Dear John, (My Tribute to John Prine)

Dear John,

I remember the first time I heard you sing was in the late 1970s or early 80s.  I was with my lifelong friend, also named John (hereafter referred to as “Friend John”). Friend John had gone to G.F.Wilson’s in Florence, and bought a bunch of vinyl albums.  They were selling them all because everyone was switching to the newest thing… cassette tapes.  Anyway, Friend John still had a turntable and we were listening to some albums when he said, “Check out this guy…John Prine.” I said, “John Prine?  What kind of music does he sing?”  “He’s sort of a folk singer, I guess,”Friend John replied.   

I wasn’t really interested.  I was definitely a Rock-n-Roll guy, but Friend John said, “Just listen to this.  This guy is just so…real.”  And I heard these words and this song coming from the Radio Shackspeakers:

Sam Stone came home to his wife and family

After serving in the conflict overseas.

And the time that he served, had shattered all his nerves,

And left a little shrapnel in his knees.

But the morphine eased the pain, and the grass grew ‘round his brain,

And gave him all the confidence he lacked,

With a purple heart and a monkey on his back.

That simple, profound song about a veteran who came back from war with a drug habit touched something in me.  Truly, I became an instant fan.

I don’t know what it is about your songs, John.  Maybe it is their raw honesty.  Maybe it is the way you exposed life with all its joy, pain, and silliness. Something about your songs grabbedme, and I proceeded to listen to every one of them.  Not only did I listen to them, I sang them!  That my crooning was not all that great didn’t seem to matter as I rolled down the Natchez Trace with the windows down in the car (your crooning was not all that great either to be perfectly honest), but singing your songs helpedme somehow.

Please don’t bury me down in that cold, cold ground

No, I’d rather have ‘em cut me up and pass me all around

Throw my brain in a hurricane and the blind can have my eyes

And the deaf can have both my ears if they don’t mind the size

The first one of your songs that I learned to play on my guitar was Paradise.  I still pick it and sing it from time to time.

When I was a child my family would travel

Down to Western Kentucky where my parents were born

And there’s a backwards old town that’s often remembered

So many times that that my memories are worn.

And Daddy won’t you take me back to Muhlenberg County

Down by the Green River where Paradise lay.

Well, I’m sorry my son, but you’re too late in asking

Mister Peabody’s coal train has hauled it away.

How many people have covered thatsong over the years?  John Denver, Tom T. Hall, The Everly Brothers, Jimmy Buffett, John Fogerty…the list goes on.  My favorite cover was done by Johnny Cash; he really makes you feellike he is from Muhlenberg County.

I got to wondering about that song, Paradise…wondering whether it was just a song.  But your songs are never really “just songs,” are they?  I knew my Uncle Red had worked and lived up in Kentucky for several years.  One day I was talking to him and asked, “Hey, Uncle Red. I’ve been listening to this song, Paradise,”and I went on to describe the lyrics.  “Is there any truth to this song?”  He said,“Every word of it is true.  I’ve seen what got left behind by those coal companies, and it’s a crying shame.” Friend John was right; your songs are so…real.

Your songs helped me get through a variety of seasons over the last 40 years; some of them happy and carefree, and some of them painful and difficult.  Your album The Missing Yearshelped me through a divorce. The Missing Yearswas considered your comeback album, and while I played the heck out of that album, I had a comeback in my own life.  I got married to Tammy in 1993, and while she has never reached the “I-can-sing-every-lyric” status like me, she does have an appreciation for your genius.  One of the best birthday gifts anyone ever gave me was the year Tammy got tickets to see you live at the Alabama Theatre.  It’s the only concert I ever attended where the whole audience (except for Tammy) sang every line of every song!  I’ve got that memory stored away in the locker.

And singing your songs while I bang away on my guitar is helping me de-stress through this COVID-19 pandemic, too.  I knew you were sick with the virus, but your death still caught me off guard.  With all you had been through—two bouts of cancer, two knee replacements, a hip replacement and metal in your elbow—I never thought a virus would take you out, you son of a gun.

