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

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

– Funny how the phrase, “All things pass” sometimes makes my heart heavy, and sometimes gives it hope.

– Lord, I believe that it is a good thing to have a designated prayer time. I look forward to reading, asking, pondering, and sitting quietly with the Spirit almost every morning.

It would be good to walk a little closer to you throughout the day as well.

– “We do one thing or another; we stay the same, or we change.

Congratulations, if

you’ve changed.” (Mary Oliver)

– I often wonder what I am supposed to do in all this turmoil. Perhaps for now, I am simply called to be converted, and to live a life that reflects that.

– Read Genesis this month. Seems obvious that scripture is way more mirror than crystal ball.

– I actually, honestly, truly, from deep in my soul, with all my senses, had a wonderful conversation with a waterfall yesterday.

– “When you are lost, stay where you are and I will find you.” (Holy Spirit)

– It is my intention to embrace diversity, for the human race is oh, so diverse.

I will walk in a spirit of equality, for I am not better than anyone, and everyone is worthy of my respect.

I will lean into inclusion, for the Spirit calls me to welcome and include.

– During quiet time this morning, I believe I drifted as far as I ever have in unrelated thoughts. When I came to myself, Spirit laughed and said, “Now, where were we?”

I invited a dear friend and guide that I never got to meet to make a guest post on my blog.

OF THE EMPIRE

We will be known as a culture that feared death

and adored power, that tried to vanquish insecurity

for the few and cared little for the penury of the

many. We will be known as a culture that taught

and rewarded the amassing of things, that spoke

little if at all about the quality of life for

people (other people), for dogs, for rivers. All

the world, in our eyes, they will say, was a

commodity. And they will say that this structure

was held together politically, which it was, and

they will say also that our politics was no more

than an apparatus to accommodate the feelings of

the heart, and that the heart, in those days,

was small, and hard, and full of meanness.

Mary Oliver (1935-2019)

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

Here are some thoughts and quotes from January that jumped out at me.

_________________________________________________________________________

– The Spirit leads us like a mother’s hand on our heart.

– Lord, the simple truth is that I have no idea how to offer thanks, but I am so very thankful.

I hope and trust that you do see my small offerings and occasional showings of gratitude.

I pray that you will keep your hand on my heart, and help me follow. Perhaps pleasing you a tiny bit along the way.

-We are right with God through God’s love for us.

We are right with others through our love for them.

We show our love for all by walking mercifully, justly, and humbly.

We show our love for the one in front of us by recognizing Christ in them.

-There’s no getting around the fact that it hurts and distresses me when people I love say that I am not following God.

-Lord, I do so want to walk with you, but I feel I know how to do that about as well as I knew how to play the fiddle when I took those few lessons.

I needed the frets marked, I had a clumsy touch, and a scratchy rendition of “Mary Had a Little Lamb” was my strongest number.

Teach me Lord. Help me keep walking. Help me make music with my life that is pleasing to you.

– “Birds can fly because they own nothing.” (Mary Oliver)

– “Why am I always going anywhere instead of somewhere?” (Mary Oliver)

-Some days it feels like the world is out of control. To say it’s raging doesn’t come close. There are too many frightening weather events. There are way too many folks drunk on power, using humans as if we are a commodity.

I would give anything to find the switch that calms the storm and to flip it.

That isn’t my role.

It seems my role is pretty simple: Husband/Father/Granddaddy/brother/friend, man servant for three dogs, a little gardening, loving my neighbors, learning to pray, an occasional act of kindness, seeking the truth, trying to stay in my lane on the path of life.

“Queers say ‘huh.’” I could barely hear him.

“Huh?”

“Ha! Jimmy’s a queer!”

Que the laughter. He got me. My face grew hot and red, and the reddening face served as a “get louder” prompt to the others. I was in my early teens, and the recipient of the worst insult of all. That’s where I started.

Well, that’s where I started if you don’t count childhood innocence when I thought that we actually believed Jesus loves all the children of the world.

Fast forward a few years. I’m a freshman at a small Christian college in western North Carolina. One of my classmates is John.

I was an administration favorite. An example of what the school was there for. I had been what was later called “at risk.” An awful student with an acute authority problem. I made a U turn the first month of first semester, and declared for team Jesus. I started making good grades, was a regular at Bible study, and was occasionally asked to travel with the school’s chorus to churches around Tennessee and the Carolinas in order to give my testimony.

The administration didn’t know what to do with John. He was not an administration favorite, and certainly not asked to travel with the chorus. Fluffy shirts, hot pants, prissy as prissy gets. Truth is, I kinda admired his willingness to fly his flag in such an environment.

