A Common Question, Part Two: In a Joint and Unified Community, What Do We Do About It?

Once upon a time, there was just the one high school...
but perhaps not just this one bus. Still, a reminder of the
challenges of getting students from Point A to Point B,
even today.

     In part one, I posted a link to an Open Letter by Krista Taylor, discussing the inequities of our nation’s education system. Looking at her arguments, I was led to consider an oft-asked question about our local communities’ schools. Specifically, “Why is there such a difference in the perceived and measured effectiveness between our two elementaries in the Fall River Joint Unified School District?” After all, if we are both joint and unified, one would imagine the personnel, performance, and progress in each end of our district should be nearly identical. They are not.
     I closed that first post by noting that if we follow Ms. Taylor's logic, and I do, there appears to be one major contributor to the disparity: The rate of children living in poverty in Burney is 52.1% higher than the rate in Fall River Mills. (The stats are available at http://www.city-data.com/.)

Part of the heritage of Fall River Mills Elementary:
The Glenburn Schoolhouse was moved to Fall River Mills
to provide additional space...then repatriated to Glenburn
when there was no longer a need for it in FRM!

     The subsequent effects of the Adverse Childhood Experiences related to poverty (for more information on this, see here: https://www.cdc.gov/violenceprevention/acestudy/) are among the best documented statistical factors affecting our communities. But the case-by-case, person-to-person evidence that is being lived out by our front-line educators needs to be heard, validated, and supported through greater community involvement—in both ends of the district.

     In sharing the link to Ms. Taylor’s letter, Fiona Hickey quoted this in part, but the rest bears repeating as well: "We are not in an education crisis. We are in a crisis of poverty that is being exacerbated by the school accountability movement and the testing industry. At best, this movement has been misguided. At worst, it is an intentional set up to bring about the demise of the public education system – mandatory testing designed to produce poor results which leads to greater investment made in test preparation programs provided by the same companies who produce the tests, coupled with a related push for privatization of the educational system. All touted as a means to save us from this false crisis."

     Some might be motivated by this to write their congressman, or other officials at the county, state, or federal level. Those measures are appropriate, and as with Ms. Taylor’s Open Letter, they may eventually be effective. In communities like ours, however, we have an opportunity to reallocate resources more flexibly and effectively within the district and the community.

Among the "signs" of improvement at
Burney Elementary School.

     But who can tell us what needs to go where and how? Here's what Ms. Taylor suggests (with which I wholeheartedly agree): "I hope that you will consider the issues raised here, and most importantly, that you will listen to the voices of the teachers and parents who are trying so desperately to be heard."

     One organization that does seem to listen is the Burney-Fall River Education Foundation, which I regularly support and I would encourage you to do the same. But more of us need to listen to the answers from our educators—even if we are afraid to ask them, "What resources do you need?"

     Does asking that question frighten you a bit? Good. Because it terrifies me…especially being married to a teacher who regularly handles twenty-five transitional kindergartners—four and five year-olds—without a net (other than two very capable aides. One is available to her for an hour on most days. The other for twenty-five minutes). I think that we may share the same worries about asking this important question. I believe that you probably know what I know: that a big part of the answer to what our educators, families, and children need is:

      "You. And. Me."

A Common Question, Part One: In a Joint and Unified Community, Why Is There Such a Difference between Our Schools?

Krista Taylor

That’s the question I hear often. And there may finally be an answer. I am indebted to two friends, both educators, from families of educators, who shared the link to an Open Letter by educator Krista Taylor, the 2015 Dr. Lawrence C. Hawkins Educator of the Year. [accessed February 17, 2017,  http://angelsandsuperheroes.com/2017/01/09/1112/] My friends Fiona Hickey and Susan Tipton, shared a link to her letter, otherwise I would have been unaware of her excellent argument for improving our nation’s schools.

But I want to highlight a particular local factor to which Ms. Taylor’s letter led me. Even within the Intermountain Area, the disparities in both the perceived and measured effectiveness of our elementaries have been marked. Comparing many statistics between the Burney Basin and the Fall River Valley, some of us have struggled to determine what socio-economic factors contribute to such different outcomes. Most of the statistics are close enough between the two communities to suggest that there should be no appreciable difference between these similarly-sized schools, the only two elementaries, in the same district, drawing on the same pool of resources, and ostensibly led by the same administrative philosophies and personnel.

