TheoBilly

The Recycled Fashion Show

2012-02-02T11:06:00.001-05:00

The woman who chose to marry me and her creations were featured on WWLtv this morning. Enjoy.

Recommendation

2012-01-30T08:54:00.000-05:00

If you have a moment or two today I invite you to mosey on over to materialgirlnola's blog. She has written a very "mature" piece that I think you will find enjoyable. Full disclosure - yes, materialgirlnola is the woman who chose to marry me.

On de-baptism

2012-01-29T15:35:00.001-05:00

I listened with perked ears as the voice from NPR reported about a case in France where a gentleman has filed suit to have his name removed from the Roman Catholic Church's records, in essence becoming de-baptized. I listened for the obvious reasons, being a minister and all - but I also couldn't help listening because of the whimsical thoughts swirling in my head concerning the nature of a de-baptismal ritual.

How would one go about becoming de-baptized? I mean its not like a tattoo that one could have "removed." It is not like the water one was baptized in could somehow be dried or wiped off. So what would the ritual look like? Any ideas?

At the least I suppose the de-baptized would get a certificate stating what happened, dates, witnesses, space for reasons, and where the ritual took place. Would one wear a special outfit or plainclothes? Would the de-baptizee lose his/her Christian name? Would they get an official towel with name and date embroidered on it? Would/should the de-baptizee give their bible back? Would there be a chance for an airing of grievances? would anyone listen?

Would the de-baptizee sing this after or before the service?

I am not demeaning this quest, it is a quest of conscience which I honor. But it seems there should be some thought put into the ritual. Ought Christianity be a way of life one can easily leave? Or should it be just as hard or at least 1/2 as hard to leave as it is to enter?

Please share your thoughts and ideas...

Jazz on my friends

2012-01-28T21:09:00.003-05:00

If you are preaching tomorrow & needing a creative boost, here you go - trust your instincts proclaimers, remember, a genius is one who is most like him(her)self.

This afternoon a bright and knows good stuff when he sees it seminarian posted this note on facebook. I read it with great delight. I will reflect more later, but this is too good not to share. The background on this photo can be found here.

If it works with Champagne...A trip to the grocery store...and a trip to the hardware store

2012-01-24T23:03:00.002-05:00

A post in reverse order.

1. This evening for dinner I made beef stew (although technically I did make it, my lovely wife saved it -you'll have to ask her about that). Anyway...I began the day by making beef stock to go bolster the stew. The one thing I hate about making stock is separating the fat. You may say well why don't you just go out and buy a fat separator. I have, 3 of them! One of the kids put a marble in the OXO one, the model from pampered chef is worthless, absolutely worthless, and the glass one I ordered from Amazon was absolutely amazing but it was made out of such thin and fragile glass that one drop ended its existence. So I prefer to make stock a day ahead, strain it, then sit in the frig to cool; this way the fat hardens at the top so all you have to do is skim it off. Note: by doing this you also have a wonderful base for a roux. But today I didn't have time to stick the stock in the frig to cool and I didn't have a fat separator worth anything. So I pondered how could I chill the stock quick enough (20 minutes)? I thought, well sticking a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice water works why shouldn't it work with stock? So I placed my stock in a bowl of ice water and stuck it into the freezer. In 20 minutes (drum roll) hardened fat.

(I was so excited by my find that I forgot to take a picture until I had skimmed 2/3rds of the fat off).

2. Earlier this week I went to the grocery store and spent an unusual amount of time wandering the aisles, perusing to my heart's content. I love going to the grocery store. I also love looking at the new products, this one by Kellog's really got me going.

3. Finally, a trip to the hardware store. The kids have been bugging me to no end to take them to the hardware store lately - it's my own fault I suggested it a while back. They wanted to stock up on duct tape, brass fasteners, nails, bolts, flashlights, locks, you name it. So this Saturday I took them. We were there for an hour! They were in heaven. They wanted to buy a scythe, a double bladed axe, sections of pvc pipe, latches, hinges, miscellany nails, bolts, screws & key blanks, batteries, lanterns, drill bits, some no. 4 rebar, links of chain, etc. It was all I could do to keep up with them. Finally they settled on their purchases. One by one they waited in line then placed their items on the counter, waited for the clerk/knowledgeable person to ring up their totals, and then dumped their piles of coinage onto the counter to count (we were there another 15 minutes). Oh man what a treat it was for them, it was better than taking them to the sporting goods store and I didn't think anything was better than that! Imagine if they would have had a bowl of Krave beforehand?

A Howard Thurman Primer

2012-01-23T09:36:00.001-05:00

The response to my guest column in the Sunday Times-Picayune on Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was most favorable. What brought the most joy was the inquiries I received concerning Howard Thurman. I love Thurman and have often stressed in public worship services and the lectures I gave at Xavier University the importance of Thurman. Therefore I want to offer a brief primer on the man with the hopes that some will go discover more about him.

First off, this is in no way an exhaustive or thorough primer on Howard Thurman. Instead, it is a brief post that will hopefully entice you to delve into the work of and provide you some guidance on one of the greatest spiritual masters of the 20th century.

Second allow me to offer a note on Thurman's writing style: it is clear! Thurman was trained as a writer in a time when clarity was at a premium (see Christianity and the Social Crisis). Pick up almost any early 20th century religious writer and you will notice clarity (oh how I long for those kinds of books). I mention this because you will find yourself reading Thurman's works at quite a rapid pace. You may even be tempted (as I was at one time) to think his books are on the light side; they are not! Take your time reading and savoring his words. The man had something to say, trust me - pay attention to them.

And now a possible order to introduce yourself to Thurman:

1. With Head and Heart: The Autobiography of Howard Thurman (the only link I have is to one of the giant mega-lo-mart online bookstore, so please ask your local bookseller to order you a copy). This book will introduce you to his life and provide a beautiful panorama of his thought and movements.

2. Jesus and the Disinherited. Thurman's most known and lasting work. A brief but deep offering - almost a pre-liberation theology from an African-American perspective. This was, perhaps, the book of the Civil Rights Movement, it is reported that Dr. King took it everywhere he went - it was with him when he was assassinated in Memphis, TN.

3. From here the writings disperse into the fields of spirituality/mystical studies (practical mystical studies), sermons, meditations that emerged from times of silence before worship and history (spirituals and the account of the church he started). These titles can be found here. I would highly recommend Footprints of a Dream: The Story of the Church for the Fellowship of All Peoples. I propose that this book be the model for liberal/progressive church growth/new church start manuals! Also, I would love to have a group of churches and pastors experiment with Thurman's model of worship: before the 11 o'clock hour he would offer a half hour of silence. I would love to see how the practice/balance of silence and spoken/sung worship would transpire today.

I would also recommend A Strange Freedom: The Best of Howard Thurman on Religious Experience and Public Life, edited by Walter Earl Fluker and Catherine Tumber. This will give you a nice overview of his writings.

Why Thurman? Historically I think he stands as the important bridge transporting the church from the social gospel of the early 20th century to the social gospel for the mid and late 20th century. He fully incorporated racial reconciliation into the ministry of American Christianity (he was the chaplain of the Civil Rights movement). He also broadened the vistas of American Christianity to beauty of the contemplative Eastern traditions. Furthermore, he rooted his life, his preaching, and his scholarly work in the mystical tradition. Which I propose is the only way to assure transformation of the public and personal life - if one is not rooted in a spiritual and life-giving tradition one will burn out and more than likely lose the focus of ultimate reality.

I hope you will now go out and purchase or check out a portion or all of Thurman's works, you will be challenged, enlightened, and uplifted at the same time.

More about Thurman:
Biography from Boston University.
The Howard Thurman Papers Project at Morehouse University
The Psalm of Howard Thurman a documentary which I do not believe has been released yet.

MLK, Jr. Essay

2012-01-15T10:04:00.002-05:00

Last week at least five shots were fired on the corner of Carrolton Avenue and Claiborne Street, merely blocks from my house. I thought about the shots and the celebration of Dr. King; and then I penned this essay which I submitted to the Times-Picayune and which they published this morning.

A Chair of My Own

2012-01-11T14:11:00.002-05:00

Reading is so important, so necessary to the nourishment of the mind and spirit that I feel it should be as seriously ceremonial as a church service. Ideally we need a comfortable chair with back and arm support, and good, well directed light, a rest for the book if it is too heavy to hold comfortably, a small table with our favourite drink to hand, and silence and solitude. It is an ideal few of us are able to obtain.

from the August 15th entry of Time to Be in Earnest: A Fragment of Autobiography by P.D. James

I vividly remember when this quote was carried in Christian Century back in 2006. I remember thinking I needed to purchase a designated "reading chair." I longed for the little leather chair that used to sit in the old Union Seminary library. That was the perfect chair, low to the ground, old, broken in leather. When you sat down in it you knew you were sitting with your head already in heaven. But that chair is long gone.

Sometime in the future when I have a designated studio/wood shop I will make an Arts and Craft style Morris Chair - or I may stumble upon one at an estate sale. I have plans for a chair stashed away in my desk but I am a ways away from the skills to build it (plus all of my woodworking equipment is locked away in an undisclosed location).

This Christmas I was gifted a chair (with ottoman) of my own, a designated reading chair. It fits the necessary requirements for reading (James' mediation on a reading chair reminds me of the Episcopal what must happen for a service to be legit). The trial period last night proved that this chair has what it takes for serious reading. All that is left to do is taunt the ever growing stack of books. I can now, however, with confidence say: Bring it on books of 2012!

Now, if I can only convince #2 and #3 to keep to the couch - lollipops worked yesterday evening.

Carnival Time Re-Post

2012-01-10T10:03:00.002-05:00

Being in the beginning days of carnival season I thought it a good time to share my op-ed piece on Mardi Gras, For the New Pastor, Epiphany at Lent. This was my first "published" piece. I could not believe the response I received: emails from a former Lt. Gov. of Louisiana, folk who shared the same experience, friends, and a monk from Thailand. I even heard a mom's group at a Catholic church used it as a daily devotion with the words, "the Baptist gets it!"

Happy Carnival.

Cookies for Breakfast

2012-01-06T16:55:00.005-05:00

The other day my wife and #3 made a batch of our favorite cookies: Deborah Madison's A Little Nut Cookie, from her Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone (page for page the best vegetarian cookbook on the market). While my wife and I ate a cookie with a cup of tea in the late afternoon I remarked that this recipe may in fact make a pretty mean breakfast cookie!

On the one hand I am sure the pursuit of a breakfast cookie is my pursuit of my childhood, oh how I long for a Carnation Breakfast Bar. Does anyone have any reason why Nestle discontinued them? I am not alone on this quest, at least 5,570 have signed an online petition and 570 have joined the Bring Back Original Carnation Breakfast Bars facebook group.

On the other hand my wife and I really want to create a breakfast bar that is tasty and healthy and a better alternative to mass produced granola bars. So we took Ms. Madison's recipe and adapted it ever so slightly by substituting 1 cup of oat flour for 1 cup of all purpose flour. How do you make oat flour? Take regular oats and place them in the food processor till they are ground into a fine flour. One more note: add an extra 1/4 cup of oats when you make the desired amount of flour. We also added about 3/4 cup of mini chocolate chips. The cookies are still less sweet than most breakfast cereals!

The result? A delicious breakfast cookie - it is not a substitute for breakfast but a nice addition.

take that Mark Bittman!

Falling Asleep in Church

2012-01-05T09:47:00.002-05:00

My post from Monday got me thinking a bit more on falling asleep during worship - because I have myself slept in church and because I have watched people to sleep in church.

I distinctly recall my grandmother nudging me with her elbow to wake up a young child; I was born with the gift of being able to fall asleep in just about any place. And I remember a friend of mine who always fell asleep in church too. He would nod off and the pastor would always wake him. The pastor would not yell or trick his voice instead he would simply call on my friend in a subliminal fashion right in mid-sentence. Something like this, "Paul anguished over the church he started in Cornith, Jim wake up, they just would not follow his instructions." And I remember the elderly gentleman, at the church I interned at in divinity school, who would nod off as soon as I announced the gospel lesson .

I have never found it offensive that folk fall asleep in church while I preach. Some folk need the rest, some folk are just too tuckered to pay attention, for some it is the most restful moments of their week, and for others the hour of worship is the same time of their daily nap. I will occasionally tease someone for nodding off; usually, however, when people apologize for falling asleep I act like I did not know it or say I assumed they were simply deep in prayer/thought.

And falling asleep is ecumenical. While serving in RI the local UCC pastor and myself decided to hold joint services during the summer months. I preached at the UCC church for July and the UCC pastor preached at the Baptist church for August. It was a great experience for the summers we did this. I was on pastoral call for him congregation when he was on vacation and he was on call when I was on vacation. So the joint services enabled the two congregations to feel more comfortable with pastors and each other. Our orders of service were almost, if not, identical and we both had UCC hymnals, but they had one thing that we did not: cushioned pews!

The first Sunday I preached there I noticed those who were on their turf nestle in for their morning nap and I noticed those from the Baptist church who usually napped express much enjoyment when their bums were comforted by the presence of cushioned pews. I knew I would only hold them for a few minutes before the rhythms of my sentences lulled them to sweeter thoughts. So I employed a few tricks of the trade: I variegated the pitch and speed of my voice, I paused longer, I used lots of words that started with the letter P, knocked on the pulpit from time to time." My tricks worked but not in the manner I expected. Instead of saying how much they enjoyed the sermon the three or four from both congregations who nodded off were very grumpy for not getting their nap. I put the tricks away for the summer.

And believe it or not one of the reasons I am is a pastor is directly related to folk falling asleep in church! The first church I served was full of wonderful old souls. They were kind, considerate, and compassionate. And there was one grace filled napper; a lovely woman who would go to sleep right after the first hymn until she would wake up about middle way through the last hymn. When I announced that I was leaving for another call she came to the parsonage to talk with me about my choice. She was hurt and a bit mad. The next Sunday I didn't know if she would or would not attend worship. She attended and she came down front (she always had sat in the next to the last pew) and sat on the third pew. She tried, oh she tried, to stay awake but she could not; she fought all the way up to the first paragraph of my sermon before nodding off. After the worship she apologized for sleeping and said, "I tried" (actually she talked in the third person when referring to herself). She said she wanted to listen to my last sermons. She did that for my last four Sundays. Her pew change was a simple move but it was a moment of grace, it was a gift for me and I am thankful, eternally, grateful for her act.

New Materials for an Article on Preaching

2012-01-03T13:15:00.003-05:00

A few weeks ago I began working on an article on the length of sermons, I am advocating for longer sermons (not 45 minute sermons but a little longer, hopefully soon you can read about it). The one problem most associated with lengthy sermon is attentiveness. Is it an imperial expectation to expect tired and inattentive persons to sit still and listen to a 20-25 minute sermon? Or can one really expect to keep people awake that long?

People have long slept in worship. It is nothing new (see Acts 20:7-12) and one so eloquent as Howard Thurman once remarked concerning a woman who fell asleep during his sermons that he was content for folk to do so for nourishment.

Despite the (perceived) lack of attention I think the interchange of a human voice in the presence of a voluntary quieted people is a transformational moment that few experience on a monthly never mind weekly basis.

Two articles in the NY Times this week point to this the need for the kind of reflection we need in this age of technology.

1. Time to Tune Out by Roger Cohen.

2. The Joy of Quiet by Pico Iyer.

I am curious of your reactions to these two articles and your experience of attentiveness on Sunday mornings.

The Kings English

2012-01-02T21:52:00.003-05:00

This afternoon I finished the first book of 2012, Good King Harry by Denise Giardina. Reading a work such as this - one written in modern English but with the flow of 15th century sentence structure my - I was rent to use a phrase or two on the kids (for my wife was sorely exhausted from my questions and phrases over the past couple of nights). Upon finishing the book my middle child snuck upon me and smacked me on the bum. I turned and said, "You dare to spank the king on the arse?" At first he looked at me like I had horns, then I explained to him the meaning of arse and yes, I quickly explained that he could not use this phrase this week when he returns to school. He and his brother spent the next 15 minutes repeating the phrase over and over in whatever bizarre accents they could muster.