John heard that I was a Christian, something of leader on the God squad, and he asked me if we could talk. I figured that’s what Christians did, so we met one evening in a room in the library.

I don’t remember that conversation verbatim, but pretty quickly John starting weeping. He said he wished he was like me, said he was sure God hated him, said he would give anything to change, and asked me to pray for him. My heart broke for him. I told him I was convinced God loved him. That was good but, I’m afraid that I probably also threw in that maybe should try a little harder if he really wanted to change. It was 1971. I was eighteen. A rookie.

A couple nights later I was walking past John’s room in our dorm, and I saw that someone, using shaving cream, had drawn a big heart with “John loves Larry” in the middle on John’s door. I didn’t think it was funny, but I did think it wasn’t my business either, so I kept walking. Only for a few steps. Then I remembered John’s tears and desperate cries.

I went to the janitor’s closet, filled a bucket with water, got a mop, and went back to wash the shaving cream off the door before John saw it.

Three comedians came out of the room across the hall. They asked me what I was doing and I told them. They told me to leave it there, and implied something of a threat. I turned toward them, told them it wasn’t funny, and it was coming off.

They must have sensed that the Spirit’s fruit of gentleness hadn’t firmly taken root in my heart yet, so after calling me a “queer lover,” they went back to their room. I remember thinking that attempted slur didn’t hurt a bit. It actually felt good. I think I was feeling something like a born again version of “you bet your ass I am.”

John never knew about the shaving cream. He didn’t come back for spring semester, and the rumors as to why weren’t good. I don’t know what became of him.

Fast forward a few years. It’s the mid eighties, and I am the associate minister for a church in small-town South Carolina. One day the phone rings.

The voice on the other end sounded afraid, and was choked with tears. He got out that he was dying from AIDS and wanted to receive communion. Oddly enough, his name was John too.

John was about my age and over the next few months we became friends. I met his partner who was loving and faithful till the end. I almost overcame my fear of touching him. And we did communion.

It was just him and me, per his request. He was afraid if he came to a regular worship service it would make his father the object of small-town drama, and John’s partner wasn’t big on Christianity, so the two of us met in the sanctuary on a weekday afternoon.

I pulled out all the stops. I put on my pulpit robe, used the acolyte’s lighter to light the candles, and we did high church liturgy. Afterward, we sat in the front pew and talked theology, but not Christology eschatology, or about the Trinity. We talked about life with Christ, being loved, forgiveness, and hope.

He wanted to share what he believed, and he wanted to know what I thought about it. I wish I had recorded that conversation. It was perfect. John believed he was loved, and that somehow he would be welcomed home. When he asked me if I thought what he believed was Christian, I answered, “If that ain’t Christian, there’s no such thing.”

John died. I believe with all my heart he was welcomed home. His last few months were a gift to me.

Which brings us to these days. Over the years, it’s my hope that I’ve grown into the role of ally. I know I have people in my life that represent every letter in the LGBTQ community that make my heart grin when I think about them. And, let me be crystal clear, while not all my queer friends and family identify as Christian, many of them do, and they have blessed me, inspired me, and helped me to love more dearly.

I started this little written journey with “queers say, ‘huh.’” I think that word was on my mind because the other night I went to a Christian, queer, country, folk, rock concert at a nearby church. It was headlined by Flamy Grant and Spencer LaJoye. Check them out. I was blessed, inspired, and experienced love a little more dearly.

On the way home I wondered what would make someone that had been told all their life that they weren’t quite in God’s circle keep writing and singing songs of love.

I’m thinking it must be something real, something transformative, something I think we could all use a little more of.

Huh?

The other day, I was having a very nice walk with an old friend. It was a beautiful day, conversation was good, and then he ruined it. He asked the question I’ve grown to hate.

“So, what you doing with your time since you retired?” Hate it.

I don’t hate it is because I don’t know. I do know. I’m a list guy. I keep track. More like I keep score, but I’ll get back to that in a minute.

He didn’t want an accounting of my time anyway. He’s my friend, and was interested in what’s going on in my life. That should’ve made me feel loved and affirmed, but it didn’t.

For some reason, I felt pressure from within to say something impressive. Something big. Something that would make him think, “Wow, wait till I tell the others!” Certainly something bigger than what I’m actually doing.

What I’m actually doing is living a quiet life. I’m simply enjoying family, friends, and dogs. I volunteer a little, read stuff that attracts me, take walks, and try to listen and be kind in conversations. Oh, and I watch a western now and then.

