A Defensive Lament

I was recently told that I embarrassed myself. I didn't know that I had embarrassed myself, but I did and was graciously told what I did. I did it too, guilty as charged!

It's true, you can take a boy out of managing a bar, have him work in higher education for ten years, send him to seminary for over three, and put him in the pulpit for seven more years and when the $#it hits the fan, well, you get the point.

It's been a tough few months here at Chez Paul et Marie. A couple of weekends ago it got to me and I dropped a few "F" bombs in places they did not need dropping. The biggest problem with people who "overhear" stuff is that context is invariably lost. I was in a bad place personally, I was asked to share, and I did so with a strafing motion. It was all directed at myself (which isn't particularly healthy, but that's for another post), but when folks overhear and all they see is the bomb, they don't know how or why it's falling.

I confess my sin and I thank the person who shared it with me. I will also add that once the grapevine reported to her she told me. I honor her for that because it wasn't easy, she told me so. She did what others would not, she told me.

So, what did she do right?

• She came to me calmly.
• She told me what's what.
• She came in care and concern and love and honor and respect not just for me but for the people who shared with her.

What could I say but thank you?

I lament and I regret my potty mouth. That's a fact. The bad news is this is as close to a direct apology I can make because I don't know who's talking about me behind my back. Is this the "defensive" part? Maybe. Have I got more? Yes, but that's just me trying to get my camel through the eye of the needle.

All I can ask now is that you forgive me

I Met an Angel. His Name Was Earl.

This is an odd story, as many stories are. I suspect that if all stories were "normal" there would really be no point to recording or repeating them. This is the story of an angel named Earl. I'll let you decide if this story is worth recording or repeating.

Last Wednesday afternoon I had a meeting with my Spiritual Director. (Spiritual directors are folks who "who share a commitment to the art of contemplative spiritual compassionate listening." This statement comes from the Spiritual Director's International Website along with much more information about Spiritual Direction.

He asked me about how I had been blessed lately. I talked about my second anniversary at the church (celebrated on Monday October 1) and about other stuff, but there have been so many stresses in my life lately that sometimes the blessings get buried under the dung. It's like one comes like fairy dust and the other comes in a bulldozer. Can I get an "Amen"?

Not long after the Spiritual Director left a man rang the church doorbell. There was a black man at the door, maybe in his late 20's but looking much older, and having told us he could not read or write-his voice sounded like someone who could not read or write. (No problem though, his mamma could read it to him.) On top of it all, he was illiterate-he knew some of the stories but he had no idea what they were called or where to find them.

I hate using what we called in Kansas "discouraging words," but it was true. He was dirty. His clothes were in tatters. He looked and sounded like a walking-talking stereotype. Then again, this might have been a part of some sort of test. More on that in a couple.

When I answered the door, he said that he was sent over to us from another because he was looking for some bibles. I said "Sure" and headed toward the chapel. Georgia, the church secretary, offered to go and get some from the spares stored in the choir room. That was perfect, as Georgia frequently is. So he came into my study while Georgia went to the choir room for four bibles. I also gave him a Gideon's New Testament-Psalms-Proverbs book. He asked for three of those. No problem, there are plenty more where that came from.

He asked me to mark some things for him. He asked me to mark "that place where it says 'the Lord is my shepherd.'" No problem, the 23rd Psalm coming right up! By this time Georgia got to my office with the other bibles and she started marking them. He also wanted that story of the guy who "Satan took everything he had but God returned it seven times. "No problem, the book of Job coming right up!

This is when Georgia had to leave. She had a appointment. No problem, that was in the works all week.

This is when Earl made a less direct request. He said that he was watching TBN (Trinity Broadcasting Network) the other day and they mentioned a scripture "where God brings two people together who have nothing in common, but it blesses them both."

I thought about it for a moment. By this time I had begun to believe Earl was a soul God placed in my day so I could see that I could be a blessing and be blessed-kind of the on the nose about what my Spiritual Director was saying.

