This is more a musing than anything important, but I find myself wondering from time to time how deep I really am. Is this something that we can really know for ourselves? Judging by the responses I get from some people, I would consider myself fairly deep. But I know myself. I know how mundane most of my thoughts are. Not deep stuff. Then I find myself wondering if I'm deeper than I think I am. I mean, my deepest thoughts are common to me. Does that familiarity mask the quality of my thinking?
I remember being on a discussion panel for a worship conference where I presented the idea of knowing the spiritual gifts of my worship team members so that the function they served in a team was consistent with their spiritual gifting. I mentioned a few practical examples of how this had been used in our ministry with great results. You'd have thought I had made some revolutionary discovery based on the response of the people in that session. The idea of using people within a worship team according to their spiritual gifts was common to me, but a whole new way of thinking for them.
I don't think I'll ever be able to answer the question, but it is a fun thing to mull over that, ultimately, doesn't really matter.
Wednesday, April 27, 2005
Monday, April 25, 2005
Ballet and abstract storytelling
Amy finally got her Christmas present on Friday when we went to see Butler Ballet's production of "Swan Lake" at Clowes Memorial Hall. I don't know if my stock just rose or fell on my admission that I went to the ballet, but I'm man enough to say that I went to the ballet AND I LIKED IT! I was a bit distracted by the men in tights and told Amy that if I was a male ballet dancer, I would definitely be stuffing. The Indianapolis Chamber Orchestra did a great job with a very challenging score of four acts which lasted the better part of three hours. The only gripe I had with the orchestra was the conductor who was very vocal in his articulated breathing to aid his direction of the orchestra. Of course, we were sitting in the third row, so had we been farther back, we probably wouln't have noticed.
It did strike me how absurd ballet is as a form of storytelling. Nobody says anything, the only concrete plot is spelled out in the program and, in Amy's words, "there seems to be a lot of unnecessary dancing," meaning that they feature a lot of solo and ensemble dances that do nothing to advance the plot. I can't really be critical of ballet as abstract storytelling since one of my favorite pieces of music in the world is Berlioz's "Symphonie fantastique" which is a symphony trying to tell a story which relies even more heavily upon the information in the program than ballet.
Amy and I had been to "Madame Butterfly" (the Puccini opera) in November in the same building as the ballet and it definitely had a huge advantage over "Swan Lake" in the storytelling department. Even with all of the unnecessary singing, you could follow the plot without the use of the bulletin (but not without the use of the subtitles that they displayed above the stage since the opera was in Italian). I found moments in "Swan Lake" that I wished there were subtitles, but instead only got interpretive movement.
Even so, I find myself wondering what different people might have taken away from the evening. Some probably took away a sense of awe at the beauty of the physical/artistic display they had seen. It was performed very well (from a non-afficianado's point of view) and obviously required great discipline and study on the part of the performers. Some probably simply felt better about themselves for having endured a high-brow artistic endeavor. Some probably left thinking about how sad the story was without any understanding why they felt that way.
I left with the joy of my bride as my main concern as we too rarely get to take in artistic performances that remind us of our former lives as classical musicians. I also left full of God. I saw God in the longing pursuit of the Prince, Siegfried, for the Swan Princess, Odette. I saw the deception of the garden as Siegfried fell under the spell of Rothbart and betrayed his love by declaring it to another. I saw the deaths of Odette and Siegfried parallel the death of Christ and our death to self to be with Him forever. I saw that sacrificial love destroy the power of Rothbart like the sacrificial love of Christ destroying the power of sin and death. I guess I saw a fair amount in the abstract storytelling that I saw.
It did strike me how absurd ballet is as a form of storytelling. Nobody says anything, the only concrete plot is spelled out in the program and, in Amy's words, "there seems to be a lot of unnecessary dancing," meaning that they feature a lot of solo and ensemble dances that do nothing to advance the plot. I can't really be critical of ballet as abstract storytelling since one of my favorite pieces of music in the world is Berlioz's "Symphonie fantastique" which is a symphony trying to tell a story which relies even more heavily upon the information in the program than ballet.
Amy and I had been to "Madame Butterfly" (the Puccini opera) in November in the same building as the ballet and it definitely had a huge advantage over "Swan Lake" in the storytelling department. Even with all of the unnecessary singing, you could follow the plot without the use of the bulletin (but not without the use of the subtitles that they displayed above the stage since the opera was in Italian). I found moments in "Swan Lake" that I wished there were subtitles, but instead only got interpretive movement.
Even so, I find myself wondering what different people might have taken away from the evening. Some probably took away a sense of awe at the beauty of the physical/artistic display they had seen. It was performed very well (from a non-afficianado's point of view) and obviously required great discipline and study on the part of the performers. Some probably simply felt better about themselves for having endured a high-brow artistic endeavor. Some probably left thinking about how sad the story was without any understanding why they felt that way.
I left with the joy of my bride as my main concern as we too rarely get to take in artistic performances that remind us of our former lives as classical musicians. I also left full of God. I saw God in the longing pursuit of the Prince, Siegfried, for the Swan Princess, Odette. I saw the deception of the garden as Siegfried fell under the spell of Rothbart and betrayed his love by declaring it to another. I saw the deaths of Odette and Siegfried parallel the death of Christ and our death to self to be with Him forever. I saw that sacrificial love destroy the power of Rothbart like the sacrificial love of Christ destroying the power of sin and death. I guess I saw a fair amount in the abstract storytelling that I saw.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Observations from today's ride
I went for a ride this morning of about 25 miles and really feel my strength returning as I topped my previous average speed by .6 mph and got faster as the ride went on. As I've shared before, I love the bike because it is a place for me to escape and find some space to think, pray and hear what God has to teach me.