When you died last Wednesday, I saw a lot of people coming out on social media as big fans of yours.  Honestly, I had to take a few days before I could write anything.  I had to let all this process in me, maybe like you processed life before you wrote all those lyrics?  

I couldn’t help thinking about your song, When I Get to Heavenlast Wednesday. I’m not saying it’s great theology, but it’s classic Prine.

When I get to heaven, I'm gonna shake God's hand
Thank him for more blessings than one man can stand
Then I'm gonna get a guitar and start a rock-n-roll band
Check into a swell hotel; ain't the afterlife grand?

And then I'm gonna get a cocktail: vodka and ginger ale
Yeah, I'm gonna smoke a cigarette that's nine miles long
I'm gonna kiss that pretty girl on the tilt-a-whirl
'Cause this old man is goin' to town

Rest in peace, John.  Thanks for all those great memories!

Yours truly,

Sam

What’s (Churned) Up, Doc?

What’s (Churned) Up, Doc?

I’m thinking about hurricanes on this beautiful, perfect-weather spring day in Alabama. I’m thinking about how when a hurricane hits, there is a tremendous impact on the surface–trees, structures, etc. Everything we see is affected. So, why am I thinking and writing about this today?  Because this Covid-19 pandemic feels like a hurricane that has hit…except that it is worldwide and not limited to one area.  Doesn’t it? Everything around us is touched by this pandemic…businesses, churches, recreational venues.  The surface of our world has changed.

But hurricanes don’t just affect the surface of the ocean.  They also affect the ocean floor.  The high winds and waves of a hurricane churn up silt (and anything else) that is on the ocean floor–especially in the shallower areas, like around the Florida Keys. You can actually look at satellite photos before and after a hurricane and see that the ocean actually changes colors for a while after the storm…at least until things “settle down.”

The same goes for our Covid-19 hurricane.  The deep, unseen “ocean floor” of our lives is being affected, things churned up from the bottom…recoloring our emotions.  What sort of silt is churned up?  Well, I can speak most clearly about my own stuff.  Some of big things that are churned up in me from Hurricane Corona are stress, anger and grief.

Stress?  Who hasn’t been stressed lately?  “But you seem so chill…” Even the most “chill” among us are taking on stress like lightning rod…or like a solar panel, storing that “stress charge” up.  Where will all that stress come out?  Usually in our relationships…with the ones who are in the house with us or even with the people who are stocking the shelves at Wal-Mart. 

What’s churned up, Doc?  “Anger?”my inner voice asks.  “That’s right, Doc.”  This is a long-standing issue for me, since I don’t yell and scream like some folks do to deal with their anger.  When I first entered the ministry, I had to take a written psychological test, and then meet with a psychologist and be interviewed. (Ok, before anybody says it, “How does any preacher ever pass that one?!”) The one thing I remember from that day (sometime in 1980) was being asked, “How do you deal with your anger?”  I don’t know what I said.“Anger?  I didn’t know I had any.” If I had been totally honest that day, I would have said, “I handle my anger by pretending it doesn’t exist and letting it sink to the bottom of the ocean floor.”

I wasn’t even aware that anger had been churned up in me until Tammy named it for me.  “You seem angry,” she said.  I hate it when she’s right.  It made me a little angry that she said that.  Truth is, I had a lot of anger that I had not dealt with.  It made me angry to see panicked people buy up all the toilet paper and hand sanitizer.  It made me angry to see people ignore social distancing by taking the whole family on an outing to Lowes. I’ve been angry at politicians…at people putting stupid things on social media. I just haven’t really named it “anger,” until this week. And until I name it, I can’t deal with it.