I told Earl that I didn't know the verse they used on TBN or what they were talking about, but I wanted to share Hebrews 13:2, "Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it." (NIV) I told him that he was a blessing in my life; he was the man I needed to see that day. So I marked it in the bible he handed me and that's when it got weird.

Suddenly, Earl's complete demeanor changed. He stood taller. His eyes were more clear. His voice took on a power and command I sure didn't expect. He gave me a blessing. I don't know exactly what it was because I was so taken aback that I didn't hear everything he said. What I did get was when he said "We won't see each other again for a long time, but we will see each other again," and that's where it got fuzzy again.

As he started to leave he dropped one of the small Gideon testaments, and when he went to pick it up the moment was over. His old voice returned as he said "Whoops."

It's said that the vast majority of people never have a spiritual experience while in church. Well, I had mine that day. I met a man who seemed to shrug off a human facade like I take off my shirt. He blessed me and told me that we will meet again one day. He spoke in a voice of peace and authority that I haven't ever heard from another human being. Was it an angel named Earl? I think so. I just pray that when you need to meet your angel, the experience will be as wonderful as when I met Earl.

God bless us everyone!
Amen.

A Tale of Parenting

As you know, I don't have children of my own, but that doesn't stop me from sharing my friends' stories. This one comes from sunny Lamar, Colorado 81052 (or at least the hinterlands). Since they don't know I am sharing the story with the world I'm leaving out the names.

It is also known that I love Steely Dan and wish everyone could know the Mighty, Mighty Dan. (On a side note, for those who think all Steely Dan fans are slightly dis-affected youths who are now in their 50's all I can say is--Guilty. Next...) These parents are Dan-fans too and I hope I had a bit to do with helping them introduce their children to their music.

So Dad tells me this parenting story--

One night their daughter came home late. Late. After curfew late. They were not amused.

Mom asked "Where were you? Where have you been with?"



After a moment of contemplation, daughter answers "Luckless pedestrians."

Dad covered his mouth and squinted his eyes closed tight. Mom said "Go to your room."

I think daughter knows her parents were not amused, but the Dan reference did make Dad proud. Pauley (how I was known to this wonderful family)is pretty proud too.

Is there a parent anywhere who doesn't have that moment? Upset in one moment and disarmed in the next? Yeah, go to your room!

Being a Jerk in the Name of the Lord?

Let me share something for a moment... I've been cranky lately. I don't like being cranky and people around me don't like me being cranky. I don't blame them, my cranky is real cranky. It's another reason my wife Marie should be loved and honored... She lives with me all the time. God bless her!

There was an item on the agenda from the last meeting of Grace Presbytery, an item that was very divisive. I was opposed to that amendment. Grace Presbytery posted this item online and as with all organizations, they hoped people would come prepared to debate. I was. Boy was I.

A note on the motion on the floor. The basic reason for its existence is that people don't trust each other. Everything is marked with the word "gracious"--yet without trust that's always going to be a tough nut to crack.

One of the items I found was that the way the amendment had been written, as proposed, within its own language, it could not have been approved at that meeting. As soon as the motion was made, I was going to drop the hammer and while debate would not have ended, effectively making a decision on that item would be all but dead for that meeting.

I told the Stated Clerk of the Presbytery of my plans so she would know where I was going. In football if you are going to have an Offensive Lineman eligible to catch a pass (usually they are not) then you have to tell the Referee. That's what I was doing, telling the Referee I was running a Lineman eligible play.

When the motion was made, one item was changed. One word was changed which blew my tactic out of the water. Boom! It was the perfect word. I had no evidence, but I was pretty sure the Clerk told the proponents of the motion what I was planning on doing. Frankly, the Clerk didn't like my motion, she wanted to get the item over with and done. So I wasn't upset that she warned them. She might have even provided them with the word they used to thwart my end-around play.

