  But do the cadets at West Point really need 23,500 pipes in the Cadet Chapel?
     I'm not writing to defend CCM, even though that is the atmosphere in which I can feel more worshipful, personally.  I'm writing to make this statement...if you're engaging in a conversation about one style or another being better, and that you just can't worship unless there are 4 verses and a refrain in the hymnbook or lyrics projected on a screen...just go ahead and admit that when you go to worship, you're really not going to worship God...  You're going to worship your preference for worship.  We all do it.  Myself included.  But, Geez Louise, let's just call a spade a spade.  The worship wars that have been raging for the last few decades have zero...squat...nada...to do with God.  The whole thing is about us, and about what we want. 
     I'm convinced that God really doesn't care whether or not we're holding hymnals or looking at a screen, but instead that we have come into the presence of the Holy One with open and repentant hearts, seeking to lift up holy hands to the Creator of the entire universe...and I'll bet that God is ok (I can't speak for God) with either type of music as long as it's part of a person's genuine attempt to connect with the One true God and praise the Almighty. 
     Now, that being said, if you can connect with your Creator through the old revival hymns, or high church anthems, do it...with my blessings...hold your hymnals in your hand, close your eyes, and give it all you have.  I just ask the same respect for the fact that I can connect with my Creator through the vibrations of the strings on a Fender Strat,
     This will probably spark a firestorm, but the bottom line is that when we reduce worship of the Triune God into battles over this type of music or that, I truly believe we grieve the Holy Spirit.  Now, where did I put that book of Psalms I was going to chant?
 

I Walked Past the Salvation Army Bell Ringer

I admit it.  I walked right past.  I didn't toss in any change.  I didn't slip a dollar in the kettle.  I walked right on into the mall. 

But I had a reason. 

Actually, several reasons.  I never carry cash...I didn't have any change...and it was cold.  I walked right past because the young man ringing the bell was between me and Starbucks.  We nodded at each other, offered each other a quick Merry Christmas, and I made my way through the crowd to Starbucks.  This time, the hot beverage in the recycled cardboard cup wasn't for me, though.  I got in line, ordered a hot chocolate, and headed back toward the front doors of the mall...back to the red kettle...back to the young man ringing the bell and wishing strangers a Merry Christmas. 

The look on his face as I handed him the cup of hot chocolate said exactly what I had hoped it wouldn't. 

"Nah, I'm good."
"It's for you.  For real.  It's cold out here."

I haven't mentioned yet that our skin colors were not the same, but they weren't.  I saw a young man donating his time for one of the biggest charities in the nation, but I'm not sure what he saw.  Uncertainty.  Distrust.  Honestly, I don't blame him.  I don't know how I'd react, either, if a stranger handed me a cup of hot chocolate...especially today...especially given the differences between he and I...especially after all of the mess that's been the news lately.  

I grew up after the Civil Rights movement of the 60's, so I missed the tensions and wars of that time.  I'm a child of the 70's and early 80's.  My kids are growing up now, in the 21st century.  Things are different, but at the same time, not really.  I wasn't taught hate as a kid, but some were...some still are.  Instead, I was taught the cheesy little song, "Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world..." and I believed it...still do...and it's led me to make decisions that I might not have made otherwise.

I've walked away from an organization that I loved because I couldn't bring an African American friend with me.  After years of struggling with the dichotomy of being a pastor on Sunday morning, and a member of this organization on Thursday night, my conscience finally won out and I stopped paying my dues.  I knew I would be suspended but I just couldn't do it anymore.  My parents did not teach me to hate, or to sit around telling off color jokes, or that I was better than because I'm white.  They just didn't, and I thank God for that.   

Sure, he and I were different, but in so many ways, the same.  I'm a guy.  He was a guy.  I'm raising my family.  He's raising his.  I donate time to charities.  He was donating time to a charity.  I cuss when I stub my toe.  He probably does, too.  I'm sure he gets impatient sitting in traffic just like I do.  But...I know that I'll never be able to fully understand what thoughts run through his mind because we do have different life experiences.