What’s churned up, Doc? How about grief?  “Grief?”  “That’s right, Doc.”  I had a FaceTime counseling session this week with a pastoral counselor friend who has helped me through many storms in my life.  He helped me name the grief. You and I grieve when we experience loss.  I know I haven’t lost things like others have.  I haven’t had a loved one die from this awful virus.  I haven’t lost my job.  But just because my loss isn’t as profound as some others, doesn’t mean that I don’t have to deal with it (It’s not a competition). Me?  I’ve lost my normal. I’ve lost access to my mom, except by phone; to my congregation, except via online worship and Bible Study. I’m an introvert. I’m better suited for quarantine than some.  But I get a little wigged out and antsy at not being around people like “normal.” And sad…

And my grief reaches beyond me to my immediate family. I grieve over Tammy’s losses.  She finally got a new job and showed up the first day of work and got sent home.  The office closed down because of the virus. She worked hard as a part of the orchestra in a local musical; it was great, but canceled after the opening weekend - no gatherings permitted.  I understand, but still grieve for her.  And I grieve over our children’s losses. Our daughters have lost their college classes, at least in the traditional sense.  Our son has lost his senior year in high school, his senior prom, graduation and other “lasts.”

My grief reaches farther still…to our collective grief; to people like my sister and all the other healthcare workers who are working so hard, and exposing themselves at the risk of their own health and that of their families to take care of others.  I sent my sister a text this evening, asking how she was holding up.  She responded, “Crying my eyes out right now.  Walked out of work and the hospital was surrounded by people praying and all the ambulances and fire trucks with sirens on.” My sister is one of my heroes. I grieve over small business owners, hair stylists, nursing home residents…to those who have lost loved ones and can’t have a funeral and those who planned a wedding and are having to postpone…the list goes on and on.

Once we put a name on the things that get churned up, how do we deal with them in a healthy way?  I’m thinking about a song from Donald Fagan’s Sunken Condos album, ”The Weather in My Head”:

Here comes my own Katrina - the levee comes apart
There's an ocean of misery floodin' my heart

They may fix the weather in the world

Just like Mr. Gore said

But tell me what’s to be done

Lord ‘bout the weather in my head?

Good question!  I can only speak to what works for me.  Wise counsel is one thing I can do about the weather in my head. As I mentioned before, I get wise counsel from my wife, trusted friends and my pastoral counselor.  Meeting with him this week really helped me look at this churned up stress, anger and grief. My counselor said his rule of thumb for grief was to slow down. Some of you know that if I was any slower, I’d be moving backwards:)  By slowing down, though, he means to take time to feel, to mourn and to lament.  He said to think about this whole thing like an athlete…pacing and recovery.  If an athlete expends more physical/mental energy than usual, then it’s absolutely essential to pace and to recover.  So, if it takes twice as much energy to do an online sermon verses preaching to a congregation (because in an online sermon there is no energy in the room directed back at me), then I may need extra time to recover.

What can be done about the weather in my head?  About the churned-up issues?  Well, I’m praying a lot these days, taking lots of walks outside, writing in my journal, immersing myself in Scripture and listening to good music (I’ve been listening to Ellis Marsalis all day – RIP).  Writing this out on this blog post is helping me.  I hope it helps others, too!

I’m seeing some good stuff churned up in me through all this, too. I’m seeing a LOT of good stuff churned up in those whom I work with in my church and in my community and country. Let us thank God for that!  Let us learn our lessons well!  And let us not ignore the opportunity to deal with the “silt” when it surfaces.

I’m still trying to figure this stuff out.  Some days are better than others.  I’m trying to take this time to observe and name what gets churned up in me and trying to learn how to address it.  “It’s not until the tide goes out that you see who has been swimming around naked.”  I think Warren Buffet said that.  Under-the-surface stuff is important. What’s churned up, Doc?  Hopefully our awareness.  

Long Live Disco

 I have a new desk calendar for 2020 that was put out by the History Channel that gives you an “on this day in history” every day.  Yesterday’s “on this day in history” went back to 1980 (the year after I graduated high school).  On February 27, 1980, Gloria Gaynor (and producers Dino Fekaris and Freddie Perren) won the Best Disco Recording award for the song, “I Will Survive.”

