Parents of Unvaccinated Children: “Parasites?” Really?!

This post is in response to a Facebook meme picturing Amanda Peet, with a quote attributed to her as, “Frankly, I feel that parents who don’t vaccinate their children are parasites.” A friend shared the image and noted, “Well…she’s a bit harsher than I would be. But still….” Here’s my take on the semantic implications of “parasite,” as well as some recommended alternatives to the term.

Mistletoe: Our Favorite Parasite.

I agree it's a little blunt.

But it does seem supported by one prevalent thread of the logic. It seems to go like this:

First, let's say that I believe the potential side-effects of vaccinations could pose a risk to my children.

Second, again imagining, I hypothetically believe that prior generations of vaccinated children and the majority today who vaccinate their children have so reduced the risk of certain diseases that, even unvaccinated, my child is unlikely to contract those diseases.

Therefore it follows that I can avoid one remotely potential risk to my children (vaccination) because the other potential risk (disease, disability, and/or death) has been made even MORE remote by the majority who have chosen (past and present) to vaccinate their children.

Given that thread of logic, "parasite" is entirely accurate. I would be leeching benefit from the resources accrued through the risks and responsibilities of others.

But there is at least one alternative thread of logic.

Clearly, this is far preferable...

1-If vaccinations are an unnatural intrusion into the natural order, and

2-if they do pose a risk of potential side-effects from proactively disrupting the regular decimation of the human population through epidemic disease, then

3-it stands to reason that a more natural course demands that we only react to disease once it has occurred, and then only to quarantine all who have potentially been exposed. This will allow us to see whether our children are genetically preferred or not (or, for those who object to the "survival of the fittest" implications, more divinely loved or not) on the basis of whether or not they survive the outbreaks of measles, whooping cough, polio, etc.

Of course, those who would choose this second option, to impose their own preferences in this risky experiment upon the lives of others' children, would not accurately be considered "parasites."

...to this. Isn't it?

Some have called them psychopaths, which denotes them as responding appropriately, but to a reality other than what the rest of us are perceiving. (Remember, it's always the "sane" majority who gets to define "crazy.")

To others, their inability and/or unwillingness to consider the needs of persons with whom they interact would label them sociopaths.

Either way, to be clear about our main point here: "parasite" would not apply.

Instead, by inevitably introducing disease into their surrounding networks of trusted relationships, they would more accurately be described as "pathogens."

I am in favor of inoculating ourselves against them.

Is This the Day of Decision? – Thanatological Perspectives on Trinitarian Theology

I can hardly wait to see this all grown up.

I am developing a journal article with the working title “Trinitarian Perspectives on Thanatology.” (Trinitarian means that I affirm one God, eternally existing in three persons. Thanatology is the study and practice of death, dying, bereavement, grief and mourning.) But I’ve also found myself thinking about the impact of mortality on my theology as well. So, here is a little bit of where those thoughts have been leading me lately.

When the diagnosis is terminal, crushing a patient’s expectations of an unlimited future, the next question is almost always about that future. “So, Doc, how long have I got?”

Some physicians will respond, not with a clear prognosis of the events and process to be expected, but with a numerical prognostication—a guess. No matter how the doctor tries to advise that it is, at best, a guess, what the patient wants to hear is something like this: “Well, given your height, weight, cholesterol, blood pressure, and drinking habits, I’d say somewhere in the range of two months, one week, three days, and seventeen hours or so.” Even when they listen carefully and hear a less specific prediction, some go home to mark their calendar. One patient even bet the doctor he’d beat the three-month dead-line she set, and the physician agreed that she’d buy him a beer if he did. (To her credit, when he did, she did.)

I'm looking forward to the big event.

This is why some of us admonish physicians, nurses, aides, social workers, chaplains, caregivers, and anyone else involved with the dying and bereaved to speak of “hours to days,” or “days to weeks,” “even weeks to months.” Most of us are not Hospice patients, though, and we expect at least months to years, preferably years to decades. None of us, however, will admit to expecting decades to centuries. But we frequently seem to assume that we will continue living for the foreseeable future (i.e., forever).

But you won’t.

And so, as much as I try to admonish doctors, nurses, etc. to use a less certain time frame, I try to admonish everyone I know to contemplate the eventual end to their life, and communicate what they are contemplating. That discussion can be distasteful to some. But the alternative is excessively cruel: leaving family members to guess at what their incapacitated loved-one may or may not have decided regarding their treatment. And so, obtain, complete, copy, and distribute an Advance Directives form. They are available from your physician’s office, or the nearest hospital. But for the convenience of my family, I gave them as Christmas presents last year.