Hate?  I can't do it. 

As I got in my truck and drove away, I looked back at the front doors of the mall and saw the cup of hot chocolate sitting on the sidewalk at his feet.  It wasn't going to help warm him up that way, but it said to me that there is still so much work to be done. 

What's the answer?  Honestly, I don't know.  It's going to take a hell of a lot more than a cup of hot chocolate to fix what's wrong.  It's going to take some honest conversations, and a lot of changed hearts.  It's going to take realizing that, by dang, the cheesy little song is right.  Jesus does love the little children...all of them...  It's going to take repentance and forgiveness.  It's going to take more time. 

But in the meanwhile...there are small things we can do to show that not everyone hates any who may not look exactly like we do.  We can pray "Thy kingdom come," and actually mean it.  We can extend a hand and offer peace.  We can listen more and scream less.  We can stop focusing on the differences and celebrate all that we share in common: 

Children of the Living God.
Sons and daughters of Abraham.
Co-heirs with Christ.
The beloved of the Almighty. 

My prayer this season is that a gesture as simple as offering a cup of hot chocolate on a cold day be the beginning of the end of hate. 



 

The Visitor Book...Why every long time member of a local church needs to be a visitor somewhere else.

In the last 15 years I can count on both hands the number of times I've not been in my pulpit on Sunday morning.  Sometimes it was for retreat, once because I was sick, and three for vacation.  This past Sunday was one of those.  The first lady and I needed some time away.  It had been over 3 years since the two of us had been able to get away as a couple (and to my clergy colleagues...DO NOT underestimate how important this is for your marriage.)

We planned our trip, made the reservations, and I made preparations to be gone on a Sunday.  The weekend was great, with the exception of a little vehicle trouble, but even that worked out.  Sunday morning rolled around, our last day on the trip, and I said to my first lady; "I think we need to check out the little UMC in town this morning."  I knew that it would be nothing like we were used to but I felt the need to worship, especially after the events of the day before. 

Neither of us packed "church clothes," so there was no small amount of trepidation as to how we'd be welcomed in jeans and sweatshirts.  In fact, there was no small amount of trepidation about the whole experience, and here's why.  We've had our fair share of church changes, but the difference for me is that when I walk into a new church, I don't walk in as a visitor.  I walk in as the one in charge, the resident elder.  This time was different.  I wasn't going to tell anyone I was a pastor in a different Conference of the same denomination.  I just wanted to be, and see how we would be welcomed.  Part of that, I admit, was critique.  I wanted to see how this particular congregation practiced radical hospitality. 

As we approached the front steps, they were beautifully decorated for Christmas.  It was a quaint little building with that small town charm that so many fall in love with.  There was a smiling face at the door to greet us and hand us a bulletin.  (Score)  The sanctuary was starting to fill up so we chose a spot that could have been someone else's seat and I wanted to see how they'd react.  Within a few minutes the pastor came over and welcomed us (Score again) and asked if we were local or visiting (It is kind of a seasonal town).  Within a few minutes we were welcomed again by the obvious matriarch of the church and evidently got her approval.  There was a lady sitting behind us who had been ringing the Salvation Army bell at one of the local businesses the day before and she remembered us and spoke (Score again).    A couple other people spoke, but for the most part folks left us alone.  Since my anxiety level was already elevated, that was actually fine with me.  They were welcoming but not suffocating.  Then it happened...

...One of the sweet little ladies of the church walked over to us with this God awful huge folder in her hand and said..."We kind of dropped the ball since we have been decorating for Christmas but usually our visitor folder is on the table by the door.  Would you sign in please?  We don't want phone numbers or addresses, and we won't come to your house, we just want to know where you're from." 

