Author Archives: forest dweller

Throwing Pebbles

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This one is a guest post, written by my former co-pastor, Kathryn Hunter. Pretty proud of her pebble throwing.

This past weekend Nebo Crossing, a large church in Marion, NC hosted the North Carolina Faith and Freedom Coalition. 

The speakers and presenters list included Kristi Noem (She was a no show), Michael Whatley (Trump’s handpicked candidate for US Senator from NC); Dr. Ben Carson; a variety of Fox News and Newsmax personalities, Turning Point speakers, Support Israel groups; and many Republican candidates in mid-term NC races. They had the audacity to call it “The Salt and Light Conference.” 

As one who has lived my life with a desire to follow Jesus Christ, and to be salt and light in the world, I was quite frankly, repulsed. I signed up to join the protestors. 

We were a very small group, no more than ten at any given time, and with many different agendas; climate control, healthcare, budget, vote for the Democrats, etc. I appeared to be the only one motivated by the desire to stand against the co-opting of Jesus. 

My signs read:  “Jesus said, ‘Love your neighbor;’” “Choose Kindness;” and “Jesus said, ‘Feed the Hungry.’” In addition to one slightly more political, “Stop Starving the Palestinians.”

I went to both days of the event. When I got there Saturday,  the first sight, in the church parking lot, was a large Vote for Trump bus covered with anti-abortion messages and pictures of fetuses. And of course, a huge American flag flying above it. That afternoon, most of the car traffic passing us were large, black,  SUVs with tinted windows, and government tags. The kind of cars driven only by the rich.

Sunday was an open- to -the- public worship service. Before then, all events required tickets, so, the feel was different. It seemed that most were regular church attendees and the cars that passed were med-sized SUVs and trucks with Jesus stickers, mixed with Trump stickers. Most folks waved and smiled at us. They wanted us to know that Jesus loved (even) us. They offered us water and invited us to come to church. 

For the most part, we were treated politely, even by the self-professed MAGA woman who tried to save us and almost gagged when she read my t-shirt that  said, “Equity, Inclusion and Belonging.” 

She also felt it necessary to tell me that pastors with MDivs are morons. Hard not to take that personally since I’m a pastor and have a Master of Divinity degree. 

One, very kind woman, with large American flag earrings, came and offered us beaded bracelets. The one she gave me says  “JOY.” We had a good conversation, and her faith in Jesus is real and deep. As I told her, you could see the Spirit shining through her. 

My heart breaks  for those whose faith is being abused and manipulated for others’ hunger for power and gain. She most likely does not know that her church is a White Christian Nationalist Church, or even what that is. 

Not all the actions were kind. We were called “Baby Killers.” Some waved fists and yelled “Power to Israel.” Some rev’ed their trucks and blew past us as we sat two feet from the road. I did not feel threatened, but the police were searching everyone who entered the church for weapons, so evidently they felt threatened

I feel like I tossed a very tiny pebble into a very large pond. Perhaps its ripples will have some effect on others. I pray so. But, for me it was the toss that was important. As has been said by others when asked why they protest – “it will most likely not change them, but I do it so they do not change me.”  

If you are feeling worried, anxious, or fearful about what is happening in our country, I invite you to toss some pebbles – you will feel better.

Nowhere? Everywhere?

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Last Saturday night, a minister friend ask me where I’m going to church these days. Likely he just asked to make conversation, what with Sunday coming and all. I’m confident he didn’t realize I don’t have a short answer for that one. If fact, after I rambled for a minute or so, I bet he was wishing I’d go ahead and say, “nowhere.”

Turns out I stayed up very late that night watching college football, slept in, and began drafting this essay about the time the liturgists in my time zone were reading the call to worship. Maybe the answer actually is nowhere.

I do worship at a couple churches about once a month at each, and there’s one on the west coast I follow a little on line. I give a some money to all three, chat with the pastors, am moved by the music, support their mission events, and consider the folks who call these churches home my friends. So, it’s not quite “nowhere.” But, that isn’t the model I recommended to folks for over thirty years as a local church pastor.