The episode brought to mind one of my proudest moments as a father, in a nerdy English minor kind of way. A few years ago my daughter's class took a field trip to Plimoth Plantation in Plymouth, MA. The teacher told the class that all of the people the children at Plimoth workers would use phrases and mannerisms from the 15th century, so they would need a parent to translate and help out. As soon as I learned of this I volunteered to chaperon and quickly went to work and dove into all the texts I had at the house from the time period with one solitary goal: to stump one of the historical actors.

One morning the class and I entered a school bus (not an adult friendly school bus by the way) and trundled up to Plymouth. Upon arrival the kids were divided into teams of two and assigned one adult chaperon. With my daughter and her classmate in tow we explored the plantation. I staked out a spot near the center of things so I could spy my target. After a few minutes I found him.

I gave the kids specific instructions, what question to ask, and how to ask it. Two giggly girls walked up to him and asked their question (they were brilliant, calm, and very assertive). It worked, they stumped him. He looked quizzical at them for a few moments then finally had to ask them (and by this time me too, I couldn't resist) in modern English what they were asking. Being a fine and proper gentleman I explained that the two fair maidens were inquiring how a resident at Plimoth would cleanse oneself after a midnight trip to the chamber pot. He thought for a moment, smiled, and replied, "leaves or a cotton cloth."

The girls giggled and parted. I expected them to brag to their friends on the trip back how they outsmarted the actor but no they simply shared how terrible it would have been to use leaves.

Off subject but useful, nonetheless, and get this, this next part is free folks: If you, like me, wish the school would open back up early from break and are in need of entertainment tomorrow may I recommend the Elizabethean insult generator. It is great to listen to kids try and formulate an interesting smash-up of words.

First Day of the Year Whimsy

2012-01-01T21:54:00.003-05:00

I thought this gargoyle on the outside of St. Stephen's Church on Napoleon Avenue would be a great way to start off the new year.

How many times have you wished you could have pulled your cheeks aside and stuck your tongue out at someone while leaving church, I know I have!

Welcome MMXII

MMXI in Review/Best of List

2011-12-30T17:19:00.007-05:00

With one more full day of MMX I find it appropriate to offer my annual assessment of the year that passed.

2011 fraught with travail and anxiety but also provided the crucible for growth and re-appreciation of life and vocation.

Here we go:

1. Best sermon - by far the one I preached just a little over a fortnight ago. Why? Because it was the first sermon preached in a good spell; it felt terrific to be back in the pulpit. No tears while preaching, they waited till I sat down afterwards. Most favorite line was one where I playfully described John the Baptizer containing an alliteration I spent way too much time on, "aggravating attire, bug breath, and honey hands." Honorable Mention: Singing Our Lives: From Mass in B Minor to Prayer in Open D. I had great fun writing and reflecting on the importance of music in worship and spirituality.

2. Best work of fiction: Gilead by Marilynne Robinson. How eloquent she described my vocation from afar.

3. Best work of non-fiction: The Most Famous Man in America by Debby Applegate, a biography of Harry Ward Beecher.

4. Most enjoyable culinary experience: Father's day - popeye's fried chicken, cheap american beer, iced tea, mashed potatoes, and biscuits picnic with the kids and wife at City Park. Afterwards we went to the Great Lawn for games and tom foolery.

5. Most Moving Moment - the weekend I traveled to RI to deliver an eulogy for Raymond Houghton. It was my first trip back to RI since we moved to NOLA. I was moved with waves of emotions that began reminding me of my calling to pastoral ministry. I spent an afternoon with Joe Taylor, a few minutes with Michael, went to Dohtery's with Darin, said hello to old neighbors, stayed with Mike and Jenny, spent time with friends, and remembered a wonderful human being.

6. Time I sat in awe of my wife: The Recycled Fashion Show. I have always thought of my wife as an artist: the way she loves and nurtures the children, the care she takes cooking, the manner with which she conducts herself but that night I saw her as an artist in her own right, it was an exhilarating moment.

7. What I Didn't See Coming - I could write a few 1000 words on this one. But instead I will simply say I didn't see how healing and re-creative therapy could be. A trusted colleague recommended that I use my "fictive sabbatical" to plunge the depths of my existence. THe trusted colleague recommended a therapist and man am I thankful. I have referred others to therapy but never thought it would benefit me as much. Naive sure.

8. Best pictures of the year:

Little Man on the Florida Coast

The Greatest Wife in the World at Jazz Fest

The Daughter playing at Morning Meeting. Without any prompting or instruction she displayed the disinterested rock star look. I am still flabbergasted by this.

Little Buddy trying to look like a viscous pirate-ninja.

9. Best CD: American Legacies: The Del McCoury Band and Preservation Hall.

10. Best Children's Author Discovery: Daniel Pinkwater. We have read his works to the kids before but not like we did this year. The man is hilarious.

11. In Memoriam: Joe Taylor, Dorothy & Raymond Houghton, Peter Gomes, and Hazel Dickens.

12. Most Surprising Author find: Frederick Buechner.

13. Best Moment at a Sporting Event: Zephyr's game. I sat in the outfield on the levee with the kids. I told the kids to wait till the outfielder caught the ball (the pitcher's curveballs were hanging) then wave like mad and you'll get the ball. Sure enough with two outs the batter ripped a line drive to the center fielder, the kids waved like mad and the ball came right to us.

14. Most Amazing Donut Experience: The Maple Glazed Bacon donut at Blue Dot, that thing is plain evil.

15. Year in Numbers.

# of times I saw someone go the wrong way on the one way street I live on: 14.

# of times I went to Stein's Deli for a bagel: 10

# of times the properitor seemed interested in my being there: 0.

# of times we went to one of the new chic hamburger joints in town: 2.

# of times I thought the new chic hamburger joints were just overpriced Bud's Broilers: 2.

# of times my wife and I attempted to watch The King's Speech before returning it to Netflix: 5.

# of baseball games I coached: 19.

# of times I taught violin class by myself: 6

# of times I taught violin class by myself and resorted to telling stories to gain the attention of the kids: 6.

# of times I saw Michael Tisserand after I sent him a facebook friend request before he approved it: 4.

16. Best Culinary Invention. The other day we had a bottle of champagne and a bag of cranberries. I knew there was a cocktail in there somewhere. I put the cranberries in a pot with some sugar, heated till the berries broke down and a syrup formed. I watered the syrup a bit then scooped a generous tablespoon into glasses, then poured some bubbly over it and stirred. I know this is not my invention but I like to think it is.

17. Significant moments in my life as a father. A. showed #1 my favorite 80s movie: Better Off Dead. B. while passing ball with #2 he threw one so hard it stung my hand for a good five minutes. C. watched #3 go off to kindergarten.

A Fictive Sabbatical

2011-12-28T14:34:00.005-05:00

As some of you may or may not know I resigned from my position as Senior Pastor back in August. Since then I have been engaged in an inward search: evaluating my call to ministry (I love it now more than ever), enjoying fatherhood (as I write this post at the dinner table I am surrounded by my progeny: #1 is working on her Student of the Year application, #2 is practicing cursive, and #3 is using Ed Wemberley to help him draw animals), finding the depth of friendship (more on this later), and found the simple pleasure of reading fiction. Come to think of it, each of the aforementioned inward insights will receive a separate post in the near future.

I told friends when I first resigned that I was on a sort of sabbatical - sort of because most people when they take a sabbatical have a job waiting for them when the sabbatical is over. I feel my sabbatical has been/is a resting, re-creative, and rejuvenating experience. Nevertheless I couldn't help but "pun" around with my sabbatical terminology so I came up with a fictive, for indeed my sabbatical is fictive (in the professional sense of the word sabbatical), sabbatical because all I have read, by no grand design, has been works of fiction.

For years I have dabbled with fiction reading a novel here or there, I even created a sermon series based on the works of Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clezio, but my dabbles were always - always - outweighed by a heavy dose of non-fiction: historical, theological, and practical titles.

So what has happened during my fictive sabbatical? I have developed a greater appreciation of dialogue, especially in the gospels. Also, I have developed a greater appreciation for the daily ins and outs of ministry. I believe fiction writers have more faith in pastoral ministry than most pastors do! How can I say that? They pay more attention to life, to light and darkness, to emotions, to how the past influences the future, how dreams create realities, how rituals transform (or tear down) individuals/families, & etc. I think pastors have and make these insights just as much as any fiction writer but we need to be reminded/nudged of them.

I will soon post a New York Review of Books type of review on Gilead & Home by Marilynne Robison and Father Melancholy's Daughter by Gail Godwin and how they both represent (maybe even redeem) the pastor as a character in fiction and remind pastors (all members of the clergy, not just Christian ministers) of their importance in human life.

An Honest to Goodness Sermon

2011-12-12T21:27:00.001-05:00

It has been awhile, how long...long enough. This past Sunday I preached a sermon, oh brother did it feel good.

Enough is Enough

Third Sunday of Advent – Year B – 11.Dec.2011

I Thessalonians 5:16-24; Isaiah 60:1-4, 8-11; John 1:6-8, 19-28

text: “Do not despise the words of the prophets” I Thess. 5:20

The Rev’d G. Travis Norvell

-Sometimes you don’t know how good something is until it is gone: a relationship that no longer is, the voice of the deceased, the playfulness of a puppy, or an old broken in chair.
-Sometimes you take things for granted and it takes someone from the outside to remind you of how great or interesting you have it: when they remark how big your kitchen is or when a friend comes over and says over and over again how much fun your slicky-slide is or when a dinner guests wont stop complimenting your biscuits.

-And sometimes life becomes so difficult, even painful, that you think there is no other way, that the way life is now will always be the way it is. In situations like these we need a beacon (either a poet, an author, a songwriter, an artist, a playwright, a filmmaker, a choreographer, a choir, a field of lilies) to take us to another place and show us that life is not fixed, that the pain we feel is finite, that the difficulties we face are not forever.

So it was in the first century of Palestine an expectant and pregnant time – life without pleasure, splendor or beauty.

Edward Gibbon labeled the period of the first century as the Pax Romana, the Peace of Rome. Perhaps it was “peaceful” if you were a ruling elite with a villa on the banks of the Tiber, but if you were a peasant in first century Palestine life was anything but peaceful. Pax Romana it was not; Infernos Romae, the Hell of Rome, it was.

And so it was that one day a poet, John, the son of Zechariah and Elizabeth, finally said enough is enough. The madness has to stop. We are more than cogs in the Roman wheel, we are children of the Living God. And so it went, he left home and went to the wilderness, that unguarded place by the Roman military-economic machine, that largely forgotten place of legend and lore, of promise and new life. Under cold star lit skies and blazing hot days, by the muddy Jordan, and just on the other side, just out of the reach of madness a man and his poetry went to find life anew.

And it came to pass that this man and his strange ways re-awakened the slumbering souls of Zion. I am sure the oligarchs and plutocrats in Jerusalem, more or less, the mass of humanity even knew about this lone wild bird in the desert. Who had time to listen to poetry? Records show life under Roman occupation changed and altered traditional patterns of life so much that people barely had a moment to lift their head to acknowledge the day more or less hear words of entertainment. Hear the allusions to the parables: Roman economic policies caused younger sons to leave home and go off to foreign lands to find work, caused youth to assemble in the city and hope someone would hire them at the nine o’clock, at noon, at three o’clock and for one hour of work at five o’clock, caused farmers to lose sleep over the price of seed so fearful that one wayward mustard seed would fall in their field and ruin their crop, and turned hospitality inside out so that villagers, rather than open their doors with bread and wine, they were scared to answer the door at night when a stranger entered lest they be killed. Into this time John offered his art as a generative and transforming possibility.

It sounded preposterous, almost comical, but the Gospel record reveals that the people of Israel were not laughing, they were praising God – finally someone had a word of the Lord. And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to the wilderness to be baptized, to be cleansed, to be made whole by a poet. He was a prophet of yore with aggravating attire, bug breath and honey hands. The poet/prophet who through his poetry took his people where they could not go by themselves, he reminded them of their heritage with his poetry, he reawakened their slumbering souls with ancient songs of Zion, and shocked them out of their Roman induced numbness with his dramatic ways.

Then one day the minders thought they ought to find out what was going on, so they sent some representatives, some Levites and some priests. The encounter is quite amusing:

Who are you?
I am not the Messiah.
What then? Are you Elijah?
I am not.
Are you the prophet?
No.
Who are you? What do you say for yourself?

Imagine
a collective calm,
a meditative moment,
a pregnant pause.

I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness, Make straight the way of the Lord.

Depending on your familiarity with the gospel of John you may or may not have recognized what just happened. The gospel writer framed John the Baptizer as more than a poet, as more than a prophet, the author framed John as a creative and generative force. I am the voice in the wilderness… Later on the author of the will put that phrase, I am, on the lips of Jesus seven times to define our Lord, I am the way the true and the life, I am the vine, I am the good shepherd, I am the bread of life, I am the light of the world, I am the gate, and I am the resurrection and the life. And when the authorities go to arrest Jesus, our Lord says I am and they all fall down. I am the voice crying out in the wilderness…

Those who went to question the Baptizer had no idea what he was talking about. Why then are you baptizing if you are neither the Messiah, nor Elijah, nor the prophet? But enough people got what John was up to. How many, well enough. How much is enough, enough to frighten the kings and rulers of Jerusalem.

John did what John was supposed to do. He wasn’t supposed to teach people how to pray, to show people how to forgive, heal, love, bless, or reveal the meaning of disinterested love, non-violent revolution, justice, peace, or life everlasting – that was Jesus’ job. John was the poet/prophet/generative force who took a plough and sliced the earth of calloused souls, he was the one who grabbed folk by the scruff of the collar and said this is not all there is, enough is enough, change, turn, and live life anew.

You and I need third parties to enter our lives and remind us of our calling and lives as followers of the Christ. We need a John the Baptist to lift us up to heaven’s gates to reawaken our slumbering souls in the bleak midwinter.

On September 17 a Canadian activist group Adbusters and other U.S. groups called for a mass protest in New York City. They envisioned and hoped for 20,000 to attend, barely 2,000 showed up. Their actions did not illicit much attention from any of the news outlets. But over the next week the country watched the execution of Troy Davis which served as a wake up call for people of conscience. Then came the first mass march on Union Square in NYC, 87 people were arrested and suddenly what we now know as Occupy Wall Street became a news item. Since then we have watched this odd voluntary gathering of people in large and small towns in this nation and around the world. We have watched them evicted peacefully and with force. We have watched while others have belittled their effort. We may have even chuckle while those seeking the presidency said I’ll talk to them when they take a bath and get a job.

I confess I wrote them off at first. Sure we all are against corporate greed. Sure we are all fed up with the unjust and in many ways evil economic system we all participate in. But what is living in a park in New York City and in other public places around the world going to do to end it. Wouldn’t it be better if you took your frustration and drafted alternative economic policies? And so I largely ignored their stories. But over the course of days I kept hearing statistics over and over and over again about income inequality. I kept hearing the language expressed in interviews until one day one word struck a nerve. I realized that the Occupy Wall Street folk were singing my song. They were singing our song, the old time gospel hour song of a liberating word, a time of jubilee, of a new world, the world we are working for and waiting to come. They are functioning as our John the Baptist as that outside third party recalling our mission to heal, mend, and love creation.

I’m not asking you to go downtown and join the occupiers. But I am asking for us to see the Occupy Wall Street movement as a witness, as a call for us to remember who we are children of the Living God, as disciples of the Christ, as ambassadors of reconciliation. We have something to say about this unjust situation, economic inequality, ecological deprivation, and presence of war. We have a good word to offer this world and a redemptive song to sing. The way the world is, is not the only way, there are other alternatives. We can have profits and justice, we can have good jobs and a clean and life-giving environment, we can protect our citizenry without spending billions on foreign and domestic wars. For God is not finished with you and me and this world.

This Advent may we hear the call of the Baptizer in the witness of the protesters in our land. May we join with them in metaphorical and in physical fashions to say Enough is Enough. This Advent let us join the Baptizer by saying enough is enough:

To the powers of death,
enough is enough
To the powers of war,
enough is enough
To the powers of economic exploitation,
enough is enough
To the powers of injustice,
enough is enough
To the powers of ecological degradation,
enough is enough
To the powers of racial discrimination,
enough is enough
To the powers of homophobia,
enough is enough
To the powers of xenophobia,
enough is enough

You have had our ears and been at the microphone too long, it is time for us to hear and to sing a different song, an ancient song of Zion.