Ahhhh…Disco… takes me back…  I LOVED Disco back in the day!  I will never forget the night I used a borrowed I.D. to “sneak” into see the R-rated, Saturday Night Fever.  My girlfriend and I waited in line with all the other kids in bell-bottoms with sweaty palms until we passed the check point (back then they used to “card” you for an R-rated movie…now that I can legally watch them, I don’t care to). That was such a memorable movie! The music! The dancing! The dialogue (ok – maybe not the dialogue).

The following year a bunch of my friends and I took disco lessons in anticipation of tearing up the dance floor at the prom. I do remember dancing in my leisure suit. I don’t remember looking anything like John Travolta. Thank God we didn’t have youtube back then, or you all might still be watching it today, and laughing your heads off at us.  We didn’t care at the time, man!  It was disco, and disco was gonna live forever!

But something happened…something mean and ugly happened. I noticed it my senior year in high school. I went to a rock-n-roll concert of some kind – I forget who was because I went to a lot of them – and at this rock concert someone up front pulled out a sign that said, “Disco Sucks!” and they started showing it around, and everyone went nuts cheering.  They eventually handed it up on stage and the lead singer of this rock band started prancing around on stage, holding up the “Disco Sucks!” sign, and it was pandemonium.  I went along with the crowd and cheered (I was young, OK). Inside, though, I was thinking, “You mean I can’t like rock and disco anymore? This stinks!”

I don’t know what happened. Truly! It was something to see. All of the sudden there was a full-blown backlash against disco. Popular rock radio DJ’s started pumping up the hate. People my age jumped on the “hate disco” bandwagon. I think it came to a head the summer I graduated high school – the summer of 1979. During the intermission between games at a doubleheader at Comiskey Park in Chicago, a DJ named Steve Dahl did a “disco demolition night,” and set on fire a big bin full of disco records. A riot ensued, and it got so bad that the rioters wouldn’t leave the field and the Chicago White Sox had to forfeit the second game. 

Ugly undercurrents of racism, sexism and homophobia boiled out as if someone had opened a hellish floodgate. Straight, white people were not supposed to listen to disco anymore. I’m serious.  (I still listened to my 8 tracks and danced – just didn’t bring it up around certain people). It was a really touchy subject…like politics today, but with strobe lights.

And it wasn’t just in my neck of the woods.  It was all over.  If you think I’m exaggerating, and you think it’s just me, consider this: The night when Gloria Gaynor stepped on stage in February, 1980 to receive that Grammy Award for Best Disco Recording turned out to be the last one ever.  The anti-disco backlash caused the academy to remove the category altogether.  It’s like “disco” as a musical genre had been banned. Famous disco clubs like Studio 54 closed…disco just sort of went away. Disco died.  Or did it?

February 17, 1980… “And the Grammy for Best Disco Recording goes to… Gloria Gaynor for I Will Survive!” Yeaaaaa!!  Applause!!!  Cue song… Does anybody else think that it is just super ironic that the last disco song to receive the Grammy for Best Disco Recording is a song entitled “I Will Survive?”  Even the category of “disco” didn’t survive 1980.  And yet…somewhere in the world even as I write this, somebody is lip-synching to that song.  It is like an anthem for everyone who has ever been dumped. 

Are you humming in your head yet? At first I was afraid, I was petrified. Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side… But then I spent so many nights thinking how you did me wrong…And I grew strong. And I learned how to get along… (Yes, Gloria! Sing it girl!). Tell me you haven’t sung that song before like you were lip-synching for your life! It’s very empowering, really. I Will Survive has been standard fare at thousands of proms, dance clubs, karaokes…and countless movies. 

Some of my favorite treatments of this song in the movies were in Men in Black II, and Rio II(what is it about sequels that make them want to sing “I will survive?!”) OK – if you didn’t see Men in Black II, you got to at least find a clip of the little Pug singing I Will Survive. 