I do practice spiritual disciples daily. I have spiritual friends I check in with concerning soul matters on a regular basis. I study and write, and I hand out food a couple of times a week. Probably wouldn’t qualify as a philanthropist, but I do lean into generosity. I try my best to be caught on the side of justice and mercy in what I say and do. To sum up, I hope to live in such a way that friends and neighbors have good reason to answer in the affirmative if asked if I’m a Christ follower. Does that count? Maybe.

Still, where to I go to church these days?

Quite frankly, I now find church on the other side of those brick walls. Like the psalmist, I believe the heavens sing of God’s glory, and stones can worship. Like St. Francis, I believe the first cathedral is the one outdoors. I am comfortable calling earth “mother” and sky “father.” After all, I am made of of sky, earth, fire, and water. We must be relatives. I preach to, and am often preached at, by woodpeckers, crows, snakes, and trees.

I’ll throw this in there too. Somehow over the last few years, my ability to see Christ in others has extended beyond cute kids. On clear days I can see the divine in the despairing fellow holding the “Help” sign at the stop light. Also in my friends around the poker table, the holy Muslim, and the self-proclaimed atheist. On really clear days I am even able to see the sacred in the fearful ones who seek to divide and oppress.

Maybe it’s part of old age. If you get old and have been paying attention, you realize mercy and forgiveness is the way to go. You see God working in places without a baptismal font or altar table anywhere in sight.

I am not by any stretch encouraging folks to discontinue church attendance. A church filled with the spirit of Christ is a wonderful thing. I have been nurtured and kept by such. I believe I still qualify as a church person.

I am saying though, that for me, the answer to my friend’s question is actually, “everywhere.”

The Choir

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(It probably helps to be looking over a burning candle, out an open window, into a forest, on a drizzly Monday morning, with a hound dog sleeping next to you, but these words came to me this morning.)

The Choir

Occasionally I hear the ever-present, surrounding choir.

It sings while it dances, and its words are many versions of “I love you.”

Sometimes I can’t tell if I am singing along or if I am supposed to simply listen. I think it’s calling me to join in.

It hums, “You are enough. You have enough.” It shushes me when I protest.

Everything, Everywhere

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If there wasn’t a Bible, what would build your faith and guide your life?

That was the question a friend and I kicked around for an hour or so the other day. I think our conversation was podcast worthy.

As we shared our thoughts, both of us were stretched a little because we approached the question from different places. He attends a church that leads with “Bible Believing” when describing itself. I identify more as a Christ follower. While there is some overlap in those positions, there is a difference.

Of course there is another camp that wasn’t represented that day. This third camp is actually the one that inspired the question. The camp of good, moral, loving people that would have trouble locating the 23’rd Psalm. How were they formed into good, moral, loving people? I don’t think it is because they know us folks that can find all 150 of the psalms.

Full disclosure, I approached this time of dialogue firmly believing that the Spirit is speaking through and in all of life. Yes, we know we are loved because the Bible tells us so, but a lot of other stuff does as well.

It’s worth noting that Jesus didn’t say, “After I’m gone there will be a book to guide you.” He said the Spirit will lead us into all truth, and show us some things he hadn’t got around to yet. (see John 16:12&13)

So that was my starting point. After an hour, I came away with the following affirmations.

First of all, the Bible truly contains words of life, words to live by, words like: “God is love,” “Do for others what you’d have them do for you,” “Love your neighbor as yourself,” “God so loved,” “Blessed are the peacemakers,” “God with us,” “In God we live and move and have our being,” “Do justly, love mercy, walk humbly,” I could go on for a while.

But, the Creator is not contained in a book any more than in a holy building or a denomination. This ordained Christian pastor would even say that God is not contained by Christianity. I love that CS Lewis said that Aslan the lion, the Christ figure in The Chronicles of Narnia, was not a tame lion. A theologian named Anselm said, “God is beyond that which can be grasped.” The universe itself does not contain its Creator.

