School's In Session...

(photo from fp.auburn.edu)

I'm not going to say that I hated school, I really didn't. I'm not going to say that I loved school, I really didn't. Highschool was ok, I guess. I'm definitely not one of those folks that wants to go back and do it again, but it wasn't too bad. College was, well, it was college. The first few years were pretty rough. I just wasn't into the whole school thing anymore. I had other things on my mind, but I got it done. It only took me 14 years but I got it done. Then came seminary.

I have to say that it wasn't what I expected. My first class in seminary, very first one, was under Dr. Parrish. I was expecting an old man in a brown tweed jacket with tan suede elbow patches, horn rimmed glasses, and a comb over...in walks this guy with a pony tail, T-shirt, and flip flops. I thought, "I like this guy. This is going to be alright." And it was. Most of my professors were absolutely great. I was pushed away from my lifelong image of God as this old white guy with a long white beard. I was pushed into thinking theologically about everything. But most importantly, I was pushed into looking at the world through a different lens. It took me 5 years to finish seminary, but it was life changing.

It's an 87 hour program. Most Master's programs are 32 hours or so, mine was 87. I have never been more glad to finish something than I was the day I walked across the stage and Dr. J handed me that degree. 87 hours of class time...5 years of making at least one trip a week to Memphis...but I wouldn't trade it for anything. Funny thing is, when I finally got that folder with my name on it followed by "M.Div," I thought I was done learning. I thought I was through being taught. Not so much.

Psalm 143 says, "Teach me to do your will, for you are my God; may your good Spirit lead me on level ground." I have found, though, that learning to do God's will, and then following through with what you've learned, is not always popular, but I don't remember reading anywhere that it would be. I think that is what makes my job so cool. I get to stand in the gap, every week. I get to stand up for the underdog. I get to spend 40 hours a week, at least, trying to make a difference, and I love it. I'm constantly amazed at who God uses to teach us God's will, and sometimes it's not at all who you would expect.

Dr. Parrish taught me the stories behind the story. Dr. Hudson taught me to see the sacraments in the day to day. Dr. Ramsey & Dr. Schaller taught me how to love my people when their worlds are crashing. Dr. Minor taught me to think against the grain, as uncomfortable as it might be sometimes, and I could list so many more that taught me so much...but, then I had a class with Dr. Gathje. You've heard me mention him before, just not by name.

I learned a lot through lectures and class discussions in most of my classes...I admit that I got nothing out of small group work (hated that)...but I was really taught how to do God's will through the hands on stuff. Working with the hungry makes you realize hunger cannot be part of God's kingdom. Spending time with the homeless makes you realize that there is no way God's kingdom has been completed yet, even though Jesus started it 2000 years ago. Talking with the oppressed makes you realize just how spoiled we really are. I would have probably done none of those things if I hadn't taken his classes.

But school is still in session. I'm still learning, and one of the things I'm learning is just how impatient I really am. I want everyone to be as passionate as I am about feeding the hungry, sheltering the homeless, and making room for the least of these. But I've realized that not everyone has taken an ethics class, or a "food, faith, and farming" class. Not everyone has been taken to the slums of Mexico, or to the "hood" in Memphis, and therefore, don't have the same experiences I have. So, now, the student must become the teacher...with love...with patience...with a sense of call...with a hope of bringing THE kingdom, right here.

Peace,
Jamie

Pulling Splinters...

(photo from www.learningfromlynn.blogspot.com)

When I was a kid, I was always into something. Most of the time I wound up getting hurt, but that never stopped me. I don't know how many nails I stepped on because I refused to wear shoes (still hate wearing shoes), I've broken both arms (one twice), crashed numerous times on my bike just to have to dig gravel out of my hand or knee, crashed my minibike, fallen out of trees, gotten hung on fences, and the list just goes on and on. I never learned the fact that if I just didn't do the things I did, more than likely I wouldn't get hurt. Call it stubborness, like I mentioned the other day, or curiousity, or just being a boy. I just didn't learn.

Of all of those, though, the one thing that happened more than any of them, and one that I didn't mention before, was having to dig splinters out. I hated that. I was always having to dig splinters out of somewhere. It's like I was a magnet for splinters. In my palms, in my feet, under my fingernails, it didn't matter. And when I started building houses for a living it got even worse. I kept bandaids in my wallet just for splinters. If I got one, I'd stop what I was doing, take out my trusty utility knife (which was always clean), and dig until I got it out. Dang it hurt. Then I'd clean it up, dab on a little antibiotic cream, cover it up, and go back to work. Infection was the last thing I needed.