But Ms. Taylor's letter (well worth the long-ish read, in my opinion) addressed a statistic I had not specifically investigated. She noted the correlation in measured performance with the percentage of children living at or below the level of poverty. Where there are more children living in poverty, the measurements of the schools' effectiveness reflect poorly (pun intended) on the performance of educators in those schools.

There are, as Ms. Taylor points out, problems with the means by which "effectiveness" is being measured, and I agree with her on this. But there is another key point I believe merits consideration here, especially with regard to our educators in the Intermountain Area.

Her letter prompted me to reconsider my previous research. During my studies I have looked repeatedly into the statistics regarding the two ends of our district--specifically, the immediate Burney area and the Fall River Valley. Not only does each comprise roughly 3500 in population, almost all other statistics have been practically identical. But today, I realized that the statistics I had relied on applied to the entire population. Ms. Taylor's statistical focus, however, emphasized not the total number of people living in poverty (which I had studied and dismissed previously as a potential for such marked differences), but the percentage of children living in poverty.

So, I looked it up. The stats are available at http://www.city-data.com/.

Why is there such a difference in the perceived and measured effectiveness between our two elementaries? If we follow Ms. Taylor's logic, and I do, this is a major contributor to the disparity:

The poverty rate of children living in Burney is 52.1% higher than the rate in Fall River Mills.

Leave that statistic to sit before your mind for just a little bit.

Then, when you've let the faces and names and homes and jobs and other visions of the impoverished families you see every day within our diverse communities wash through you...come back for Part 2: What do we do about it?

Unifying Our Fragmenting Society – “Who Cares?”

In his recent blog post, “How Do You Get the U.S. off Life-Support?” (referring to the growing incivility in public discourse that has been exacerbated by the examples set before us during this most recent election cycle), Paul Louis Metzger (disclosure: Dr. Metzger is my faculty mentor in my doctoral program) notes the position taken by Dr. Robert Potter (again, disclosure: Dr. Potter is the other academician reader of my dissertation/ministry project paper). Drawing an analogy to palliative care (seeking to alleviate a patient’s symptoms and pain, separate from addressing curative measures), Dr. Potter seeks a solution to the pressing question, “What needs to be done?” by framing the questions “What am I missing?” and “Who am I missing?” These are essential questions. In pain management and end-of-life care, the holistic approach to the mental, emotional, spiritual, and social dynamics of the patient and their family can often be even more important than the physical processes being treated.

As I have written elsewhere, addressing these multiple areas of concern is difficult, requiring in hospice care an interdisciplinary team that (by law) must at least include a physician, a medical social worker, and a pastoral counselor/chaplain in addition to the hospice manager. The intensive and extensive level of care provided through hospice during the final weeks and months of life is nearly impossible to provide elsewhere. Likewise, it often may seem as though the answers to “What am I missing?” and “Who am I missing?” are not only daunting in the depths of their complexity, they may be endless in breadth. It may seem impossible to determine, much less include all that is missing, and all who are missing from the equation. In such cases, we may be tempted to take license to disengage from the process, allowing ourselves the escape clause: “We’ve done all that we can do.”

Why would I demand of us that we try any harder than that—either in treating a dying patient or in seeking to bring unity to a fragmenting society? Because I believe that beneath the questions “What am I missing?” and “Who am I missing?” lies a motivation that is, in my experience, so often unclear in both discussions. The question “Why is this pursuit so terribly important to you?” might be boiled down cynically to “Who cares?” But whether conservative or liberal, whether focused more exclusively on any few or encompassing all the “moral intuitions” that Dr. Potter cites (care, fairness, liberty, loyalty, authority, and sanctity), the answer is simply this: “You care.” For different reasons, at different levels, and from sometimes vastly divergent perspectives, it is impossible to deny that we have clear and passionate positions on most of the issues being discussed.

If you doubt whether you have such passions, simply put yourself in the place of those who are adversely affected by any of the issues. Start by asking yourself what levels of pain relief and symptom management (think uncontrollable nausea, for example) you would be willing to forego if your hospice team needed to cut back on their agency’s overtime. Questions of healthcare rationing may bore you. But faced with a decision on whether to pursue expensive treatments that have only the most miniscule chance of curing your disease? You may find yourself paying closer attention to the discussion.