I’m not sure what I think is wrong with that, and why I feel embarrassed that it’s my life now days. It certainly can’t be healthy to feel like that.

I wish I was more like another friend. One who I actually find quite impressive. She’s been known to say, “I’m just an average person, having an average day.” That feels healthy.

My spiritual director is one of the wisest people I know. Early on in our journey, I shared these feelings with her. I told her that I keep track of my days. I make lists. I keep score. I strive to do something significant every week. Some weeks I even give myself a grade. She sat quietly for a few seconds, smiled with a twinkle in her wise blue eyes, and said, “I think I’m going to help you become a slug.”

Again, that was my spiritual director. Hear it. Her plan to help me along the path of becoming the person I am meant to be was to help me become a slug.

“Just an average person, having an average day.” What’s wrong with that? Do we (Okay I) push back on that because average is a C, and we were (It’s not just me. You were too.) raised to chase A’s and B’s?

And, you know what A’s and B’s get us don’t you? Atta-boys. The Dean’s List. Recognition. Folks are impressed.

Jesus spoke a good bit about the perils of seeking recognition. He said it’s pretty hard to trust God and walk in the way when we are seeking praise from others.

That makes me think that my calling it “recognition” is too nice. Isn’t it really seeking to be worthy, maybe even more worthy than others? Certainly not average.

Try that on, and tell me if it feels Christlike.

I think the next time someone asks me what I’m doing with my time I’m going to try to be brave enough to say, “Living a quiet life. Enjoying family, friends, and dogs. Volunteering a little. Reading stuff that attracts me. Taking walks. Trying to be kind. Nothing spectacular.”

Maybe if I’m really brave I’ll say, “Working on my slug badge.”

I’m not sure it’s a great idea to put all this out there, but here goes.

It stems from my wrestling with Jesus saying, “you shall be my witnesses” (Acts 1:8). Often, I feel like I’m coming up short.

Somehow along the way I got the idea that good witnesses were saintlike, paragons of virtue. Don’t think I’ve ever been described in those terms.

I like to play poker, drink beer, and the other night I said, “shit” when I lost a large pot. And, apparently I do that often. No one seemed surprised.

In some circles this would be more than enough to disqualify me. And for the record, my father would be very disappointed that I typed out and posted one of the above words.

Of course, I haven’t always been so earthy.

Long, long ago, I often checked the witness box. I handed out gospel tracks on busy corners, did a little street preaching, and even did a stint answering phones for a well known televangelist. As in, “call now for prayer, and maybe make a pledge.” I often asked folks if they wanted to pray a prayer that would get them in heaven. (Didn’t use those words, but that was the gist)

More recently, I’ve helped lead retreats on basic Christianity, prayed a good bit with folks who have trouble believing God can love them, and preached more than a few sermons on walking in The Way.

Now days, I am not planning my next street sermon, but I do love to talk with folks, especially doubters. Heavy on listening. And, if they want, I am blessed to pray with them. But I don’t push decisions.

I’ve come to believe it’s a journey, not a plunge. This makes me something of a disappointment to folks who excitedly tell me, “Betsy gave her heart to the Lord last night!”

I think that’s a good thing, sacred even. I just hope Betsy knows that it’s just one step in a long journey. I hope she knows her next step needs to be in a good direction. Even folks that ask Jesus into their heart can wind up in a place where it would have been better if they had remained a free agent. (see the a fore mentioned well known televangelist)

So, I guess I haven’t retired from witnessing. I try to be of service to folks needing a hand, I seek to be a peacemaker, and I don’t hide my love for creation, others, and Spirit. I try my best to walk in the way of Jesus, who loved, lived, and died to show us God.

All that felt like enough till I heard a sermon by a good pastor that made me feel like I may not be cutting it. He said that we are called to not only embrace the way “of” Jesus, but also the gospel “about” Jesus. In other words, who he was and is. The creedal stuff.

I’m going to give myself a passing grade on the way “of.” Not an A, but passing. That’s serving, making peace, and loving. The part about “about” makes me a little nervous.

I’m pretty sure I could still hand in a passing term paper on it. I actually have many, many times, and I often got an A. But, to tell the truth, I’m not sure the Jesus I see in the Gospels would sign off on it.

He talked a good bit more about doing than believing. In other words, walking in the way “of.” When he did talk about the “about” part, the part about who he was, he was clear that part didn’t mean a thing if not accompanied by doing, the way “of.”

Anyway, here’s my question. Is enjoying hanging out with folks, especially those that don’t see it like I do, being a part of their life, loving, serving, seeking peace, and not hiding my commitment to The Way enough? Is that witnessing?

