Last Thursday morning Nancy left to go to North Carolina for a few days.  She was going to visit her family and to pick up Rayann who had spent the last two weeks with grandparents and friends.  I was left (okay I had Owen, the dog) to fend for myself and enjoy a little “alone” time.  I did not expect that over those four short days that I would find myself living out one of the gospel stories.

In Luke 15 Jesus tells three parables about something once lost being found.  He talks about sheep, a coin, and lastly the prodigal son.  In each story there is great rejoicing when the thing which was lost is recovered.  One of the main points in all three stories is that God rejoices greatly as we (who are lost) turn to him and our relationship with God is restored and redeemed.

It was Friday morning and I ran the thumb of my left hand over my ring finger…nothing but finger…no ring!  I sat dazed for a moment…this was not good.  Where was my wedding ring?  I remembered, in a foggy kind of way, taking it off because my finger hurt.  I remembered thinking, “I will put it here because this will be a safe place…no chance of it going missing from here.”  But where was that special place?

I tore through my study at home.  Surely I had been sitting at my desk and late at night removed the ring and put it in a drawer or placed it on one of the shelves that surround my seat.  Nothing.  I went over to church and went through the same process in my office.  Nothing.  I went to our Administrative Assistant and in a hushed tone, “Monica, has anyone turned in a lost ring?”  Nothing…but now I had to explain why I was asking and my secret was out.  I asked a few other people if they had seen anything.  Nothing.

Friday afternoon I went through the whole house…top to bottom.  Kitchen, Bathroom, Bedroom, Living room…even bathroom #2 which I rarely even use.  I went as far as to shine a light down the garbage disposal.  Finally I did what any person in my position would do.  I called Nancy and asked, “By any chance have you seen my ring?”  This was a great strategy…if she knew (which she normally does in cases like this) my worries would be over, if she did not (which was the case this time) there was little damage she could do to me from NC.  The ring was still missing and now Nancy knew it was missing…I was beginning to rethink how wise the strategy was.  Friday evening I took the dog for a walk.  “I bet that dog knocked the ring off the living room table and ate it!”  Now I was closely inspecting the dogs “gifts” to see if there was any glimmer of gold.  Things were rapidly moving past desperate.

Saturday morning I got out of bed, went to my dresser and right on top of my pill bottle was my ring!  It was a great place to leave it.  I have to take the medication on a regular basis, I go into the bottle every fourth or fifth day, there is no chance I will lose the ring there.  I was just about dancing as I got ready for my day!  The celebration over a simple ring (ladies don’t read to much into the word simple) does not compare to the celebration that takes place in heaven as people encounter Jesus and enter into a restored relationship with Abba Father.

Later in the day I sat thinking about the joy in my life over finding the ring which had been misplaced (lost).  Those thoughts drew me to the parables in Luke 15.  The celebration and joy I was experiencing pales in comparison to the celebration in heaven as people enter into restored relationship with Abba Father.

May we be celebration people.  People who help men and women, boys and girls encounter the living God in life changing ways so that rejoicing breaks out across heaven.

I like to consider myself a safe driver.  Despite spending untold hours on the highways traveling up and down the eastern seaboard I have remained mostly unscathed.  There has been an occasional conversation that begins, “Sorry officer…”, but for the most part I like to believe I have taken my responsibility to be a safe driver seriously.

Yet the other day while on my way back into Kennett Square I got so excited by something outside my window I almost had a car accident.  I looked off into the distance and there was a crane…a huge crane lifting parts up to a cell tower!  I did a double take.  Took my eyes off the road.  Had to wipe the tears of joy from my eyes.  It was then that I realized I had started to “drift a little” into another lane. Thankfully I was not alone in my joy and distraction as all the other motorists were drawn to the crane like a moth to a flame.  It must have been a beautiful thing to behold…synchronized swerving towards the crane doing work on the cell tower.  We all quickly corrected course and quietly stole glances at what we hoped would be the answer to ongoing, never ending issues with a certain cell phone company.  I don’t think it is necessary to name the company…I am hopeful that this tower work means better times are on the HORIZON.

If you know for a fact that this tower work has nothing to do with my carrier and that I am doomed to continue to struggle I ask you to do me a favor…please let me live in hopeful ignorance and bliss.

Over the past few months I have been spending time at the Jesuit Center in Wernersville, PA.  I have found it to be a quiet place for reflection, prayer and time away from the rush and chaos of life.  Stepping away for even a few hours helps me “center myself” and focus on what is truly important.  These times are truly sacred and allow me to hear just a little clearer that “still small voice of God.”