Does this seem to be running fast?

What’s wrong with taking the position that “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it?” That attitude results almost universally in making under-informed and overly-influenced decisions. Why? Because there are very few diagnoses that require a treatment decision in the coming weeks to months. At the very best, you may have hours to days. And some of the most important decisions (I have faced three in my life.) can make even seconds to minutes a dangerous luxury. Therefore, the patient, or the family member tasked with the second-most-important life-decision possible, looks plaintively at the nearest doctor, nurse, aide, social worker, chaplain, or other “professional,” expecting them to make a decision for them.

And they will.

With little or no contemplation of the patient’s wishes, health-care providers simply project onto the situation their own personal preferences. Who can blame them? The patient has left them little option by providing no guiding information. The family members rarely have discussed the possibility of anyone dying, and almost never imagine the kinds of momentary decisions that are required.

Therefore, if you are an average person, the most important decisions you should make will be made for you by others. Most often, if you have not expressed your preferences, then you will have left your closest loved-one to guess on your behalf.

How. Dare. You.

But what does this have to do with my Trinitarian Theology? The same mechanism is at work. For most, “we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.” Maybe someone else will tell us what we’re supposed to believe. If I may gently express my loving annoyance toward all the “pan-theists,” “pan-tribulationists,” and/or “pan-trinitarians” who believe “it will all pan-out in the end:” understand that your glib humor fosters procrastination in others regarding the most important decisions they will ever make. I strongly agree with A.W. Tozer: “What comes into our minds when we think about God is the most important thing about us.” (The Knowledge of the Holy)

Just another minute or so...

So, you have two decisions to make.

First, determine to respond today to the loving heavenly Father whose Holy Spirit is guiding you toward trusting in what the Son, Jesus Christ, has done for you, is seeking to do in you, so that you can be blessed by what He will do through you.

Second, as soon as your physician’s office opens, get a copy of the Advance Directives form and bless your family by contemplating, completing, and communicating your decisions for what you want done in the event you become unable to express your health-care preferences.

“Now I contemplate my death,

        before I take my final breath.

If I should die—perish the thought!—

        what life-saving methods would I have sought?”

An Indelible Influence

Bruce and Amelia Gulley

As many know, the past year has brought multiple deaths in our congregation and community, and among our family and friends. The loss of the aunt and uncle who contributed greatly to the first fourteen years of my upbringing, and who continued to be an exemplary and loving presence until very recently, are among the most profound losses I have experienced. I was privileged, though, to share musically (in a duet with my sister) and homiletically (that means I preached the sermon) at my aunt’s funeral and graveside services last Friday in West Union, Ohio. Here is a close approximation of what I said at the funeral.

Ephesians 2:8-9 “For by grace you have been saved through faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God; not as a result of works, so that no one may boast.” This sentence address the very heart of the Christian faith. It also addresses what I believe to be the most common misconception that I face in my own life and as a preacher and teacher of God’s word. Do I trust in what Jesus Christ has done on my behalf as the only grounds on which I may claim a relationship with God and, with that relationship, eternal life? Or do I “hedge my bets,” making sure I’m a good person, doing good things, hanging out with good people…just in case He grades on a curve, or there’s a checklist I need to complete, or—like those jokes about Peter at the Pearly Gates—I’m going to need to justify my right to enter into heaven when this life is done.

As a young pastor…in fact, while I was still at Bible College—I remember the conversation taking place by phone from my dorm room, actually—my Aunt Meadie said something I had heard her say many times before. I don’t remember what it was that my Uncle Bruce had done. Either some kindness to a neighbor, or some volunteer service in the community (it may have been the time he replaced the cabinets in the church kitchen). But she said, as she had before, “That Brucie sure is a good man. Y’know, if Brucie ain’t going to heaven, there ain’t nobody going!” I remember objecting. I asserted that the basis for a restored relationship with our Creator God and the means for attaining eternal life were only through faith in the atoning work of Jesus Christ in His life, death, burial, resurrection, ascension and intercession.