Even if I keep playing poker, drinking beer, and cussing (though not as much out loud as I do in my head.)

Most mornings I do church in our loft, at my desk, looking out the window into the woods. There’s always a lot going on outside this window, but the focal point is a Tulip tree.

I have watched this particular tree grow from a sprout into a straight and tall youngster of about 30’. I have watched its leaves come and go, and its limbs stretch for the sun for over eight years. I feel like we have something of a relationship.

The other morning, I was noticing that the recent winds have sped its annual shedding. Leaves that I remember as tiny buds, then full and green, now yellow with occasional brown, are letting go, and returning to the earth.

As I pondered this seasonal cycle, a little twitch on the end of one of the tree’s branches caught my eye. It was an Eastern Phoebe, likely born and raised in the nest between the window I was looking out of and the eave of our cabin. This nest has been a summer home for Phoebes for years now.

I grabbed the binoculars that I keep on the sill, focused in, and wondered what year this gal or fellow came along. I wondered if it had inherited the family home, and if it would be cleaning it up a bit, and hatching the next generation come spring.

Later, as I read in another book by the Spirit, I came across these words from Colossians 1:23, “The gospel has been proclaimed to every creature under heaven.” I looked back at my tree, looked around for the Phoebe, but it was gone.

“The gospel has been proclaimed to every creature?” Funny, I’ve never seen a Phoebe with a bible under its wing, and I doubt the Tulip tree will be able to get to this year’s revival at the Baptist church down the road. How was the gospel proclaimed to creatures that don’t speak English, let alone ancient Greek? And, is humanity a part of this congregation that hears the wordless good news?

It would seem obvious that books, hymns, and sacred buildings don’t have an exclusive claim to the Spirit. The Spirit certainly proclaims in ways far higher than ours.

I’m thinking that there is a hum in the universe that we all, trees, birds, and people, are invited to hear. A hum of wonder. A hum of life. A hum of love. A hum that invites everything that has breath to hum along.

Could it be that simply being alive, creations of the Lord of Life, and bearers of that sacred spark, puts all of creation into the loving presence of the one in whom we live, and move, and have our being?

Again, all this is certainly higher than my ways, but it feels like good news to me.

I was feeling pretty good about myself the other morning. For about ninety seconds.

I was journaling, writing down my hopes, intentions, and prayers for the day. “May I see more clearly. May I remember to look around with love. Help me be a better husband, father, friend, and neighbor.”

I wasn’t trying for world’s best, but I was serious. I wanted to follow more nearly. I really did.

Then, my pen wrote something that I hadn’t given it permission to write. “May I do these things without regard for recognition.”

Wait, what? Flirt with sainthood and nobody notices?

I looked at those words, the ink still drying on the page, and I came to the cold, shocking truth. I care a bunch what other people think. In fact, it’s embarrassing to think how often I imagine being admired for doing good things.

Sometimes, I even say it out loud. I’ve heard me say way more than once that I want my wife and daughters to be proud of me. Of course, some things I don’t say out loud because they aren’t quite as acceptable as wanting your family to be proud.

I often imagine what it will be like for my opponents when the scales drop from their eyes, and they see how Christian I am.

As long as I’m being open here, I’ll confess that I’ve even pictured what it will be like at my funeral. I wonder about what folks will say about the impact I’ve made. That’s probably a little too revealing, but it was shocking for me to realize how much the possibility of recognition motivates me.

What if nobody comes to my funeral? What if no one notices? Worse, what if I am not really doing anything note worthy? There’s a lot of people that want to be better husbands, fathers, friends, and neighbors.

Can I live a quiet life, doing small things, without regard for recognition? I mean, it seems like the Pulitzer folks would have contacted me by now if I was being considered. I don’t even see an appreciation plaque on the horizon.

Again, can I live a quiet life, doing small things, without regard for recognition? Any recognition? I hope so. In fact, I hope so a lot. I think that would be the most freeing thing that’s happened to me in a while.

If I could somehow get there, I would be free to walk a simple path, being and doing me. Unhindered. I could become the me God is creating, not a false me built on vanity and chasing empty recognition.

Sort of like the crow dancing in the wind, not because anyone is watching, but because it can. Like the waterfall that splashes when no one is there. Like the perfect lily that only a bumble bee will see. Like the kids playing soccer, and actually not keeping score. Like the woman praying and smiling in an empty room. Like the folks who love, not because other folks love them, but because they can, because they choose to.

Without regard for recognition.

I don’t care what you think.