This morning may we hear the different song as a blessing, may we make ourselves vulnerable enough to hear the poem John alluded to as our song, as our blessing, as our charge:

The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon you; because the LORD hath anointed you to preach good tidings unto the meek; he hath sent you to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound;
To proclaim the acceptable year of the LORD, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all that mourn;
To appoint unto them that mourn in this world, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, that he might be glorified.
And you shall build the old wastes, you shall raise up the former desolations, and you shall repair the waste cities, the desolations of many generations. For the LORD you serve loves justice, hates robbery for burnt offering; and will direct their work in truth, and will make an everlasting covenant with them.
And your seed shall be known among the nations, and your offspring among the people: all that see them shall acknowledge them, that they are the seed which the LORD hath blessed.
You will greatly rejoice in the LORD, your soul shall be joyful in your God; for he hath clothed you with the garments of salvation, he hath covered you with the robe of righteousness, as a bridegroom decketh himself with ornaments, and as a bride adorneth herself with her jewels.
For as the earth bringeth forth her bud, and as the garden causeth the things that are sown in it to spring forth; so the Lord GOD will cause righteousness and praise to spring forth before all the nations.

Amen and Amen.

Gift Buying Guide for Your Pastor

2011-12-02T15:35:00.007-05:00

The holiday season is upon us and many parishioners are curious as to what they should get their pastor as a gift. Allow me to assuage your anxiety by providing a list that is both practical and whimsical (I'll leave it up to you to discern which is which).

First let us purge bad holiday gifts.

1. A book of sermons by a famous preacher. Although many pastors do read sermons of famous dead and living preachers it is not the kind of book preachers like parishioners purchasing for them, it can send the wrong message.

2. Something that they must hang in their house (especially if they live in a parsonage). I realize that someone may have put a lot of time and effort into this kind of gift, but what if it is not the kind of thing the pastor or his/her family wants to display? Although it is a heartfelt gift it may put unnecessary pressure on the pastor to display the gift or feel guilty if he/she does not and the gifter enters the house and does not see the gift on display.

Now let us move onto the gift buying guide. Reader, know that this list was composed with financially struggling congregations and houses of worship in mind.

10. A Title. That's is right a title: like pound for pound the best preacher they have heard in a while, or dean of the sanctuary, or bishop of the boulevard. Trust me I have yet to meet a pastor who does not want or secretly covets a formal, especially some obscure English, title.

9. An Alternative Title. Something like writer-in-residence. Why? Well imagine you are a person of the cloth on an airplane and you do not want to talk "shop" with the person next to you. If you are feeling disposed to share your vocation then by all means share it, but if you are not and the passenger next to you asks, "and what do you do?" You can faithfully (and truthfully) answer I am a writer-in-residence.

8. A Stack of I've Had it Cards. I would say at least five of these. Most congregations grant generous vacation and continuing education time off for their pastors but there are times when pastors give and give and give till they are spent. So rather than have your pastor just check out one day, reward him/her with an "I've Had it Day" card. An unquestioned, last minute, taking the day off to sleep in, go shopping, eat an ice cream sundae for breakfast, play golf, card for that kind of day.

7. A Night Out. Although cash is a great gift for pastors there is a great temptation to spend it on necessary and workaday stuff. Therefore, volunteer to be the person to coordinate a church wide gift for the pastor. After sufficient cash is obtained purchase gift cards to the nicest restaurant in town, then tickets to a show, and arrange for a trusted member(s) to watch the pastor's kids (if they have them) or pets, or the house while they are away.

6. Promise to say thank you over the course of the year. Even over the most minute or mundane acts promise to say thanks to your pastor. Write a note to say how much you enjoyed the sermon. Write a note to say how much his/her prayer meant to you. Do not let the work go unnoticed or unacknowledged.

5. Promise never to criticize a sermon on a Sunday morning while you exit a service. The act of preaching is a dangerous and courageous act; one of the most vulnerable acts a person can do. Pastors reveal their most cherished and deepest thoughts; their hopes, dreams, and relationship with the Holy. After a service they are famished and extremely vulnerable, it is not the time for criticism. If you do not like the sermon then simply say I love you or I hope you have a good afternoon. Criticism can wait till Monday morning.

4. An understanding that pastoral work is artistry. Yes there are managerial, fundraising, interpersonal, supervisory, strategic planning, and visionary skills needed for effective and meaningful ministry but transcending all of that is an art form of taking ideas and incarnating them, of healing and mending, of crying with and for, of tearing down and building up. Perhaps you could change the designation pastor's office to pastoral studio.

3. A good stiff drink. No, I am not condoning an unhealthy addiction to alcohol. Nor, am I encouraging that the pastor drink his/her problems away with alcohol. I am advocating for a nice expensive bottle of wine or scotch to be purchased for a celebratory meal or moment in the course of a year. If you suspect a drinking problem then I would suggest a weekly subscription to the NY Times. Make this one a both/and if you do not suspect an unhealthy approach to distilled spirits.

2. A sidekick. Yes, a sidekick. This is not a paid position or a volunteer staff position this is more of a Sunday morning worship sidekick. You will be the (insert day and time of your worshipping community here) version of Andy Richter. You will be the first person to stand to sing, you will sing the loudest, you will have the most sincere face while the pastor prays, if the pastor pulls at your heart strings during the sermon you will have a handkerchief ready to wipe away your tears, during the sermon you will have the most concentrated face, and if the pastor tells a joke or tells a funny story you will guffaw and hold your sides like it is nobody's business.

Drum Roll...

1. Finally, you will love your pastor with as much love as you can. Through bad times and good times you will love her/him.

All of these gifts are mutually beneficial gifts. You will deepen your relationship with your pastor and he/she will deepen his/her relation with you. You will be enlightened by deeper sermons while your pastor will push himself/herself through a wider reading program and discover a new artistic expression.

If you must purchase something not listed here let me offer these then:

Subscription to The New Yorker - if for nothing more than the cartoons and to have it in the office (I mean studio) to impress future members.
Gift card to a local bookstore - no pastor or religious leader can have enough books.
Tickets to JazzFest (even if your pastor lives nowhere near New Orleans, he/she will never be the same...)

I hope this helps. Happy Holidays.

The Word Escaped Me

2011-12-01T11:46:00.003-05:00

After only a few weeks on the job at the church in NOLA I lost my bible. I had it one evening at a bible study then couldn't find it the day after. Either I misplaced it somewhere or someone thought for sure they would obtain instant salvation and restitution with it in their possession...i dunno.

I loved that bible, an NRSV Oxford Annotated Study Bible (2nd Edition) with the Apocrypha. The margins were full of seminary notes, interesting and key passages were underline, and sections were given personal titles. I could find passages just by looking at the page - not the title, chapter or verse. It was broken in, had duct tape on the spine (visual proof that I, a liberal Protestant, actually read the thing). This loss was (and still is) devastating.

My first attempt at replacement was to purchase a brand new study bible of a different brand - the Abingdon NRSV Study Bible - the notes were fantastic but the paper was too thin. Then I tried going back to an old and well worn RSV Oxford Study Bible but despite my love for this accurate translation it is a bit wooden and the notes were a bit dated. I then said the heck with a study bible, I'll just use a good slim NRSV (more a dagger than a sword). It took about three tries before I found one I liked, The Green Bible. It serves as a good pulpit bible (for I do have dreams of one day holding a liberal version of a revival and a preacher needs a good pulpit bible for that kind of thing). But I still longed for my study bible, one that I did not care to mark in and mangle. Then I remembered that a few years back I purchased the 3rd edition of the NRSV Oxford Study Bible. But one look at the cover and I knew this would not work - mustard yellow? Are you kidding me? Who wants a mustard colored bible? Not me.

Then I went nostalgic - what if I bought a used copy of my lost bible? So I did, for $3.00 from abebooks. I even had a small glimmer of hope that my lost bible would have been found by someone who sold it to the book merchant whom I bought the copy from. I know, I know - like there is a whole underground black market for used study bibles from the late 1990s! The new/old bible arrived but it wasn't the same - no notes! I almost hoped shirtless bible salesmen would come to the door with some edition I had never heard of, but they never did.

Realizing that I would have to pick a bible and start breaking it in I purchased yet another bible. Are you ready...The Fully Revised (4th Edition) of the Oxford Annotated Study Bible, ecumenical edition, no Apocrypha. It is white, the pages are heft, and cover is slick. It aint perfect but it'll do. If you ever stumble upon a red bible with gray duct tape on the spine and lots of interesting notes in the margins please let me know. I'll trade you my collection of bibles and will provide a feast of the finest meats and cheeses in the land. If I never see it again, I only hope it has a good home. I hope the owner appreciates the work I did on Romans a few years ago, or finds some solace in my underlining of the Psalms, and sees my love for Jeremiah. If someone did take it I hope they love it. I dont feel as these monks did when someone stole their bible.

Follow Up Post on Sub Cultures

2011-11-30T11:01:00.004-05:00

I suppose I should fully explain yesterday's post on "subcultures." Within the great American culture are numerous, at least 1.56 million subcultures. I am apart of many: the liberal Protestant subculture, which can be even sub divided into the liberal-evangelical social gospel variety. Then there is the whole Baptist - a rather large and sometime ubiquitous subculture. Then there are the following: the Appalachian subculture, the foodie subculture, the loves baseball but never really pays attention to September subculture, the wishes NFL offenses were not so predictable subculture, the prefers playing on Sunday afternoons rather than watching football subculture, the typewriter subculture, the cannot stop reading Roald Dahl books subculture, and so on and so on.

I have participated in each of these subcultures (still do actually) but never gave much thought about how miniscule they are in relation to the larger American culture. Then one winter night I attended my first beekeeping class in Rhode Island. There I was confronted with a whole new subculture that I never knew existed and that I could never have imagined. Beekeepers who would have thunk it.

So what was so different about the beekeepers in RI? For the record the following explanation is totally conjecture and speculation on my part, I have no physical proof to substantiate this offering. I found a group of people who were lonely & bored who found in beekeeping a supportive group of people and a hobby to devote countless hours and dollars. Spread out through southern New England you would never notice this quiet and non-threatening subculture but grouped together in a class one could not mistake them. I kid you not - Black and Gold minivans, esoteric and over the top corny beekeeping bumper stickers, black and gold flannel shirts, beekeeping t-shirts that had to be printed in small batches of no more than 15, dreams of sweet pepper bush blooming in the Spring.

My next introduction into a subculture took place a couple of years ago when I took the kids on a steam train tour. The kids loved the train, they climbed all over the outside, they pulled the chain to let the whistle blow, the ran from car to car, and rang the bell. I, however, was more interested in the conversations going on by members of the Steam Train Association. I heard one man telling onlookers about a bridge over the Mississippi with such detail and passion that I can only surmise that this man waits with great expectation every year for this one day when he has the opportunity to share his knowledge and love.

Thomas Merton, in reflecting about his vocation of prayer as a monk, once remarked that the perhaps the prayers of the monks at Gethesemani were the only act keeping the world from spinning off into madness. Now I do not think the existence of subcultures have the same impact but I do think the pleasure, sense of worth, education and relationships they build do keep the madness, somewhat, at bay. Can I get an Amen from the other 6 adult learners of the violin from RI and MA?

introduction to another sub culture

2011-11-27T17:41:00.005-05:00

Roughly two weeks ago my household added a new addition: a dog, a Dalmatianish mutt to be as specific as I can. We have talked about a obtaining a dog for quite a spell but never acted on our impulses. Then we received word of a litter of pups who needed homes. It was time.

blogosphere allow me to introduce you to Louie:

The criteria for the name.

1. It had to have a New Orleans connection. Name most considered by us: Napoleon but what if someone concluded that we named a dog after the former French dictator instead of the street where we celebrate carnival season.

2. Easily pronounced. Name most considered by us: Thibodaux - probably my favorite Louisiana town to pronounce. But imagine the scenario where Louis escapes and someone new finds him and then they try to pronounce Thibodaux on the dog collar.

3. Had to fit on a name tag. Name most considered by us: Tchoupitoulas. I love that name but cannot imagine a dog collar large enough to handle 13 letters.

Having a dog, thus far, has been fantastic but difficult. Many thanks to Jon Katz's book Katz on Dogs for help and assistance. Having a dog has also introduced us to the sub (rather large indeed) culture of dog ownership.

We have lived here in NOLA for almost 2.5 years. I have been able to meet the acquaintance of a number of people. But I cannot believe how many now say hello to me that I have a dog. When I go take the pup for a walk people that have never in the past even made eye contact now stop to chat. I should interject here that people are not necessarily saying hello to me as much as they are to the dog.

Just yesterday myself and a neighbor were standing out in front of the house talking about dogs. As we were chatting another neighbor came out. She said hello to the neighbor by stating hello then his name, then she looked at me - she does not know my name - so with an uncomfortable chagrined look she said hello, then she looked down and with a huge smile said and there's Louie! You see what I am talking about reader!

Perhaps Steve Martin's experience with a cute dog can best explain the phenomena of neighbors/strangers liking your dog more than you -- from the 1984 movie, A Lonely Guy:

The White Suit on All Hallow's Eve

2011-11-01T09:08:00.005-04:00

Last year Lori and I had wonderful 2011 Halloween costume ideas - so wonderful reader that I am keeping mum on them in hopes of making them for 2012 - but, things happened and we found ourselves the week of Halloween trying to conjure up some last minute ideas for ourselves.

Lori used the world wide web to find inspiration - she went as Mother Earth: she squirted a ton of hair spray on her head so her hair would stand straight up and then spray painted it green: thus grass. Then she put snakes, spiders and other critters in her hair and on her face. She accompanied this with brown make up and a brown top and pants. She looked pretty cool and a little spooky at the same time.

The progeny went as Rosie the Riveter, A Ninja, and a Vampire:

I took a different angle. I started thinking about wearing my white suit. I mean why should I let the fashion police tell me that I cannot wear it after Labor Day? First thought: Mark Twain, but too much hair. Second thought: Tom Wolfe, but too esoteric. How many kids would know that Tom Wolfe wears all white all the time? Then like a shooting star dashing across the heavens it came to me: The Colonel. That's right, the one and only Colonel Saunders!

The outfit was quite easy: a white suit, a black ribbon for a tie, some scraps of black fabric for a pocket square, some kind of puffy white pipe cleaner that I used for facial hair (which needed trimming) - eyelash paint to glue them onto my face, a pair of 3d glasses you get from the movies (just punch the "glass" out), a large KFC bucket (yes, they just gave it to me), and viola:

Reaction: as I walked around uptown trick or treating with the kids and families I noticed that my outfit brought many smiles and conjured a deep nostalgia from the other adults., i.e. lots of, "Hey its the Colonel."

If I had it to do all over again. 1. I would have painted my hair and eyebrows snow white. 2. I would have passed out chicken legs rather than biscuits (I made a pan of 'em and passed 'em out to the kids as we traversed the streets). 3. I would have driven to KFC with the outfit on and asked for the bucket rather than go in civilian clothes. 4. I would have worked for weeks on one liners. After I dropped the family off and searched for a parking space a gentleman on a bicycle rode past and asked, "Hey Colonel, what's in those 11 herbs and spices?" Man I wish I had spent some time prepping for that! Next year...

Sabbatical adventures II: Resume Building

2011-09-23T17:13:00.007-04:00

One of the tasks I have been engaged in lately, on my sort of sabbatical, is editing my resume. You reader, can even have a look-see yourself if you are so inclined; I have posted it here as a google doc.

Today I added an experience that I am not quite sure, yet, how to place on my resume: substitute beginning violin teacher. I was asked last week if I would do a huge favor for one of the music teachers at the school my children attend. Without any hesitation and before even knowing what the request would be I said yes. I love the school, the teachers, and the staff. Anything for the school I would happily do. Then the teacher informed me that the school needed an emergency orchestra teacher for this week, to teach beginning violin for second graders. I hem-hawed around for a few minutes explaining my lack of ability and such until the teacher told me the kids are not even up to using a bow. My heart rate and blood pressure eased and I said sure. After all these are second graders, how hard could it be.