There is one sure fired way to prevent splinters...stay away from wood. It only makes sense. If you stay away from wood, you don't have to worry about splinters. The only problem with that is...I love wood. I love the way it smells. I love the way it feels. I love taking a stack of 2x4's and turning it into a house. I love being around wood...so, splinters will always be an issue.

Over the last few days, I've posted a quote by Dan Berrigan a couple times. This quote has become my new mantra: "If you want to follow Jesus, you had better look good on wood." The other night, I was chatting with one of my professors, the one who told me about these words of Berrigan's, and he said, "Watch out for the splinters." I knew immediately what he was talking about. I could stay away from the splinters, but I'd have to stay away from the wood, and I just can't do that. What I've learned the last couple weeks is that if you really intend to follow HIM, there are going to be some splinters.

I finished reading Jeremiah this morning, finally. All 51 chapters of it. They called him "the weeping prophet," did you know that? Did you know that he stood up against kings and the leaders in the church, over and over again, because what they were doing was wrong? Did you know that the priest asked for his execution? The priest! Did you know that the king let his men drop Jeremiah into a cistern so that he would starve to death, and his blood would not be on their hands? Great bunch of folks. Did you know that God was so put out with the way people were behaving that he told Jeremiah to quit praying for them? Yeah, when you tick God off to the point that God doesn't want to hear prayers on your behalf, it's gotta be bad.

Jeremiah spent his entire adult life pulling splinters. Now, of course, he wasn't a follower of Jesus because Jesus wouldn't be born for nearly 600 years, but he was very serious about the call God had placed on his life. If listening to God meant a lifetime of pulling splinters, that was ok with him. And it's ok with me.

So, I'll keep a stash of bandaids and a sharp knife or pair of tweezers. I'll keep doing what I've got to do, and deal with whatever happens because of it, until God tells me to stop. I'll stand up against injustice, for the outsider, for the hungry, and for the unloved. I'll keep reminding myself that splinters only hurt for a few minutes. And when it's all over, (which may be sooner than later if I stand up to the wrong folks), I'll be able to say that I wasn't afraid.

Peace,

Jamie

He Just Didn't Listen...

(photo from chelleextraordinary.xanga.com)

I'm kind of hard headed, I will freely admit that. I pretty much do my own thing, and I guess I have since high school, at least. There are a few people I'll listen to, but not many, especially when it comes to advice (and you know who you are), so sometimes I've learned my lessons the extremely hard way. It has cost me dearly at times, and I'm sure it will again.

But I'm not alone, and for that I give thanks. I know a lot of hard headed people, and most of them I love dearly in spite of their stubbornness. Still, I just can't figure it out. The doctor says, "Quit smoking or you're going to die." That sounds simple enough, but do we listen? Yeah, AFTER the heart attack. The doctor says, "You've got to get some exercise or you're going to die." But do we listen? Yeah, after we've been diagnosed with any number of diseases related to obesity (which, by the way, I could drop 30 pounds and it wouldn't hurt me any). A friend says, "You might not want to say that to them, it could really strain your relationship." Do we listen? Yeah, after we've had to apologize for saying it anyhow.

I don't know if it's because we have all the answers already, or if we know what's best for us better than anyone else, or if we just don't hear sometimes. That's usually what happens around here. My girls just don't hear me, or just don't listen. And I have to say, I hate being ignored. But that's just me.

This morning, I was reading from Jeremiah. It's a really long book, and Jeremiah had a really long career as a prophet. I don't know how many different kings came and went while he was doing what he did, I guess I could look it up, but there was one king in particular that just would not listen. Jeremiah told him that if he just did what he told him to do, everything would work out pretty much ok. It wouldn't be perfect, but it would have certainly been better than what actually happened.

Maybe it was ego, or bad information from someone closer to the king than this crazy prophet. Maybe the king had hoped Jeremiah was wrong, and that what he had told him would happen really wouldn't. But it did.

All he had to do was surrender to the Babylonians and he would have lived. Now, true, this wouldn't have been the ideal situation, but it would have been better than watching your sons executed, having your eyes gouged out, and being dragged off as a prisoner of war, but hey, he had a chance. He just didn't listen.

