Yearly Archives: 2006

The Barefoot Worshipper

Today a young adult man who lives near the church came to church without shoes. He walked to church barefoot, and went into the sanctuary barefoot (also wearing shorts and a button shirt with the sleeves cut off). This young man first came back in March or thereabouts, and he has returned maybe eight times. He’s had some trouble with the law, and I’m sure he has a very difficult life. I want him to feel accepted at Anchor. And I think he does.

He hadn’t been there in a few weeks, and I was concerned. When we musicians finished and I walked out the back, I made a point of tapping him on the shoulder and saying, “Great to see you today.” He looked over his shoulder and acknowledged me.

The thing that’s great is, nobody seemed bothered that he came to church barefoot. I didn’t hear anyone even mention it. We had a party at our house tonight, with about 20 people, and it never came up.

We pride ourselves on not making an issue of dress. But this was a new one, and I thought at least someone would say something about it. But nobody did. It’s like we just collectively realized, “Okay, haven’t seen this one before. But it falls under the same heading as wearing shorts and T-shirts. It’s not something to make a fuss over.”

And that absolutely delights me. Nobody said a thing about his attire, negative or positive. It just wasn’t an issue.

In every church I’ve attended in my life, it would have been an issue. People would have at least whispered about it (unapprovingly). But it wasn’t an issue at Anchor today. And that thrills me. It’s fun being part of an atypical church.

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A Miscellaneous Day

This has certainly been a church-focused week, which is not something I ever begrudge. I grew up in a family that was always doing church stuff, even long before Dad entered the ministry (which was my junior year of high school). “Church” is what we did as a family. Sure, we went on great camping vacations, saw most of the 50 states, Dad spent plenty of time in the yard playing catch with me (both football and baseball), and we did lots of other stuff as a family. But the main thing we did was “church.” That’s a model I greatly, greatly value. And it’s something which has certainly carried over into adulthood for me and my two brothers. In fact, the period of my adulthood when I felt the most restless and discontent was when I was part of a large church which didn’t particularly need my attention in the way smaller churches have.

Anyway, Wednesday night was prayer night–nine of us sitting at a table in the back of the church sanctuary, praying for each other and the needs of the church. I’ve really enjoyed this time.

Thursday was music practice, after which I continued practicing until 10:30 with Tim and Terry, our guitarists. On July 29, we have a gig at Seekers Coffeehouse, as part of their summer-long Battle of the Bands. We’re gonna win this sucker.

Friday night we went to Mark and Tami Solak’s house for a youth/young adult outing. Heavy thunderstorms came through, but things cleared up enough to throw frisbee in the yard for a while. We did a lot of laughing around their kitchen table. And I also had some great individual discussions with a couple of them, including a way-too-young guy and girl who are expecting a child in the next couple of months, and have a multitude of things stacked against them. They’ve been on my mind, and in my prayers, for quite a while now.

Tomorrow night we’re having the worship team over for a cookout, which means we spent today cleaning up the house and yard. It’s now 10 pm, and I just finished spraying out and sweeping the back porch and outside patio (thank you, Daylight Savings time!). Now I’m sitting here soaked in sweat, which is an image you’re glad I’ve imparted, and I don’t imagine you’ll ever use my keyboard.

Got something in the oven, and have just enough time for a quick shower.

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Let Me Cut You a Deal

I received my annual call from the police benevolent association. This organization has had a terrible track record as a charitable group, with a huge percentage of donations going toward fundraising costs. However, I was impressed that right away, the caller identified the organization, and gave the street address and an 800 number. Then he began his pitch.

I let him go for a little bit, and then butted in with my usual “thanks but no thanks” speech, which includes an affirmation of them as an organization but also gives my reason for not wishing to support them. So when the guy paused to take a breath, I said:

“Thanks for calling. I know you are a worthy cause. My wife and I support a number of worthy causes, but we prioritize them and we decided not to include your organization. So I’m afraid we’re not interested.”

Usually, this confuses fundraisers, because they’re not accustomed to encountering thoughtful givers, preying more on impulse givers. But this guy was ready for me. He said:

“That’s great. We find that people like you are among are best and most reliable supporters. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’m going to cut you a deal. For just ten dollars….”

And that’s where he totally lost me. “Cut you a deal”–those were his exact words. I immediately interrupted him and said, “We don’t ‘cut deals’ when it comes to charitable giving.” And I hung up.

That really irked me. Giving, ministry, service–you shouldn’t do these things because you get some benefit out of it. I’m not going to support something just because they made me a great deal–sent me a book, included me in a drawing, or signed me up as a member at a lower-than-normal cost.

Should we “cut deals” when it comes to tithing percentage (“Hey, 10% is a bit steep. How about 4%? Would that work for you?”). Or maybe tell people, “Life is hectic, so we don’t expect people to attend church every Sunday. If you can make it two Sundays a month, that’s good enough for us.”