So I would add that along with sacred writings, Spirit also speaks within our very selves. We have a moral compass, we know what it is to love, our being alive connects us like an umbilical cord with the Lord of life. The One who molded us, imprinted us with a divine spark. That’s why that list of passages I typed a minute ago feel more like reminders than new ground when we read them. We remember who we are. We hear the sacred whisper from a place inside us deeper than our bones.

I would also add that same One who speaks to us from deep within ourselves, speaks to us from outside of ourselves. We hear/feel/see/sense the voice of the sacred in all creation. The oceans’ water, the dirt of the ancient mountains, fat clouds, bright sun, gleaming moon, rooted things, four legged things, multi legged thing, no legged things, they all sing the song. Every single one of us has heard/felt/seen/sensed their hymn of praise.

Almost every morning I pray a version of this affirmation:“For God’s Word in scripture, in creation, in relationships, for God’s Word that is in all of life, even in me, thanks be to God.”

So, I invite you to take a deep breath.

Pay attention to each of your five senses. They are conduits of the holy. Listen to your heart. Savor a second and third and fourth deep breath. Allow yourself to be open to the truth that all you are taking in is a sacred gift. I’d be willing to bet a sizable amount that you will hear/feel/see/sense the ever humming Hymn of Love.

Who Are You?

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I am a retired United Methodist minister, seventy-two years old.

Some would say that seventy-two isn’t that old, and most days I agree. Still, I watch the seasons change, and wonder how many more leaf cycles I have in me. There is no getting around it, retirement can feel like the second to last thing on your life’s to-do list.

While that feeling is there, and it is a fact that no one is getting younger; I just don’t believe the retirement chapter is supposed to be the one with a bunch of blank pages. That said, I don’t think a retired pastor’s, or any other retired person’s, immediate question should be, how do I fill those pages? That feels a little desperate. Distant travels, books to be read and written, and beach trips with grands will be there. If you are healthy, there will be stuff on those retirement pages. My deeper question is, who am I now that my name isn’t on the church sign? How do I fill my remaining days with meaning?

Not counting a nine month interim appointment and a couple of forays into church politics, I am a decade into the retirement chapter. Turns out Reverend is a tough label to shake. It feels like I should be a little further down the self awareness road, but ten years after culling my wardrobe to a pretty sparse supply of so-called “church clothes,” I’m still asking, who am I?

I have learned that there is an identifiable second half of life. It’s bad math but some call it the third half. It’s different in a lot of ways from the first half or two. A bunch of things besides clothes don’t fit anymore. If you haven’t tested the water earlier, retirement throws you in the deep end this pool, and it’s time to swim.

This season in our journey has its unique gifts, lessons, and tasks. I am no longer a student. I am not building a career. I am not identified by what I do because I no longer do it. I am an elder. (elder and elderly are two different things) Again, it’s a new and different place in life’s journey. There are new maps, and sometimes they are hard to read. I am growing more comfortable with the edges though, and sometimes a compass will do.

I got pretty comfortable with my role in the church and community. I dedicated my life to the local church, and represented it wherever I went. But, turns out my first name actually isn’t “Pastor.” I am not tethered to the denominational nest anymore. The world is a whole lot bigger than I thought.

It baffles some of my friends and family, but I no longer worry too much about what is orthodox, or Wesleyan, or biblical for that matter. I believe that the essence of those things is written on my heart, and I don’t need to keep checking in with them to make sure I am okay. I now ask, is it real? I worry more about being authentic than I do about being right. Like Pinocchio and the Velveteen Rabbit, I just want to be real.

Put another way, I want to be a real, genuine, spiritual human being. Plainly said, like the Spirit, I want to be one who doesn’t do but is love. Okay, maybe that wasn’t plainly said, but that’s what made Pinocchio and the rabbit real.

A friend challenged me to describe myself without referring to what I do or by the roles I fulfill in my life. In other words, who AM I?