The unifying issue for many participating in hospice care, as providers as well as for patients and their families, is that we generally acknowledge the reality of mortality. We not only provide care to the dying and bereaved, we number ourselves among them. Even when we are not among the most imminently dying, we willingly bereave ourselves, intentionally forming close personal friendships with people we know are going to die soon. The unity we find in that mutual mortality and shared grief allows us to discuss matters that nearly all others in our circles of influence work hard to avoid. (Most of them wish that we would avoid those topics, too.) But in caring about the issues, despite divergent positions, relative to hospice care, we are unified by our commitment to solidarity with and around the patient and their soon-to-be-bereaved family, knowing that we eventually will be one or the other or both.

So next, in the broader conversation about our national priorities, I would ask that you think about liberties you particularly enjoy. Would you care if they were being as maligned and restricted as those of others? Try considering your economic well-being threatened by those who would re-zone their neighborhoods to eradicate “your kind.” Imagine your religious affiliation (or lack thereof) as a reason to discredit and persecute you. And visualize yourself amidst the confrontation that would occur if armed authorities denied you your right to express your position on these or any other matters. You do care…if it’s your ox that’s being gored.

We all care. We merely subvert our engagement of these issues behind a pretense of apathy. Apathy, the lack of caring, is not what I find to be the cause of inaction. Instead, we choose not to engage on the basis of what I would call the economy of futility. We do not invest in solutions because we believe the problems to be insoluble. Therefore, we fail to recognize the undeniable unity of our concerns. At their core, our conflicts are universally compelling, if only we would admit how much we care about our own positions on the issues.

Will we agree on these positions? If you demand that I agree with your position, or I demand that you agree with mine, probably not. But we must agree, if we will admit that these are issues on which we each cannot help but have positions. Then, and perhaps only then, we might be willing to listen, understand, and collaborate in ways that resolve our conflicting positions on the issues themselves. Only then can we claim that “we’ve done all that we can do.”

In the Face of Fear: An Opportunity To Serve

This morning I was party to what I hope will prove to be the first of several important meetings. I helped to arrange the meeting for two primary reasons. First, we met in response to the great anxiety being expressed by a number of friends over the threats inherent in Tuesday night’s election results. Second, though, we met to discuss the encouragement I am seeing among others. Some within my circle of colleagues are already recognizing the need to address not only the anxieties but the very real dangers and damages those friends are experiencing. More importantly, they had some concrete ideas about how to do so.

Why I Am Concerned

Let me take care not to prophesy. Others’ visions of the future are more bleak than my own pessimism can manage, though not unrealistically so. I do believe it is highly likely that the successful portion of our American electorate will not receive what they have been promised. Worse, I also believe it to be entirely probable that several segments of our population are at risk of receiving exactly what has been threatened. But even in the age of instant information, I believe we are a long way from our own Kristallnacht and the Muslim equivalent of a Wannsee Conference.

In fact, the policy, legislative, and judicial changes of these next few years may or may not occur, and may or may not exacerbate the plight of those who are already oppressed, marginalized, and depersonalized. But they are already oppressed, marginalized, and depersonalized. And the dangers and damages they already face have not required even one executive order.

Consider the many who clearly imagine they will benefit when some portion of our society “takes America back” to whatever era it is they nostalgically prefer to our own. When this retrograde culture fails to materialize as fully as they would like, primarily in that it fails to benefit them as fully as they would like, they are likely to be even more angry than they have shown themselves to be. And they are already angry. The rise in hate crimes that has correlated with this past election season is alarming enough. Even if none of the actions that have been threatened are actually implemented on the federal level, at the personal level there is a perceived license for more direct aggression by misogynists, racists, homophobes, xenophobes, and whatever we call those who feel empowered to mock and bully persons with disabilities.

So, even if the difficulties faced by parts of our community do not precipitously deepen, it is impossible to imagine that they will appreciably improve over the next few months and years. Unless, that is, we choose to improve those circumstances ourselves.

What I Hope To Do

At the end of this morning’s meeting, I read from the notes I took, categorizing my observations. I felt the need to divide the messages I was hearing by considering what would best benefit two specific audiences.