It would come up again, dozens of times over the past thirty years or so. She’d tell me something my uncle had done, and finish with “Y’know, if Brucie ain’t going to heaven, there ain’t nobody going!” I’d start to say something about being saved by grace through faith in Christ alone, and she’d interrupt: “Yes, I know. We’re really only going because of what Jesus did for us. But you have to admit, your Uncle Bruce is a good man.”

I wouldn’t argue that with her.

Meeker Funeral Home, West Union, Ohio

Nor would I argue a number of other assertions she made. I never argued with her that if “it’s good to the last drop,” then it stands to reason that “that drop’s good, too.” I wouldn’t argue that it’s insufficient to love someone “a bushel and a peck,” but that you should love them “a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck.” I never argued that, regarding the one time she spanked me, it made a much more profound impression upon her than it did me. (She mentioned it often, but I really don’t remember it happening.) And I would never argue that since I wouldn’t “call and reverse the charges,” she was going to tell me, whenever I called, “Hang up and I’ll call you right back so you don’t have to pay for this call.” And then, at the end of the conversation, she’d say again, “Next call and reverse the charges.” I never did.

All that and so much more meant that on those few occasions when she was the one to call me first, I couldn’t argue with her reasons. But I’ll say more about that in a moment.

First, I want to finish that sentence we started earlier. For those of us who grew up in Sunday School, and those of us who have desperately tried to catch up, we know that Ephesians 2:8-9 is one of our most important memory verses. But I see the sentence continuing through verse ten.

Ephesians 2:8-10 “For by grace you have been saved through faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God; not as a result of works, so that no one may boast. [And now, verse 10:] For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we would walk in them.” If that sentence ended with “created in Christ Jesus for good works,” then it would sound like God has this big farm with lots of chores, and so He recruits and adopts us because He needs to get some things done. But what I understand from the idea that God prepared these good works “so that we would walk in them,” is that He didn’t build us to get the chores done, but put the kinds of chores in front of us, along with the experiences, and the relationships that would shape us into who we were created to be. Not just bearers of His image and likeness in some general sense. But as that’s being restored in us through Christ, we’re also intended to find, to fulfill, and to find our fulfillment in becoming all we were created to be: our specific, unique, divine life purpose.

But that also means that we sometimes face circumstances that none of us would willingly choose. And if you know Meadie and Bruce at all, you know they faced lots of those. I was in elementary school the first time we got the call that my Uncle Bruce was in the hospital, and might not pull through the heart surgery. Then there were cancers, and strokes, and more heart issues, and lung problems, and broken hips, and more. And that doesn’t even begin to take into account the realities of being separated for most of four years immediately after getting married, not to mention all that Uncle Bruce experienced in the South Pacific during World War II. If they’d been asked in advance, I think that none of us would have argued with them if they said, “No, thank you” to many of those circumstances.

Now, we know that our relationship with God and our eternal life comes by grace through faith. And yet, what we truly believe is seen more clearly in what we do, not just in our words. There’s a short poem that I’d like to read for you. It sums this up for me pretty well.

“When that which I say

        isn’t that which I do,

I’d ask you to pray

        that I’d see which is true.

For it’s what I obey

        that brings faith to view,

and the only clear way

        I could show it to you.”

Adams County Court House, West Union, Ohio

What that means for me in this context, is that the worries of a young Bible College student, pastor, and aspiring theologian about his aunt’s faith in Christ, or her dependence upon “being a good person”—well, I did worry that Aunt Meadie knew the right words to say in order to make her theologically-correct nephew feel better. And yet, over time, I came to believe that my Aunt Meadie believed that our Redeemer lives. And here’s why.

Those few times that she was the one to call me? It was because she believed that God answers prayer. And if you paid attention to how the two of them got to be ninety-two years old, there appears to be strong reason to believe the same. God does answer prayer, and He did answer prayer—in many ways, many times. Sometimes simply, in little things, but also in circumstances we could never have imagined ending well. Sometimes through human means, and sometimes utterly miraculously.

I believe that my aunt believed that our Redeemer lives. And my Aunt Meadie’s beliefs shaped how she lived her life, and in turn her life has shaped mine, and all of ours who were blessed to know her. That’s how it’s supposed to work. That’s why we gather together not just for family reunions at funerals, but week after week, as members of Christ’s body, as brothers and sisters in the family of God, so we can see what each other needs, and so we can share what God is doing in each of our lives. But it is also a big part of why we do funerals, memorial services, and gravesides.

Let me read us II Corinthians 1:3-4, “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction so that we will be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.”