As a pastor, I totally get that.  I want to know our guests at Grace Church as well, but between that huge folder and the pastor calling us out from the pulpit to welcome us, I was beginning to break out in a cold sweat.  I just wanted to be.  I just needed to worship.  Thank God he didn't ask us to stand so folks could welcome us.  This was enough.  Turns out we were the first visitors in that little chapel in over 6 weeks and I expect that they were genuinely tickled that we were there.

As the service progressed, it was time for the Hanging of the Greens and the pastor told everyone to stand up, come down front, take a Chrismon ornament, and hang it on the tree.  OH, HELL NO!  Folks started getting up and making their way down front and we just stood there...until folks started noticing that we were standing there.  Then one sweet little lady behind us broke me down..."It's ok.  Come on.  You're part of us today." 

Now, here's why I'm writing today.  In my pulpit this would be the "big so what."

If you are still reading this, and if you are a long time member of your particular body of believers, it will be a great help for the Kingdom, your congregation, and your pastor if once a year you visit a church where you know no one.  Don't go to your friends' church, or your sister's church.  Go to a different town, and find a congregation where the only people you know are the ones who rode with you.  Why?  Because it's easy for us in the Church to become "visitor blind."  We forget what it's like to walk through our doors for the first time.  We underestimate the anxiety people feel when they finally make the decision to visit us on a Sunday morning.  We don't recognize the things we do, or don't do, to our guests and/or how those things make them feel. 

It takes a huge amount of guts to walk into a church for the first time.  I'm a 43 year veteran of the church and an elder in full connection, and it still made me almost physically ill to climb those steps yesterday.  Imagine how it must feel for someone who doesn't have that kind of experience in the church and is just looking for that peace, hope, and healing we're always talking about. 

So, from our experience this weekend, and from observations I've made over the years, here's a short list of things we can do to make our guests feel more welcome.  Some of these we are already doing at Grace Church.  Some of them we need to work on.

* DO have someone with a smiling face at the door to greet them.
* DO have that person introduce themselves and ask if they can help your guest find a seat. 
   Perhaps they know someone and would like to sit by them.
* DO have signs directing your guests through the building...restrooms...nursery...etc.
* DO ask them if there is anything you can do for them while they're there.
* DO have EVERYONE wear name tags if you ask your guests to
* DO have EVERYONE sign in if you ask your guests to. 
* DO welcome them often but DO NOT call them out from the pulpit.
* DO let them have your seat.  Let me repeat that one.  DO let them have your seat.  If they sit down
   where you've sat for 30 years, deal with it and find another spot.
* DO NOT use language they don't understand (Grace Church we need to work on this one)  Instead
   of saying UMW for example, say our "United Methodist Women."
* DO embrace the fact that they may just want to worship and aren't ready to interact much.
* DO NOT force them to do anything.. 
* DO welcome them back, but DO NOT be pushy. 
* DO offer them the opportunity to encounter the Divine at their own pace and in their own way. 

Now, if you're a long time member, and haven't visited a church where you know no one in the last few years, give it a try.  Print this little list out, see how the congregation does, and how the things they do or don't do make you feel, then take that experience back to your own congregation. 

There's much truth in the fact that no matter how well we do things, there is always room to do them better. 

Peace
J

Why We Didn't do a "Fall Festival" at Church...

Let me say up front that I'm all for any church doing anything they can to come into contact with the folks in their communities...and...calling it whatever they want.  I think it is an awesome witness to see a church, and it doesn't matter what size, do something...anything...that brings about the possibility for them to get to know their neighbors just a little bit.  Now, please understand that I'm not trying to disrespect anyone, honest.  I honestly and seriously applaud any church that does anything to get out into the community.   

For too long, too many churches have become so inwardly focused (yada, yada, here he goes again) but for some reason the Halloween season seems to turn that around...a little...even if just for one night.  We seem to get out more on that night than many others, and that's a start. 