That didn't stop me though. Oh no. When the Clerk saw me in line I gave her a wink.

I asked the man who proposed the item what rationale was used to change the word he did. He really couldn't answer the question. He asked what I meant by "rationale?" I said "Why did you change it?" He consulted his expert on the subject. He answered that the Clerk had warned him that a member of the assembly was going to use the original language to prevent it from being voted on at this meeting.

I said, "Yes, I am that member." I'm a pastor, we're in the "confession of sin" business, what can I say?

So I asked, "Who was more gracious? The Clerk, the Representative of the Presbytery who told you what was going to happen or me who was going to use this against the motion?"

He said he didn't understand. I gave it another go, "The Clerk told you what was going to happen and I didn't, who was acting more graciously?"

Then he hemmed, he asked what I meant by "gracious." By this time, I had worn my welcome out by at least a full minute. I also figured that as far out of order I was, answering my own question would be severely out of order so I said, "I guess it's like whatever your definition of 'is' 'is.'" and sat down. Not a minute too soon.

Honestly now, what five year old couldn't answer that question. I was being a jerk and the Clerk was being gracious. I knew it, everyone in the room knew it. But for some reason this man could not say it. Why? I've got some speculation, but I have no facts so I'll let you draw your conclusions. They're as good as mine.

Let me say this again. I was a jerk. The book of James chapter 3 says something about me being a jerk.

Verses 9-10 say, "With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse men, who have been made in God’s likeness. Out of the same mouth come praise and cursing. My brothers, this should not be."

Verse 17 adds, "The wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial and sincere."

My tongue was not filled with praise. My wisdom was full of something else.

Forgive me Father for I have sinned. I may have made my point that the Presbytery and its people are trustworthy. The folks are a wonderful group of people doing the work of God in Grace Presbytery. By building relationships, trust builds too.

So, being a jerk in the name of the Lord? It's really not in the name of the Lord. There must have been a better way of making my point because there the only way to make it worse would have included physical violence.

God bless us everyone.

Government Accountability

When I was working in Higher Education, the United States Education Department was being forced by Congress to be more accountable for the outcomes of students enrolled in the federally funded TRIO programs. This isn't bad in and of itself. These programs ought to be able to prove that they do what they are funded to do. This led to a squabble though, Congress had its own outcomes in mind, things that were never measured by the individual programs. It was a squabble and about that time I went to seminary so I don't know exactly how it was worked out.

Like I said, accountability isn't bad, but every now and them it's stupid. A case in point...

I recently went to our local Social Security Administration office. I was hoping to get the forms to try to get for Marie's disability. We figured it would be good to see the forms and put together the documentation before getting everything started.

It was about ten minutes before one in the afternoon. I was the only client in the office. There were two women behind roll up counters and an armed guard behind his station. I stood in front of the woman's desk. I was largely ignored. I said, "I would like to" before I was interrupted.

She said, "Take a number."

Really, take a number? I'm the only person in the room and I have to take a number. Ah, bureaucracy at its finest. So I took a number.

She said, "826" and I went to the window.

I asked if she had copies of the forms to register for disability. She said "No." They don't have forms anymore. I was told that it is available on line though. Then she asked "Would you like to make an appointment?"

I said, "No."

First things first, this woman is a worker bee, she's doing what she has to do. Her job calls for no imagination on her part. I bet even her responses are scripted from the computer terminal at her work station.

Second, I imagine this whole charade was a part of some accountability initiative. Through the computer some drone somewhere can see when I came into the office, how quickly she got to me, how long our transaction took place, and that I refused further service. That's a lot of information to be analyzed. If you consider the hundreds of thousands who walk into the Social Security Administration Offices everyday with their thousands of issues, this system will give them a lot of good information which may help with future services and products.

At the same time, being the only one in the room and being told to take a number is the stuff of unimaginative cartoons. Gary Larson would have been too bored to make it a panel on "The Far Side." Butcher shop mentality meets government accountability, it's our tax dollars at work.