We gather at funerals and memorial services and gravesides to share that comfort and peace. And the best way that happens is through reminiscence. It’s helpful to hear yourself say aloud the things that are true about your relationship with Meadie, and the reality of having lost her. Whether you share that openly with all of us here, or later with just another person or two, you’re also helping them to receive that comfort and peace from knowing more and more of the life she lived, and what that loss means to us.

Wilson Children's Home, West Union, Ohio

Now, just a word of explanation, though. Some of us would like to share some memories, but the thought of speaking in front of any group of people is so petrifying that it would be impossible. That’s okay. Even if it’s not in front of anybody else, though. Give it a try. Speak aloud what you know to be true about your relationship and your loss. Others of us would like to say something here, but the reality of our overwhelming emotions would make it impossible to coherently string together words into sentences. That’s okay, too. There will be plenty of time to share with one another following the graveside. You’re all invited to join us for dinner at the West Union Christian Union Church. But for those who would like to and are able to, this is your opportunity to share some of those memories.

A Point of Agreement between Evangelicals and Pagans: Solving a Shared Semantic Issue

Evangelicals are not Pagans. Pagans are not Evangelicals. But not all evangelicals are Evangelicals. Nor are all pagans Pagans. And it’s very important that we understand why. And I have a suggestion for what we might do about it.

Please, read on.

My Tribe, Love It or Not

It’s not so much that I don’t like being called an Evangelical. The term, theologically-speaking, accurately describes me. What I find objectionable is the wide-ranging roster of persons, positions, and practices that are also called Evangelical.

In the past I have proposed a more specific term, “Exegetical,” meaning those who seek to correctly understand and apply the teachings of the Holy Bible to their beliefs and behaviors. Walter Kaiser, in The Promise Plan of God, suggests “Epangelical,” to emphasize the plot-thread of God’s promised redemption, beginning in the third chapter of scripture and concluding at the end of the final Revelation. (Thus, “Epangelical” since epangelia is the Greek word for “promise.”) But both these concepts are comprised by “Evangelical,” despite its continued hijacking by the professionally religious, the consuming minimalists, nominal secularists, political power-brokers, and hate-mongering hypocrites. (For a broader take on this issue, Dr. Sam Tsang’s Engage the Pews blog includes a post, “Evangelicalism does NOT define Christianity!” You can find it here: http://engagethepews.wordpress.com/2014/01/15/evangelicalism-does-not-define-christianity/)

The Problem of “Pagans”

What primarily brought this to mind, though, is a discussion elsewhere of a term that is experiencing exactly the opposite semantic phenomenon: “pagan.” Dr, Paul Louis Metzger regularly applies the term in its generic sense to mean “unchristian or non-Christian,” or more specifically “non-Abrahamic religious or spiritual traditions,” as in an addendum to his recent post “How Does the Pagan Play ‘Rent’ Bear Witness to Christ?” at his Uncommon God; Common Good blog (found here: http://www.patheos.com/blogs/uncommongodcommongood/2014/01/how-does-the-pagan-play-rent-bear-witness-to-christ/). 

The semantic range of “pagan” certainly includes some specific beliefs and practices among some specific types of religious structures and systems that choose to call themselves “Pagan,” with the capitalization apparently implying an intent to trademark. If I may, though: Pagans™—you might want to become Pagans®, but only if you intend to pursue infringement claims, of course.

The Semantic Solution

But, all humor aside, I do sympathize with the difficulties of communication when terms are either broadened to be co-opted and thus corrupted by others (as I believe happens when those who use religious terms and affiliations, like “Evangelical,” as a means to bully, oppress, and exploit others) or, as seems to be the case with Pagans, terms are narrowed to refer exclusively to only some portion of its former semantic range.

To illustrate these phenomena: Some differentiate between Evangelical and Christian, overlapping only slightly, and specifying their definitions almost to the point that the two terms are mutually exclusive (as in “You can be a Christian, but not an Evangelical; or an Evangelical, but not a Christian.”) I used to differentiate between “heathen” and “pagan,” with the former term comprising all non-Christians and the latter denoting those who specifically adhere to one of the multitudes of non-Christian religious systems of belief and/or behavior. (Thus “all pagans are heathen, but not all heathen are pagans.”) Where both kinds of semantic confusion occur, with a growing roster of religious terms being affected, what options might there be? (An allusion to New Wine requiring New Wineskins here is almost irresistible. To understand why, feel free to visit Dr. Metzger’s work at this site: http://new-wineskins.org/. But we’re being serious now.)