Today was my first day. I prepped by chaperoning for a field trip with 125 third graders on a swamp tour. Did I mention I signed up to ride on the school bus? Did I mention this same bus did not have air conditioning? Did I mention it was 90 degrees this morning? And did I forget to mention the bus ride was about 45 minutes? What a preparation!

Fast forward to 3:15, when the bell rings and school is dismissed. I went to round up my class of second graders. There along the fence were 15-16, maybe 17 second graders, who had no idea who I was or that I was their teacher for the day. To my surprise there was no protest.

We made it to our designated temporary spot (kids without instruments had to obtain loaners and sign them out). Then we hiked up to our designated classroom spot. But our first choice was already occupied, so was the second choice. So we hiked back down to our temporary spot and were assigned...the balcony. Did I mention the balcony (really a porch) is outside? Did I mention that I did not have a blackboard to write any music notation down? Did I mention how humidity and heat stretch violin strings?

I got all of the kids in some form of a line, took attendance, and then attempted my lesson for the day: explaining the different parts of the violin. I asked the students to get out their violins, only their violins - no bows. But the kids wanted to get their bows out. And I told them to put their bows back. Okay, now back to the parts of a violin. I was able to communicate about the neck and then, and then I lost them...one person was playing their violin like it was a guitar, one was swatting at a spider with their violin, and one somehow managed to get their bow back out and was playing like crazy.

I adjusted the lesson and began to pluck, or pizzicato lessons with them. Just follow me kids: D D rest rest, D D rest rest, D D rest rest; and the like. This went well until they spotted a wasp nest and a real live wasp. The "real live wasp" by the way was on the other side of the glass wall - thus, inside the building. I was able to calm them down a bit, we plucked some more, but then the wasp moved and that got the kids all in a tizzy. When I calmed them all down I noticed one little girl had tears streaming down her face. I was not prepared for this. I wasnt going to go Jimmy Dugan on her so I simply asked what was wrong? Another kid had told the crying kid that she was not allowed to name her violin, Viola. (I had instructed the kids earlier to name their instruments). I told the kid she could name the instrument whatever she wanted to, if tomorrow she woke up and wanted to name it saxophone or chocolate chip cookie it did not matter. We all had a good laugh and were able to pluck some more, A rest A rest; A rest A rest... Then the wasp moved again and a parent was spotted inside the building, the very building where the rabid wasp ruled, in the very hallway where the wasp caused bedlam and fear. The kids had no choice, they had to warn the unsuspecting parent of the assured lurking danger (because everyone knows in situations like the one I am describing the wasp would not only sting the parent just because but also sting the parent until he/she was motionless and in a coma). To make matters worse the parent, recognizing the melancholy of modern day American and a world starving for comedy, decided to act like he could not hear the dire warning from the kids. While this exchange was taking place rock star violinist, bowing like mad, and the swatter were back at it in full force. I looked at my watch: 4:21. I said pack it up kids, that's it for the day.

But what to do about the wasp...inside the building...in the hallway...the very hallway that held their backpacks which the students had to retrieve before going home? Piece of cake. Kids we are spies, if we tip toe and don't say a word the wasp will never even know we were there. By a miracle of the Holy the wasp paid no attention to us and not a child was stung or slipped into a coma.

If only all of this could be intimated in "substitute orchestra teacher" under work experience on my resume...

Revives My Soul Again

2011-09-21T20:57:00.003-04:00

Last night, shortly after 10pm, I finished Gilead by Marilynne Robinson. You may say big deal, many people have read that little 247 page jewel of a novel - and you would be right. I mention it because it was the second real effort at reading the book in the last five years. I tried to read it shortly after my father died but the book's theme was too much. I bet I got through at least 60 pages, but when I started it over this time I couldn't remember one iota from my previous attempt. This time was different. God bless you please, Ms. Robinson.

I am amazed at how Robinson was able to create the John Ames character. How did she create him with such detail? How many elderly preachers did she sit with before she wrote? How in the world did she get an Iowan cadence down on paper? (Yeah, I loved the book). After I put it down I wanted to write a similar book myself, not for my son but in the voice of my father writing the book for me. I would love to reconstruct his life from the memories he shared with me.

In other news...

As I mentioned the other day I am now on a sort of sabbatical. I am reading and writing but I am also trying to find something to do with myself during the day. I have hooked up with a landscaper. After the first day I realized (and I know this is going to be difficult for the non-preaching folk out there) that there are certain muscle groups and body motions that preachers just do not use on a regular basis.

I love to garden, but this is gardening on a massive scale; this is moving trees, and filling up pick up trucks with debris, and planting 30 bushes. Despite the soreness and aches I am finding the work to be very therapeutic. It is amazing how much frustration one can get rid of by weeding, trimming, shoveling, and pruning plants. It is also amazing how sharp, aggressive and down right nasty the thorns on a lemon tree are!

Oh, the places you'll go! There is fun to be done!

Sort of Sabbatical Adventures

2011-09-16T15:17:00.009-04:00

Many people have emailed and asked what I am doing nowadays. It is true I recently resigned as the Senior Pastor at the church here in New Orleans. It was a mutual agreement between myself and the congregation that we were not the fit for each other that we all hoped and prayed for. These things happen in congregational life. If I had it to do all over again I wouldn't trade my time here in New Orleans for anything. I found my voice as a preacher and found my heart for pastoral ministry was re-affirmed via Rhode Island.

So what next? Well, I am looking for a new call, helping out with music classes at the school my children attend (i.e. tuning violins), working on two manuscripts (a work of non-fiction on the social history of pigs and a children's book about a bear who smells bacon cooking) and an essay on long sermons.

I am also using this time (which I am calling a sort of sabbatical) to tackle one of the biggest fears and most troubling obstacles in my cooking life: BISCUITS. I love biscuits. I have probably eaten somewhere north of 100,000 of them over my thirty-six years of existence. I can attribute at least 50% of all my caloric intake from 6th grade to college to biscuits. Oh the loveliness of Tudor's Biscuit World - how "convenient" it was to have a strategically placed Tudor's between my college apartment and the Marshall University Campus. But despite my above average bread baking abilities I have never been able to make a decent biscuit. This week, however, I decided to give it my all.

First I experimented with the Alton Brown recipe - I did not, however, use vegetable shortening - I used coconut oil instead. The biscuits were tall, light, and fluffy. But according to The Joy of Cooking I did not incorporate the baking powder enough into the flour, thus the brown spots on the top of the biscuits.

Then while at the grocery store, for the heck of it, I bought a 5lb bag of Lily White Flour. Yes, the enriched kind with baking powder, baking soda, and salt already mixed in. But where does one find non-self rising soft winter wheat flour? The first batch was okay, a little dense. The second batch, that's another story. I sifted the flour, to better incorporate the pre-mixed baking ingredients, and used an equal mixture of butter and chilled bacon grease. This worked like a charm!

Riding a wave of new found success I decided to push myself and tackle one more elusive accomplishment: sausage gravy. Well I gave it all of my culinary skills I have obtained: a roux, deglazing, and pre-browned flour. The verdict: I am ready to open up a restaurant and sell nothing but biscuits and sausage gravy!

Maybe not a full scale restaurant, maybe a pop up restaurant open only on a Saturday & Sunday mornings.

Two more food finds of note.

1. Hubigs Pies. These deliciously evil concoctions are ubiquitous here in NOLA. I have spied them several times but never in the flavor I desire, until this weekend:

2. Blue Dot Donuts. I cannot recall if I have mentioned this place or not. Get this three New Orleans Policemen opened up their own donut shop. Man do they turn out some great donuts. Perhaps you viewed them on the Food Network the other day? They are "famous" for their maple glazed bacon long john. That's right bacon, maple, and a donut - it is like the ultimate breakfast pastry! Here is a picture of a remnant of one.

For the record: I am exercising at least an hour each day!

The Strength of Ten Men

2011-08-30T21:52:00.001-04:00

At various points in my life I have been asked to help people lift objects, to assist placing an item here or there, or to move things. When the job requires two people I like to say I can do it myself, for I have the strength of ten men. This quip either causes others to giggle or to look at me with much doubt but most of the time folk just roll their eyes...

At one point in my life I believe I did have at least the strength of one & half men (in college I could bench press 295). In fact I am almost convinced that Athens Baptist called me primarily because I could move things. You should have seen the face of one of the deacons when I single handedly moved a large screen television. After 11 years in the pulpit, spotty patterns of running, and enjoyable bicycle rides my "exceptional" strength has largely vanished. The only weight lifting I do now is throwing my kids at the pool (which is quite a work out if I do say so myself).

Nevertheless my children believe I have the strength of ten men (largely because I tell it to them over and over, amazing how a mantra can infiltrate and find residence in the mind of a child -well, all but my daughter, she says I only have the strength of three men - which I will take any day). This tall tale started about six or seven years ago when I took the kids for a walk in the woods in RI. I would look for dead/rotting trees, no larger than 10 inches in diameter, to push down. {Recall reader, I grew up on a lonely dirt road in WV. I spent countless hours roaming the woods around my house developing, cultivating, and honing this skill}. Oh brother, if you could have seen their faces when I pushed down the tree. They asked how I did it, back then I said with my bare hands - which they translated as "bear hands." Over the past few years "bear hands" became the strength of ten men.

I tell my kids the true story of how my father was struck by lightning not once but twice and lived! That part is true. I then stretch the story by incorporating a Marvel Comics storyline by stating the lighting strikes mutated my father's genes which were then passed onto me giving me the strength of ten men. This story works well in the family because all the kids now know the plot. However, when a neighboring kid, or a Kindergarten teacher, is told the story in the flashing pace of a five year old not every detail is properly conveyed.

Lately the story has taken on a new twist: has my special genetically mutated talent passed onto the next generation? Several tests have proven that it has been passed onto them: #2 can squeeze the air out of a ziploc bag, #3 can shake my hand with exceptional force, and #1 can braid her hair with her eyes close. I don't know where this storyline will go next but it is bringing hours of happiness to me and my family.

Postscript: The other day #1 was contemplating who she could dress up as for a Harry Potter themed birthday party. I suggested Phil Donahue, which brought about fifteen consecutive eye rolls. Thinking of Phil Donahue (yes this is one of those If you give a mouse a cookie stream of consciousness lines of thought) made me remember a time when I was five or six, actually, watching The Phil Donahue show (we only had two channels back then). The show had a group of child karate performers which I watched with great amazement especially as one kid flipped an adult over his shoulder. As soon as my dad came into the living room I told him about the flip (with, I am sure, the same flashing pace my youngest shares things) and asked if I could try it on him. He agreed. We went to the hallway, I grabbed his hand, and my father voluntarily let me flip him over my shoulder. I was amazed, speechless, and thought for sure I flipped a grown 200 lbs. man of muscle over my little shoulder. My father went over my shoulder and landed flat on his back. You may think what a considerate gesture for a father, which it was, but my house had concrete not wooden floors. Let me say that again as you consider flipping onto your back onto a concrete floor. My father was a construction worker, you could have, literally, parked a cement truck on the floors of our house. Needless to say, when mom and my sister came home later that day - dad was not willing to let me show them my new feat of strength.

Randy Moss memories.

2011-08-03T15:04:00.006-04:00

It was some kind of surprise when I learned of the retirement of Randy Moss. I suppose, deep down, I hoped he would find his way onto the Saints' roster so I could once again write an open letter inviting him to church (see this previous post from the vault).

It was a remarkable career, wasn't it? Those ridiculous highlights from your days on the gridiron for DuPont, the AAA highschool basketball championship against that team south of Fairmont (three D-1 athletes on the court) it was an amazing game. And what about those striped socks you wore during your Marshall days? I thought for sure we would cross paths in Lincoln, RI - I mean you only lived less than a mile from my house and I drove past your place all the time. Oh well. It was fun to watch you play.

Pictures worth a thousand bites (to me at least)

2011-08-01T19:30:00.005-04:00

So the final weekend of vacation/study leave went fantastic: the pool, inaugural trip to Hansen's (that place is just plain evil, oh man), and lots of time spent cooking!

Friday morning I brined the Boston Butt (oh the giggles from the kids about eating a Boston Butt, which for them quickly morphed from Pork Butt - and #3 saying over and over again, "I am not eating pork butt"), then applied my rub (no secret here brown sugar, salt, cayenne, garlic powder, cumin, paprika, celery seed, and chili powder - thanks to #2 lots of chili powder), and let it sit/cure in the frig overnight. Saturday morning I lit the charcoal, placed bricks (just some loose bricks from the house) in the grill (I like bricks rather than a drip pan because they retain heat and help evenly cook the meat), sawed off some pecan branches (a rather feisty growing tree if there ever was one) and got to smokin. Sometime around lunch the pork was ready. I placed it into a tray while the First Family and I went to the pool and Hansen's (did I mention how evilly delicious that place is?) Upon resting I began to prepare the sauces: one regular Carolina based sauce and one smoked pablano bbq or verde bbq sauce.

The verde sauce turned out surprisingly well; it still needs some work but I'll get there.

Pulled Pork BBQ slider (yes, I burned the bun) with sweet potato fries, baked beans and cold drink in a cold mason jar.

Sunday morning we spent lounging at the pool (it was 93 at 8:00am) then sped home to begin preparations for the grillades and grits. The G&G were fantastic. Although they are usually served as the main brunch entree, I couldn't fathom eating beef for breakfast.

The Final Countdown

2011-07-29T21:03:00.003-04:00

It (the end of vacation/study leave) is almost here, only two more full days then, then it ends. I have had a blast playing with the kids, hanging out with the First Lady, reading up a storm, working on some internal stuff, celebrated #2's and #3's birthdays, remembered my father (no way he died five years ago), got my fiddle back out, re-discovered exercise & cooking, and a host of other things.

I am fully celebrating this last weekend with some good eats: pulled pork bbq and grillades and grits. But like all good eats, painting a car, or working on a sermon, the majority of the work is prep work. Today after we returned from the Cool Zoo I got to work on some beef stock (nothing makes a house smell better than beef stock!), brined the pork shoulder, and mixed my dry rub. The stock is cooling in the frig (I will need the fat that hardens on top as lard on Sunday) and the shoulder is resting with the rub massaged on.

Tomorrow morning will be a time of smoking on the grill, followed by lunch, a trip to the snowball stand, time at the pool, and then a feast of pulled pork bbq, clint eastwood baked beans, ember roasted sweet potatoes, and slaw (for the F.L.). I will also introduce my very own smoked pablano bbq sauce. This is a coveted recipe that I am saving for a potential "throw down" with the pastor of the Presbyterian church this Fall.

I have enjoyed this time off more than any other time off before. It was the most refreshing and recreative time!

P.S. The First Lady is back to blogging to. Take a gander when you have some time.

Flying Away

2011-07-20T11:21:00.001-04:00

Somewhere in this amazing creative mix of jazz and bluegrass there is fodder for a month of Sundays worth of sermons.

Enjoy. (Yes, get the record it is amazing!)

More on Suits and Making Groceries

2011-07-20T09:56:00.003-04:00

I have tried not to pay much attention to the Roger Clemens trial (or trial that almost happened). But when the paper boy (late as usual) delivered the NY Times on Friday I couldn't help but notice the suit of Clemens's lawyer, Rusty Hardin, a...white suit! Take a look at the contrasting suits between Clemens and Hardin. It was 93 degrees that day, who wears a black wool suit when it is 93? Not Hardin.

Doug Mills/The New York Times(please note the credit of this photo)

I do not know much about Hardin but you gotta love the suit!

Since it is summer break...I bought the kids some Pop Tarts for breakfast this week. I tried to steer them to purchase Chocolate Fudge (my personal favorite as a boy) but they chose their own flavors: Cookies and Cream, Smores, and Strawberry. They could not eat two of them, too sweet. Amazing! I remember downing thousands of those scrumptous delights throughout the years as a last minute breakfast wrapped in a paper towel and with a glass of milk on the way to school, and never thought of them as too sweet!