Today, I was riding past a grove of trees and remembered an early season ride past there last year. At this time of year, you can sometimes spot deer through the leafless trees a little way into the grove and on that particular ride I happened to startle one that was very near the road and got a good, upclose look. As I rode past today, I thought about how great it would be to see a deer this morning. I quickly thought of how early in my faith, I would think something like that almost to test God, sort of a "if you really love me, you'll let me see a deer" kind of thing. Childish, I know, but there were many times that it happened and I thanked God for that visible reminder of His love for me. There are times now when I see a deer on a ride and I'm reawakened to the childlike faith that was stirred up in me at times like that.
Today's experience was a bit different. I had the initial thought and immediately brushed it off as somewhat childish. About five miles later I was on the Sweetser Switch when something at a nearby farm caught my eye. There in a pen were two deer (ears tagged) only about 20 yards from the trail. I was somewhat surprised since I've ridden past there a lot in the last few years and had never seen them there. I'm still not sure how long they have been there or for what purpose, but I found myself conflicted. I love to see deer on rides, but did this somehow devalue the experience? They are the same as the animals I had hoped to see confined to a grove of trees, but by being in a pen they seemed less special.
I began to consider how God sometimes gives us what we have asked for, but in unexpected, unasked for ways. Sometimes He gives us the very thing we desired only so we can realize how poor a substitue it is for what we really need and long for. I really didn't need to see a deer to trust in His love for me. The sacrifice of Jesus on the cross was a far greater sign than anything that could be shown to me on a back road in Indiana.
Today, I was riding past a grove of trees and remembered an early season ride past there last year. At this time of year, you can sometimes spot deer through the leafless trees a little way into the grove and on that particular ride I happened to startle one that was very near the road and got a good, upclose look. As I rode past today, I thought about how great it would be to see a deer this morning. I quickly thought of how early in my faith, I would think something like that almost to test God, sort of a "if you really love me, you'll let me see a deer" kind of thing. Childish, I know, but there were many times that it happened and I thanked God for that visible reminder of His love for me. There are times now when I see a deer on a ride and I'm reawakened to the childlike faith that was stirred up in me at times like that.
Today's experience was a bit different. I had the initial thought and immediately brushed it off as somewhat childish. About five miles later I was on the Sweetser Switch when something at a nearby farm caught my eye. There in a pen were two deer (ears tagged) only about 20 yards from the trail. I was somewhat surprised since I've ridden past there a lot in the last few years and had never seen them there. I'm still not sure how long they have been there or for what purpose, but I found myself conflicted. I love to see deer on rides, but did this somehow devalue the experience? They are the same as the animals I had hoped to see confined to a grove of trees, but by being in a pen they seemed less special.
I began to consider how God sometimes gives us what we have asked for, but in unexpected, unasked for ways. Sometimes He gives us the very thing we desired only so we can realize how poor a substitue it is for what we really need and long for. I really didn't need to see a deer to trust in His love for me. The sacrifice of Jesus on the cross was a far greater sign than anything that could be shown to me on a back road in Indiana.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Get set...
Today was our first day as "lame duck" staff at Hanfield. I spent a little bit of time going over some files and books to try to get a sense of what is going with us and what is staying. Our last day as staff is May 31, but I don't want to leave all of the house cleaning until the last week that we are at work, so I thought I'd get a start. I'm hoping to develop a secondary "to do" list to supplement the weekly one that I keep to help me organize what we need to do over the next six weeks. I really want to leave things in the best possible condition so that whoever takes on the responsibility will have everything that we can give to carry things forward.
I had lunch with Brent Williams and was blessed to hear his perspective on some things that I think will help us as we prepare and also will help us recommend some direction for what the transition looks like. Brent has always been a great friend and valuable team member, so I really appreciated his insight and also some of his personal affirmation for what might be ahead of us.
I'm feeling a little more focused today after a good night's sleep. It's amazing to me how just getting this out in the open has made things feel different. I'm taking a little extra time with people because I want to squeeze everything out of our time together that I can. We also contacted a realtor who will be by on Thursday to take a look at the house, so the house is feeling less like ours as we consider what we need to do to get it ready for someone else.
There are moments I wish I could freeze dry and keep and others where the call ahead is so strong that I can't wait to cast off what I carry now so that I can move faster. Those that have left somewhere or someone they love will be able to identify, but I'm not sure I totally understand it. We find ourselves telling the old stories for the first time in years as we try to recapture and celebrate some of the feeling, comradery and joy of those times, yet we find ourselves talking about a future we never intended; one that has been given to us like a treasure hunt that calls us forward and makes us wonder what's buried under the X.
The "get set" phase has begun. "Go" is coming faster than we know.
I had lunch with Brent Williams and was blessed to hear his perspective on some things that I think will help us as we prepare and also will help us recommend some direction for what the transition looks like. Brent has always been a great friend and valuable team member, so I really appreciated his insight and also some of his personal affirmation for what might be ahead of us.
I'm feeling a little more focused today after a good night's sleep. It's amazing to me how just getting this out in the open has made things feel different. I'm taking a little extra time with people because I want to squeeze everything out of our time together that I can. We also contacted a realtor who will be by on Thursday to take a look at the house, so the house is feeling less like ours as we consider what we need to do to get it ready for someone else.