I told him, “I’m me. I’m the me I have been all along.”

Retirement Is a new chapter, but it doesn’t define you any more than that job title did. You are more than a retired whatever. It’s just that now you are freer than you ever have been to lay down your label and be your truest you.

May Thoughts ’25

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During the first week of every month I spend some time reading over the previous month’s journal entries.

Here are some thoughts from May that jumped out at me.

– Could it be that my persistent feeling that I am lacking something is not a burden, but actually a gift? It does keep me moving, searching, watching. “Divine discontent?”

– It isn’t doing things for God that I seek. I seek to do things with God. “Cooperate with the Spirit.” Relationship.

– Take time each day to choose one true statement that you want to pray.

– Some days I only do a little bit. So what?

– Pondering how we (creation, the universe, I, Christ) are one. “In Him we live and move and have our being.”

-A hermit crab on the beach has a better chance of grasping the ocean that I do the Creator.

– My friend, Buddy Phillips (who is my age), wrote something on social media about aging that resonates, perhaps haunts me a little. “We are homesick for a place and time that no longer exists, and that we can never revisit. Nor are we able to family who were there in our company but now only in our dreams.”

And finally,

– What do you give a God who that has everything? To say your heart feels like the quick and easy answer. I guess the trick is figuring out what that looks like.

April Thoughts

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During the first week of every month I spend some time reading over the previous month’s journal entries. Here are some thoughts from April that jumped out at me.

– My friend, Mike Henderson, says that in The Beatitudes, when Jesus speaks about being blessed it includes the joy we feel when we are in the right place, at the right time, doing the right thing. I like that.

– Lord, I want to see you. See you in all, in every one, everything. Help me see you in those with two legs, four legs, many legs, no legs, and wings.

I want to praise you with the wind, water, earth, fire, and all that breathes.

I want to know you. Know your desire, intention, hope, and plan.

And, I want to represent you. Quietly, confidently, faithfully, humbly, and with love.

– Some days my anxiety is strong. I feel like something of a failure, many things weigh heavy, and worry gets loud.

Spirit, remind me to slow down, walk, trust, be grateful, and just do today.

– Some days I do good. I accomplish stuff, serve, pray, put a check by everything on the list. On those days I am no more loved, accepted, cheered for, or worthy than I was the day before.

And finally,

– I am never as right as I’m sure I am, and I am never as lost as I thought.

Memories

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Somewhere along the way someone told me that the past is dead and gone. Regrettably, I believed them.

Because I bought into that, I’ve spent a great deal of my life pushing forward, planning, waiting for the next thing, anticipating. There is some value in those things, but leaning too far in that direction comes with the price tag of not properly honoring memories that deserve to be lingered over and cherished.

I think I have been afraid I’d get stuck. Perhaps it felt like I was wasting time dwelling on the past. Maybe I was worried I’d be the old guy that starts way too many sentences with, “I remember when…”

I am now reconsidering all that.

I still don’t want to be that guy. I don’t enjoy watching folks glaze over when I’m talking any more than the next fellow, but I am going to spend a little more time visiting precious memories.

Mary Oliver calls this,

“The kingdom we call remembrance

with its thousand iron doors

through which I pass easily.” (Winter At Herring Cove)

I am going to spend more evenings on the porch, mornings with coffee, and perhaps some afternoons with my feet up, letting my heart pass through iron doors into treasure rooms full of things that make gold ridiculously disposable.

-The room where I watch a beautiful bride walk toward me as I nervously stand at the front of the church.

-Another where I hear the doctor say, “It’s a girl!”

-There’s the one where my grandson reaches for my hand as we walk together through a parking lot.

-Of course there’s that sacred room where my brother and I weep as we keep watch over our father in his closing moments this side of the veil.

-I am going to visit the room where I realize my daughter is woman, true, wise, and strong.

-Rooms where we laugh, cry, catch one another’s eye and smile, say good-bye, try hard to do good, get back up after failing, pray and know we are heard.