You've seen them, I'm sure.  There's probably one or two churches at least in your community who sponsor a fall festival, or harvest festival, or fall family day...or something like that.  But we didn't.  Not at Grace Church.  We didn't do a fall festival, or a harvest fest, or fall family fun day...or anything like that.  We did a Trunk or Treat, and were intentional about calling it a Trunk or Treat. 

"Jamie, you idiot.  You must really be hurting for something to write about."

No, not really.  This just hit me today and I thought I'd take a few minutes and write (Besides, my baked potatoes are in the oven and I have a few minutes of down time.)

The devil has had Halloween long enough, and at Grace Church, we took Halloween back this year and kicked his butt with it...Kicked it hard...Gave him a real good spanking.  And it was fun.

I don't know why some folks in the church are so terrified of Halloween, really I don't.  Oh, I know, it was born as a sacred holiday (All Hallow's Eve, or the night before the day set aside to honor the memory of those who had passed away in the last year) ...and I know it has somehow been taken over by eveeeeeel...and I realize that maybe that's the problem...ghosts, goblins, witches, werewolves, zombies, and the occasional superhero or Disney character are everywhere.  Sure, it can be a little, well, bloody.  (And that's just gross)   Maybe we just can't get past the fact that it's just come to be known as the devil's holiday, I honestly don't know.

I have noticed, though, that in some places if a church does do something as a group for Halloween, they have to tone it down or "Bible-ize" it to get it past those in authority.  But why?

I can hear the board meeting now: "Well, I guess we could do something for Halloween and everybody dress up like bible characters or something."  Come on.  "Oh, wait, what if we all set up bible scenes around the fellowship hall?"  Really?  Not that I'm not for those things.  I am.  Honest.  I have given my life to telling those stories and doing all I can to convince folks that the only way to the Father is through the Son.  Those stories are the stepping stones for making that possible.  But what are we afraid of? 

Are we afraid of being accused of "Being of the world" when Jesus told us to be in it but not of it?  Are we afraid that we'll be seen as selling out to the world if we dress up as whatever?  Are we afraid that putting on a mask and talking to our neighbors while we hand their kids candy is going to send us to hell?  I don't know. 

Confession time, though.  I used to be one of those.  I had sworn off Halloween 20 years ago.  I hated it.  I would turn my lights off and lock the doors.  I wouldn't buy candy to hand out.  I would mouth, "Get a job and buy your own candy" when I saw headlights pull into the driveway.  I'd even pretend I wasn't home.  Then I went into the ministry. 

It's been a gradual process, taking 15 years so far to get me to where I am.  What I have discovered over the last 15 years, is that most folks...most folks, not all...just want a church that's real.  They are looking for a place that's full of real people...living in the real world...trying to live out this Jesus life in the midst of God only knows what...and are willing to take some time to get to know them.  Halloween did that for me.

So...Grace Church hosted a "Trunk or Treat."  And we painted our faces.  And there wasn't a Moses in sight.  And we had ghosts, and zombies, and axes, and...wait for it...pirates (Arggghhhh).  And this little tribe of church folk in rural western Kentucky got to welcome 700 of our neighbors in a town with 1800 in the zip code. Totally...blew...my...mind.  Totally.

Now please understand that I'm not saying you have to do things the way we do, or that our way is the only way to do kingdom work in your community.  Good heavens, no.  How arrogant would that be?  I'm just saying, don't be afraid to take a risk.  Step out on a limb.  Take a chance.  BE REAL.

Get down on one knee, face to face with a  zombie and talk to them about how you did your makeup.  Take a second and ask that kid with the broad axe where he got it, because you think it's cool.  The kid that's running around, chasing people with a plastic sword, may just be a leader in your church in 20 years if you play your cards right.  Don't be afraid to be in the world but not of it.  BE REAL.  Have I said that already? 

If your church hosted a fall festival, or harvest fest, or family fun day, thanks be to God!!!  I am so thankful that you took a step and got out into your community.  Woot!!!!  If your church didn't because it's Halloween, and you were afraid of whatever...don't be.  Now is the time to start planning for next year. 