But if you only have time to check out one movie-based I Will Survive moment, check out Nigel (the white bird from Rio II who is one of the antagonists). He sings I Will Survive, with the coolest rap break that include my favorite animal rap lyrics…

If you try to keep me down
I'll just come back stronger
If you try to cut me short
I'll just come back longer
If you beat me at ping pong
I'll just play ping pong-er…

How can you not love the line, “If you beat me at ping pong I’ll just play ping poner-er?” By the way…did I just use the words “favorite” and “rap break” in the same sentence? Holy cow. Or in this case, “Holy Cockatoo.” Rap Music… 

I’m obviously not that good at predicting things. I was the one that said, “Disco will be around forever,” and also the one that said, “Rap music is just a passing fad.” 

Closing thought - As long as we know how to love I know we’ll stay alive. It goes for you – for me… It goes for the United Methodist Church, too. (Sorry, it’s just been on my mind a lot) Will we survive? As long as we know how to love. I still listen to disco, by the way. Long live disco!

A Wise Way To Live

I got to spend the day with my mom today. It was a great day. We went to lunch at the Southland Restaurant. I love that place – not just the food, but also because it has been there on that corner since probably before I was born. We then went to try to see our cousin, Mary Annis (she wasn’t home), and we drove by Mom’s old home place on Walker Switch Road…reminiscing, and enjoying a sunny day and the sight of buttercups blooming. 

We decided to go by the nursing home in Iuka and see an old family friend, Miss Clara.  Miss Clara is physically not in great shape.  A stroke has left her without the use of her right arm, and with only limited use of her left.  She is almost blind – bedfast most of the time…like I said, her body is not in great shape.  But her soul is doing great! She was thrilled to visit with us and to reminisce (there’s that word again). Miss Clara is one of the sweetest souls I have ever known. Her heart has been tenderized by a lifetime of hardships and heartaches. She is literally kind to everyone she meets. She said something today when we were talking about old memories (not all of the old memories are good)…  She said, “I know the bad things.  I just choose to focus on the good ones.”  What a wise way to live.

After our visit with Miss Clara, Mom and I reflected on how we need to be sure and tell those who are special to us how much we love and appreciate them while they are still living. We will go back and see Miss Clara soon, I hope. I can still picture her, tears in her eyes after Mom and I prayed with her, in her hospital-type bed with a quilt over her that read, “Be still and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46: 10) Indeed, Miss Clara.  What a wise way to live.

Mom and I drove through the town of Iuka. Some of the places we remembered are still there – only a few of them, really.  Moore’s Jewelry…Marie’s Snack Bar, where you can get a slugburger….we stopped and bought a Vidette…I pointed to the old store that used to be Reid’s… “Remember Reid’s, Mom?” I asked. “Yes.  That’s where your daddy bought the suit he wore when we got married.” We drove by the old court house. “That’s where your daddy and I got our marriage license.” (Along with half the people in North Alabama of a certain age).  We drove up the old two-lane highway out of town, and passed by a place at the state line where they used to have picnic tables on the side of the highway.  “Remember when there used to be picnic tables there, Mom?”  “I sure do! And up that hill there was where Jane and I climbed up and got some honeysuckle to decorate with the day your daddy and I got married.” I’m starting to see a theme by now. Mom remembering Dad – savoring the memory like a good meal. What a wise say to live.

On the drive home to Gadsden, I was listening to “All Things Considered.” Stories on politics and stuff… Gives me indigestion…decided to switch to listening to my Tom Clancy novel. Better choice.  When I got home, I tried to watch the news. Political ads…sigh…  Is there any good news out there?  I scrolled through Facebook. I saw an article that was a “response” to an article Steve West wrote about not leaving the UMC. Also gives me indigestion… Are we really just going to go back and forth now and “correct” each other like school children? I hope not. 

I needed to get my head off of that, so I came into the study and wrote in my journal. It’s part of my self-care plan through these divisive times. I thought it would be better to finish the day off remembering the good things that happened today…being thankful, you know? I kept coming back around to what Miss Clara said.  “I know the bad things. I just choose to focus on the good ones.” What a wise way to live. Thanks, Miss Clara for the reminder.