The first audience comprises the victorious electorate celebrating their soon-to-be-crowned champion. As with many pastors this Sunday, and for scores of Sundays following, I have opportunity to preach to and teach some who number themselves among those triumphant supporters. I would seek to remind them that any benefits they imagine will shortly begin to arrive at their doorsteps come with a commensurate cost—not only paid from within the lives of others, but in the consequences of their own disregard for The Great Commandment (demonstrate your love for God by loving your neighbor—Matthew 22:34-40), inseparable as it is from The Great Commission (make disciples of all the nations—Matthew 28:18-20). This morning, I even used the Latin phrase, “status confessionis.” What this means is that we find ourselves at one of those unenviable points at which the Church must again remind herself of our responsibility to the integrity of the gospel—which must be proclaimed as much in our concrete behavior as in our claimed beliefs.

The second audience comprises those who recognize the credible threat to their safety embodied in the priorities and promises of this new and very different administration. They already perceive the scarcity of resources. They already endure the suspicions and accusations of their neighbors. They already recognize how vulnerable their basic necessities are to even minor socio-economic changes. And, whether or not the threats expressed ever materialize, they know that some will act out, in perceived impunity, the attitudes behind the speeches and sound-bites from which it has been impossible to escape over these past months.

For the benefit of this second audience, those who met this morning are engaging initially in some rapid-response research. In other words, we need some answers, but we need them yesterday.

What I Need To Know

Through our contacts (and their contacts as well) among the various segments of our Inter-Mountain Area’s communities, especially among those already involved in Community Service Organizations, Public-Assistance Agencies, and parish-oriented ministries, we are seeking two sets of information.

First, we want to develop a clear and comprehensive understanding of both the breadth and depth of the specific needs we are facing. These include the simplest necessities. For example, I was trained in crisis and trauma intervention to initially evaluate four basic needs: air, warmth, water, and food. Here in the Inter-Mountain Area, of course, we are blessed with the first and third of those resources in natural abundance. But many of our families can afford roughly three weeks of food per month. And warmth quickly becomes a relative term during several months each year. Beyond those necessities, access to healthcare, physical and mental, continues to be a problem. We must address the interpersonal issues of domestic violence, sexual assault, and the phobic tendency to bully anyone we find uncomfortably different from us. And remember that substance abuse, education and employment inequities, and the too-common experiences of prejudice and discrimination are only less visible because our society so successfully marginalizes those who endure them.

The second set of information involves the reason why many who read this will object that many of these needs are already being met. In fact, they are…for some, sometimes. But often, the needs of a few are being met by a few who have more than a few resources, and are yet unknown outside a relatively few in a small network of a few relationships. I do not want to overwhelm any one resource, of course. But I also recognize that there are many more resources available than are being utilized in the Inter-Mountain Area. Yet still, there are needs for which I am certain there are no resources currently available. Therefore, the second question, then, is this: What are the current resources available, and what are the gaps that need to be filled? It is that simple.

How You Can Help

If you know the answers to some of these questions, please answer them by emailing me: deathpastor@frontier.com. If you know of someone else who knows the answers to some of these questions, please forward them a link to this blog post.

For clarity’s sake, here are the questions:

1-What are the potentially unmet needs faced by the communities (and especially the oppressed, marginalized, and depersonalized) in the Inter-Mountain Area?

2-What are the potentially unknown resources available to the communities (and especially the oppressed, marginalized, and depersonalized) in the Inter-Mountain Area?

Thank you in advance for your assistance in determining both the needs and the resources of our communities.

Must You Sin in Order to Repent? Some thoughts on taking the terrible risk of ministry innovation (i.e., anything other than “the way we’ve always done it before”)

In my earliest years of ministry, I took risks. Many risks. I still do. But there were and are risks I should have taken from which I have retreated to a safe distance. Not that I admit cowardice. If my rationalizations are to be believed, I am only being prudent. I am not procrastinating. I am calculating the anticipated benefits against the potential costs. I am considering, contemplating, and completely over-thinking matters until any opportunity for effective action will have long passed. Therefore, my regrets, such that they may be, involve only the hindsight of wondering what might have resulted, had I boldly acted in a more timely manner.