There are moments I wish I could freeze dry and keep and others where the call ahead is so strong that I can't wait to cast off what I carry now so that I can move faster. Those that have left somewhere or someone they love will be able to identify, but I'm not sure I totally understand it. We find ourselves telling the old stories for the first time in years as we try to recapture and celebrate some of the feeling, comradery and joy of those times, yet we find ourselves talking about a future we never intended; one that has been given to us like a treasure hunt that calls us forward and makes us wonder what's buried under the X.
The "get set" phase has begun. "Go" is coming faster than we know.
Lance Retires
I just finished watching the coverage on OLN of Lance Armstrong's press conference in Augusta, Georgia where he's getting ready for the Tour de Georgia. Lance announced that this year's Tour de France will be his last race as a pro cyclist. As a fan of Lance and as a fan of cycling I can't help but feel a bit sad. I was a fan of his when he was a 16 year old competing against guys like Dave Scott, Mark Allen and Scott Tinley in professional triathlons. I was thrilled when he decided to focus on the bike and went pro. His win at the 1993 World Championships was a remarkable win for a guy so young. I remember his stage win in 1995 days after his teammate, Fabio Casartelli, died on a mountain descent during the race. The determination and passion I saw on days like those made me proud to be a fan of the sport.
I remember his press conference when he announced that he had testicular cancer. I remember how it floored me that a guy in his mid-20's (my age at the time) could be among the most fit athletes in the world and yet become so sick. I kept track of him when Confidis (the French pro team) dropped him like a bad habit while he went through chemo. I remember how happy I was that he had signed with the Postal team and would get another shot at a pro career. I remember how shocked I was that he won the Tour's prologue time trial in '99 and how proud and excited I was to see an American cyclist back in the yellow jersey for the first time since Greg LeMond.
I remember his battle with Pantani on seemingly every climb as the '98 winner battled the '99 winner on the sport's grandest stage. I remember 2000 when Ullrich went head first into a culvert on a descent and Lance's response in waiting and making sure Jan was safe before continuing to push the race onward. I remember "the look" he gave Ullrich as he rode him off his wheel on another stage. I remember Lance and Heras destroying the field and eventually dropping Beloki on the way to victory in 2002.
I remember the tense conditions and troubles the Postal team had in 2003 when Lance went on to win number 5. Brake pads rubbing on the wheel up mountainsides, dehydration kicking in, the crash where Lance was pulled down by a kid's mussette bag on the final major climb of the tour which could have been his undoing, but instead gave him a surge of adrenaline that he used to drop everybody else on the mountain. I remember the look of joy/relief on the final time trial, the day before the Tour ended, when Ullrich hit the deck on a slick corner and Lance was able to relax and just concentrate on staying upright.
I remember Lance and Basso last year on two consecutive stages coming to the top of climbs. Basso got the first, Lance the second. I remember Lance taking Basso and Ullrich out at the top of another mountain finish. I remember watching the first time trial over Alpe d'Huez in the history of the Tour worried that Lance might be attacked by one of the million fans out on the course, but knowing that if he wasn't, he would destroy the field and possibly set a new record for the climb of one of the Tour's most fabled mountains. I remember Lance, Floyd Landis (his teammate), Ullrich and Andreas Kloden (both on the German T-Mobile team) screaming down a descent near the end of a stage, Kloden making a phenomenal move with about one kilometer left that should have won the day except for the strength of a possessed Lance screaming toward the finish and taking out one of the most dramatic stage wins I've ever seen.
I wonder what this year's memories will be. Will it be a ceremonial victory lap as Lance closes out his career by losing the Tour for the first time since he started winning it? Don't bet on it. I want to see a Jordan vs. Utah ending where arguably the greatest Tour rider ever finishes the job and ends as the Patron (boss) of the Tour that he has been. I want to see him win a few more stages as he squeezes the last moments from a competitive nature that is second to none. I want to see him raise his hands in a victory salute on the Champs-Elysees that is immortalized in the minds of the world as one of the greatest exits an athlete has ever made.
I'm probably more sentimental about this right now since we announced our leaving to the congregation yesterday. Lance's re-entry into the pro peleton after cancer and retirement this year parallel our timeline here. It will be hard for a lot of American cyclists to lose the one cyclist that causes people to want to engage in conversation about cycling. It will be hard for me because it feels like another piece of my identity that I leave behind.
I remember his press conference when he announced that he had testicular cancer. I remember how it floored me that a guy in his mid-20's (my age at the time) could be among the most fit athletes in the world and yet become so sick. I kept track of him when Confidis (the French pro team) dropped him like a bad habit while he went through chemo. I remember how happy I was that he had signed with the Postal team and would get another shot at a pro career. I remember how shocked I was that he won the Tour's prologue time trial in '99 and how proud and excited I was to see an American cyclist back in the yellow jersey for the first time since Greg LeMond.
I remember his battle with Pantani on seemingly every climb as the '98 winner battled the '99 winner on the sport's grandest stage. I remember 2000 when Ullrich went head first into a culvert on a descent and Lance's response in waiting and making sure Jan was safe before continuing to push the race onward. I remember "the look" he gave Ullrich as he rode him off his wheel on another stage. I remember Lance and Heras destroying the field and eventually dropping Beloki on the way to victory in 2002.