During one of my times at the Center someone shared this with me and I wanted to be sure I passed it along.  It hangs outside my office door at church.  I try to stop and read it at least once each day as I move about the work of the church…my prayer is that it helps me find quiet and peace in the midst of chaos, helps me hear the still small voice amidst the clamor of voices, ringing phones, emails and deadlines.  Maybe you will find the same sense of strength and peace within the words that speak to me…

The Lord is my pace-setter.  I shall not rush.

He makes me stop and rest for quiet intervals.

He provides me with images of stillness which restore my serenity.

He leads me in ways of efficiency through calmness of mind.

His guidance is peace even though I have a great many things to accomplish.

I will not fret, for his presence is here.

He prepares refreshment and renewal in the midst of my activities by anointing me with his oils of tranquility.

My cup of joyous energy overflows.

Surely, harmony and effectiveness shall be the fruit of my hours.

I shall walk in the peace of the Lord and dwell in his house forever.

– Annonymous

 

One of the things I love about First Baptist Church is our monthly Senior Luncheons.  Just about every month (we miss a couple due to holidays or Vacation Bible School) fifty to sixty young at heart seniors gather for a great time of food and fellowship.  I have a chance to speak for a few minutes (I have been told to keep it entertaining…which I try very hard to do) and then there is a special guest.  Sometimes the guest brings some music, tells stories, or shares some history or helps us better understand something about our community.  I especially like when I get to bring some of my friends from Jam Christian Daycare to the Senior Luncheon and the two groups have a chance to interact and share a little of life together.

This past month as I traveled to Roatan we worked with “Because We Care” to put on a senior luncheon Island style.  There were three bands, food baskets to give away to the oldest resident in each community on the island, plenty of things to pass out and amazing amounts of food.  The day of the event we served over 400 plates of food!  One of the things that struck me was that some of the stoves used to cook the food came from the cooks homes.  They pulled the stoves out of their homes…brought them to the event site and set them up there so we would have enough stoves to prepare all the food!  The cooks worked around the clock (literally starting to cook on Tuesday afternoon and completing the serving and clean up late Wednesday afternoon).  It was an amazing day.

One of the women on the island has done a great job telling the story of the Senior Event and has shared some pictures that tell the story very well.  It is worth the read and will help you gain an appreciation for what a Senior Luncheon Island Style really is all about.

(Make sure you “find” the couple of videos on the blog.  The one of Auntie Jane, who is almost 99 years young dancing like she was 16 will keep you young at heart forever.)

 

A few years ago there was a movie, The Bucket List, which made this idea of coming up with a list of things you wish to accomplish before you die rather popular.  It was an interesting movie.  Honestly, if I see Jack Nicholson or Morgan Freeman in anything I am going to stop on the channel and at least give them a few minutes of my attention. This idea of having a “bucket list” kind of caught on and has made for some interesting table conversation and may have actually spurred some people on to do some things they would have otherwise just dreamed about.

Today in Roatan our group traveled to the dump.  There is a community of people living there.  Some actually live on the dump, others live around it.  They gather what they can to survive from what the rest of the Island casts aside.  Keep in mind that everything is used multiple times and ways here on Roatan.  It is not like going up and down the streets of our comfortable neighborhoods on trash day looking for a lawn mower to fix or finding an old set of drawers that can be repaired, or finding a couch that has enough life in it to get you through college and the first two to three years of marriage.  If something makes it to the dump on the Island it has been well used and is pretty worn out.  The people of this community gather plastic bottles and sell it for approximately 3 cents a pound, it is how many of them support their families.  Life at the dump is all about survival.

We went there today with a car full of rice and beans to give to the families.  We also had flip flops, some clothes and even some pretty dresses for the young girls.  We went with a team from R Church Roatan, they helped organize the distribution of the food and clothing.  Going to the dump is a normal part of their ministry efforts and I am thankful to have people like them reaching out to the least and the lost among us.

Before we handed out the food Pastor Ronny Russell from Live Again Ministries had a moment to share with the people gathered there.  Through an interpreter he brought words of hope and promise from the book of Psalms.  When he came down from his “pulpit” I said, “cross that off your bucket list…preaching to a group at the dump from atop a front end loader.”  It may have sounded crass or even disrespectful but I was having a hard time finding the words to express my thoughts.  As the day went on, and I have had time to think about our experience there I believe preaching atop a front end loader at the dump has less to do with a bucket list and should have more to do with ministry preparation.  All too often preachers dream about and long for the opportunity to speak and preach in front of hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands (via television and radio).  They dream, plan and strategize on how to grow “their” ministry…when there are millions of people in this world living atop “dumps” in every community in this world who need nothing more than a “bag of rice and beans” and a few kind words to get them through till tomorrow.  I believe it was Jesus who said, “Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of the least of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me.”  Actually, I know it was Jesus who said that in Matthew 25:40.  He was talking about the way we respond to the needs of the orphans, the poor, the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger (homeless), the naked, the sick, and imprisoned.  He was sharing that as we cared for them we are caring for Him (Jesus).  He was telling us that it is at the dump where we will encounter Him.  You can go to “church” for the next 52 Sundays and chances are rather high you will not encounter God the way you do at the “dump” where the poor and impoverished live each day.