We don't always listen either. Jesus said, "I am the way." We think we can get there by keeping traditions. Jesus said, "Feed my sheep." We set criteria to determine which sheep we feed and which ones we don't. Jesus said, "Love each other as I have loved you." We'll love you, but you need to change clothes and stop living like you are. It's really not that tough, you know, what he's told us to do and become, and how he taught us to live. It's really not. It's actually kind of cool to see the hungry walk away with food, or the broken lift their heads for the first time in years, or the thirsty find something to drink, or the hopeless find hope. And all we have to do is listen.

I don't know. I wonder if Jesus ever looks at us and says, "Why won't they listen?"

Peace,

Jamie

Jesus was a Hippie...

(photo from www.louisey.wordpress.com)

Jesus was a hippie. Yeah, think about it. He didn't have any place to live. He had long hair and a beard. He hung around with a bunch of other guys with long hair and beards. He had ideas about how to live that ran totally counter-cultural. He was very spiritual. Yep, Jesus was a hippie. Oh, he wasn't into the drugs or anything, but he must have been a hippie.

Think about it...why else would he constantly talk about unconditional love? He was always talking about "love your brother" this, or "love your neighbor" that. One time, he even said something about loving your neighbor JUST LIKE you love yourself. For crying out loud, the signs were everywhere. How did we miss it?

It makes perfect sense. Only a hippie would talk about loving someone else with absolutely no conditions. Of course there are conditions on love, always have been, always will be. Maybe not so much between parent and child, but that's probably about it. I can't think of anything my kids could do that would make me stop loving them; other folks, however...well, you get the point. Love is conditional...unless you're a hippie like Jesus.

Oh, it's not a bad thing...that Jesus was a hippie. Talking about peace and love is a good thing. Getting a bunch of folks to follow you, talking about peace and love, is a good thing. They'll go tell their friends about this peace and love that you're talking about, then their friends will tell their friends, and on and on, until most everybody is talking about peace and love. I think it's actually pretty cool.

But something clicked for me this week. Most of the people in the world are not hippies...unless you're a child of the 60's, then maybe. I kind of hate that I missed all of that by a decade or so. So, since most of the people in the world are not hippies, then this one hippie's message of peace and unconditional love sounds almost foreign to them.

It sounds good in theory, and we talk about it a lot, but when it comes to putting it into practice, not so much a good idea. We have to have conditions. That's what keeps us safe. If we love unconditionally, like this hippie Jesus told us to, there's a real good chance we're going to be taken advantage of. We can't have that.

We sit and listen to our pastors' messages on unconditional love...smile...and nod in a agreement. Heck, we might even toss in an "Amen" every now and then, but when it comes to putting the boots to the ground, there will be conditions...always is. And it breaks my heart.

Maybe I'm just a big ol' softie, I don't know. But I do have a tendency to display some righteous anger when I see conditions being put on love, a holy temper tantrum maybe. When folks are excluded, picked on, or hungry and we think we have the right to decide who gets in, keeps their dignity, or eats, I get mad. I can't help it. Most of the time I can control it pretty well, sometimes, not so much.

But hey, even though Jesus was a hippie, every now and then he threw a temper tantrum over the exact same things. Peace and love...unconditional love. What's wrong with wanting that?

Peace...and love,

Jamie

"What's Love Got To Do With It..."

(photo from www.connect2ccc.org)

Dog gone it, there it is again. I usually don't blog on Sunday morning because I'm busy getting ready for services. And maybe I shouldn't this morning, but I'm going to. Yesterday I wrote a pretty raw blog. I intended it to be that way. It wasn't whining, I don't do that. It wasn't "poor me," I love my calling, I love being able to help folks, and I love standing up for folks that the rest of the world tries to keep down. It was simple frustration that finally found it's way through a crack in my filter. I'm usually much better at holding it in, but this past week finally got to me.

I answered this call nearly 12 years ago now, and in the beginning, I admit that I had no clue what I had signed up for. The brochure left a lot of stuff out, but that's cool. It has been one heck of a ride so far, and I know that's not going to change. But you know, I look forward to it.

In the beginning, I wouldn't have been nearly as brazen as I was in yesterday's blog, and I'm sure there are some folks who wish I weren't now. But as I've matured...as I've studied the Jesus that I had heard about as a kid, you know, the one we sang about "Jesus loves me this I know," the one that calls us to follow him...as I've read his stories, who he helped, what he did, and who he stood against...as I learned from him, I realized that if I am going to be a follower and not an admirer only, I can't just stand around with my hands in my pockets.