But having boldly acted in a timely manner on other occasions, my hesitation seems justified. Some risks resulted in little or no benefit. Other Christians, noticing this, have reacted to some of my plans by criticizing me for the “wasted time and resources.” If for no other reason than this, I would excuse myself for developing some hesitation, a flinch-response at even the thought of stepping into risky territory.

Sometimes, Decisive Action Cannot Be Avoided

Once upon a time, however, avoidance, and even hesitation was not an option available to me. My first two congregations were considered to be in “redevelopment” mode. That meant that they would be closed soon if the new pastor, I, did not “turn things around.” In the immediate cause-and-effect panic of trying to spark life into dying congregations, two things were true. First, the dire financial conditions meant that decisive action could not be delayed, if I intended to feed my young family after the limited denominational subsidy ran out. And yet, second, each misstep, each call for extra effort that failed to produce tangible results, and every immature impatience I allowed to show would diminish the trust that I felt others needed to have in my abilities and wisdom…at age twenty-two and twenty-four, respectively, in those first two congregations.

You would be right to assume that those abilities and wisdom were in short supply. Thus, any trust those congregations placed in me at all was an act of faith in Christ to use even me for His purposes. Still, I felt I could not afford any suggestion that He was not doing so.

The primary reason for the success of those first two efforts is that I followed the advice of the Rev. Richard C. Taylor, Sr., my first district superintendent. When I expressed the above thoughts to him, probably in the breathless blurting that comes with being entirely overwhelmed by the challenges and reactions I was facing, I recall him saying, “Love God; love your people. The rest will all work itself out.” It did.

But yesterday, I was thinking through some decisive actions looming on my current horizon. I recognized that there had been one other element that was probably just as essential to those successes as loving God and loving the congregation. That indispensable, decisive action? Repentance.

In this context, I do not mean repentance from sin, although that is even more necessary to ministry success. But there are times when those we serve need to know that we are engaging in experimentation. Especially in redevelopment ministries, but in most other congregations as well, we are trying to accomplish God’s purposes among a community that has responded as much as they are going to respond to “the way we’ve always done it before.” We are looking for the new wineskins in which the new wine of new converts and new areas of service can grow, mature, and become all that God intends. And yet, it might not work. But if it does not work, we will try something else.

Case Study: The Coffee and Cookies Experiment

Here is one example. At The Glenburn Community Church we enjoy a time of fellowship and refreshments following the worship service. It used to be held in “fellowship hall,” which was the term we used for the schoolhouse, the middle of three buildings on our campus at the junction of Glenburn and McArthur Roads in the heart of the Fall River Valley. Attempting to connect with visitors, however, used to be very difficult. They would only rarely walk past their cars in order to continue fellowship in another building, even in the best of weather. When we proposed moving coffee and cookies into the sanctuary, however, as a way of getting better acquainted with (our now-captive) visitors, a number of objections arose. The primary and temporarily successful argument was that it historically we had believed it would be inappropriate to have food in the same building where we worshiped.

But then, amidst discussions about the long history of far-more interactive fellowship in previous generations at Glenburn (we are, at 131 years, the oldest church in Shasta County), one of our longest-tenured members (granddaughter of one of the earliest pastors) mentioned with great delight the potlucks and pie socials that were once held here.

One episode in Glenburn’s history is essential to understanding how important that comment was. For several reasons, the local school district for a time needed additional space for elementary students. Unfortunately, they had neither the resources to bus them to Glenburn’s schoolhouse, nor to build their own. The simplest solution often being the best, The Glenburn Community Church “loaned” our schoolhouse to Fall River Mills Elementary School. That meant it was jacked up and transported there. This also meant that during those years, when the third structure at Glenburn, the Sunday School building, had not yet been built, and the schoolhouse was now miles away, there was only one building on the property. The sanctuary.

The occasional pie socials could have been scheduled during only those months of surer weather. But monthly potlucks could not all have been held outdoors. Once upon a time, I suspected, the congregation of The Glenburn Community Church had indeed eaten food in the sanctuary. Of course, I asked. And my friend explained, with equally great delight, how the men would turn the pews to face one another and set table tops between them, turning the worship venue into a banquet hall quite quickly.

This revelation about our own history (“the way we’d always done it before” suddenly became plural—the ways we done it) overcame the primary argument against seeking greater fellowship with coffee and cookies in the sanctuary. Still, there were many questions about how well this plan might work. So, we set a three-month deadline for the “experiment” of moving our fellowship time into the sanctuary.