I remember the tense conditions and troubles the Postal team had in 2003 when Lance went on to win number 5. Brake pads rubbing on the wheel up mountainsides, dehydration kicking in, the crash where Lance was pulled down by a kid's mussette bag on the final major climb of the tour which could have been his undoing, but instead gave him a surge of adrenaline that he used to drop everybody else on the mountain. I remember the look of joy/relief on the final time trial, the day before the Tour ended, when Ullrich hit the deck on a slick corner and Lance was able to relax and just concentrate on staying upright.
I remember Lance and Basso last year on two consecutive stages coming to the top of climbs. Basso got the first, Lance the second. I remember Lance taking Basso and Ullrich out at the top of another mountain finish. I remember watching the first time trial over Alpe d'Huez in the history of the Tour worried that Lance might be attacked by one of the million fans out on the course, but knowing that if he wasn't, he would destroy the field and possibly set a new record for the climb of one of the Tour's most fabled mountains. I remember Lance, Floyd Landis (his teammate), Ullrich and Andreas Kloden (both on the German T-Mobile team) screaming down a descent near the end of a stage, Kloden making a phenomenal move with about one kilometer left that should have won the day except for the strength of a possessed Lance screaming toward the finish and taking out one of the most dramatic stage wins I've ever seen.
I wonder what this year's memories will be. Will it be a ceremonial victory lap as Lance closes out his career by losing the Tour for the first time since he started winning it? Don't bet on it. I want to see a Jordan vs. Utah ending where arguably the greatest Tour rider ever finishes the job and ends as the Patron (boss) of the Tour that he has been. I want to see him win a few more stages as he squeezes the last moments from a competitive nature that is second to none. I want to see him raise his hands in a victory salute on the Champs-Elysees that is immortalized in the minds of the world as one of the greatest exits an athlete has ever made.
I'm probably more sentimental about this right now since we announced our leaving to the congregation yesterday. Lance's re-entry into the pro peleton after cancer and retirement this year parallel our timeline here. It will be hard for a lot of American cyclists to lose the one cyclist that causes people to want to engage in conversation about cycling. It will be hard for me because it feels like another piece of my identity that I leave behind.
Sunday, April 17, 2005
Telling the Church
Today was the day that we told the congregation about our move. Tim decided that rather than preach a sermon, we'd take extra time to talk about where we're headed, how we came to Hanfield in the first place and challenge the congregation to consider where God may be calling them to "jump." We followed that with an extended prayer time and testimony time. More tears, hugs and conversations than I can process right now. I'm experiencing so many different things right now that I seem to just be grabbing onto whatever emotion seems to be strongest and going with it.
It was an exhausting day, but a good one. I'm glad that everything is finally out in the open so that we can begin to prepare for the move. We'll probably see a realtor tomorrow and take it from there.
I'm hoping I'll have a little more to write this week. I just haven't had a lot of mental energy to do it. Emotionally, I'm drained. I'm hoping that after this initial wave of being overwhelmed, some energy will return. I'm really wanting to begin to assess what needs to be done at the church to get things ready to transition. That will probably be a big push this week, but I'll start worrying about that in the morning.
It was an exhausting day, but a good one. I'm glad that everything is finally out in the open so that we can begin to prepare for the move. We'll probably see a realtor tomorrow and take it from there.
I'm hoping I'll have a little more to write this week. I just haven't had a lot of mental energy to do it. Emotionally, I'm drained. I'm hoping that after this initial wave of being overwhelmed, some energy will return. I'm really wanting to begin to assess what needs to be done at the church to get things ready to transition. That will probably be a big push this week, but I'll start worrying about that in the morning.
Friday, April 15, 2005
Sioux Falls contact
Just got off the phone with Derk Stevenson in Sioux Falls. Derk is a former Vineyard pastor who is currently involved in itinerant ministry teaching about healing and the gifts of the Spirit. It was a good conversation. I'm glad to have had a chance to touch base with him and find out a little more about what he does, what the group in Sioux Falls is like and share with him about the calling that we feel to artists in Sioux Falls.
The group that is interested in a Vineyard church plant is about 15 strong that meets as a home group but attends a few different churches. I'm looking forward to getting a chance to meet a few of them and see what develops. I haven't totally closed the door to the possibility of being a lead pastor, but I really feel I need to make sure that it's something that God is calling me to. The prospect of a "tent making" job and the responsibilities of leading a church plant might make it difficult to do the ministry to artists that I'm really sensing is what God is calling us to. The bigger idea that is currently scaring me (in a healthy way) is the idea that the two ministries would be connected (i.e. the ministry to artists leads into pastoring a church plant). A true vision should be too big for you. If you feel like you can handle it, it probably isn't God.
More to sleep on I guess.
The group that is interested in a Vineyard church plant is about 15 strong that meets as a home group but attends a few different churches. I'm looking forward to getting a chance to meet a few of them and see what develops. I haven't totally closed the door to the possibility of being a lead pastor, but I really feel I need to make sure that it's something that God is calling me to. The prospect of a "tent making" job and the responsibilities of leading a church plant might make it difficult to do the ministry to artists that I'm really sensing is what God is calling us to. The bigger idea that is currently scaring me (in a healthy way) is the idea that the two ministries would be connected (i.e. the ministry to artists leads into pastoring a church plant). A true vision should be too big for you. If you feel like you can handle it, it probably isn't God.
More to sleep on I guess.
This past week
This has been a busy, draining week of talking to folks at the church about our move. It has been sweet, sorrowful, encouraging, hard and about a thousand other things that I can't quite capture in words. Sunday we will be sharing our news with the congregation which I will assume will leave me emotionally exhausted come Sunday afternoon.