I’ve written previously (http://deathpastor.blogspot.com/2013/07/marriage-marriage-and-why-difference-is.html) on Dr. Colin Gunton’s recommendation of semantic specialization in which “the capacity of language increases by a process of de-synonymy; that is, the process whereby two words which are in the beginning synonymous take on different shades of meaning, and are so able to perform different functions.” And the idea certainly applies here that, rather than seeking to narrow an existing term to exclude elements of its former semantic range, other words which have held virtually the same meaning could be used to specify the new, narrower range one intends to denote.

But I am suggesting another approach.

The Personal Paradigm

What purpose do our labels fulfill (whether Evangelical, Pagan, Buddhist, or Atheist; Liberal or Conservative; or even designations within the ever-growing list of initials of LGBTQIA, etc.)? I see three functions.

(1) Where our labels are specific and accurate, they categorize us for more rapid discrimination, either positively or negatives. (e.g., “I am a theologically conservative, Evangelical, non-dispensational, relatively Arminian and moderately Charismatic pastor, chaplain, counselor, and seminary professor. Want to hang out? Or not?”)

(2) Where they present a façade behind which we conceal our unique beliefs and behaviors, they help us to categorize others by their reaction to the stereotype we project. (“I’m a ‘born-again Christian.’ Want to make something of it?!”)

And (3) where they are intentionally nebulous, vaguely representing something that may or may not communicate our authentic belief and behavior, they afford us a plausible deniability, allowing us to sidestep criticism by deftly shifting our position within (or even outside) the semantic range we’ve chosen. (“Yes, I’m an Evangelical, but not that kind of Evangelical. I’d still like you to like me.”)

So, here’s my suggestion. Let’s drop the labels. Let’s not defend the territory of our semantic range-wars. Let’s address the substance instead. Let’s talk about what you and I believe, and what you and I do about those beliefs.

But let’s also accept that the result may be that we are forced to admit how much we agree on, and then we’d be compelled to try to figure out why. I think the commonality at the foundation of all of our differentiation might surprise, or even dismay us.

From one human™ to another, thanks for reading this far.

What a Chiropractor Taught Me about Ministry

When I was working in marketing and advertising to support my ministry habit (church-planting at that point), I met a chiropractor, Matt Kriewall, through a business networking group to which I belonged. He needed marketing services, but I was reluctant. I didn’t write for products I couldn’t endorse. And I couldn’t endorse a product I’d never tried. And, having lived in California during the years when some chiropractors had strongly resisted regulation of their industry, I had a strong distrust of all of them.

I did agree, however, to an initial examination, though not until experiencing a back injury during rehearsals for a musical in which I was performing. (I was The Giant, in the process of carrying Jack offstage, unaware that the director felt that Jack was going along too compliantly. Thrown over my shoulder, Jack began to flail. It immediately felt as though someone had grabbed my spine between the shoulder blades and given it about a quarter-twist.)

As he looked over the x-rays he’d ordered and took measurements and even temperatures along either side of my spine, Matt assessed that the pain from the injury could be alleviated entirely within a week or so, but that even one adjustment should provide significant relief. “But,” he added, “were you wanting something done about that spot in your lower back?” I hadn’t said anything to him about it. Most of the time I managed to keep it fairly mobile. But the doctors I talked to after an auto accident years before agreed that one day I might need surgery, but short of that there was nothing to be done.

I have seen a chiropractor hundreds of times now. Occasionally, I spend too long at the computer, or fail to square my knees and hips when lifting, or lean a little too far out the window of the crow’s nest when I’m spotting and running the play clock during football season. When it flares up, after it’s bothered me for a couple of weeks usually, I go back to the chiropractor again for awhile until it’s better.

Nice story, eh? But what does all that have to do about ministry?

Today, Dr. Paul Louis Metzger posted to his blog: “On the Damaging Dualism of Proclamation vs. Demonstration.” (You can find it here: http://www.patheos.com/blogs/uncommongodcommongood/2014/01/on-the-damaging-dualism-of-proclamation-vs-demonstration/) In short, he points out that we shouldn’t “cop-out” from actually “sharing the good news of Jesus with words.” But neither should we “force the word of God down people’s throats.” I agree. In fact, interestingly to me, I’m preaching this coming Sunday on Mark 1:29-39, in which Jesus quickly becomes inundated with those responding to His ability to heal and deliver, so much so that He needs to create some space in which to continue “what I came for.” That is, “that I may preach there.”