So, what you may have seen yesterday as ego or pride, was neither. It was frustration born out of passion. Frustration because this week I have been engaged in spiritual warfare and there were times when I felt like the other side was winning. Passion because I finally, in my late 30's, realized that John was serious when he said "love one another." And that he was just as serious when he said "Do not be surprised, my brothers, if the world hates you." And that he was really serious when he said, "This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers."

It's not always a very popular stand, you know, laying your life down for your brothers. It's sometimes a pretty tough sell, actually. As admirers of Christ's, we're not asked to do that. But, if we want to follow him, and if we want to claim to the world that we follow him, it's not just asked, it's expected. I finally realized that, and you know, I really don't mind.

So, when I get like I got yesterday, recognize it for what it is...frustration born out of passion. I'm passionate about doing what I can to bring this kingdom thing here on earth. As long as this group hates that group, or this person feels hated by that person, or that person is hungry while this person sits down to a $100 steak, I will stay frustrated. In fact, if you read his stories again, Jesus stayed frustrated alot, so I'm in good company.

Peace
Jamie

I Am Not Afraid...

(photo from www.marketphotoworkshop.co.za)

Ok, in the beginning I said that this space was where I would post my devotionals, random thoughts, and perhaps even rants. So far, I have remained true to my word. Six days a week, most weeks, I spend an hour or two in the morning with a cup of very good coffee reading, reflecting, and writing. Sometimes what comes out is a devotional. Sometimes it's a random thought. Sometimes, it's a rant, pure and simple. I completely forgot to do my devotional this morning, and here's why. I must confess, this has been one hell of a week (and yes, preachers can say hell), so I'm not real sure if this will be devotional, random thought, or rant...or maybe some combination of all three.

It started Sunday morning, before church. I did something that I will not do any longer, I checked my facebook page before worship, and what I saw posted by a FB friend made me absolutely livid. It's one thing to disagree with what someone else, or even a group of someone elses, is doing. It's another to make sport of their desperation. And it's still another, to be a leader in a local church and post something for the world to see that humiliates and belittles any of God's kids. Call me sentimental. I don't care. I called this person out on what they had done and it created a cyber war, one hour before I had to lead worship. So, God forgive me, but I was not on my game Sunday.

Then it continued into Monday, and Tuesday, over the same issue. One of my professors in seminary, and actually one that I'm glad to call friend now, took me to the slums of Nogales, Mexico to see first hand why men and women were risking their lives to try to get here. At that moment in my life, immigration was no longer political. Immigration became spiritual. Hate me if you want, I really don't care. True we have a system for entry, and ideally, it would work flawlessly. Did you know, though, that our system was intentionally designed to force people from the urban points of entry into the desert where extreme heat and lack of water will probably kill them. This was intentional. I'm not going to argue with anyone, so don't even post comments about immigration, they'll just be deleted. This is how I feel, I'm fairly convinced Jesus would agree, so I'm not backing down. Until you stand face to face with a husband and father, and listen to his desperation with tears in his eyes, you cannot understand. So, I refuse to argue anymore.

Wednesday or Thursday, I don't remember, I heard for the first time that there were plans to build a mosque in Mayfield. Actually, I was kind of surprised there wasn't one there already, or at least close. Again, I'm not interested in arguing politics. In fact, I despise politics as they have become. I'll discuss social justice all day long, and will be glad to show examples of why I feel the way I do about a lot of things, but I will not argue politics. I found a story on a local news website, http://www.westkentuckystar.com/, about the proposed mosque. Then I noticed the hundreds of comments that had been made since the story broke a couple days before. Curious, I took about an hour and read them. You know, I'm a pastor, so I felt that discussions of faith would be something I should stay abreast of. What I found was not so much discussions of faith, but words of hate, hidden under claims of being in the Christian church's best interest.

Jesus said it, not me, so I will be danged if I become afraid to repeat..."Do this and you will live." What was the "this" he was talking about? The expert in the law said it, not me; "Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind'; and 'love your neighbor as yourself.'" Do this and you will live. It doesn't say do this and you will be safe and secure today, it says, do this and you will live.