Our final day as Hanfield staff will be May 31st which is coming up very quickly. While I am looking forward to starting to actually put some planning to the dreaming I have been doing for Sioux Falls, my intention is to focus my attention on getting things ready at Hanfield instead. I've always stated that my intention is to finish well and I really want to do all that we can with our volunteers to make sure that the transition is as smooth as it can be.
I've been processing so many things this week that I think I need to leave this post short and write more once I've had a chance to really take everything in and come to terms with it. So, more later.
Our final day as Hanfield staff will be May 31st which is coming up very quickly. While I am looking forward to starting to actually put some planning to the dreaming I have been doing for Sioux Falls, my intention is to focus my attention on getting things ready at Hanfield instead. I've always stated that my intention is to finish well and I really want to do all that we can with our volunteers to make sure that the transition is as smooth as it can be.
I've been processing so many things this week that I think I need to leave this post short and write more once I've had a chance to really take everything in and come to terms with it. So, more later.
Friday, April 08, 2005
Get ready... update
This was a big week for us. We were able to tell a few more key people and had a great time with the staff at the church as they heard, first hand, what has been going on with us. All of the staff members knew before we had a chance to tell all of them, but we were able to share more detail and more heart behind what was going on. The grieving process has already started for us and this was a particularly draining week for us emotionally. I may write more about that later, but I don't know that I have the strength right now.
One really unexpected thing happened on Wednesday. I decided at about 4:15 pm to run to Tree of Life to grab a book for Kyle Bixler for winning the office picks for the NCAA tournament. I was going to breeze in, breeze out and make it home in time to get us to a dinner date with the Kesslers before 5:00.
I walked in the music department door and headed straight for the 50% off books (not because I'm cheap, but because I had a few titles in mind and had said the prize would be $10 or less). As I rounded the corner by the main entrance I looked over at the cafe sitting area and locked eyes with someone I hadn't seen in several years.
Jake was a member of one of our ministry teams at Hanfield when his family attended the church several years ago. He was a good guy that we liked a lot, but he was a little different than most of the folks we had worked with up 'til that point. He had been hurt in the past in churches, especially where his service in ministry was concerned. When we met Jake, he lacked confidence but had a great heart and we wanted to serve with him. Unfortunately, one morning things blew up. A situation occurred that we didn't handle well that ultimately led to his family leaving Hanfield and we lost a friend. Before the family left, we tried to apologize and patch things up. It seemed to go okay for a month or so, but ultimately I think he felt he couldn't trust us and didn't believe that we wanted reconciliation. The family left and I hadn't seen Jake since.
When Jake went to Hanfield, he had lived in Somerset which is a small town about 13 miles northwest of Marion. It happens to be in an area that I ride my bike through a lot and I found myself thinking about Jake a few years ago. Since he had left, we had realized more and more how his past hurt amplified this hurt that we had inflicted on him. I thought about writing a letter to him to tell him (one more time) how sorry we were that we had hurt him and that we just didn't understand how deep that hurt was, but I didn't think he'd be receptive to more words from us and just decided to do my best to let it go. Our situation with Jake was always going to be a loose end for me that I would look back on and regret.
When our eyes locked, I knew I had to talk to him. He was sitting by the window with a freshly finished plate in front of him. We said hi to each other and then I said what had been in my heart for the better part of two years. I told him how I felt that I still had one last apology that I owed him, how I didn't realize how deeply we had hurt him and how much I regretted the whole situation. He was incredibly gracious, even apologizing for anything he had done to contribute to the situation. He said he didn't realize, at the time, how all of this other stuff was effecting him either. He said that he was a little older, a little wiser, a little more mellow and that everything was fine. I let him know how his situation caused us to look at what we had done wrong and helped us to change some things in the ministry that allowed for people with different personalities to be a part of the ministry and how sorry I was that he had to be a part of our learning experience. Jake said he really appreciated my coming over and told me how greatly God was blessing his family. The details and sequence of the conversation are all a bit fuzzy to me now, but the Spirit of God was thick in it. It was a better moment than I could have hoped for and a chance to patch things up with my brother.
I left with the book I had picked up and praised God all the way home. The loose end that the enemy would always use to condemn me and hurt me anytime I had conflict with someone in ministry had been taken care of in our last days in Marion. God is good.
One really unexpected thing happened on Wednesday. I decided at about 4:15 pm to run to Tree of Life to grab a book for Kyle Bixler for winning the office picks for the NCAA tournament. I was going to breeze in, breeze out and make it home in time to get us to a dinner date with the Kesslers before 5:00.
I walked in the music department door and headed straight for the 50% off books (not because I'm cheap, but because I had a few titles in mind and had said the prize would be $10 or less). As I rounded the corner by the main entrance I looked over at the cafe sitting area and locked eyes with someone I hadn't seen in several years.
Jake was a member of one of our ministry teams at Hanfield when his family attended the church several years ago. He was a good guy that we liked a lot, but he was a little different than most of the folks we had worked with up 'til that point. He had been hurt in the past in churches, especially where his service in ministry was concerned. When we met Jake, he lacked confidence but had a great heart and we wanted to serve with him. Unfortunately, one morning things blew up. A situation occurred that we didn't handle well that ultimately led to his family leaving Hanfield and we lost a friend. Before the family left, we tried to apologize and patch things up. It seemed to go okay for a month or so, but ultimately I think he felt he couldn't trust us and didn't believe that we wanted reconciliation. The family left and I hadn't seen Jake since.