Jesus healed, delivered, consoled, and fed. And He preached. And He did what was necessary to maintain the ability to do both. At least that’s how I see it. But that’s probably because my ministry involves lots of preaching, and lots of needs-meeting. As you might have read earlier, I gravitate toward those at the brink of disaster, those at the end of their rope, and those who are bleeding and broken at the bottom of the cliff. Sometimes I struggle with the reality that many who find help for their physical and practical needs through my ministry don’t always ask the questions I need to hear in order to explain why I do what I do, and Who it was that did so much for me that I can barely help doing for others. (As for the reason they have to ask me questions: As a chaplain and guest-speaker in some of the venues, the ethics require that I not proactively share my faith, unless someone specifically asks. Even then, I ask them if they realize what they’re asking and of whom.)

But one of the most effective means to opening a door (Colossians 4:2-4 comes to mind often.) is to note that there are other needs evident, beyond the ones that prompted them to call for my help. In the words of Matt Kriewall, I’m essentially asking, “Sure, we can do something about this most recent injury. But were you wanting something done about this other problem as well?”

We can live out the gospel silently, which is certainly more attractive than speaking out the gospel with no accompanying demonstration of love for Christ and others. But there seems to be a third option. As we are in the process of meeting the clear and present needs of those God calls us to serve, I believe that there may be more open doors than we imagine.

Those who are sick and injured want to be healed, to be put back to normal…even if normal includes some long-standing damage that they’ve resigned themselves to enduring. Jesus asks the lame man at the pool of Bethsaida not “Do you want to walk?” but “Do you want to be well?” (John 5:1-8) I think most of us do want to be made whole—body, soul, and spirit. We just imagine that we have to settle for just a little healing here and there. It would do us good to hear more clearly and more often from those who remind us: Jesus wants us to be made whole.

Of course, it’s easier to hear that from someone who’s already listened to you explain your pain, and is helping to meet the needs of which you’re already too-clearly aware.

“The Snit Hitting My Plans” – The Joys of Communication, and the Lack Thereof

The face has been changed to protect the...whomever.

I’ve been yelled at before. But it was the first time I’d been spit on—at least while seated at my desk in the church office; I’d actually been spit on before, but that’s another story for another time. This time was inadvertent, an unintended side-effect. She was simply frothing in fury and, as she spat out her words, a bit of sputum was inadvertently expectorated upon me as she stood and shouted across my desk.

Her charges against me centered on my willful disregard of a parishioner’s needs. The member had been ill, hospitalized, and recovering over the past several weeks, and I had not made so much as a single appearance at her bedside. That was all true, of course. In fact, my last visit with that elderly woman had been at her going-away party, after helping her to pack to move closer to her children (as I recall the reason) roughly six hours away on the coast of Northern California. She had not, in fact, moved, though. Except to a room in our local hospital a day or so after her party. Not that anyone thought I needed to be told that, of course.

This is not what Proverbs 25:11ff means.

Fair enough that the woman verbally excoriating me couldn’t know that I didn’t know. That’s what Pastor-Parish Relations Committees are for, you know.

Here’s one of the faulty assumptions I’ve seen people make during the thirty-plus years I’ve served in the church: Pastors know everything. We have a prayer-life unlike that of mere mortals, in which the Holy Spirit guides and informs us on the conditions and circumstances of those for whom we have ministerial responsibility. There is no need to inform the pastor through natural means (telephone, e-mail, post-it notes), since they are supernaturally attuned to God’s agenda, which clearly includes every member in every need receiving an immediate call from the senior or solo pastor.

Fair enough that everyone imagines someone else will tell me everything. That’s simply motivation to increase the frequency of my random pastoral visitation.

Among things I was apparently supposed to know this week: Our congregation’s deacons’ fund (labeled “benevolent fund” in some churches) has been sitting at $40 for some months now (not nearly enough to assist with a family’s funeral expenses—their dad and mom died within fifteen minutes of each other, and the family doesn’t have enough cash-on-hand to cover either, much less both). I found this out when I called to leave voice-mail for our deacons (in our small congregation, just one board-appointed couple), in hopes that they might check messages while apparently gone on one of the multi-week trips some of our retirees often take. Only when his wife answered the phone did I get the news that they weren’t leaving until the following day, and that the reason I hadn’t seen them in church the past few weeks was that they had decided to attend elsewhere.