The longer we stayed at the dump, and the more I thought about it during the day and into the night…preaching at the dump should not be on a pastors “bucket list”…it ought to be the test to see if they are qualified to handle the word of God and serve people.  What do you bring from the word of God to a people who live atop a dump?  What does God’s word have to say to a people who literally sift through trash all day long hoping to find plastic bottles or some other “treasure” they can use to support their family.  How do you walk, work, speak among them?  Are you even willing to go and hang out with the people there?  If you are too focused on growing your church that you do not have time for the “dump” in your community (whatever form “the dump” in your community takes) you have a problem…a big problem…one that cannot, will not be fixed in any strategy meeting.

Abba Father…May you help me to always be ready to go meet you at “the dump”…may you give me your words of comfort and strength as I engage your people in conversation and relationship.  May you grant me grace to love as Jesus loved me.

 

So I was sitting in my office yesterday and all of a sudden my computer started “ringing” at the same time my phone started making strange noises.  When I finally realized what was going on and answered the phone I was greeted with, “Hello Mr. Dan”.  Immediately I knew who it was.  I think I would recognize his voice anywhere.  Pablo is a great young man who I have been blessed to call “friend” for the past few years.

Pablo seems to know just about everybody on the island, or everyone knows him…not totally sure which it is.  A few years ago he helped me search out a “long lost” friend from over 30 years ago on the island.  I had lost contact with this person when I was 18 or 19 years old.  The last time I had seen them I was 16 and on a mission trip on Roatan.  Pablo’s words were, “No problem Mr. Dan…I will bird dog him for you.”  (If you have to ask you probably don’t need to know)  We started out one afternoon looking for my friend and before the day was over Pablo had helped me reconnect with someone I never thought I would see again this side of heaven.

Sitting in my office, surrounded by paperwork, books and piles…each one representing a different deadline or need…everything seemed to fade slowly away as we talked about life and how each other was doing.  We talked about the reality that in a few days our conversation would be taking place face to face and not via some strange computer, facebook, phone, thing (who knew you could make calls via facebook? ….Pablo knew).

It is time to shut this machine down…finish some last minute packing and get some sleep…tomorrow is going to be a long day…but by noon their time we will be in Roatan!

Over the past few weeks as voices calling for the Confederate flag to be removed from government buildings grew stronger we watched many respond with “a new awareness.”  Businesses, organizations, and even a few politicians found their voices to speak for the removal of what for many is a symbol of hate and racism.

Along with those voices there were others, others who told a different story.  They spoke of heritage and pride in their history.  As a “Yankee” who spent six of the last seven years below the Mason Dixon line permit me to share this observation.  There is a different understanding and appreciation for those who fought and died in the Civil War (or War of Northern Aggression depending upon your viewpoint).  I am sure there are members of my family who fought in that war, I can neither tell you their names nor their stories.  For many of my family and friends in the south the names and stories of those within their families who fought and died are not a distant memory but a very important part of their heritage.  When I hear cries of, “This flag is about heritage,” there is a piece of me that believes for some people this is truth.  I also believe that for others the flag has little to do with honoring ancestors and more with a longing for a time when there was always someone a rung or two below your station in life.

There was a third set of voices that started to make themselves heard as the talk of removing the Confederate flag expanded into canceling television shows and the like.  Those voices sang out, “I never thought that” “I did not see it as a sign of racism” “It does not mean that for me.”  The common theme of the voices that spoke this way was to show themselves as enlightened, or “cured” from the evils of racism.  They spoke of a society where only the racist see racism everywhere.

Words such as these make me cringe.  Honestly they make me cringe more than those of the people who stand on the street corners demanding their right to fly the flag.  They make me cringe because they reveal how blind many of us are (myself included) to the experiences of others.  They show how much we see the world through the lenses of our own experience, and how little we often understand of the lives of people who do not live nor look like us.  As a white man who has never been forced to deal with racism in the way so many have how could I expect myself to see what they see, or feel what they feel.  My privilege has been to go through life blind to how some of the things I take for granted and do not find in the least bit threatening, are intimidating and harmful to others.  I have the privilege and power to shrug off some of the very things that threaten and intimidate those who do not look like me.