When Jake went to Hanfield, he had lived in Somerset which is a small town about 13 miles northwest of Marion. It happens to be in an area that I ride my bike through a lot and I found myself thinking about Jake a few years ago. Since he had left, we had realized more and more how his past hurt amplified this hurt that we had inflicted on him. I thought about writing a letter to him to tell him (one more time) how sorry we were that we had hurt him and that we just didn't understand how deep that hurt was, but I didn't think he'd be receptive to more words from us and just decided to do my best to let it go. Our situation with Jake was always going to be a loose end for me that I would look back on and regret.
When our eyes locked, I knew I had to talk to him. He was sitting by the window with a freshly finished plate in front of him. We said hi to each other and then I said what had been in my heart for the better part of two years. I told him how I felt that I still had one last apology that I owed him, how I didn't realize how deeply we had hurt him and how much I regretted the whole situation. He was incredibly gracious, even apologizing for anything he had done to contribute to the situation. He said he didn't realize, at the time, how all of this other stuff was effecting him either. He said that he was a little older, a little wiser, a little more mellow and that everything was fine. I let him know how his situation caused us to look at what we had done wrong and helped us to change some things in the ministry that allowed for people with different personalities to be a part of the ministry and how sorry I was that he had to be a part of our learning experience. Jake said he really appreciated my coming over and told me how greatly God was blessing his family. The details and sequence of the conversation are all a bit fuzzy to me now, but the Spirit of God was thick in it. It was a better moment than I could have hoped for and a chance to patch things up with my brother.
I left with the book I had picked up and praised God all the way home. The loose end that the enemy would always use to condemn me and hurt me anytime I had conflict with someone in ministry had been taken care of in our last days in Marion. God is good.
Thursday, April 07, 2005
Today's ride
Raining. 54 degrees. Man, did I want to ride this morning. Days like today are the days that I relish as a cyclist. Every other cyclist that I know probably saw the forecast last night or looked out the window this morning and said, "I can wait till (insert qualifier here)." I determined when I saw the forecast last night that I was going to be out in the midst of the wet, the cold, the traffic that wasn't expecting me, the glory of God. On days like this I feel like a real cyclist. Days like this test my resolve and build my discipline as I also strengthen my body for the season ahead.
I was thinking about ten miles into the twenty five mile ride about a ride I made last year. On that ride, I was going to go about 55-60 miles and knew that I had a window of opportunity early in the day, after which, it was supposed to storm with a pretty good chance of lightning, hail and even a tornado watch. I thought I had a better than even chance of beating it and left the house with a route in mind. As I headed northeast of town, I began to watch dark, menacing clouds in the distant northwest.
Everything was going according to plan as I pushed past 10 miles, 15 miles, 20 miles. As I began to approach the 25 mile point, the realization struck that I was not going to beat the storm home, especially if I finished the full length of the ride I had planned. I formulated a new game plan in my mind. I recognized that the storm front was forming in an arc from dead west of where I was to dead north of where I was and was moving in like a net to catch me. I decided that if I headed back on the route that I had just ridden (west and then south), I would be heading straight for a section that would probably catch me about 20 miles from home. If I headed south instead before turning west, there was a chance that I could beat the worst of it (which seemed to be to the north), leave myself with less miles to ride in the storm, and hopefully get home wet, but otherwise unscathed.
I flew south with as much effort as I could afford and the plan seemed to be working well. About 15 miles to my destination, I reached a section where I had to do about a three mile stretch west before I could head south again and felt, with some confidence, that I would be on my way south again before it got bad. I was about one mile east of my left hand turn to head south when I saw a lightning strike dead in front of me just a few miles off. This strike was huge and I knew that the thunder to follow would simply confirm my visual assessment.
I don't know how etched in your memory the explosion of the Death Star in the original Star Wars trilogy is, but I remember it as a big ball of sparks that grew less and less impressive as more special effect laden movies emerged in the twenty years after the initial Death Star explosion. In the Special Edition movies that they released in 1997 though, the explosion of the Death Star was huge enough to carry with it a visible sonic blast circle that rumbled and carried with it far more impact and reverberation as you felt like you experienced it for 20-30 seconds.
This lightning strike had nothing to do with the Death Star explosion circa 1977 and everything to do with its 1997 progeny. I felt it before I heard it and it continued to rumble and vibrate the air around me for what seemed an eternity. I knew the road I needed next was one mile ahead of me and that there was a chance I could beat the storm front if I had enough power left in the legs.
Now, the wind to this point had been out of the north-northeast (my habit is to start a ride into the wind and let it help me home). I gave everything I had going straight west. About 400 yards before my road, the front hit me. Immediately the wind changed from about 12 mph from almost behind me, to about 30 mph from almost dead in front of me. I went from riding at about 21 mph to 9 mph in a heartbeat and knew that I was in big trouble. This was still early in the year, so dust from the fields began to kick up in my face and I felt the first wet offering of the day's forecast. The temperature dropped about ten degrees and I pushed on until I hit the road south. The wind was now somewhat at my back and I used what little energy I had left and my former enemy now turned ally (the wind) to hammer south away from the brunt of the storm. Rain fell harder and in sharper drops. Before long, small pieces of icy hail were pelting the skin on my legs as I continued on.
Thankfully, the farther south I got, the more it let up and by the time I hit my last stretch into town to the west, all I had to contend with was the cold and rain and I was able to get home safely.