Speaking of groceries...the other day it happened again. I went to Rouses to pick up some coffee and bread when a lady stopped me and asked if I cared for a sample. Up to this point everything is perfectly normal. The sample: rum and iced tea! This still amazes me - free samples of hard liquor at the grocery store. Granted the samples are barely 1/2 ounce but still samples at the grocery store!

Dad's Camp

2011-07-08T22:03:00.004-04:00

In a couple of weeks the lady of the house will be hosting a sewing camp for girls. The first lady is quite a talented seamstress and designer. As she concocted this fabulous idea - the thought ran through my mind...but what about the boys? So I decided to devote one entire week to the boys, not that shouldn't be taught to sew but 2 boys and 10 girls is not a good recipe for a fun time. So I came up with...(are you ready for this, drumroll, curtains ready to be pulled back, man with gong anxiously anticipating the signal) Dad's camp. One day of golf, one day of tennis, one day of fishing, one day of rocket building, and one day of basic car repair.

Dad's camp got off to an early start yesterday with haircuts or get your hair cut like daddy today, i.e. buzz cuts. ( I went to the barber and got my usual summer fashion on Wednesday. My barber is an elderly gentleman; he cuts good hair but will frequently miss spots. When I asked for a buzz cut I expected him to rush through it and be done in five minutes. No way. This man lives for buzz cuts, he cut my hair with the precision of an open heart surgeon. It began with a consultation on guard sizes. He would cut then take a few steps back to observe then cut some more. He pulled out his scissors to clip any stray hairs. I have never seen or experienced anything like this. I was mesmerized. When I cut the boys' hair I too used the same precision. I must say they look quite amazing). The day continued with a picnic, trip to the book shop then library and wrapped up at the pool.

prequel day two of dad's camp brought even more fun - bicycle riding at Audubon Park. Inside the park is a small oval track, perfect for learning how to ride a bike. (By the way I would love to host a big wheel racing contest for kids here). I provided all kinds of agility and skills drills. I jumped out in front of them to test their braking skills, placed a large stick to see if they could ride over it, made them cut through the grass as if they were taking a short cut and timed them around one lap.

Suffice to say Dad's camp is a smashing hit. Aint it amazing how a slight change in wording makes a world of difference. I could have simply said, "hey kids lets go ride bikes at the park" too boring. But if you say day two of Dad's camp: bicycling at Audubon Park all of a sudden it is pandemonium - maybe not pandemonium but you get the picture...

Postscript: I think maybe I am having more fun then they are.

Reading List

2011-07-05T18:23:00.003-04:00

Many people have asked, "hey preacher what are you gonna do on your vacation?" The vacation is broken down like this: two weeks of vacation and two weeks of continuing education; some days will be both, others will be demarcated.

The First Family has several day trips, museum trips, and many days of play on the calendar. I, meanwhile, am planning an ambitious menu - trying to cook lots of dished I have been wanting to. Today for example I am cooking up a big pot of chicken and sausage jambalaya. More than anything the First Family plans to enjoy the company of each other.

For the continuing education part of the break I plan to read, read, read, and plan sermons for the following year (Aug '11-June '12) I have a skeleton now I just need to but some sinews and muscles on it. I first planned to read according to sermon subjects but instead I found a reading list that is more imaginative, playful, and well...re-creative.

-Under the Unpredictable Plant: An Exploration in Vocational Holiness by Eugene H. Peterson

-Centenary Translation of the New Testament by Helen Barrett Montgomery

-The Sacred Journey by Frederick Buechner

-Longing for Home: Recollections and Reflections by Frederick Buechner

-Memories of God: Theological Reflections on a Life by Roberta C. Bondi

-Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life by Anne Lamott

-William Sloane Coffin Jr. A Holy Impatience by Warren Goldstein

-Word of God, Word of Earth by David Napier

-Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter by Seth Grahame-Smith

-As many of the Harry Potter series as possible

This list found me. I kept placing books in a pile on my desk then going through them to thin it down. I finally whittled it down to about four books then for some reason I found myself in the library checking out some books I stumbled upon (the Buechner books) from there the list emerged anew. There are two commonalities: memoirs and imagination.

I looked over my sermons for the past year and found many stories in my sermons but not sermons in my stories. Reading the Harry Potter books has been a great joy and a surprising delight. Why shouldn't a sermon keep one on edge the way a Rowling written book does? Why shouldn't folk be challenged in a way William Steig book does? And why not look at the world around you to find inspiration for life's work the way Buechner and Coffin do (and did)? And why shouldn't a preacher re-read the New Testament in a new way to see it as a narrative?

I am having a blast cooking and reading. I am also having a blast hanging out with the kids.

The Agony of Defeat

2011-07-02T13:50:00.001-04:00

I am sorry to report that the mighty Pelicans lost their playoff game. The boys played hard but the bounces did not go our way. I am proud of the boys, they made great leaps forward in their skills and baseball knowledge. Until next year...

It Starts Today

2011-07-01T09:43:00.000-04:00

I suppose I will always be haunted by the 80s and use it as my lingua franca. Anyway, today is the first day of, what else...Vacation

Starting Over: A Small Reflection on My Second Year as a Baseball Coach

2011-06-29T22:32:00.006-04:00

Last night the mighty Pelicans (the team I am honored to coach) finished the regular season with a two game winning streak and a 5-9 record. It was a great regular season; now we enter the playoffs; we are in the single elimination bracket. We face a good team, but if the boys played like they played tonight...you never know.

Baseball in New Orleans is like baseball nowhere else. You tell me what other baseball/softball field in America that sells cheap American beer and cheap Argentinean wine at the concession stand? Where else do parents, coaches, and officials shrug off a sky filled with lighting and dark ominous clouds? It is an interesting experience to say the least.

In retrospect it has been a great season. I was reluctant to coach my son's team for all kinds of reasons. But I am glad I did it. Every boy on the team is a great kid; I like being around everyone of them. There has been lots of laughs and lots of high fives and lots of ways to go. It is a thrill to watch the surprise on a kids face when they hit the ball for the first time, when they stick their glove out and make a catch, when they score a run. I am amazed at the athletic talent of the kids at this age (7-8). I can't get over their capacity to learn how to play baseball. I also cannot get over their capacity for laughter and enjoyment during the game. Last night while I was pitching batting practice one of the 8 year olds hit a line drive right up back at me, I could not get out of the way in time (I knew I should not have eaten dinner before the game) and the ball smacked me in the side. Instead of asking if I was okay, he said "finally." The kid was jumping up and down like, he was so excited he hit the coach. These kids...

After each game the team gathers to go over the game, congratulate the boys on their achievements, and pass out team balls. What happens next is beyond scientific explanation. The boys could have played to near exhaustion or played with the body language of near exhaustion but once we gather hands on top of one another for our last cheer and I dismiss them for "team drinks" they run like the wind. Boys that five minutes earlier could barely make it first base run so fast to the concession stand that their feet barely touch the ground - it is truly amazing.

As the season shifts to the playoffs I am struck by how fascinating it is to have the chance to start over. Tomorrow evening everyone restarts the season at 0-0. How many times in life I have wanted to start over with a fresh beginning. But human relationships are too complex for that kind of instantaneous reappropriation of relationships. It can and does happen over time but not like it does in baseball; in baseball it happens. I hope the kids soak this up somehow either consciously or unconsciously. I wonder if my rather hopeful outlook on life stems from all the years I played (mediocre) baseball? I think there is something there.

We will begin again tomorrow...and I can't wait.

Happy Birthday Henry Ward Beecher

2011-06-24T11:10:00.003-04:00

While listening to the Writer's Almanac this morning I was reminded that today is the birthday of Henry Ward Beecher - a great American Protestant preacher.

Beecher was an amazing man, a lover of flowers & jewels, a great jokester, and, and he usually did not prepare his sermons until the last minute! (The last statement amazes me).

I read the biography by Debby Applegate this Spring. My favorite section follows,

" On one occasion Mr. Beecher, riding to one of the stations of his mission, was thrown over his horse's head in crossing the Miami, pitched into the water, and crept out thoroughly immersed. The incident, of course, furnished occasion for talk in the circle the next day, and his good friend the Baptist minister proceeded o attack him the moment he made his appearance.

" ' Oh, ho, Beecher, glad to see you ! I thought you'd have to come into our ways at last ! You have been immersed at last ; you are as good as any of us now.' A general laugh followed this sally.

" ' Poh, poh ! ' was the ready response, ' my immersion was a different thing from that of your converts. You see, I was immersed by a horse, not by an ass/

"A chorus of laughter proclaimed that Mr. Beecher had got the better of the joke for this time.

(by the way today is also my father's birthday, he would have been 68).

Southern Comfort

2011-06-12T19:40:00.007-04:00

I think it must have been the pictures of my grandfather decked out and dressed to the nines, I think it must have been my father's dark suit and dress boots (which I have been known to wear on occasions), or maybe it was my professors in divinity school always wearing nice suits, or maybe it was my own desire to move beyond jeans and polos. Whatever the motivating factor(s) I love suits - I make no apologies.

In Rhode Island my wardrobe consisted primarily of wools and light wools. Believe it or not it does get hot and humid in New England on certain Sundays. And believe it or not most churches are not air conditioned. One day JosBank ran a $99 sale on seersucker suits, in a heartbeat I bought one. I had to buy it online, they did not sell them at the store in RI - naturally. Everyone at church laughed at me for it, but I didn't care. When I interviewed here at the New Orleans congregation I wore a seersucker suit (I think that was good for at least 15 votes, regardless of my sermon).

I think seersucker should be in every man's closet here in New Orleans - you just can't breathe in poplin and the humidity, which never stops, has no mercy for wrinkles! You can wear seersucker, walk to get a cup of coffee and hardly break a sweat (that is an exaggeration, of course). I like linen but after five minutes it looks like you wore them to take a nap, then woke up, rolled them in a ball, used the ball for a pillow, then went back to sleep for a half an hour. Seersucker, however, is made for New Orleans.

First my best ever seersucker story. On Friday afternoon I drove up to Oak Alley Plantation for a wedding rehearsal. Upon arrival the wedding cooridinator sought me out to tell me the wedding party was help up in traffic, advising me to enjoy the scenery for the next twenty minutes or so. I moseyed out front, found a iron chair and sat down with my glass of lemonade. I pulled out my emailing-machine-phone to check some messages. Out of the corner of my eye I spied a large group of tourists coming my way. I chuckled inwardly asking wouldn't it be a hoot if they took a picture of me in my seersucker suit. The group began to pass when all of sudden one of the ladies asked if she could sit beside me and have her picture taken with me, then another, then another, then another, then another, then another. It was the craziest thing I have ever experienced. They thought I was part of the ambiance of the place, they thought I was the 20th century re-enactor or something. It was hilarious.

I'll get to the wedding in a minute.

But seersucker ain't the only game in town down here though. Almost two years ago I read a blog post by Jim Sommerville, the pastor of the FBC of Richmond, VA - Disclaimer: For the record I have never met Jim but we have some mutual friends that speak highly of him; he seems like a good enough chap (he has some WV in his blood, so he can't be all bad). End of disclaimer - on the long forgotten tradition of wearing white suits to church in the summertime; I would surmise from Confederate Memorial Day to Labor Day. I was enamored by the white suit but thought I couldn't pull it off. Then one day JosBank had the white suit on sale, online, for $99. Again I snatched it up (this time my wife took care of hemming the pants).

I saved the suit for Easter Sunday; I even bought a pair of white bucks to wear with it. I have to tell you I felt like a million dollars in the white suit. I felt like revival could break out at any minute; it did not but it could have!

Back to the wedding. Last night the wedding party was looking dapper in their black wool tuxedos; they were also sweating like it was nobody's business. I, on the other hand, was cool as cucumber in my white suit!

Yesterday I also completed the outfit...a white belt.

Now I have instituted a new tradition, the first Sunday of June, July, and August is officially seersucker (for the men) and hat (for the ladies) Sunday. The inaugural event in June was a smashing hit. Many men said the day was just what they needed as the impetus for going out and purchasing the suit. I can't wait to see how this tradition will unfold. I am hoping Oxford American will come down and do a story on the revival of our fashion tradition... Until then I am wearing my white suit till the humidity stops beating down on me.

Did I tell you I that I heard J.D. Grey, a former pastor of FBC NOLA, used to wear a morning suit during the non-summer months.

the author on Easter morn

In Memoriam: Joe Taylor

2011-06-08T22:13:00.003-04:00

Hell he lived right across the street, I probably saw the guy once or twice a day for three years without ever exchanging a word. He would wave but that was about it. I thought he was one of the meanest guys around, it was the husky voice and the wide shoulders I suppose. And to beat all he would sit out in his front yard and wait till the church yard sale was over to rummage through the "treasures" we left on the curb. The nerve of the guy.

Then one day, after a yard sale to be exact, he walked up to me and inquired, "Hey Father, what time is mass tomorrow?" Normally I would have corrected him and said please call me Travis and it is worship not mass - but those times were over. I simply said, 10:00am. At 10:00am the next morning he showed up in his church sport coat, and he never left. After a few Sundays he stopped genuflecting, then he stopped making the sign of the cross, and finally he stopped wearing his church sport coat. He simply relaxed, he sang hymns, he laughed, he prayed, he read scripture, he was Joe - it was like he had always been there - across the street he always had been. Joe and his wonderful quickly became friends.

One day some guys from the church cleared some land around the outdoor chapel, the brush sat there for a few months drying out. One wet Spring day we decided to light it. There was Joe, and Jon, some cold beer, and fire - what more could guys want? Then the school janitor came over complained that the smoke was being sucked in by the school's heating system - but no one believed him. A little later Randy appeared to show off his car, then Jason swung by, then every cotton picking kid on Great Road. It was one of the best days of my life.

We started talking about art. He showed me some sketches, then he showed me his work shop, then he showed me the totem poles. He was an artist in the true sense of the word, word made flesh, art that was embodied with his bear paws for hands, for the love he showered on his kids and wife, for the greatest laugh in all of New England, for the way he put you at ease, for just being Joe - and doing a damn good job of it.

In divinity school they always said do not get too close to your parishioners but how could you not with Joe? He taught me to be open, honest, and loving to those I serve. I am thankful that I was able to be a friend of Joe Taylor. He was a great man.

When news of the cancer came I couldn't believe it. Joe Taylor was a mighty man, no way cancer would get him. But it did. I tried to block the similarities out of my mind but I could not. Nearly five years ago my father died of esophageal cancer. He too was a mighty man. But dad was older; not a young man in the prime of his life. So what do I wish now? I wish my father's friends would call me and tell me stories about my dad. I wish people from his past would look me up to say hello.

To the sons of Joe Taylor I promise to tell you every Joe Taylor story I can remember, hear of, or find. I promise to call you up on peculiar days just to tell you how lucky I was to know your dad and call him my friend. I promise to tell you how sweet the sound was when he played Amazing Grace on his fiddle over the phone. I promise to tell how your father grew bigger and better tomatoes than me. And I'll tell you how when I called to talk about him and the cancer or when I dropped by to see him a few weeks ago he didn't want to talk about cancer, he wanted to talk about you all.

till grace lead us home. Peace be with you Joe Taylor.

2011-05-11T14:49:00.003-04:00

Seven Ways to Practice Resurrection

Hearts Ablaze

Third Sunday after Easter

Luke 21:21-35

Rev’d G. Travis Norvell

The sermon series on the seven deadly sins was great fun to prepare, write, and deliver for you. I especially liked to hear the college students who walked by and add their two cents on the sins as they were advertised on the marquee. I even saw some tourists stand in front of the banner to get their picture taken on one occasion. It was easy to access and pull sources on the sins, there are musical scores written on each sin, books devoted to each sin, and movies galore on each sin. There is a story as to how the sins moved from Constantinople, to Egypt to the west. But now it is time to move on from sin to virtue. But there is a problem. There is not a corresponding list to the Seven Deadly Sins. There is a list of the seven heavenly or cardinal virtues but they are not nearly as concrete or historical. The list at best is a combination of Greek and New Testament ideals. The four virtues of ancient Greece: prudence, justice, temperance, and courage and the three that remain from Paul’s letter to the church at Corinth: faith, hope, and love.