Three Reasons Why I Hope We Stay UMC

Three Reasons Why I Hope We Stay UMC

1.    Because of what the UMC has given me.

It gave me a church home, with wonderful people who taught me about God and taught me to love Jesus. It was in the UMC that I heard the gospel preached by local pastors who were sent by the UMC to serve our circuit of 3 churches.  It was in the UMC where I learned to sing the songs of the faith from the Cokesbury Hymnal and the Methodist Hymnal.  It was in the UMC where God’s love and grace penetrated my nine-year-old heart and I said, “Yes” to being a follower of Jesus.  When I made a public profession of faith and was baptized, it was the UMC that I joined. I promised to be loyal to the UMC and support it with my prayers, my presence, my gifts and my service. That promise still means something to me.

I experienced the love and fellowship of fellow believers in the UMC.  We helped each other grow, served together, and worshiped in spirit and in truth.  It was in the UMC where I felt God’s call on my life.  The UMC gave me a chance to be a lay speaker, and as God’s call became clearer to me, a certified candidate, then a licensed local pastor.  The UMC gave me churches to preach in, congregations to serve.  The UMC helped send me to a great university for a fine theological education, then the UMC made me accountable, screened me carefully and lovingly, and at the end of the process, a UM bishop laid his hands on my head, and in a tradition that stretches back to John Wesley, ordained me as an Elder – set apart for Word, Sacrament, and Order.

When I went through a traumatic divorce and stepped away from ministry for a season, I didn’t step away from the UMC.  I sang in a UMC choir, listened to good preaching, and eventually found a UMC that would be home to me, my new wife, Tammy, and our children.  All three of our babies were presented for baptism in a UMC. It was in the UMC that they were raised, nurtured, taught, and where they would go on to be confirmed and received into full membership…where theypromised to be loyal to the UMC, and to support it with theirprayers, presence, gifts, and service.

It was in the UMC that my children were taught to love God and love others.  They went to Camp Sumatanga, a UMC camp.  They worked at UMCOR Sager-Brown on week-long mission trips. All three of my children still love and still attend a UMC. (Even the 2 that are already off to college).  My oldest daughter is a student at Birmingham Southern College, a UMC affiliated college, and has received help and scholarship money from the UMC.

When I felt God’s call back into full-time ministry, the UMC again carefully and lovingly screened me through the Board of Ordained Ministry and then welcomed me back in.  I came back in full-time 17 years ago.  I have never loved anything I’ve done vocationally as much as I’ve loved being a UM pastor.  I am proud to call myself one.  Even now.

2.    Because of what I’ve given the UMC

I’ve given the UMC 32 years of service as a pastor at every imaginable level.  I have served as a local pastor of single-church appointments, two-point charge, three-point charge, and even a four-point charge. I’ve served in rural congregations, small towns, cities…on staff at three different churches…currently senior pastor of a great UMC with a great staff to work with in ministry.

I’ve said, “Yes” to every appointment I have been offered by every District Superintendent and under five different bishops.  I’ve moved my family around, because I made a covenant to be intinerant.  It has not been an easy road.  My wife has had to give up jobs that she loved.  Our most recent move came when our middle daughter was about to enter her senior year in high school and when our son was about to enter his junior year.  Many hours in prayer, and many tears shed along the way – the years stack up and I’m still serving as a UM pastor.

I’ve given the very best of my time and my talents to the UMC.  I don’t know how many I have baptized, how many I have disciple, served with in missions…don’t know how any weddings – never counted the funerals, hospital and nursing home and home visits…I never counted the hours I gave serving on a UM committee of some kind – but they would all be way up there…hundreds.

I’ve given the best years of my life serving as a UM pastor.  Even with all the heartache and the controversy…even with the most recent threat of schism…I would still do it all over again.

3.     Because of what the UMC stands for and what it gives to the world

The UMC has always been a place where people could grow into their faith.  We are a connectional church.  I have always valued the connection.  We offer a “big tent,” under which many people with a variety of theological backgrounds have found refuge.  My WCA-leaning friends might view that as a weakness.  I see it as a strength and a gift to the world.