When I saw the lightning strike, I had some options. The two that I would have considered the strongest were to a) forge ahead on the path in front of me until I reached my destination or b) turn tail for Van Buren where I might have been able to find some shelter until the storm could blow over. Obviously, I chose the former.
Here are some of the problems with the Van Buren option: 1) It would have actually been backtracking somewhat and would have placed me farther from my goal (home) 2) There was no guarantee that I would have made it to Van Buren before the storm hit 3) People in Van Buren probably wouldn't look to favorably on a smelly, slightly overweight, thirty-something clad entirely in lycra who thinks that a pickup truck isn't God's gift to transportation 4) The storm was supposed to last the rest of the day and into the night, so there was no guarantee that it would let up enough for me to begin again 5) Having Amy pick me up from a bike ride is to admit failure and should only be reserved for those times when I have run out of options with a flat tire, bent rim or other mechanical failure that makes it impossible to continue.
What does this have to do with anything?
While the Israelites were in captivity in Egypt, they prayed for deliverance. God came through and not only got them out of the land of bondage, but also promised them a destination. When they began to wonder if they would make it to their destination, they began to pine for Egypt. They began to consider turning tail and winding up farther from their destination. I can almost hear them saying, "This is getting too hard. It's too far. Why don't we just head back to Van Buren." They thought about going back to a people that would have been less than receptive after the plagues and the drowning of their army. They would have had no guarantee of a second chance to start off for their destination again. Ultimately, it would have cast God as a failure, unable to do that which He set out to do.
To sum up: when you know your destination, sometimes it’s just best to push through adversity to get there.
I was thinking about ten miles into the twenty five mile ride about a ride I made last year. On that ride, I was going to go about 55-60 miles and knew that I had a window of opportunity early in the day, after which, it was supposed to storm with a pretty good chance of lightning, hail and even a tornado watch. I thought I had a better than even chance of beating it and left the house with a route in mind. As I headed northeast of town, I began to watch dark, menacing clouds in the distant northwest.
Everything was going according to plan as I pushed past 10 miles, 15 miles, 20 miles. As I began to approach the 25 mile point, the realization struck that I was not going to beat the storm home, especially if I finished the full length of the ride I had planned. I formulated a new game plan in my mind. I recognized that the storm front was forming in an arc from dead west of where I was to dead north of where I was and was moving in like a net to catch me. I decided that if I headed back on the route that I had just ridden (west and then south), I would be heading straight for a section that would probably catch me about 20 miles from home. If I headed south instead before turning west, there was a chance that I could beat the worst of it (which seemed to be to the north), leave myself with less miles to ride in the storm, and hopefully get home wet, but otherwise unscathed.
I flew south with as much effort as I could afford and the plan seemed to be working well. About 15 miles to my destination, I reached a section where I had to do about a three mile stretch west before I could head south again and felt, with some confidence, that I would be on my way south again before it got bad. I was about one mile east of my left hand turn to head south when I saw a lightning strike dead in front of me just a few miles off. This strike was huge and I knew that the thunder to follow would simply confirm my visual assessment.
I don't know how etched in your memory the explosion of the Death Star in the original Star Wars trilogy is, but I remember it as a big ball of sparks that grew less and less impressive as more special effect laden movies emerged in the twenty years after the initial Death Star explosion. In the Special Edition movies that they released in 1997 though, the explosion of the Death Star was huge enough to carry with it a visible sonic blast circle that rumbled and carried with it far more impact and reverberation as you felt like you experienced it for 20-30 seconds.
This lightning strike had nothing to do with the Death Star explosion circa 1977 and everything to do with its 1997 progeny. I felt it before I heard it and it continued to rumble and vibrate the air around me for what seemed an eternity. I knew the road I needed next was one mile ahead of me and that there was a chance I could beat the storm front if I had enough power left in the legs.
Now, the wind to this point had been out of the north-northeast (my habit is to start a ride into the wind and let it help me home). I gave everything I had going straight west. About 400 yards before my road, the front hit me. Immediately the wind changed from about 12 mph from almost behind me, to about 30 mph from almost dead in front of me. I went from riding at about 21 mph to 9 mph in a heartbeat and knew that I was in big trouble. This was still early in the year, so dust from the fields began to kick up in my face and I felt the first wet offering of the day's forecast. The temperature dropped about ten degrees and I pushed on until I hit the road south. The wind was now somewhat at my back and I used what little energy I had left and my former enemy now turned ally (the wind) to hammer south away from the brunt of the storm. Rain fell harder and in sharper drops. Before long, small pieces of icy hail were pelting the skin on my legs as I continued on.
Thankfully, the farther south I got, the more it let up and by the time I hit my last stretch into town to the west, all I had to contend with was the cold and rain and I was able to get home safely.
When I saw the lightning strike, I had some options. The two that I would have considered the strongest were to a) forge ahead on the path in front of me until I reached my destination or b) turn tail for Van Buren where I might have been able to find some shelter until the storm could blow over. Obviously, I chose the former.
Here are some of the problems with the Van Buren option: 1) It would have actually been backtracking somewhat and would have placed me farther from my goal (home) 2) There was no guarantee that I would have made it to Van Buren before the storm hit 3) People in Van Buren probably wouldn't look to favorably on a smelly, slightly overweight, thirty-something clad entirely in lycra who thinks that a pickup truck isn't God's gift to transportation 4) The storm was supposed to last the rest of the day and into the night, so there was no guarantee that it would let up enough for me to begin again 5) Having Amy pick me up from a bike ride is to admit failure and should only be reserved for those times when I have run out of options with a flat tire, bent rim or other mechanical failure that makes it impossible to continue.