Just over a month into the experiment, however, there were discussions among several key families and the most influential member of what was then called The Glenburn Church Women’s Circle informed me that the experiment was over. The benefits of providing simpler refreshments, keeping visitors captive, and having more hands available for clean-up were simply too great. We would never, she said, convince the women of the church to go back to having fellowship time in the schoolhouse.

Repenting of an Experiment

Few failed experiments can really be called mistakes. Certainly, not all mistakes are a result of sin. It is even more rare that the mistakes are sin in themselves. Much of “the way we’ve always done it before” may still work well. But new opportunities, at least, may require some experimentation in finding “the way we’ll always do it from now on.” My point here is this: if we had not been prepared to repent of that decision, sinless though it was, we would never have been able to implement the experiment.

Honoring our heritage is a noble virtue. Equally important, however, is an honest look at our history. Once upon a time, there was no pattern of ministry. There were no events or practices listed in the big book of “the way we’ve always done it before.” What made some of those ministries so memorable, and so entrenched, is how well they worked in accomplishing God’s purposes among those people at that time. And what is most fondly remembered by those who were there is not the protocols and policies. They speak with great joy about what it meant to face a challenge, and eventually find a way to address it, through a process—most often—of experimentation to see what might work “then and there,” when that was “here and now.”

So, what experimental solutions might we find today? That is an exciting question. The fearful and paralyzing answer, though, is “it might not work.” That is true. But if it does not work, we will repent of it. And we will try again until we find what does work—just as soon as we repent of not trying.

An Invitation Not to Be in Church This Sunday: Reflections on Thom Rainer’s “I Am Not in Church.”

Looking at church.

A heart-felt piece of writing on Thom Rainer’s website really struck me on this particular Monday morning, especially after a Sunday on which my focus was pulled in so many directions. (You can read his post at http://thomrainer.com/2016/05/i-am-not-in-church/.)

I know there were people "at church" yesterday who I wanted to be sure felt welcomed, valued, comforted, encouraged, etc. (By the way, that applies to everyone who was there, as well as quite a few who weren't.) But I also know that when we most need to feel welcomed, we may not be at our most welcoming. When we most need to be comforted, we may not be very comforting. When we are in need of encouragement, it's harder to find the ways to encourage others.

Going to church.

If I come seeking for what others can provide to me, and even if I come hoping to provide something to others, then I am looking for something other than church. The idea of coming "to church," being "at church," and certainly "doing church" all destine us to disappointment. Granted, there are places where people gather and engage in worship, fellowship, discipleship, and service. And I highly recommend doing so. Yet there is a purpose to doing so that is often obscured not only by the location and activity, but more so by our attitudes and expectations.

Being in church.

The idea of "being church" together means that we are not an unlimited reservoir of blessings to be tapped by one, some, or a small handful of folks who may have some need or other on any particular Sunday morning. Some come afflicted with a hunger and thirst for meaning and fulfillment, or even food and water. Others have found great meaning and fulfillment, but in ministries that routinely empty us. If each of us, at one time or another, are coming to be filled, then who can we consistently depend upon? Who will always be available to pour themselves out into us?

Getting behind the church.

We need to remember that the unlimited reservoir that we seek to tap into together can only be Christ Himself. And in doing so, perhaps we might join together in setting an example for others, too, who imagine that the church is something you can somehow be "in" instead of being "of."

So, if you're waiting for an invitation? I hope Christians invite you. We're supposed to. It's part of the mandate Jesus gave us--reach out, love, invite, congregate. But if we invite you "to" church, then it's not church that you're likely to find. If we invite you to sit "in" church with us, then it's not church that you'll probably be attending. If you're invited, you should accept only if you recognize that we are desperate sinners whose hearts, however redeemed and sanctified they may be, are still prone to selfish idolatries. You should accept the invitation from those who come together to console one another at least as much as to celebrate and commend Christ with one another. You should not be misled into thinking that Christianity can be a spectator sport, a self-help seminar, or even a source of sustenance to our souls. If Christ alone is the way, the truth, and the life we offer, then all the invitation we can extend to you is this: come to Him, and be church with us.