Is the WCA tired of wrestling with issues of human sexuality?  The tough questions are messy and necessary – they are “messesary.” You don’t get the questions to go away by starting a “new” denomination (which looks a lot like the old Church of the Nazarene).  If we need to evolve on these issues, then let’s evolve.  Let’s not take the gift that is the UMC away from the world.  I do not believe, as some have suggested, that the UMC is a “50-year-old failed experiment.”  It is a gift.  It continues to give a place for people who don’t want to be just another fundamentalist.

Wesleyan theology is sound and is a gift to the world.  The combination of personal piety and social holiness is a gift.  If a split happens, the WCA does not get “custody” of Wesleyan theology.  It is woven into the DNA of the UMC.  We will still offer the gift of warmed hearts and working hands to the world.  It’s the way of the UMC.

Do we offer “open hearts, open minds, and open doors” to the world as we have claimed?  Despite the negativity from within and without, I think we are trying…trying to.  Have we failed to do so in some areas?  Yes. Our LGBTQ neighbors areour neighbors, and we are called to love them as ourselves.  We have done real harm to this community by singling them out as “incompatible with Christian teaching” in our Book of Discipline (which is not holy writ and can and does change).  That’s my opinion, of course, but it comes after listening to my LGBTQ friends tell me how they have been hurt.

What if the gift kept on giving? What if we offered a graceful, nuanced reading of the six “clobber passages” in the Bible related to homosexuality the same way we have done with “women keep silent in the church,” and the same way we have done with divorce and remarriage (which could also be considered “incompatible” with Christian teaching, by the way). I know what the Bible says. I have a very high view of the authority of Scripture. I know what the Bible says about divorce and remarriage, for instance.  But it is not enough to know “what” the Bible says.  

When the lawyer came up to Jesus in Luke 10 and asked him what he should do to inherit eternal life, Jesus asked him two questions.  Two.  (1) What is written in the law?  (2) How does it read to you (literally – “How do you read?”)

The lawyer gets the first question spot on.  He knows whatis written in the law.  “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” (Luke 10: 27) Jesus congratulates him for his answer. Jesus tells him he got it right… “Do this and you will live.”  (How the heck have we reduced eternal life down to repeating a “sinner’s prayer” is beyond me – but that’s for another day)

So now the lawyer gets to the second question: “Howdo you read?”  When the lawyer said, “And who is my neighbor?” he was wanting to justify the boundaries he had drawn about who his neighbors were…they were his “Jewish” neighbors…they were the ones who thought just like him.  They were notthe Romans, and certainly not the Samaritans whom he hated like poison.

And so Jesus told the parable of the Good Samaritan.  That’show Jesus reads the law.  He crosses every boundary with the love of God…dead people, lepers, tax collectors, Samaritans…women, children…even divorced people.  I didn’t plan on being a divorced-and-remarried clergyperson…yet here I am.  And the UMC gave me a place to serve and use my gifts.  The UMC evaluated my giftedness and my “calledness” based on something other than my having been divorced and remarried.  The UMC could offer that same gift to the LGBTQ persons who are called and gifted.  Maybe we will someday.  Maybe then people wouldn’t have to roll their eyes when we say, “Open hearts, open minds, open doors…the people of the UMC.”

I have good friends who disagree with me on this and other subjects.  I’m OK with that.  That’s kind of what I love about the UMC.  We don’t have to sign a “pledge” to agree on every point. But I have clergy friends that I have known and loved for years who have already hopped in the WCA boat and are just waiting to sail away.  We are losing something here, people.

Who am I to say?  I’m just one centrist, comfortable-in-the-messy middle person.  I do not lean far to the right and I don’t lean far to the left.  I don’t think I’m alone here, though.  I think I am the UMC.  We don’t have to agree on everything.  I will walk beside you and work with you if you will let me.  Come to my UMC and you will hear me preach Jesus. I hope to stay in the UMC.  It is not a curse. It is a gift.