...or that area, or any area, preferably.

Fair enough that they assumed I would eventually figure this out on my own. That’s why I should delegate more things more often to the deacons (once we have some again).

Of course, it may be that this information was going to be shared with me at our monthly board meeting this past Monday night. But without an agenda, or any other participants besides our treasurer, the two of us in attendance reviewed the budget for next year, especially the missions-giving proposals, and the need to approve advertising our Christmas Eve service in the local papers. When speaking to our board secretary two days later, I referred to the minimal attendance and the “unofficial” nature of any decisions due to a lack of quorum. She seemed surprised that neither the treasurer nor I had been told that the chairman canceled the meeting.

"Don't pick your nose in the library."

Fair enough that we would realize that when no one else showed up. That’s when I could have rejoiced in the “found time” in my schedule, except that I’d used it up by calling the chairman and other board members, listening to each of their cheery voice-mail greetings. (I must note, though, the one pleasant exception being the Elder I called to get additional phone numbers.)

At least for the past several weeks I’ve had a little respite from some of the responsibilities in my doctoral program. Around Thanksgiving my research and writing for the two major papers this year were put on hold pending clarifications and further instructions from the professor leading our track. This “found time” has really helped me finish up the last of the online postings for the course I’m teaching this Spring. Today’s goal: getting the last of the written materials polished and uploaded onto “Moodle,” our online course platform for Tozer. Tomorrow: recording the first of the lectures that will be included in the course.

So…what am I doing procrastinating with a blog-post?

"The Sympathy Symphony"

Well, I’m not so much procrastinating as I am processing. It seems other students in my doctoral program were informed of the changes, clarifications, and additional requirements back on the eighth of December. I’ve re-checked the online discussion form, the news forum, and my e-mails on the hard-drive, and both universities’ servers. Nothing there. In fact, I only knew to ask what others were talking about because they had posted their observations on some of the new details that had been shared with them.

Fair enough that word would eventually trickle-down to me before I leave for the end-of-year grand-children tour. That’s how “theology-in-community” works. Checking-in on the discussions, noticing the allusions to the changes, and now incorporating them into something other than the paper I thought I was going to write. I just need to pack along the laptop. (My grandchildren are young; they nap.) And I should be glad to have found out in time to do the additional research. And…

Don't you wish you'd chosen to? You could turn back.

Well, that’s more rant than you want to read. Whatever vestiges of my sense of humor may have led you this far have been exhausted. So…

Is there a point to any of this? Yes, I believe there is.

You see, on the eve of the auction dismantling what remains of my aunt and uncle’s estate, there are other reasons for the snit I’m in. All of this week’s events followed the revelation late last week that efforts toward dismissing me from one of my teaching positions (Adjunct Professor with A.W. Tozer Theological Seminary, overseen by Simpson University) not only flowed from the university’s Interim President through the Provost, only stopping at the desk of the new dean of the Seminary because he dared to ask, “On what grounds am I supposed to dismiss him?” Among the first questions posed by the university’s chairperson of the board upon meeting the new dean was, “What are you going to do about Bill Myers?” 

Yes, really.

...and also when they won't.

Fair enough that six-figure-salaried administrators need to focus on whether an Adjunct Professor is worthy of his $1845.00 (that’s the total stipend for teaching Old Testament: Kings & Prophets this Spring). That’s why I insist that “speaking the truth in love” has to begin with “speaking the truth.”

But that’s also why, maybe, considering the source(s), I should actually wish for a little less communication. At least until we’re ready to speak the truth.

If you’re done with me being your pastor, your professor, your co-instructor, guest-lecturer, chaplain, protégé, student, friend, or whatever else I may be or have been…well, let’s pretend just a little longer, shall we? At least until after the holidays. But then, whether loving or not, say it, would you? 

Proverbs 27:5-6a: “Better is open rebuke than love that is concealed. Faithful are the wounds of a friend.” And refreshing would be the candor of any of the above.

“Space to Be Heard” – Part One (in which I whine quite a lot about my busy weekend)

The question was asked as part of the online discussion forum in my doctoral program:“How do we create ‘space to be heard?’” But I’m not sure I understand the question. Of course, that doesn’t prevent me from trying to answer it, even as a self-therapeutic exercise. If this actually gets posted, though, you can assume I thought it might be helpful to share it with you.