The list just doesn’t reach out and grab you like the seven deadly sin, the seven cardinal virtues aren’t the least bit sexy. Yet, they are necessary if we are going to change the world.

I know the name E. Glen Hinson is a familiar name to some of you. If he is not, add him to your list of authors and people you need to get to know more about. Hinson is the reason I am a pastor, still Baptist, and not a monk. In every class I took of his he always ended the semester with an appeal of what the world and church needs most. He would say what the world and the church needs most are saints. Not brilliant professors, not princes in the pulpits, or large financial backers in the pews but saints. He had a broad, obviously Anabaptist view of sainthood, which he defined as people with six qualities (qualities he adapted from Douglas Steere, another name for your list)

1. Saints are persons whose lives have been irradiated by Divine Grace and have put themselves at God’s disposal.

2. Saints are persons who seek not to be safe but to be faithful.

3. Saints are persons who have learned to get along in adversity

4. Saints are joyful people.

5. Saints are kindlers and purifiers of the dream.

6. Saints are prayerful.[i]

Simple but difficult.

Christianity does not ask us to be the best at anything it only asks us to be good, to be virtuous or from another angle, to practice resurrection. Being good or being virtuous may not resonate without but I hope in the shadow of the Easter you will take up the challenge and call to practice resurrection. I think that is what saints, the virtuous ones, do they practice resurrection.

In the gospel lesson this morning Cleopas and his unnamed companion were on the road to Emmaus, they were on their way back home. When I read this story I can only imagine they had given up. They had walked with Jesus for an undisclosed amount of time and it was fantastic, life changing but then…Jesus was executed. Rome wasn’t playing around anymore and maybe they shouldn’t be playing around anymore either, it was time to head back home.

The time was the evening of the Resurrection. Cleopas and his travel mate had heard the astonishing tale but maybe just maybe it was too much, they were going home. But Jesus met them on the way, concealed his identity, and playfully watched what unfolded.

What follows is, in my mind, the greatest dialogue in scripture and the greatest rhetorical question in scripture, “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know these things that have taken place in there in these days?” Jesus asked them, “What things?” They replied, the things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people…” What follows next is one of the sneakiest tricks in all of scripture, Luke, decided not to include how Jesus interpreted all of the things about himself beginning with Moses and all of the prophets. Can you imagine that conversation? Can you imagine what those words must have been? Is there somewhere buried in the desert of Egypt the gospel of Cleopas, a written account of Jesus’ self interpretation?

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.

Why because Luke said so! Luke brushes off the interpretation for an even bigger event. “As they came near the village to which they were going, Jesus walked ahead as if he were going on. But they urged him strongly, saying, ‘Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.” So he went to stay with them. When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight.”

The verbs say it all, took, blessed, broke, and gave. It was communion for sure. But it was something even deeper than communion, they, Cleopas and his unidentified companion, were practicing resurrection. Even though they thought the Jesus movement was over, even though they were heading back home, they welcomed a stranger, offered him a place to stay and broke bread with him. The text hints that Jesus was testing the disciples, he went ahead as if he were going on, even Jesus did not know what the two would do. Would they say happy travels? Or would they welcome him? They welcomed him, their action warmed Jesus’ heart to such a temperature that he took the normal elements of a meal, transformed the moment into communion, and revealed himself to them. They were willing to practice resurrection with or without Jesus.

This evening, right before the time our eyes begin to water because we know Jazz Fest is about to conclude, I hope to take my progeny and nudge our way forward in the WWOZ Jazz tent so they, and I, can see Sonny Rollins. I love Sonny Rollins and I want to my kids years from now to say they saw Sonny Rollins at Jazz Fest. In just a few years I will explain to them why I love the way Sonny Rollins approaches music and how Sonny Rollins provided me with the ultimate way of practicing resurrection. In an interview one time a reporter asked Rollins to describe the way he practices and approaches music. First he responded in such a way that every jazz musician has to respond, to dispel the usual jazz myth that a jazz musician does not practice since it is all improvisation. Rollins said as a jazz musician I practice and practice and practice, I constantly practice, I practice scales, I practice chord progressions, and will frequently practice classical music for feel. He went on. I practice for hours on end, then when I perform…I forget it all. For Rollins the music, the intimations of sound, the silence between notes, the movements of the rhythm all become part of who he is. He is no longer practicing or performing a piece that he has forgotten, he is now sharing a piece of himself with the world. I want my kids to see and feel that tonight. I want them to see resurrection in practice.[ii]

For Cleopas and his unnamed partner they had forgotten the way Jesus had taught them for it was now a part of who they were. They talked to the stranger, invited him to bed with them, and shared their provisions. They were practicing resurrection as part of their lives.

Over the summer and into the Fall I will be asking each of you to share your personal hopes and dreams for this congregation. I will be launching a church wide initiative for how to obtain critical mass. And I will be asking every committee, every member, every chronic visitor, anyone who crosses the threshold to commit to one vision for this congregation. I will ask you to sacrifice a Saturday morning or two, to be patient, to compromise, and coalesce around central vision for this church. I think and feel that we have an honest shot at new life. This vision will be a combination of goals for finding and nurturing new members and creative usage of our space. Imagine if the crowd we had on Easter was every Sunday, think of how numbers would change the way we offer church. Imagine if we could locate a long-term tenant that could pay for maintenance, deferred maintenance, insurance and utility costs of the building. Imagine if we could shift our energy into great ministry opportunities rather than worrying ourselves silly how much we are in the red for the month?

This vision is not about institutional or building preservation. Instead it is about the assured continuation of a virtuous community. Instead it is about the assuring another generation practices resurrection. That will be our legacy.

After this Sunday we will sadly watch as many of our college students return home, or travel for further studies, or begin new chapters in their lives somewhere other than here. I hope, wherever they go, they take some part of this congregation with them, I hope we have gotten under their skin and into their hearts. As we look forward to future growth realize that one component of our growth will be college students and transient worshippers. Part of our mission is to nurture them while they are here. To offer hospitality, to practice resurrection. About once a month I either receive an email, a letter, or a phone call from a former member. Each inquiry is different but each share two commonalities, one they want to know who I am and second they want to tell me how much they loved their time at this church. This congregation does not illicit casual feelings or sentimentalities but visceral reactions to the love they found here. But we cannot rest on our past sharing of love, our past commitment to justice, or our past practice of resurrection. We must continue and expand our current practices.

Being church or practicing resurrection is akin to gardening. It is never done. It is constant, there are bugs to remove, weeds to pull, manure to spread, watering, and harvesting. Practicing resurrection is never done, it is constant. We have to learn and relearn how to pray, we have to teach others how to pray, we have to learn and relearn how to read the Bible and to teach others the old old stories of Jesus and his love. We have to learn an relearn how to advocate for justice and to teach others what biblical justice is. We have to learn and relearn how to practice resurrection and to teach others how to practice resurrection.

In the broadest terms what I am saying is that we have to be and become a mothering community one who gives birth, nurtures and sustains life. My home church, FBC St. Albans I often wonder how some would react if they could see me now, I am not confident they would be satisfied with me. I am sure the deacons would not approve of my conduct or words from the pulpit. If the church were to ask me where did I get these ideas and practices I would simply respond I learned them all from you. For some odd reason the people at the FBC of St. Albans took a liking to me and loved me into a new creation. (name removed for privacy), not knowing that many in the church questioned her sexual orientation and therefore kept her at arms length, I simply knew as the older woman who always gave me a hug, always encouraged me, and always told me God loved me. (name removed for privacy), the oldest man in the congregation, he was also the funniest. He loved baseball and traveling. Why a 16 year old and a 97 year old got along so well I’ll never know. He shared the story of taking a flat bottom wooden boat from St. Albans to New Orleans, about his personal love and devotion of the Cincinnati Reds, one afternoon shortly after his wife of 75+ years died he broke down in tears and asked me to come again at a later date, he also shared that if you cant laugh in church or if the good news does not make you smile, then it aint worth having. I was not a project they took on, I was simply the one that received their love, their practice of resurrection. They were my midwifes as I was born again.

I want the kids and youth of this congregation to have the same experiences of love. I hope they are loved the same way. I want the practice of resurrection to be such a part of their lives that they forget it, that their practice is simply who they are.

Over the hot months I will offer seven ways we can practice resurrection. I hope they are the bedrock of our common vision for new growth and life. I hope they are the living well that nourishes and sustains our life. I hope they are the challenging words that illuminates our pursuit of the virtuous life, the saintly life the practice of resurrection.

I would like to close in two fashions. A poem and a piece of prose. First a poem by Wendell Berry who has provided the series title. The poem is Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front from 1973.

Love the quick profit, the annual raise, vacation with pay.

Want more of everything made.

Be afraid to know you neighbors and to die.

And you will have a window in your head.

Not even your future will be a mystery any more.

Your mind will be punched in a card and shut away in a little drawer.

When they want you to buy something they will call you.

When they want you to die for profit they will let you know.

So, friends, every day do something that won't compute.

Love the Lord. Love the world. Work for nothing.

Take all that you have and be poor.

Love someone who does not deserve it.

Denounce the government and embrace the flag.

Hope to live in that free republic for which it stands.

Give you approval to all you cannot understand.

Praise ignorance,

for what man has not encountered he has not destroyed.

Ask the questions that have no answers.

Invest in the millennium.

Plant sequoias.

Say that your main crop is the forest that you did not plant,

that you will not live to harvest.

Say that the leaves are harvested when they have rotted into the mold.

Call that profit. Prophesy such returns.

Put your faith in the two inches of humus that will build under the trees

every thousand years.

Listen to carrion--put your ear close,

and hear the faint chattering of the songs that are to come.

Expect the end of the world.

Laugh. Laughter is immeasurable.

Be joyful though you have considered all the facts.

So long as women do not go cheap for power,

please women more than men.

Ask yourself: Will this satisfy a woman satisfied to bear a child?

Will this disturb the sleep of a woman near to giving birth?

Go with your love to the fields.

Lie easy in the shade. Rest your head in her lap.

Swear allegiance to what is nighest your thoughts.

As soon as the generals and politicos can predict the motions

of your mind, lose it.

Leave it as a sign to mark the false trail, the way you didn't go.

Be like the fox who makes more tracks than necessary,

some in the wrong direction.

Practice resurrection.[iii]

The prose is the close of one of Glen Hinson’s lectures that he included in a chapter of one of his books,

“The church and the world needs saints. They need saints more than they need more canny politicians, more brilliant scientists, more grossly overpaid executives and entrepreneurs, more clever entertainers and talk-show hosts. Are there any on the horizon now that Mother Teresa is no longer with us, either of the extraordinary or of the ordinary kind? I think there are. Maybe I should say that there are saints ‘aborning’ by God’s grace. There are those whose lives have been irradiated by God’s grace, who seek to be safe but faithful, who have learned to get along in adversity, who are joyful, who are dream filled, and, above all, who are prayerful. That is what the church and the world need most. It begins with you.”[iv]

Brother and sisters let us strive for the virtuous life, the life of power used for the mending of creation and the new birth of our community. Brothers and sisters let us strive for the saintly life as we seek to change the world and this church. Brothers and sisters with Easter at our back let us simply practice resurrection.

Amen & Amen.

[i] See p. 183 Spiritual Preparation for Christian Leadership by E. Glenn Hinson. Also see, On Beginning from Within by Douglas Steere.

[ii] See The Jazz of Preaching by Kirk B. Jones.

[iii] See The Country of Marriage by Wendell Berry

[iv] See Hinson, page 195.

As the Crow Flies

2011-04-11T19:00:00.003-04:00

First some sermon leftovers.

1. The book mentioned yesterday from the sermon was Brother to a Dragonfly by Will D. Campbell. I bet you can find copies in town at the local book shops (I am told it was part of the summer reading at Newman and Tulane a few years ago).

2. Yes, I did use the phrase "sloppy agape." It was a phrase the late Dr. Werner Lemke used one time in his class on Jeremiah.

Moving on...

Rumor has it that one day Edgar Allan Poe exited a train at the depot and walked the half mile or so to a boarding house in my hometown, while staying there a crow lighted on his window providing the inspiration for his most famous poem. The rumor goes on to state that Mr. Poe composed The Raven at the boarding house. Although the story is plausible, the house was a boarding house during Poe's life time and many people did stay over en route to other destination but I do not believe this story. I grew up with crows in St. Albans, WV not ravens.

I have never cared too much for crows over the years they have pulled up my onions, ruined my corn, and spread my compost pile all over my yard. On Monday my disdain for crows was heightened.

Monday morning I decided to begin working on my New Orleans induced addition by going out for a jog. The food of this city is amazing and wonderful but terrible for my waistline. So I took back up one of my favorite and relaxing exercises: jogging. It will take me a few weeks to get back to my Rhode Island form of 30 miles a week but I'll get there.

I began my journey by turning down Neron St. towards Palmer Park. A few blocks onto Neron a crow began cawing at me. I looked up and saw the most bizarre crow sight ever. A crow was looking me in the eye while his wings were fully stretched and feathers pluffed. He was cawing up a storm. I thought crazy crow, then it happened just like out of Hitchcock movie. The damn thing came after me! It started diving at my head. I kept jogging and the crow kept after me. After a few blocks I took matters into my own hands by acting like I was going to throw my bandanna at him (my signature look) but he kept coming after me. Finally, I located a stick, picked it up, and threatened to throw it. With a stick in my hand and five blocks away from the original run-in the crow flew back in a zig, zag pattern...as a crow flies.

Passing Ball

2011-03-15T21:24:00.003-04:00

For Christmas in 1984 my mother, in an act of total selflessness, cashed in her points from work to obtain for me a Jim Rice Spalding baseball glove; I believe it cost $80, which was a monstrous amount for my family at the time. I loved that glove; it was my first "real" glove. My previous gloves were cheap models bought at Heck's (you had to grow up in WV to know about Heck's); the gloves were also the favorite of my dog Amos, who would just wait for me to leave them lying on the ground so he could chew on them, but since they were cheap imitation leather, he would take them over the hill, dig a hole, and bury them.) But the Jim Rice model was different in my eyes and Amos' - I never left the Jim Rice model on the ground!

The glove served me well for the majority of my baseball and softball playing days. But not even the Jim Rice could last forever. Last week I went to one of the mega-lo-mart sporting goods stores and purchased a new glove. It is a Rawlings model that set me back about $35. I cannot believe how good a quality this glove is compared to the Jim Rice, no it is not as good but damn near.

I have officially given up my dream of playing professional baseball. I never stood a chance but I still held onto the dream. Although if Jamie Moyer comes back next season I may reawaken my dream. My one passion then and now is to simply pass ball. I love passing ball.

Every evening before dinner my father and I would pass ball till mom said supper was ready. On the field I was Don Mattingly and he was Dan Quisenberry - not exactly a match made in heaven for passing but who cares.

We passed ball up until the last year of life.

On the evening I bought the new glove it was all I could to do after dinner to restrain my excitement to pass ball #2; I couldn't stand it. It was a fun evening; the new glove will take some time to break in but what a wonderful way to do it with my boys. I also decided it was time to introduce some of the passing games my dad and I used to play, they loved them. I dont know how good of a ball player the boys will be - they are head and shoulders above me when I was their age. I do hope that years from now they too have the simple love of passing ball.

Postscript -- While I was in seminary Ken Burns released his documentary on Thomas Jefferson. One day while eating lunch with some classmates and some professors we discussed the program. During the conversation the late Dan Champion chimed in that during the second and third hour of the program Burns ran out of material and spliced several minutes of his previous work Baseball. We all laughed, even the professors - this was Dan Champion after all! Once the table cleared leaving only Dan, Chad (now Dr. Thralls), and myself, we picked up the conversation concerning the Burns documentary...Champion made a bet, "I bet if ESPN2 at 2am put two guys passing ball on television, people would watch it." 12 years later I still know I would...

The Passing of Peter Gomes: in Memoriam of the Man with the Anglican Oversoul

2011-03-02T17:06:00.005-05:00

This week I learned of the death of the Rev. Peter Gomes, pastor of Memorial Church, Harvard University. In many ways, for me, it felt like losing Johnny Cash all over again. Although we only met twice he felt like a member of the family, a close friend, a mentor, an icon, someone who has always been around.