I was made aware of this privilege and felt the power that it brings when it was taken from me.  I was part of a college class in Philadelphia, our assignment was to go to a theater and see the movie Mississippi Burning.  A small group of seven or eight of us left to go find the nearest movie theater and get the assignment completed so we could have the rest of the night off.  As we took our seats it was quickly apparent that we were the only white people in the huge theater.  The place was packed.  We who were usually the comfortable majority now found ourselves the uncomfortable minority.  The longer the movie went on, the more the story was told, the more interaction people had with the screen.  Shouting, cheering, and passionately involved in this painful story of the civil rights movement.  As we filed out of the theater the lesson I took home had little to do with what had been on the screen.  I had felt, for the first time in my life, as though I did not belong…my privilege had been exposed and God was beginning to do a work in my life.

Speaking words such as “I never thought that” reveal the truth that we have been privileged enough to live life without having (or being aware of, or worse yet pushing aside and denying) racist encounters with individuals and systems.  The focus has been our experience.  We have not allowed ourselves, or been willing to do the hard work, to see the world through somebody else’s eyes or their life experience.  The next time you feel yourself thinking that way or find yourself tempted to speak or type such words pause and invite God to show you how someone different from yourself might experience life in a different way.  See if there is something you can learn from their experience.  Chances are you will learn something about yourself or the world that will cause you to grow into more of the person you long to be.

Fast forward twelve years from my experience in the Philadelphia movie theater.  A small group of friends are coming home from a conference, I am behind the wheel.  I come upon an intersection that I normally “roll through” (everyone  does…if you stop you mess up the flow of traffic).  Well this time a local police officer has positioned himself with only one goal in mind…to catch people doing exactly what I was doing.  Lights on, me with a car full of people, I am guilty…but not really because this is such a minor thing (truly, if you saw the intersection you would understand).  The officer approaches, we go through the normal procedure, there are questions and answers.  I give him paperwork and get more paperwork back in return.  After the allotted time I slowly pull away and my African American friend sitting next to me in the passenger seat looks over at me and says, “I never could have done what you just did.”  What!  Truly now is not the time…I am annoyed, frustrated…I have been persecuted here…now is just not the time.  He will not let it drop.  “I would not have gotten away with what you just did back there.”  I could sense he was not going to let me off that easy…we were going to have a conversation about this…whether I wanted to or not.  “Ok, exactly what did I do that was so wrong?”  Gently, and with grace my friend spoke words of truth into my life, “You treated that officer with disrespect.  You were annoyed at being caught and you were not respectful in the way you talked to him, in the way you looked at him.  You let him know that you were annoyed with him doing his job…even though you were guilty.”   I protested for a few moments.  Then as the interaction played through my mind, from the moment the lights came in my rearview mirror, to the first interaction until we parted ways…I realized my friend was right…I had been rude.  There was no need for the officer and myself to interact that day, the only reason we did was my failure to stop at a stop sign.  My friend continued, “I never could have gotten away with that.  You had the freedom to be rude.  If it had been me driving I would have had to have been respectful and not displayed any emotions at all.  If I had acted like you did…chances are very good I would have received more than a ticket.”  People in the rest of the van were talking…but I drove the rest of the way home in silence.  I was left, once again, to realize how unaware I am of my privilege and the way it changes the way I move through this world.

I never want to lose sight of the many ways I move through life unaware or oblivious to the ways other people are impacted by things I do not notice or simply take for granted.  I want to grow in my ability to see the world as others do.  I want to be sensitive to their experience and work to find ways to lessen the struggles of life for everyone.  I need people like my friend to point out places where I continue to be blind.  I need a community to help me see things clearly and correctly.  I must remain vigilant, constantly checking my thoughts and emotions, asking if I am responding with a spirit of entitlement or seeking to learn from and about the experiences of others.

Privilege.  Is it possible to change the way we speak of it?  Is it possible for the word to take on a power, a transformative, life renewing spirit as we think about sharing life journeys with people who are not like us?  Imagine if we used it to say, “It is my privilege to get to know someone whose life is radically different from mine.”  “It is my privilege to share my time with someone who does not think, believe, act, or even look like me.”  “It is my privilege to lay down my rights and pick up my responsibility to serve others.”  “It is my privilege to put myself in places, positions, and relationships that challenge and stretch my understanding of the world and how the world works.”  “It is my privilege to share with anyone who is interested the truth of what it means to walk a mile in my shoes.”  “It is my privilege to share the pains, joys, struggles and successes of my life with another human being who does not share my life experience.”

If we could live that kind of privilege we would be one step closer to learning how to, “love our neighbor as ourselves.”

ABBA Father may it be…