The question comes to me in the busiest weekend of the year: “How do we create ‘space to be heard?’” The context given was that “contemporary culture is hard of hearing,” and so those of us who are Conservative Evangelical Christians (I’m one, but the label doesn’t fit everyone I serve with, even at The Glenburn Community Church, just so you know.) retreat to where we “find echo chambers of agreement.” (Anyone who has been to one of our Adult Bible Studies knows how hilariously ironic that phrase is to Glenburn. Blessedly, “Theology-in-community gets loud sometimes!”)

Perhaps the question strikes me so strangely because of when it was asked. I need some space. But I’m not having trouble being heard.

Here’s what my schedule looks like at the moment. (Feel free to skip to the end of the schedule at whatever point you feel exhausted.)

Friday, 9:00-10:30a – correspondence, preparation for a course I’m teaching, and fine-tuning of Friday night’s homily; 

10:45a-1:30p – visit with staff, students, faculty, and parents before and after responsibilities as shot-clock operator for two games at our High School’s basketball tournament; 

1:30-2:05 – retrieve voice-mail, panic, and then track-down our maintenance chairperson to ensure that someone is repairing the non-functional sanctuary furnace prior to the 6:00 p.m. community event (see below) our church (i.e., our currently-solo pastor—me) is hosting; 

2:10-3:30 – help to lead singing, place ornaments, and watch refreshments being served to residents of our skilled nursing facility at the annual Christmas Tree Lighting; 4:00-5:00 – review notes for 6p event; 5:15-7:45 – turn up heat, turn on lights and sound, unlock buildings, check bathrooms, rearrange furniture, direct traffic, greet guests, play piano, open and close in prayer, present nine-minute homily as featured speaker, and provide after-service counseling at the Community Candlelight Remembrance Service sponsored by Mayers Memorial Hospital District/Intermountain Hospice and hosted by The Glenburn Community Church; 8:00 – get home and eat dinner and at some point fall into bed.

Saturday, 8:00-10:00a – change batteries, test equipment, unwrap candy-canes & fill Santa’s sack, greet Santa and Mrs. Claus, go over final instructions in preparation for “Laptop Photography” at Santa’s Workshop; 10:55-6:15 – Transport and set-up equipment, briefly train new assistant, photograph children and others on Santa’s lap as well as other portions of the Santa’s Workshop craft and art show, tear-down and transport equipment, thank and pay new assistant, have lunch with Santa and Mrs. Claus (thank and pay them, too), crop and adjust photos for packages bought as well as thank you gifts to others—all while receiving reports on the progress of the furnace issues, the reopening of a local restaurant, potential mandarin orange sales at the church, and a variety of physical-mental-emotional-spiritual health needs of friends, congregants, community members, and total strangers—then, uploading and ordering prints of the above; 6:15-9:15 – watch Ohio State lose to Michigan State in the Big Ten Championship Game while returning phone calls regarding family crises (one personal, one congregational); 9:15-10:30 – review sermon and service notes for Sunday worship at Glenburn.

Sunday, 5:00-7:00a give up on sleeping until 6:00 and writing this blog post instead; 7:00-8:00 – review sermon and service notes; 9:00a-1:00p – Sunday services, etc.; 1:30-early evening – Ornament-making in Johnson Park. (Johnson Park is a town, not an outdoor gathering place—the current “real feel temperature” is seventeen-below, but the high today should reach 29…which will feel like 32, they promise!)

Monday, 9:00a-3:00p – office hours, counseling, and whatever else is waiting for me on voice-mail and on the loveseats in my office; 5:00-9:00 or so – open and close in prayer, play piano, present nine-minute homily as featured speaker, and provide after-service counseling at the Community Candlelight Remembrance Service sponsored by Mayers Memorial Hospital District/Intermountain Hospice and hosted by Burney Presbyterian Community Church; have dinner with Hospice staff and volunteers; come home and fall into bed.

I have warned my congregation that if they call me on Tuesday morning, they deserve to hear “raw emotion expressed with brutal honesty.” (That perspective on some of David’s psalms is actually the theme of my homily from the Community Candlelight Remembrance Services. But I’m sure it will apply to those phone calls, as it may soon apply as well to some of the ongoing bumps, detours, and construction delays in my doctoral program. But I’ll keep the language clean. I promise.)

(here endeth the litany for today – more to follow)