Where I Was Eleven Years Ago

Eleven years ago today didn't begin like any other day. I was in my second week of seminary. My first class was at 9:00 on Tuesdays, Old Testament with the Rev. Dr. Kathryn Roberts. That day we were learning the Hebrew alphabet--our Alph, Beth, Gimel's. About 10:00 Central, the halls began to buzz. It was my second week at school. I didn't know the rhythms. Classes were about to change. I didn't know what was going on.

After class, I needed to go to the Financial Aid Office. There seemed to be a bit of extra hustle and bustle that morning, but again, I didn't know the rhythm of the place so I didn't know anything was unusual.

When I got into the office of Glenna Balch, the seminary's Director of Financial Aid, she was listening to the radio. On second thought, in this time before smart phones and good radio on the internet, people seemed to be huddled around radios. I asked what was up and she told me.

She told me everything she knew.

Together we listened to the radio.

After a while I noticed this was the moment when I knew what the people who first heard Orson Wells' "War of the Worlds" felt. There was a big difference though, this time it was real. Listening to the world crumble before your very ears is frightening. We were over 1,700 miles from ground zero and it was frightening.

As I said, this time it was real, yes, but I imagine you know what I mean when I say it was as surreal as it was real. Incomplete news reports, the Today Show switched to the live feed (it's a time zone thing), the Pentagon had been hit, the towers had fallen within the last hour, and United flight 93 was minutes away from falling. There was a lot more to come too.

Marie had become very sick, how sick we wouldn't know until November, and I had to get back to our seminary apartment to see how she was doing.

That night there was a meeting with the Austin Police Department, we were a low-level target. Then again, anyplace in the capital city of the President's home state was a low-level target. Training schools for Christian Clergy north of the University of Texas rated just below government buildings.

Eleven years later Osama Bin Laden is dead, the Iraqi Husseins are dead, much of the Old Guard Al-Queda leadership is dead. Thousands of American servicemen are dead and injured too. I can't tell you how it changed me. So much has changed since that fateful day I don't know what was because of 9/11 and what was because of my vocation in a post-9/11 world.

This I can say... God bless us everyone.

For those who died that day, Lord hear our prayers. For those who were hurt and injured, Lord hear our prayers. For the families of those who lost someone they loved, Lord hear our prayers. For the FDNY and the NYPD, Lord hear our prayers. For those who keep us safe in the military, Lord hear our prayers. For those in harm's way, Lord hear our prayers.

Only in Cub Scout Baseball

It's been a long time since I just told a story, and this one came back to me recently because of a friend who has returned to my life.

Moishe Sachs and I went to grade school and were in Cub Scouts together. Among the things we did was play Cub Scout Baseball. Let me add that I was awful! There's no other word, for the first two years I could not put the bat on the ball. I was just that bad.

One day we were playing and Moishe's dad Fred was calling balls and strikes behind the plate. All of the dads had to put on the mask at least once and that day was Mr. Sach's day. I was in the batter's box. I don't remember if there was anybody on base but I don't think so. The pitch came toward the plate, but it was a bit inside. I decided to stand tough, not move a muscle as it came below my hands.

Well, I misgauged the pitch, it was inside, but just a little higher than I thought. It hit the knob of the bat and rolled half way back to the pitcher. Well, I figured that I didn't swing so it wasn't a hit and it didn't hit me so I didn't get the free base. Everyone else must have thought the same thing because nobody moved. I didn't even hear anything from the parents' gallery.

Then Mr. Sachs said the magic words, "Fair ball." I didn't think it was a hit but I don't have to be told twice. I ran for the bag and the pitcher ran for the ball. The ball got away from the first baseman, so not only did I reach first--I got to second on the throw.

The Butt-Bunt was born. I might have been lousy, but people who were good never had stories like this one. They have enough sense to get out of the way.

God bless you Mr. Sachs. God bless you Moishe.