What does this have to do with anything?
While the Israelites were in captivity in Egypt, they prayed for deliverance. God came through and not only got them out of the land of bondage, but also promised them a destination. When they began to wonder if they would make it to their destination, they began to pine for Egypt. They began to consider turning tail and winding up farther from their destination. I can almost hear them saying, "This is getting too hard. It's too far. Why don't we just head back to Van Buren." They thought about going back to a people that would have been less than receptive after the plagues and the drowning of their army. They would have had no guarantee of a second chance to start off for their destination again. Ultimately, it would have cast God as a failure, unable to do that which He set out to do.
To sum up: when you know your destination, sometimes it’s just best to push through adversity to get there.
Monday, April 04, 2005
They Might Be Giants ABC CD
For all of my 20/30 something friends who are starting to have kids. I bought this for Easter "for my daughter" who is ten months old. This is a great alternative to all of the cheesy kid's CD's that are out there. How often do you hear the words "gyroscopes," "alpacas" and "aforementioned" on a children's CD? Good stuff.
Get ready...
This is part one of three to be written over the next few months. We are in the "get ready" stage of our move from Marion, IN to Sioux Falls, SD. This is the stage where we tell coworkers, friends, ministry volunteers and the church at large about the call that we feel to artists in Sioux Falls.
This is also the stage where we formulate the plan for the next few months as we "get set" and finally "go" and make the move. I really have no idea what the next few months hold. Do we step out our official staff roles right away, do we stay while the church searches for our successors, is there some overlap? I'm really at a point where I just want to do what's best for the church. We will do whatever the Administrative Council decides is the best course of action (we will be talking to them on the 13th).
The reality that I might be serving with some of my friends in ministry for the last time is just beginning to hit home for me. I'm hoping for a game plan that allows us to serve until at least June 1 so that we can celebrate and enjoy each other before we leave, but I recognize that it probably will not be left to me to decide.
In the meantime, I am going to occupy my extra time by looking for jobs, searching real estate listings and getting our house ready to sell (which I would anticipate will go on the market sometime this month). We know that selling our house here is a prerequisite to buying a house in South Dakota and with the housing market being what it is in Marion, it could be awhile before we have a place there that we can call our own.
I've been thankful for Erwin McManus's book "The Barbarian Way" as it continues to give me a boldness and confidence in pursuing the path that we're on. His language is very much like that of John Eldredge in "Wild at Heart" but applied to all Christ followers instead of just the male variety.
Amy, meanwhile, has been reading a biography of Oswald Chambers (author of "My Utmost for His Highest"). She read the other day how Chambers pursued artistic studies out of a desire to reclaim the arts for Christ. It definitely stirred up something within her. I think anytime you hear that you're not the only one with a burden like that it helps you to feel a little more normal.
It's going to be hard to get people to understand that we feel called to minister to artists, because we don't even know what that means right now. My hope is that as we are faithful to place ourselves in the right geography that God will then begin to open doors for the right ministry.
Well, I need to spend some time figuring out how to verbalize things for the first of our opportunities to share what's going on with us to a larger audience. We talk to the Senior Leadership Team tomorrow, staff Thursday, teams and Ad Council next week and the congregation probably on April 17. I need to make sure that what I share is consistent and as complete as I know how to make it. Get ready...
This is also the stage where we formulate the plan for the next few months as we "get set" and finally "go" and make the move. I really have no idea what the next few months hold. Do we step out our official staff roles right away, do we stay while the church searches for our successors, is there some overlap? I'm really at a point where I just want to do what's best for the church. We will do whatever the Administrative Council decides is the best course of action (we will be talking to them on the 13th).
The reality that I might be serving with some of my friends in ministry for the last time is just beginning to hit home for me. I'm hoping for a game plan that allows us to serve until at least June 1 so that we can celebrate and enjoy each other before we leave, but I recognize that it probably will not be left to me to decide.
In the meantime, I am going to occupy my extra time by looking for jobs, searching real estate listings and getting our house ready to sell (which I would anticipate will go on the market sometime this month). We know that selling our house here is a prerequisite to buying a house in South Dakota and with the housing market being what it is in Marion, it could be awhile before we have a place there that we can call our own.
I've been thankful for Erwin McManus's book "The Barbarian Way" as it continues to give me a boldness and confidence in pursuing the path that we're on. His language is very much like that of John Eldredge in "Wild at Heart" but applied to all Christ followers instead of just the male variety.
Amy, meanwhile, has been reading a biography of Oswald Chambers (author of "My Utmost for His Highest"). She read the other day how Chambers pursued artistic studies out of a desire to reclaim the arts for Christ. It definitely stirred up something within her. I think anytime you hear that you're not the only one with a burden like that it helps you to feel a little more normal.
It's going to be hard to get people to understand that we feel called to minister to artists, because we don't even know what that means right now. My hope is that as we are faithful to place ourselves in the right geography that God will then begin to open doors for the right ministry.
Well, I need to spend some time figuring out how to verbalize things for the first of our opportunities to share what's going on with us to a larger audience. We talk to the Senior Leadership Team tomorrow, staff Thursday, teams and Ad Council next week and the congregation probably on April 17. I need to make sure that what I share is consistent and as complete as I know how to make it. Get ready...
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