Missing Curfew: Contemplating Bounds’ Emphasis on Long Seasons of Concentrated Prayer

I used to stay up late for conversation. Sometimes it was the doorways of our dorm rooms when our minds were still processing the new information supplied, the old perceptions challenged, and persistent habits overwhelmed by looming deadlines. With some, though, it was not an excess of ideas, but an unwillingness to close the conversation, so as to remain in her company, yet not allow the silence to lead to communications of the nonverbal nature. So, whether with classmates and colleagues, or with more romantic interests, the time spent with those closes was always longest.

More than three decades into marriage, our time together is still substantial. Some of the longer than average conversations are a function of locating our lives in the rural mountain valleys where essential services are separated by long distances. So, are we closer because we have longer to spend with each other? No. We are closer. But those hours each week in the car together do not approach the depth of conversation that occurs elsewhere, and at other times. We lose track of the topic amidst the interruptions of traffic, wildlife, construction, and other distractions. The hours together recounting the events of life, the observations of others’ behaviors, and so much other mundane minutiae—these do not replace the more intentional focus of other, purposeful conversations.

This comes to mind in reading E.M. Bounds’ chapter, “Much Time Should Be Given to Prayer.” I promote the discipline of engaging in an ongoing conversation with God throughout the day. I believe that is an important focus of any authentically Christian life. It would be rude, were we to truly believe God is ever-present (and I do believe that), to ignore His input or fail to include Him in the discussion. But when our conversation is interrupted, do I return to the topic we had been addressing? Rarely. Sometimes my mind continues on down its own path, oblivious to His presence and partnership. Then, I am left with the question: Is my sense of inspired problem-solving, decision-making, or scripture-obeying truly sources in my conversations with God, or have I followed other impulses, ascribing them to God’s influence even after I’ve stopped listening quite so carefully as I pretend I was during our ride throughout the day?

Only in the closet of uninterrupted, focused, intentional, and listening prayer can I be sure that my “brilliant solution” to a problem, or my “great idea” for improving my service to Christ and others, or my “excellent phrasing” for some paper or sermon actually represents what Jesus would have me do. Otherwise, I am at the mercy of my own misperceptions, the overestimation of my own wisdom, or even my own imaginative fantasies of what God would have said, if He were to parrot my own inner voice.

There are times and places where short prayers are indispensable. “Lord, help!” is as valid a request as ever arose from within Luther’s three-hour morning ritual. And the concept of conversational prayer, including the Lord in the events of the day He has given me, those momentary utterances, distracted as they may be, have no doubt been answered repeatedly in the words spoken, the actions taken, and the results and blessings recognized.

But as Bounds writes, “The short prevailing prayer cannot be prayed by one who has not prevailed with God in a mightier struggle of long continuance.” To illustrate, imagine that I telephone you, my voice breathless with anxiety, and make a request of such brevity and urgency that you find yourself looking down at the phone after I have hung up abruptly. The likelihood of you taking action on my appeal to you is directly proportional to our prior relationship. If you can say, “he would not ask if it were not of vital importance,” then you will likely reorder your priorities in that moment in order to accommodate my need. If, however, you and I are not so close, and our relationship inconsistent, then there are any number of responses you might consider…including the possibility of assisting me. But if you have responded to similar urgencies in the past, and I have not been so careful to follow up with an expression of gratitude, or even an explanation of the circumstances in which you had been so graciously helpful…then you might be less likely to respond positively in the future.

Thankfully, God is far more gracious than we humans could ever be. Still, for me to request of Him what it is that He is seeking to accomplish in any given circumstances, much less my ongoing life-story, then it stands to reason that deepening our relationship is definitely in my best interest. So, I know the benefits. I agree with Bounds, “much time should be given to prayer.” And I will continue to count on His immediate response to “Lord, help!” in the future. You would think that all this would prompt some declaration of my intent to set aside longer times of prayer more frequently. But I am convicted regarding my tendency to use clever phrasing to make me sound more holy than I am. So, instead of announcing my recommitment, I would ask you, should you have opportunity to greet me any time soon, to do so by asking a question. It is the question that Bounds quotes John Fletcher as using as his customary greeting: “Do I meet you praying?” The answer will, and would already be, “Yes. But not so much as I would like.” Still, I could use the reminder to continue expanding those singularly devoted times.