-I am going to hold some babies, get licked by a couple of puppies from across the bridge, feel accomplishment for finishing a few races, metaphorical and the kind with kilometers.

Rooms that deserve to be revisited, yes cherished.

There are many rooms packed with wonder-filled memories in this house/life God gave me. They are not dead and gone by a long shot.

One Morning at My Desk

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One morning at my desk, as the sun peeked over the hills to the right of my window, the hymn, “This My Father’s World” was playing in my head. I hummed its line, “God speaks to me everywhere” more than a few times.

After lighting a candle and praying for a moment, I read a bit in Ephesians. Paul was very excited to tell the Gentiles they were in God’s circle. He talked about it being made known to him by revelation. He said he hoped they too were enabled to perceive the broadness of God’s love, and how God delights in variety. I found it noteworthy that he must have forgotten that one is supposed to throw in a couple strong Bible verses when one starts including people formally excluded.

I then read some Mary Oliver. She broke my heart. Said she did it on purpose, hoping it would never close again to the rest of the world.

Then it was time to sit and ponder. To help me slow down I chose some meditative music called “Tibetan Sunrise.”

According to the rules, my eyes were supposed to be closed, but I opened them just in time to see Brother Sun put a new filter over his lantern. The color of things got a bit richer. Orange? Yellow? Red? You know how the sun is when he’s close to the horizon, can’t make up his mind what he wants to wear.

Things slowed down indeed. I saw my candle burning, and the binoculars I keep on the window sill in case I want to zoom in on a squirrel or a crow. Outside I noticed light on the right side of my tree, shadow on the left. The rhododendron leaves, the fresh lilies, and the poplar limbs still winter bare, were being gently stroked by the wind. I thought about unseen grubs, under the large stones on the hill keeping house. For some reason, I thought about how someone seeing all this from a different point would have a different view.

God speaking to me everywhere indeed. Heart open to the rest of the world: rocks, wind, trees, Gentiles, grubs, Christ. Like the disciples on the Mount of Transfiguration, I wanted to linger.

One morning at my desk.

Come and See

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Toward the end of the first chapter of John, there is a scene on the banks of the Jordan River that my imagination easily enters. Come with me.

John the Baptist and two of his followers are looking over the crowd when Jesus walks by. John points to Jesus, and says words along the lines of, “That’s the one,” and without so much as a goodbye, they leave John to follow Jesus.

When Jesus notices the newbies he asks, “What are you looking for?”

Apparently they take that to mean more than a casual, “Can I help you?” because their answer was not only them inviting themselves to dinner, it’s letting him know they have just enrolled in the University of Jesus, “Teacher, where are you staying?”

I find it easy to picture Jesus looking into their faces, smiling and saying, “Come and see.”

What are you looking for?
Where are you staying?
Come and see.
Three phrases worthy of ponder.

What are you looking for? Christ asked them long ago, asks us today, perhaps in this moment.
I want to have a good answer. It deserves to come from my heart, to be true, to be my best answer.

I think I’ll go with the other two guys. Lord, I want to be where you are. Can I join the team? Where do you stay? Where can I find you when I need you? Teach me.

Here’s where I kind of envy the folks in the Gospels. They went to the house where Jesus was staying. They sat at the table with him. They took long walks with him. They saw his physical body, heard his voice, smelled his robe, and felt his embrace.

Our “where are you staying?” gets the same answer, “Come and see,” but it’s different.

Maybe the answer is actually, “Pay attention, and you will see.”

Pay attention to teachers, like John, who point to Christ and not themselves. Pay attention the heavens that declare God’s glory. Pay attention to creation that groans for a converted world. Pay attention to the cries of the needy. Pay attention to the deep and true desires of your heart. Pay attention to the movement of the Spirit in sacred words. Pay attention to the miracles all around. Pay attention and ponder the vast universe. Pay attention and see the wonder in the tiniest cell.

Sounds like a lot, but we don’t do it all at once. We just do it in only place and time we can do it, the here and now.

Come and see.