So, here's the bottom line. I don't care what people think about me. I have answered a call to follow. I have laid down my nets, left a much, much easier life, given up living in my home and raising my kids in their house, said I will move my family wherever God sends me, willingly and with a very glad heart get up and leave my bed in the middle of the night because one of God's kids needed some help, meet folks at my door who are hungry and need something to eat...I have held the hands of the homeless on a freezing January morning, and walked the deserts of Mexico trying to get my head around the fear and despair that would drive someone to walk that walk in the middle of the night. I don't care if you're rich or poor, white or black, Christian or Muslim (even if you want to kill me because your idea of Allah says you have to)...I don't care if you're straight or gay, or legal or not, by dang I'm going to love you. I don't care what you look like, what you smell like, where you slept last night, or what's in your past, I'm going to stand up for you when I hear someone belittling you.

And frankly, I don't care who likes it. I am not afraid. First Church, the flock that I absolutley love serving, if this has embarrassed you, or if I have cast our church in a negative light, please let someone on the PPRC know and I be will glad talk to them. FB friends, if you don't like that I'm a Jesus freak and will, by dang, say what I'm led to say by a being who loves me in spite of me, and loves you in spite of you, there is a very easy solution: go to my profile page, scroll down on the left side of the page, and unfriend me. I promise it won't hurt my feelings. I may not be politically correct, and my stand may not be very popular. Jesus said that if they hate you, don't sweat it, they hated me too. So, I answer only to one person, and tonight, I will sleep like a baby because my conscience is clear.

Peace,
Jamie

Do Ya Love Me?...

(photo from www.newdarkroom.com)

"Tell me, do you love me? Do you love me? Do you love me? Now that I can dance?" Ah, the Countours...sing it boys! I love that song. "I can mash-potato. And I can do the twist. Now tell me baby, do you like it like this?" Impatient little cusses, they are, though. Three times they ask "do you love me?" and barely even give a body a chance to answer in between.

What is it within us that has this need to be loved? Is it born within us? Do we develop it as we grow? And why would they sing a song about it, just repeating that question over and over again? This is where I wish I had majored in Psychology instead of Biology. I would love to be able to find the answers to questions like this.

The Contours aren't the only ones who asked that question, and they're not the only ones who asked it three times in a row. "Simon, son of John, do you truly love me more than these?...Simon, son of John, do you truly love me?...Simon, son of John, do you love me?" He barely had time to answer, "Yes Lord, you know that I love you..." before the next "Do you love me?" was already in the air. Why the impatience, Jesus?

I think, and this is just me, but I think the Contours were probably singing about a girl who obviously wasn't paying one of them enough attention. Evidently, he sucked on the dance floor, as do I. For Jesus and Simon Peter it was different. Peter had totally denied even knowing Jesus, and I can imagine that must have hurt. Imagine, one of your best friends, someone you have spent most of every day with for years, suddenly saying they don't even know you. Worse than saying it, acting like it. It had to cut deep.

Jesus didn't act like we would have though. I would have been all, "Yeah, well, your loss baby! I didn't really like you anyhow." But not Jesus. After THAT night, after that next day, after that morning a few days later, Jesus looked him in the eyes and gave him another chance. Sometimes that's all we need, you know, a chance to prove ourselves. "Simon, son of John, do you love me? Then feed my sheep." What's so cool is that we get those same second chances...Peter isn't the only one that Jesus asks that question.

This week, I have been hammered with hate from practically every side. Not directed at me, it's actually been a pretty good week for me so far, but comments that I've heard folks make on Facebook. Hateful comments. Totally not-Christian comments. I have to say, it ticks me off, but more than that, it makes me wonder if we actually love him at all. I just don't know, and it makes my job so frustrating sometimes. Don't get me wrong, the comments I'm talking about haven't come from any of my folks. My folks are great, and it is a privilege to serve them. However, some of the folks making these comments ARE leaders in their churches, whichever church it may be. Which makes me wonder, "Do ya' love me?"

I'm terribly afraid that Jesus would be terribly disappointed in the true answers from some of his admirers. Notice I didn't say followers, but admirers. You know the folks that show up on Sunday morning to be seen. Don't forget the ones with the cute little, "In case of rapture this car will be unmanned" bumper stickers, right next to the "Kill them all, let God sort them out" bumper sticker, right next to the "Honk if you love Jesus" bumper sticker while they were flipping someone the bird for cutting them off in traffic...on the way to church. Just saying.

"Simon, son of John, do you love me? Feed my sheep." I don't know how Jesus meant for him to feed them, I don't think it was a physical meal. I'm not real sure how Jesus wants us to feed them. But I do know we are being asked, "do you love me?" and if we say yes, then we show that love for HIM by loving THEM...all of THEM.

Peace,
Jamie