Aw, that’s not true. I need a pat on the back now and then. That’s okay. It’s just that there are better reasons than approval to follow more nearly.

I like to imagine what Jesus’ band of disciples would look like if he were walking around the United States these days. Pretty sure it would be eye popping.

Let’s start with the obvious. Of course, every race and various mixes of every race would be in the Jesus circle.

Now, lets go wider. Every gender identity would have a seat in the circle as well. The truck driver with a million safe miles behind him would be there, proudly wearing his red, MAGA cap. Sitting next to him, not really happy about it, would be the university professor, her heart still stinging from Hillary’s loss. There would be a police officer, a day trader, a CFO, and a non documented laborer. And, likely someone attached to each of the letters in the LGBTQ community. Plus, a hearty helping of so called, regular folks. The folks you see at Walmart.

There would be some religious leaders as well, but they wouldn’t actually be in the circle. They’d be observing from the outside, unwilling to go all in, due their tightly held beliefs.

If that’s not eye popping enough for you, make your own list. Just make sure you have someone representing everything from zealots, to tax collectors, to fishermen, to women of means, to folks just beyond the fringe of social acceptability. And, remember where the religious leaders were seated. Certainly eye popping in first century Palestine.

Somehow Jesus kept such a diverse group on the same page. Except, of course, when they were arguing, or trying to be Jesus’ favorite, or disappearing when things got dicey. But mostly, pretty much on the same page.

I truly wonder what got them to sit at the same table, and almost play nice.

I guess continually hearing Jesus say that the call is to become like a little child, and seek to be the servant in the group helped. Not to mention, do unto others as you’d have them do to you, love your neighbor as a part of yourself, and take up your cross and follow.

Mostly though, I think it came from deep inside. I think on some level they got that, beyond politics, theology, and lifestyle; the foundation of each one’s identity is, beloved child of God. Each one. Everyone. Jesus certainly spoke words that affirmed this. Words of life.

Perhaps if we got that, we wouldn’t be so in your face with one-another with our caps, badges, and favorite issues.

Now, here’s the thing. My exercise of imagination really wasn’t that hard. I have met, and celebrated at the Lord’s table with all the folks mentioned in paragraphs two and three. I celebrate that. Each one has a gift for me. I need each one in my life. We are all God’s child.

The Spirit is moving throughout the world today. The call is to come and follow. There is a seat at the table with my name on it, and there are seats at the table with the names of the folks in paragraphs two and three on them. Friend, there’s a seat with your name on it. We’re all on the invitation list. We just need to remember that none of us are bouncers.

May God help us come as little children, seeking to be the one who serves, and always remembering who it is that offers the Word of Life.

Today’s word: creativity.

I recently heard Brian McLaren say that creativity is where the Spirit is moving these days. Art, prose, poetry, architecture, landscape design, music… his list went on. These are the things that will help humanity will see a path beyond division and selfishness. It’s the artists; those who touch us deeply, the ones who shove us toward empathy, and make us want to do a little better, who speak Spirit.

I’ll admit that when I heard that, I thought, “Well, I guess I’m officially on the sidelines now. I am certainly not creative.”

It felt like middle school and my friends were wondering who I was going ask to the Spring dance. Nobody. I can not dance. And, I do not for a minute believe no one will be watching. Even if no one else is, my partner will certainly be watching, and wondering if I actually thought I was dancing. Nope. Just like the middle school dance, I guess I’ll sit this movement of the Spirit out.

Then, I took a breath, and asked middle school me to please be quiet for a second. “Dude, that was a long time ago.”

I actually have been known to dance a little bit. Sometimes, the music moves, literally moves me. Why, not long ago, I was was dancing with my sweetie of fifty years on a beach in Hawaii, and I didn’t care who was watching.

And, sometimes I experience creativity. It comes from deep inside, or maybe from someplace outside, it’s hard to tell which, but it comes.

I ponder a little, play a little, imagine a little, and there it is: a story, an insight, a vision for that bush in the garden, an awesome Dad joke, a photo of a lizard on a rock, a whispered prayer of gratitude. Or maybe it’s simply figuring out how to encourage and support an unknown artist that is in a creativity league most of us will never visit. I’m a part. Look at me doing creativity.

Of course my work isn’t award winning or show stopping. In fact, sometimes even my best Dad jokes are simply ignored. That’s cool. It still has a life. Is qualifies. It’s creativity.

Creativity. Where the Spirit moves. It’s where we connect to one another, and remember who we are, who we all are. We somehow partner with the Creator. It comes for within and from out side of us. It feeds that spark that makes us truly human.

I think McLaren is on to something.