As a Wesleyan, I can only imagine how it must have made John W want to hurl the first time he preached out in a field.  Folks just didn't do that...but because he did...because he stepped outside of the accepted norm...thousands and thousands of people came to know Jesus as their personal savior.  How cool is that? 

So...you have 364 days...what are you going to be for Halloween?
   

Out of the Valley of Death...

I honestly don't know why I'm doing this, but something inside me told me to write about this...right now. 

Maybe it's because of all that's happened in the last few weeks.  Maybe there's just someone that needs to know they are not alone in their struggles.  Maybe it's just a compelling need for some transparency...a moderate amount of transparency.  Whatever it is, it won't go away, and I've learned that when that happens all I can do is write.  So, in the spirit of transparency, or in light of all that's going on in the world right now, or in case someone just needed to know they aren't alone, here we go. 

Let me start by saying that even though I'm a pastor, I don't have it all together.  I have ups and downs just like everyone else.  I have days when I think "What the hell else can possibly go wrong?" just like everyone else.  I have times when I just want to toss a tent into my truck and point it toward the setting sun...or I used to.  Then I've had the really bad days, and I think most of us have been there.  I think that is what I'm supposed to write about today, but to say it makes me very uncomfortable is the biggest understatement since Moses said, "Hey y'all, let's go for a little walk."

About 10 years ago I was diagnosed with clinical depression like probably 75% of the rest of the country, and tried one med after another.  Some made me fat.  Some made me sleep.  Some kept me awake.  Some had side effects that I don't even want to think about, but I kept trying new ones because I knew that something had to work.  Things had to get better.  I tried to just "snap out of it" like so many well meaning folks told me I should, but I just couldn't.  It seemed the harder I tried, the worse things got. 

That continued cyclically for years.  There would be a couple years where things were okay followed by a few months, a year, or a couple years where they weren't.  My schedule was crazy busy.  Life was happening.  Our kids were born and started growing up, way too fast.  Some churches I pastored helped me heal at times, some tried to tear me down.  Up and down...up and down...constantly.  It seemed as if I'd get my feet back under me just long enough to stand up and take a look around before they got knocked out again. 

Then I entered a really dark time about this time last year.  The church I am serving was starting to grow.  Things were looking up.  I really do have the dream appointment for me (in the United Methodist Church "Appointment" is what we call an assignment to a church).  I don't really know what it was or what caused it.  From all appearances, I was a rising star pastor and should have been on top of the world.  The funny thing about appearances, though, is that usually you don't have to scratch very deep below the surface to see that all is not as it appears.  My inner self was a mess.  I was, still am, a people pleaser and can't stand for someone to be upset with me.  I was, still am, terrified that somehow I'm going to screw this church up (as if I'm really in charge of that at all).  I had taken the sense of safety out of our home because I was always so on edge that my girls were afraid to speak around me.  Maybe it was one of those, or all of them.  I don't know.  Long story short, I was exhausted.  Physically.  Mentally.  Emotionally.  Spiritually. 

Folks were saying, "You need to take some time off," and I was going to, but I had a plan for my vacation and it wasn't time yet.  I bust my tail during the year because I'm a hunter and want to save vacation for deer season.  Just me and my bow... or rifle... alone in the woods... watching... listening... waiting for a decent shot.  So the second week of November I clear my calendar.  No meetings.  No office.  No phone calls.  No email.  Very few texts.  I hunt.  From before daylight until after dark.  I look forward to it every year now. 

Last year, though, it was different.  I still enjoyed it, but not like I used to.  Instead, as I sat there in the blind, breathing quietly, moving only my eyes to look around, and paying attention to the crunch of every leaf, I started thinking things that scare the hell out of me now.  I'm not sure I was even conscious of it at the time, but looking back I remember doing it. 