When Jesus told the rich man that he needed to sell everything he owned and give it to the poor, the man walked away. And Jesus let him walk away. Should Jesus have said, “Okay, maybe that’s a bit much. I’ll cut you a deal–sell just half of what you own and give it away. No, I can do better than that. Let’s make it just a third. Do we have a deal?” But no, Jesus let the guy walk away. Jesus don’t cut no deals.

With this caller from the policeman’s association, I stomped away.

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Defacing My $20 Bill

This morning after getting the stitches removed from my gums, I went to Scott’s grocery store to get some donuts and other culinary supplies. I gave the checkout girl a $20 bill, and then watched her pick up a black Sharpie and put a little tick-mark just to the right of Andrew Jackson’s head.

“Why did you make that mark?” I asked her.

She said, “Some of the other Scott’s stores were having trouble with their twenties, so we’re all doing this.”

“Oh,” I said. As if that answered my question, which it most certainly didn’t. But being unduly polite and not wanting to embarrass her, I didn’t question further. I just accepted her answer like a lemming, collected my change, and left to enjoy creamy vanilla filling.

But ever since, I’ve been wondering, “So what kind of a problem can a store have with a $20 bill? And why does defacing the bill with a black mark solve that problem? And why was I too timid to ask this question of vital concern to our national currency?”

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Book: Beasts of No Nation

On Sunday I finished a little 135-page book called Beasts of No Nation, by a Nigerian named Uzudinma Iweala (I’m only typing that once, because I really need to concentrate on the spelling). The story is a first-person novel told from the viewpoint of a young boy abducted into a guerrilla army and everything that he endures–killing, butchering, sexual abuse (committed by him and upon him by his Commandant), and so much more.

The story takes place in an “unnamed West African country,” which could easily be Sierra Leone, which underwent a horrific civil war during the 1990s. My denomination has had mission work in Sierra Leone since the 1850s, so we followed the fighting and attendant atrocities in Sierra Leone closely. But the country could as easily be Liberia, or maybe even Nigeria, where the author is from.

The book is an award-winning, acclaimed first novel, and appeared on various lists of the best books of 2005. It reads quickly, and yet is a bit difficult to read, because of the linguistic style. Here’s a sample passage:

“I am knowing I am no more child so if this war is ending I cannot be going back to doing child thing. No, I will be going back to be teachering or farming, or Doctor or Engineer, and I will be finding my mother and my sister, but not my father because he is dying in this war.”

The author wrote this as his senior thesis at Harvard. I read interviews on the web in which he talked about the book, and how his curiosity was first aroused when he read a story about child soldiers in Sierra Leone. He said, “One of the problems that the communities face is that sometimes the kids who are forced to fight are forced to commit atrocities against their own community members, to disconnect them from their communities, and make it impossible for them to go back. So they have nothing to do but fight, because they have nowhere to go. So then the war is ended, and now you have this kid who’s gone and killed people in his own community. Is that community just supposed to accept him back, without any problems?”

Gary Dilley, our director of Global Ministries, told me that the city of Bo (in Sierra Leone) has a number of former child soldiers exactly like this–nobody wants them because of the things they’ve done. The government has given them all bicycles as a tool for employment. But my, how they must be scarred in so many ways.

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Lackadaisical Ping Pong

Just got back from the table tennis club. Didn’t play so well tonight, but had a good time. It was tournament night, and I got placed in a tough group for the round robin. Won one out of four in the first round. I felt pretty mellow tonight, not competitive. Don’t know why.

I did give Gary a good run in the second round. We play the best of five games, and I took Gary to game 5, right down to the wire. I made him say sh** more than I’ve ever heard him use that word, and I take some pride in that, even though I lost. His use of obscenity assures me that he was trying very hard.

After that marathon match with Gary, I played a fellow whom I’ve beaten numerous times. He was gunning for me tonight, really focused, while I just didn’t really care. If I had hunkered down with some requisite grim determination, the outcome would have been different. But he beat me, and I just congratulated him and then sat down with an “oh well” sigh. Next week I’ll have to give him a good drubbing. I’m sure that’s what Jesus would do.

Mike, one of the young whippersnapper who, I hate admitting, has jumped ahead of me in ability, is heading off for China this week. When I learned about that, I figured it was some kind of mission trip, and I was excited about that. Turns out he’s actually going to a three-week tennis camp, a very intensive affair during which he’ll learn from pros and play constantly. When he comes back, he’ll have leapfrogged ahead of a number of players (I’ll be left in the dust). Makes for a pretty expensive hobby, though.

I did end the night with a win. It was against Richard, a new fellow who hails from Ghana (and was quite proud, two weeks ago, of his national soccer team, which had beaten the US that week). He’s a very enjoyable guy with a ready smile and a forehand which catches me off-guard…but not enough.

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A Grief Overlooked

Bob and Becky are very faithful at Anchor, and truly nice people. Quiet, unassuming, gracious people, somewhere in their late 50s I’m guessing. I like them a lot. They always sit on the end of a row, and their faithfulness blesses me as I stand up front at the keyboard each Sunday. I don’t know how long they’ve been coming to Anchor–maybe a couple years. They live on the next street over. I greatly value them as part of Anchor, though I don’t know them well.