At the 1999 commencement address of the Colgate Rochester Divinity School Rev. Gomes was the chosen preacher. I showed up...late and...unprepared. I took my seat just as he stepped up to the elevated pulpit of the Asbury First United Methodist Church, donned in an otherworldly clerical attire, speaking with a marvelous cadence and rhythm. It was not until I arrived back at my apartment did I even read his biography. After the service he stood at the back door greeting each as we left, everyone of us, just like any Baptist pastor in any Baptist church in Appalachia.

I didn't know what to make of him. In some ways I scoffed at his clerical demeanor, his Elizabethan tongue, and seriousness which he took his profession.

It was not until I moved to Rhode Island that we he bumped into me at the Brown University Bookstore. As I rounded the corner to the religion section he greeted me with his infectious smile and charm, (it was the cover of Sermons: Biblical Wisdom for Daily Living). I read three sentences and instantly decided to purchase the book.

Confession: In seminary I had a dual self-understanding of myself that severely impeded my ability to preach: one, I thought I was going to pursue PhD studies in Theology and two, I thought I was a born natural when it came to preaching and therefore did not need any help. As the last semester of divinity school approached I decided to take a preaching course for graduation, the only one offered was Advanced Feminist Preaching. It was a great class but I hadn't even took Feminist Preaching or Intro to Preaching. I made my way through the class but my skills as a preacher were lacking at best. After a year or two in the pulpit I realized I needed to undertake a crash course in preaching. I began reading, listening to tapes, and reading the Arts section of the NY Times (a Gardner Taylor recommendation). But the world seemed to be going in the opposite direction: short sermons, light ideas, and easy construction. But Gomes in his sermon preparation and life as a pastor would have none of that!

Over the past 8 years I am not afraid to say that I have read every book Rev. Gomes has written, I have tried to model my worship services after his at HMC, I even wear the cassock, preaching gown and preaching tabs as he did (his secretary confirmed that they were purchased at Wippell). Not to mimic but because I realized that this was a serious man undertaking a serious profession with humor, scholarship, and delight - and I felt the same way! And if I were to take my profession serious why not get up on Sunday morning with full intentions. No one complained about outfit (they actually said it made my preaching better) or my love of all things non-sacramental-Episcopalian but they did complain at my sermon length; to use a PG aphorism describing the expectation of most folk when it comes to the length of worship (and i.e. sermons), One Lord, One Faith, One Hour!

We next met at Andover Newton Theological School during a lecture on preaching. I was one of the first people in the building. I took notes on how he conducted himself, not only what he said but how he said it. After the engagement I waited my turn in line to introduce myself and then ask a couple of questions. He took the time to answer and to encourage.

This week we have lost a great human being, and a great preacher. The response has been tremendous. I think most feel like we have lost the last of the great preachers. But I think if Rev. Gomes was anything he was an encourager and a model for the possibility. If a preacher can preach for 45 minutes to standing room only crowds at "Godless Harvard," then certainly the rest of us can button down and do a damn good job at sermons we prepare and deliver at the congregations we serve!

Christian Practices VI: Forgiveness

2011-02-20T20:45:00.002-05:00

Below is the sermon from Sunday (Feb. 20). We celebrated the baptism of one of the youth. Where you would normally find the name of the youth I have substituted the generic N for the youth's name.

Going the Extra Mile

Christian Practices VI: Forgiveness

text: “…go also the second mile.” (Matthew 5:41)

Matthew 5:38-48

This morning shortly before noon N begins a new life, and we too begin, again, with him. This morning N will walk into the waters to be baptized; our ultimate symbol (but never more than a symbol) of his decision to follow Jesus. Over the last few weeks N and I have met for several sessions for his baptism class. Yes, if you want to be baptized you have to attend sessions and you have to be of proper age 12 or 13, or the age when you don’t whine after your parents put some kind of new green vegetable on your plate for dinner. Each pastor has his or her own feeling on this – mine is baptism that baptism is our version of a confirmation class, we are re-creating the promises our parents and our church made when we were dedicated. After these few sessions I can say with upmost confidence that N is ready, maybe even more than any other person I’ve baptized. Why? Because he asks questions, serious questions, deep questions. Baptism is not an ascent to ideas but the greatest act of protest you and I can undertake. Protest – because the world aint right, because we aint right! With our baptism we are saying yes to the way of Jesus and no to the way, or direction, of the world here and now.

N as a Christian in the western world, as a Christian in this postmodern world you will need three things to make it: One, the finest bible on the market. You got it, the NRSV New Interpreter’s Study Bible; it’s the best on the market. Ask your questions when you read it and do not give a second thought to orthodoxy or hersey – in the end they don’t matter anyway. Read the contents of this book like old Abe Lincoln: aloud. Notice its rhythms, its worldviews, its peculiarities, its idioms, its bizarreness. Two, you will need to the ability to forgive and to nurture deep reservoirs of forgiveness. Forgiveness more than any other practice or virtue will define your Christianity, your decision to follow God in this world. More on this in a moment. And lastly, N you’re going to need to develop an all consuming love for classic country music! You’ll need to embrace the twang of Loretta Lynn, the lonesome sound of Hank Williams, the harmony of Lester Flat and Earl Scruggs, the nasal sideburns of George Jones, the guttural backbeat of Waylon Jennings, without a doubt the genius of Johnny Cash, the ingenuity of the Carter Family, along with the humor/irony of John Prine and how about a sweet helpin’ of Emmylou Harris. Stories of heartbreak and redemption, sin and salvation, separation and reconciliation, winning and losing, lying and truthing, and then some. Trust me…you’ll need ‘em and don’t let anyone tell you different.

I given you the Bible off my shelf, and I can now give you a classic country mixed tape (even if you don’t know what that is) but the ability and capacity to forgive…well that’s our job as a congregation to teach and model for you and for you to teach and model to us the way of forgiveness. Trust me on this one too…aint no one going to teach you how to do this. If we can accomplish this task together and if you can carry the Good Book with you, and if you can sing along with classic country song, then you’ll make it and we’ll make in this world as followers of Jesus the Christ.

I have waited for a good bit before revealing this simple fact, forgiveness like the other Christian practices we have explored lately are not alternatives or maybes of our religion instead they are requirements for the faithful. Christianity has plenty of room for differing beliefs (for the record there are 280 differing Protestant bodies in North America of that number 83 are different kinds of Baptists), at minimum all you have to confess is that Jesus is Lord, that’s it nothing more, nothing less. But practices we cannot take for granted or overlook! From the simple confession Jesus is Lord flows a way of life calling for the practice of forgiveness, honoring the body, observing the Sabbath, singing our lives, saying yes and saying no, discernment, and next Sunday testimony. This list is neither exhaustive nor unabridged instead it is representative of a long list of practices that have emerged from two millennia of distillative experiences of Christianity.

Lists or requirements may cause your Baptist bones to ache and recoil, you may grimace at the thought of non-negociables. Then let us tease out an analogy. Whey I talk to jazz musicians or music historians in the city I always inquire if there are specific any New Orleans hymns. They ponder it for a moment then say no. Instead of a repertoire or body of New Orleans hymns there is the New Orleans jazz approach to hymns. So when you hear requirements replace it with approach. Think of Christian practices as an approach to Christianity.

I’ve only got this week and next Sunday to entice, wrangle, tempt, beg, and yes guilt you into a small group during Lent so you can experiment with one of these Christian practices. Allow me a moment to provide some possibilities: the discernment group may meet at someone’s home over wine and cheese to talk about how they are experiencing what God is calling them to do. (May I suggest a box of wine, not only is it cheaper and can provide enough for a small gathering but it is also the more ecological choice.) The saying yes and saying no group may simply email back and forth how they said no to some things so they could say yes to God. The singing group may join around a piano and sing all of those blood and guts Baptist classics, or maybe you will learn some new hymns, or maybe you will get together and plan what hymns you want sung at your funeral. The observing the Sabbath group may meet together for Sunday supper, or go visit our shut-ins, or play a game of kickball or spend a few hours playing and having fun at Rock-n-Bowl. The honoring the body group may meet for yoga at Audubon Park (I know instructors who would love this). And the forgiveness group may sit down somewhere and honestly share why they are unwilling or incapable of forgiveness, how difficult it is to forgive. Why? Because when we gather on Easter morn and sing Alleluia let us sing it with purpose and meaning because all of us will have a new and deeper appreciation of why God’s mighty act of raising Jesus is transforming us and our world. I believe we are going to change the world through these practices and let us not settle for anything less.

I invite everyone here to make a fist as tight as you can, then press this tight fist onto your knees, all the while gnashing your teeth. Now release your fist, place your hands palms up on your knees and exhale that is forgiveness. Imagine a balloon falling to the ground then exploding when it hits a blade of grass, that is forgiveness. Imagine a hug that you fall and sink into while you sob uncontrollably in the arms of another, that is forgiveness.

Forgiveness is never fast, never easy, and never without consequences. N, rest assured some people will wilt with appreciation when you forgive them but most wont give a damn. They will take advantage of you, will walk all over you, and take advantage of your forgiving spirit. Forgive anyway. Forgiveness, when it is beautiful and proper is a two way street but most times it is a wrong way on a one way street. Forgive anyway. It is our job to help you learn how to deal with an unaccepting world, with a sarcastic and self-serving world. It is our job to help you see past the current circumstances and develop a deep sense of Christian hope; it is our job to help you forgive anyway. Trust me you and all of us will change the world with our forgiveness.

We have to model for you the capacity to keep forgiving even though the world is replete with examples. In the 1960s during the Civil Rights Movement America had a chance not only for forgiveness for its original sin of slavery but true transformation for race relations, the American church had a chance to offer genuine Christian metanoia but it didn’t, it failed. And we are living with the consequences, we are left waiting for another chance. Amidst all of the beatings, brutality, killing, derogatory behavior, racism, ugly actions, and unabashed sin that took place during the Civil Rights Movement there are scant and almost non-existent examples of perpetrators seeking forgiveness.

In the summer of 1961 John Lewis, a 21 year old civil rights activist and Baptist minister got off a bus in Rock Hill, SC and attempted to enter the “Whites Only” door to the bus terminal. At that moment the mob unleashed their violence onto Lewis and the others. 50 years later Elwin Wilson looked at a photograph of the event and realized that the man he was beating with all of his might was John Lewis. 50 years later Elwin Wilson found John Lewis and apologized. The story on NPR recorded Lewis’s recollection of the conversation this way,

"I said to him, 'I forgive you.' I don't have any ill feelings, any bitterness, any malice. He gave me a hug. I hugged him back. He cried a little, and I cried." "Well, it was a moment of grace, a moment of forgiveness and a moment of reconciliation, and that's what the movement, that's what the struggle was all about," Lewis says.

Wilson says he found the Lord and realized he was wrong.

"If I can just get one person not to hate, it's worth it," Wilson says.

The forgiveness of Lewis and the repentance of Wilson is an amazing story but here is the kicker. Rock Hill is a city of 70,000 residents and only one has sought forgiveness. I am sure there are plenty of pews packed on Sunday mornings of folk who were a part of that mob or who were the silent majority that approved of their action, silence is an act. N it is my prayer that through your life you are the forgiving one, that we are the forgiving community, N it is my prayer that you are the one who seeks forgiveness, that we are the seekers of forgiveness, N it is my prayer that you are the one who brings the word of peace, that we are the peacemakers, N it is my prayer that you are the one who offers transformation, the community that offers transformation.

Brothers and Sisters let us commit and recommit ourselves to the ministry of forgiveness and reconciliation. In the waters of N’s baptism may we all recommit our vow to follow Jesus, to practice forgiveness, and to live as if the kingdom of God is here and now. Amen & Amen.

When Theologians Preached, Museum-Quality Sermons, & Camera Angles

2011-02-13T20:28:00.007-05:00

Several years ago I attended a theological circle in Boston, MA. Myself and a room full of retired Baptist preachers. Someone mentioned Paul Tillich and that was all they talked about. I remember rolling my eyes, leaving the room, and thinking these men were stuck in the past with their infatuation with Tillich. (historical note, up to that time I had only read The Courage to Be, and oddly enough loved it). Fast forward a few years but stop before you arrive at the present, stop a few days ago.

At the beginning of the year I decided to read a good number of works by one theologian, I chose Paul Tillich. Why? I am not for sure. I have been struggling with religious language, meaning, and the relation to culture - who would one turn to than Tillich? But what to read and where to start? By chance on Facebook the other day my theology professor was online and started chatting with me. So I asked Dr. Cauthen where to start. He suggested I start by reading Tillich's book of sermons, The Shaking of the Foundations; which I had on my shelf. Last week I picked up STF and could not believe how good his sermons were. I was amazed. I was also instantly envious of all those who gathered in the chapel at Union Seminary and got to hear them live. I don't think I've ever read such rich theological sermons. I have preached my own share of theological sermons, but nothing like those. They are tough but accessible. I find them to be quite inspiring.

I also found my Easter sermon! You Are Accepted a sermon which is also included in the collection American Sermons: The Pilgrims to Martin Luther King, Jr (one of those Library of America editions with the black cover, white lettering, and the red, white, and blue ribbon). No, I am not going to copy the sermon but I am going to write the sermon by spinning off a paragraph or two.

Am I allowed to that? Good question. I will explain myself this way. Shortly after arriving here someone called with boxes of books from the library of the former pastor. I and a member drove out and picked up the collection. There were several Fosdick and Weatherhead books of sermons along with others. I began leafing through the sermons and noticed that a good many of the sermons were outlined, marked up, and noted. The pastor did not copy the sermons but he did use them for organizing his own sermons, for constructing themes, and for laying out series of sermons.

I read books of sermons all the time ( my favorites right now are William Sloane Coffin's). I am sure sentences and phrases invade my sermons from my reading. I do not copy but I am not afraid to use past sermons for inspiration. How else to get better than to read (and preach on a Thursday morning when no one is around) great sermons?

But the question lingers: Do theologians preach today? If so, who?

I spend a good amount of tie thinking about the craft of preaching. The conversation I am sharing today emerged last week while listening to Terri Gross' interview with Rodney Crowell on Fresh Air last week. I suppose I am sold on the idea that preaching matters, that good preaching can bring change and growth. Here is the money quote, for preachers, from the interview:

In 1972, Crowell left East Texas and moved to Nashville to follow his own passion: songwriting. He quickly fell into a musical scene, where he met fellow songwriter Guy Clark, who offered him some sage advice.

"He said, 'Now, look, you can be a star or you can be an artist. You can be an artist and then become a star, but I don't think it works the other way around. But they're both okay. Pick one and get good at it,' " Crowell says. "Well, I knew he was an artist, so I said, 'I want to be an artist.' "

Clark, whose songs have been recorded by Ricky Skaggs, Johnny Cash, Vince Gill and Steve Wariner, then sat Crowell down with some Dylan Thomas poems.

"[Clark] said, 'Listen to how good this is. You have to make your songs this good,' " Crowell says. "And it had a profound effect on me. It took me a while to absorb the information that was being given to me, but eventually it gave me the intent that I wanted to try to write good songs and always strive for timelessness or museum-quality work. I'm not saying I've achieved museum quality, but if you're not swinging for museum quality or timelessness, then why bother?"

Substitute artist with pastor/preacher and good songs for good sermons. Why shouldn't we swing for museum-quality sermons? It does not mean we will achieve them but doesnt those who gather on Sunday morning deserve our best efforts?

While I'm on the topic of Rodney Crowell I have to share the one video, I Couldn't Leave You If I Tried, he shot in my home state, right outside of the town I attended my first year of college: Philippi, WV.

Watch at the 30 second mark. This is a great song but the camera action needs some tinkering.

Christian Practices V: Honoring the Body

2011-02-13T11:26:00.004-05:00

All That I Am

Christian Practices V: Honoring the Body

text: “…the throne of God.” (Matthew 5:34)

The Sixth Sunday after the Epiphany – 13.Feb.2011

The Rev’d G. Travis Norvell

Truth like love cannot exist solely as a mental exercise, it must be practiced. Truth like love must be consummated. Christianity, like truth, like love, must be part contemplative and part action. Our gospel, part truth, part love, is best when it moves through the mind to the heart. Our gospel, part truth-part love is best practiced as St. Francis implored, preach the gospel, when necessary use words.