See, hunting for me is a lifelong endeavor.  I started following my dad into the woods at 7 or 8, but not packing a gun.  All I got to pack were the squirrels by the tail as we walked back to the truck.  At 10 or 11 I started climbing into the deer stand with him.  At 12 I drew first blood and dropped my first deer.  At 13 dad gave me the Marlin 30-30 I still hunt with today.  For over 30 years that rifle and I have climbed up one frost covered deer stand after another.  Looking back at last year's hunts, I remember looking at that rifle leaning up against the blind and thinking, "What a tragic hunting accident." 

It would have been so easy.  Just lean it up against my chest.  "Click..."  It's over.  I told you that I was in a bad place.  You may have been there, or may be there right now.   

No more stress.  No more worry.  No more despair.  No more struggling with the pain my bad decisions have caused.  No more bills.  No more running out of money before I ran out of month.  No more hopelessness.  No more depression.  No more.

No more chance of life ever getting better, either. 

Fast forward 10 months.  Today, I'm living proof that life can get better.  Even when you think there is no way in hell you can take one more day, life can get better.  This summer has been pure hell, I'm not even going to try to pretend it wasn't.  June 5 of this year I hit rock bottom...absolute rock-freakin'-bottom...and I have thanked God every day since that I did.  What they say is true...when you're at the bottom, the only way to look is up. 

Oh, sure, I could have wallowed in self-pity just about as long as I wanted to.  God knows there was plenty of it to wallow in.  I could have thrown up my hands and said, "Way to go, Jay, look at the damned mess you've made this time."  I could have walked away from everything, thrown that tent in the truck and just took off.  Mexico was always an option.  The food is great, by the way. 

However, when I woke up on June 6, I took my first step out of the valley of death.  It wasn't easy.  Swallowing your pride never is.  Admitting you were wrong sucks.  In fact, the next three weeks were just as, or more painful than realizing I had hit rock bottom.

That was three months ago this week.        

It's been a long road, but you know what, life has gotten better.  Believe it or not.  10 months ago, if someone had told me that today I would still be here and actually beginning to get my stuff back together I would have called them a liar.  I didn't see how it was possible.  I didn't see how there was anyway I'd ever be happy again, or that life would ever again hold anything that resembled the man I used to be.  But I am.  I'm happy again.  I still have rough days, but the good ones are starting to outweigh the tough ones.  I'm enjoying life again.  I'm enjoying my job again. 

I'm finding my focus again. 

This past month I finished two projects that I started a few years ago and published my first two books.  I'm actually a published author now and that, to me, is pretty freakin' cool.  10 months ago I was ready to give up.  Now I can search my name on Amazon and there it is. 

I'm giving my girls more of myself than I have in a long time and they are noticing the difference.  We had a water balloon fight a couple weeks ago just because.  We hang out and just watch TV together sometimes and I'm realizing that I enjoy it again. 

I have a leadership team at church that watches out for me and doesn't mind calling me to task when I'm spending too much time at work, and I have others who love me enough to do the same.  The difference is this time I'm listening.

Deer season opens Saturday...and I can't wait.  Not so that I can look at my weapon of choice and think "What a tragic hunting accident," but because, by damn, I love hunting...again.  I even  have a hunting buddy who is putting together a set of jugs so that we can catch some catfish if the weather is too hot to be in the woods and I'm clearing a day soon to just fish and  hang out. 

Now...it would be so easy for me to say this: "Well, I did it.  I came back from the abyss, so you can too."  But I know it doesn't work that way.  I know that if you are struggling right now, there is no magic switch that will turn the struggle off.  But I do know this, the sun will come up tomorrow and the God who created you would love for you to be here to see it.  That first step in your climb out of the valley of death is waiting for you.  Then the next.  Then the next.  Then the next.  Then after a while you'll look back at the place from whence you came, and hopefully see hope where there was none and a future filled with forgiveness, grace, and the unconditional love of God. 

If you need someone to talk to, someone who has been there and made it through, here's my cell number. 270-748-9619  Shoot me a text and we'll get together and talk. 

Peace,
Jamie