A couple weeks ago it was announced during the service that Becky’s brother had died that week. It evidently didn’t register with people, because a couple weeks later I learned that Becky received a sympathy card from just one person in the church. And it wasn’t us.

I felt terrible about that. So did others. People moved into action–belatedly, but out of real concern for Becky’s grief. The loss of a brother is a big deal. Somehow, Becky’s loss got lost in our midst, and that just shouldn’t happen. Certainly not in a church of our size. We pride ourselves on being a warm, friendly church. What happened with Becky isn’t typical of Anchor–at least, I hope it isn’t. But it happened, and it shouldn’t have.

I thought of my brothers, and what it would mean to lose one of them. We’re all close. It would devastate me.

With that in mind, this Sunday before church I sat down with Becky and asked questions about her brother–where he lived, were they close, younger or older, etc. She opened up, and I think she appreciated my interest, which was genuine. And I thoroughly enjoyed talking to her. This is a woman I want to get to know a lot better, because in her gentle quietness, I sensed a real strength and character.

I’ve got to pay closer attention to what’s happening in people’s lives. All of us do. It’s part of being a community.

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Reese Witherspoon Weekend

Pam and I watched two Reese Witherspoon movies this weekend on DVD. Just worked out that way. On Friday night we saw “Just Like Heaven,” a nice romantic comedy in which she was, basically, in the ghost species. Nice flick, happy ending, PG-13, no bad language.

Tonight we watched “A Far Off Place,” a 1993 movie set in Africa. She was very young back then, and played a tomboy. Interesting contrast to her “Legally Blonde” movies. A totally clean PG-rated flick. So, a couple of good movies. Hurray for Reese Witherspoon.

Good night.

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Recycling the Same Stuff

I really like the book “Velvet Elvis.” It’s author, Rob Bell, is pastor of the Mars Hill church in Michigan, a different kind of megachurch. We’ll be hearing more about him in the years ahead. He’s probably the Bill Hybels of the postmodern generation. But my first real exposure was through “Velvet Elvis.”

One part, though, made me mad.

In one of his later chapters, Bell described the educational system in Jesus’ day. This was fascinating. From roughly age 6 to age 10, kids studied the Torah (the first five books of the Old Testament) at the local synagogue under a rabbi’s teaching. By age 10, most students would have those five books memorized. So Jesus went through this process.

The best students went on to the next level, which lasted until around age 14. The other students “dropped out” and learned the family trade. No dishonor in that. By age 14, these better students might have the entire Old Testament memorized. Jesus, I’m confident, did.

After age 14 or 15, only the best of the best remained; the others went back to the family business. These best-and-brightest students would apply to become a disciple of a rabbi, learning to copy that rabbi in every way. The rabbi would grill the kid to see if he was worth the investment. If accepted, the kid would join that rabbi’s band of disciples and follow him everywhere.

Then, about the age of 30, you would be considered a rabbi and would begin your own teaching and training of disciples. That, of course, is when Jesus began his public ministry. But Jesus, instead of choosing from the “best of the best,” chose lowly fishermen who probably washed out at age 10. In the eyes of other rabbis, he probably chose poorly.

All of this is fascinating background and sheds enormous light on Jesus’ childhood and the whole nature and perception of his public ministry.

And that’s what makes me mad.

Why hadn’t I ever heard this before? I’ve sat through thousands of sermons and Sunday school classes and seminars, and I’ve never heard this. This is a fundamental understanding of Jewish culture and rabbinical ministry, and it illuminates so much of what was happening with Jesus and his merry band of followers. Do we just keep regurgitating the same information? Hadn’t anyone bothered to explore education in Jesus’ time?

I’ve got a stack of books by Christians about how to lead small groups. They all say basically the same thing‚Äîsame principles, same advice, same methods (except for Em Griffin, who does plow new ground). One time I was in a public library and discovered some secular books on small group dynamics. I browsed through a couple and discovered all kinds of stuff I’d never seen before. Fascinating insights into group behavior. Do Christian authors just keep recycling and repackaging stuff already written by other Christian authors?

Well, thanks, Rob Bell, for teaching me something truly new. Assuming that your info is accurate.

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A Post Just to Post

Well, at least I put in one day of work this week. My jaw remains swollen and ouchy. I took a pain pill just before arriving at work, and for a while felt a bit woozy. That may or may not be a correctly-spelled word.

At 3 pm I met Dad at Lowe’s to help him get their new washer and dryer. My Dakota comes in handy. At their place, I upgraded the system software on Dad’s iMac and got it connected to their new Brother all-in-one printer and connected to the internet with Dad’s Juno account. Dad totally renovated our basement, put in a couple ceiling fans, and wreaked numerous other improvements upon our house. My handyman skills stop at installing system software and drivers.

The local paper in South Bend did a big article on Mom and Dad, focusing the story around the Pelley murders 17 years ago. The paper said Dad was 74 and Mom was 75. Actually Mom is 69 (always 20 years older than me). She thought the mistake was funny. Good for her.

There, aren’t you glad you read this?

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