He was a dangerous man, that Francis, someone who dared to embody the truth he found or better the Truth that found him. Although his story comes from the 12 century it is a poignant today as ever.

But why are there so few people like Francis? How come we all do not seek to embody our religion? What prevents us from freely acting and living out in our bodies the truth we have found or the Truth that found us?

We have all watched with delight as the people of Egypt gathered for two weeks to demonstrate and demand their freedom. They gathered with their bodies, they put their bodies on the line, their bodies were beaten and bullied. Everyone thought the Egyptians would back away once the crackdown on bodies began but the exact opposite happened. Etched in my mind are the bodies locked arm-in-arm, etched in my mind are the two images from the Church of Two Saints and Liberation Square. At the Church of Two Saints in Alexandria as Coptic Christians worshipped thousands of Muslims gathered around the Cathedral to protect their fellow Egyptians from another suicide bomber; with their bodies the majority extended the religious liberty to the minority. This has been a Western practice born on the shores of Massachusetts Bay. At Liberation Square as Muslims prayed in an act of non-violent civil disobedience, another Western practice, Coptic Christians arm-in-arm formed a human shield between the praying Muslims and the tanks and the thugs. I cannot find another example when a minority sought to offer religious liberty to the majority. Brothers and sisters we witnessed and are witnessing a new frontier of religious liberty, a new view of the human body, and a new non-violent embodiment of religion.

Throughout history there are images of individuals using their bodies to communicate truth; human beings who have honored their bodies in such a way to transcend the ordinary, their testimonies allow us for one moment to climb Jacob’s ladder and look around heaven. Jesus healing the lame, the woman wiping bathing Jesus’s feet with her tears, St. Francis stripping and handing his clothes back to his father in front of the cathedral of Assisi, and the Civil Rights marchers standing with dignity while police held barking German Shepherds only inches from their faces. With their bodies they offered a higher level of existence for humanity. With their bodies they offered the possibility of human flourishing for all. By embodying their Christianity, by honoring their bodies in acts of love, justice, and solidarity they modeled for us another Christian Practice.

This is our fifth installment of a seven part sermon series on Christian Practices; today we center on the discipline of honoring the body. Each practice: discernment, saying yes and saying no, singing our lives, observing the Sabbath, honoring the body, testimony, and forgiveness contributes to a full definition of each other and what it means to practice our faith. All but one, I am willing to be bet sounds fairly doable and even a little enticing. All but one that is, honoring the body. For Baptist especially the issue of the body is a tough issue.

During the season of Lent I asking/challenging/begging/guilting each and every one of you to break up and form into small groups for the sole purpose of exploring and experimenting with one of these seven practices. Perhaps you will meet in the chapel or in someone’s living room to sing hymns, perhaps you will meet in a coffee shop and role play with one another on how to say yes and to say, perhaps you will go for a walk and talk about how you are discerning God’s will, perhaps you will want to organize a kickball game on a Sunday or invite others over for supper to observe the Sabbath, or perhaps you could form a yoga class during Lent to honor your body. I think this one may be the most troubling.

Don’t drink, don’t cuss, don’t chew, don’t go with those who do. Don’t dance, don’t play cards, kids are better seen and not heard, only say amen during worship as a last resort of praise/appreciation and don’t even think about mentioning sex at all.

That’s a muddled Christian view of the boyd. On the one hand we offer the most sensual Christian ritual: full immersion baptism while on the other hand we rarely if ever honor our bodies in worship. On the one hand we have the most beat driven hymnody of any denomination while on the other hand we rarely, if ever, dance, shuffle our feet or tap our toes. A few years ago I accidentally introduced Baptist hymnody to an Eastman School of Music professor. Immediately he went off to find a galvanized trash can so he could bang out the rhythm. On the one hand we have the freest view of communion – jokingly I say our view of the meal is the lowest common denominator, we invite everybody but on the other hand we celebrate this festive meal in the most constrictive manner by sitting down and being served.

This muddled view should come as no surprise.

At the center of Christianity is the doctrine of the incarnation – that God in Jesus Christ became flesh, that God in Jesus Christ passed through the birth canal and crossed the threshold from womb to life. And it should come as no surprise that Baptists have not exactly done a good job of expressing clear teaching on this issue. The late Dale Moody, one time stalwart of theology and biblical studies at Southern Seminary once remarked that Baptists are muddleheaded Apollinarians. Say what? Our theology of the incarnation has yet to fully embrace the fully human and fully God dual nature of Jesus. Instead in practice we communicate that Jesus had a human body but a divine head. If this has been our heritage then no wonder we have the thoughts and prohibitions we do about our bodies.

Then no wonder Pentecostals are the fastest growing branch of Christianity. No wonder that many people my age and younger are turning towards alternative – but formal – forms of Christianity. No wonder many of you here, myself included, are here and not where you grew up. Better to be in New Orleans free and open about who you are than be back home and be someone you are not. No wonder that the very vices Baptists have sought to repress emerge with a vengeance in the forms of tragic addiction. I know, I know correlation does not equal causation but in my brief 36 years and in your years we have all seen the religious impetus.

At least once a week I try to entice one of my friends or colleagues to move to New Orleans. I tell them just by living here, eating the food, and walking the streets you get the equivalent of a PhD in Theology, Sociology, Music, and Gastronomy. Although it should come as no surprise, living here has forced me to change my theology. For theology is not like a plastic flower always green and bright it is a living, growing, and changing organism. This city is helping me live a free life, the real change came last year. 364 days ago I experienced one of the greatest days of my life.

It began with the Jazz service, continued with a mid afternoon parade, then wondering around an uptown neighborhood with a friend for a couple of hours going in and out of homes along the way playing ping pong, eating chicken, and picking up an adult beverage or two, in between parades some kids and I, around our ladders, fashioned together a huge jump rope made of broken beads and began double dutching, then another parade, then a huge neutral ground pot luck dinner, passed football with people across Napoleon, then night parades, when our neighbor reigned as king of Bacchus I screamed I’m open and with my non-preaching hand even I caught a pass, which was subsequently lost an hour or two later when a bass drum baton almost knocked me unconscious as I pulled one my progeny to safety.

That day I felt alive, free, fully human. I laughed, screamed, feasted, played, cried, felt the rhythms of the marching bands as they passed. I was surrounded by people I didn’t know or barely knew and was not anxious. I was exhausted, completely drained and yet fully alive and energized. That day was the turning point in my theology of the incarnation. God became human, God created us in God’s image, God gave us these bodies so that we may live and live abundantly, that we may live in community with one another, love one another, strive to make justice a reality, and heal one another with our bodies.

That day for the first time in my life I felt the embodiment of my Christianity with the rhythms of life. There in that mess of people, beer, beads, food, ladders, and music I realized our bodies are not our enemies. They are God’s gift to us.

Now may be the appropriate time in the sermon to ask yourself what has this got to do with the portion of the sermon on the mount that we read from for the gospel lesson? Take the gospel lesson and the teaching therein and peel them away and what do you have? Or better yet hold the page sideways and see if can imagine the three dimensional roots of this story – like the majestic Live Oaks there is an equal amount of roots under the soil to the amount of branches above. In this passage Jesus is teaching in a creative and didactic way the organic relationship between thoughts and actions. If an individual or congregation, or society can change the way they think then they can the way they act; and if they can change the was they act then they can change the way they think. We all know that we can not change each other, as much as we would like to, we can only change one another and the way we interact with one another.

So what if you and I began to change the way we thought about our bodies, about the incarnation, about the incarnation of our Christianity, about honoring our bodies. Imagine the new and healthier world. Imagine a church where we seek the healing of our own bodies and those in our lives, where sex and sexuality were not taboos but subjects worthy of conversations, where sex and sexuality are not words causing us to blush or feel shame but as honest speech about who I am or who you are as a human being in this body. Imagine if we were honest about the limitations of our bodies. Imagine if we honored our bodies in such a way that we aged together in support of one another attentive to our aching sciatica nerves, failing eyes, and uncooperative memories?

Because Mabel Palmer, via the chaplain Rev. Stephens, asked me to I now lead a worship service at Poydras Home every second Thursday from 10:30 to 11:00am. Recall the sermon on saying yes and saying no, are you going to say no to Mabel Palmer? You are all invited to help me out, this week I sang in three keys while leading the Doxology. I read scripture, pray with and for them, and deliver a brief message. This week, however, I changed my approach. I went with questions, specifically questions about bodies. I figured a group of 20 80-90 years olds were experts on their bodies. I asked them when they look into the mirror what do they see? Do they see someone who has lived 32,000 days or ten year old? They said we see a much younger person, we don’t recognize the person in the mirror. Then I asked an unprepared question if you could would you change anything about your body? They all said no. After all these years, they wouldn’t change a thing.

Their bodies are limited, each day brings new aches and pains…and they wouldn’t change a thing. Those in the twilight of life were done struggling they were honoring their bodies by acceptance and even embracing their bodies.

We need their voices to be heard about our bodies and about embodying our Christianity but they also need our voices and other voices. In December I entered the front door of Poydras only to find a sign that said please use side entrance. I found the door and walked into the dining room and found a room full of the residents, and toddlers, it seemed like thousands of them in pajamas with teddy bears and singing Raffi songs. I looked at Rev. Stephens and asked what in the world was he thinking? I can’t follow toddlers in pajamas with teddy bears singing Raffi, but I had to! During the service all of those gathered were glowing with wonder at the bodies they had just watched. Bodies without limitations, endless energy and complete freedom.

Somewhere between those stories is the good news of the Christian practice of honoring the body. Somewhere between here and Cairo and Galilee is a view of our embodied truth and love. Somewhere in the midst of the gospel is the courage to be, to be the person made in the image of God. Somewhere in this body of ours is a song, specifically the song of William Grant Still the 20^th century composer originally from Woodville, MS, All that I Am

All that I am,

All I ever can be,

I owe to You, Lord,

For you have molded me.

All that I have,

All that I call mine,

I owe to You, Lord,

For all things are Thine.

Brothers and Sisters let us accept the invitation to live out, to embody our faith. Let us accept the invitation for the renewal of our minds so that when we look in the mirror we see the image of God, so that when we visit someone from 9 to 90 we are seeing the image again, so that when we greet one another with the peace we are imitating the creative acts of God to heal and restore the image of God within us. You and I have these bodies, they are God’s gift to us let us accept them, let us honor them. Amen and Amen.

sabbath

2011-02-06T14:14:00.005-05:00

Christian Practices IIII
Observing the Sabbath: Sunday Morning Coming Down
Isaiah 58:1-10; Psalm 112; Matthew 5:13-20
text: “I did not come to abolish but fulfill.” (Mt 5:17)
The Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany – 6.February.2011
The Rev’d G. Travis Norvell

Mainline, sophisticated churches like this usually define the Christian worship on the Sabbath as such: One Faith, One Lord, One Hour. No where in holy scripture or Christian history is an hour prescribed as the criterion for worship on the Sabbath. Instead worship is to be an all day event with gathered worship as one part of it. I am not advocating for day long worship services but I am advocating for a new appreciation for what takes place on Sundays. I take as my text this morning the 17 verse of the 5th chapter of the Gospel according to Matthew: Jesus did not come to abolish the law (torah) but to fulfill it. Jesus did not come to abolish Sabbath but to fulfill it.

A few weeks ago a gentleman and his wife attended a Sunday morning service as a mini-reunion. They had worshipped here back in the 60s and 70s but had since moved to Manhattan and subsequently moved their membership to Riverside Church in NYC (which by the way tickles my soul in all kinds of ways to think that when people move from here they move their membership to Riverside). Anyway, the gentleman commented how nice it was to be back and the feeling of energy and excitement in the sanctuary. He then commenced to tell me about why he made SCABC his church home. He said in the 60s you never wanted to sleep in on Sunday mornings for you were afraid you may miss something: whether it was Avery’s sermons, or the musical selections, or maybe the conversation afterwards. You could always trust that something worthwhile would be said, heard, or shared. I suppose that is why the church could get away with the heading, “the difference is worth the distance.” The gentleman then gave an example. On the Sunday after Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated the sancturary had a larger than usual crowd, the service started with silence and remained silent for a good time then Mona Bond stood up and sang a cappella, We Shall Overcome.

As I sit down after entering the sanctuary I spend a good amount of time looking at you. I’m not looking at who is here and who is not here; I’m looking at your soul, I’m looking at your body language, I’m looking at your level of comfort. I’m not reading your mind, who can? I’m reading the text of your life that you are revealing to me. Why? Because I wonder why you are here. I’ve only been at this “gig”as a pastor for only 10 years but in the 500+ worship services I have led I’ve never looked at someone and read what they were revealing to me and not found a deep answer. There is always present the hope and expectation that one note of song will sync with the need of your soul, the hope and expectation that one sentence of scripture or one sentence of a sermon or one sentence in a prayer will be what you need to make it through the week, that someone will embrace you in a way with a hug, or a kiss, or maybe just an acknowledgement that you are a human being, that somewhere all tangled up in the desires, impetus, and convictions of your being here there is the hope that you may just leave a better person than when you entered, that you may just leave a little more healed a little more whole than when you entered, that you may just leave with a foretaste of the kingdom of God than when you entered.

All of these desires and expectations are Sabbath desires and Sabbath expectations and Sabbath hopes. This is a desire we all yearn and grope for. It is in the lyrics to songs: Lionel Richie’s, Easy Like Sunday Morning or as a local hipster t-shirt company prints (Breesy Like Sunday Morning), Kris Kristofferson’s, Sunday Morning Coming Down, The Duke’s, Duke Ellington that is, Come Sunday He’ll give peace and comfort/to every troubled mind/Come Sunday, oh come Sunday/That’s the day, and most assuredly in the butter melting sultry voice of Etta James’ A Sunday Kind of Love. On the screen look to Babbette’s Feast or the Andy Griffith Show episode when they try to re-form the Sunday afternoon band. Think about the comfort of a Sunday supper of fried chicken, or pot roast, or warmed up gumbo. Or picture the peddler in the children’s book Caps for Sale when he wakes up from his nap feeling well rested? These too are Sabbath yearnings, gropings, desires, hopes, & expectations.

We may look beautiful and handsome, we may even come across as having it all together, but underneath our coverings we are hurting, pained, and wounded. We have said things that we wished we could take back, we have been the recipients of words that we wished had never entered our ears, we have abused creation and been abused by others, in our need for love we have alienated others and in our desire for reconciliation we have had doors slammed in our faces. We are human beings – creatures with social, physical, intellectual, emotional, spiritual needs. The work or action of being a human being is never over. We are relational creatures constantly in need of interaction. To keep healthy relations going it takes work, hard and difficult work. We need the Sabbath to help us, to heal us, to be the voice who says stop, stop the madness, stop for one moment and look at what you are doing to yourself, to others, to creation.

The healing and resting gift of the Sabbath comes to us from another realm of nature. It is anti-thetical and counter-intuitive to our way of understanding the nature and experience of life in a hyper-capitalistic laissez-faire economy. We are products of the Protestant work ethic – a terrible theological understanding that idle hands (and minds) are the devil’s tools, therefore we must work our way to grace and heaven – which is exactly the opposite of the theology of the Protestant Reformation – we do not work our way into heaven but are graced into the hands of God by God’s grace.

If you were to give an account of your time here in worship or during a Sabbath what would you say you did: I sang, I prayed, I drank coffee, I laughed, I cried, I said hello to a stranger, I kissed a beautiful woman on the cheek, I was called a cup of sugar by a gregarious southern gentleman, I listened, I took a nap, I fidgeted in my seat, I doodled, I was quiet, I read, & etc. An economist or a measurer of productivity would say you did nothing – and that kind of nothing is exactly the point: a rest, a healing, a moment of praise, a moment of prayer, a moment of silence. The intentional recognition that we are not servants of whistle, clock, or bell, that we are not measured by the sum of our production. But rather that we are human beings, children of the Living God and what we need more than anything is to spend one day, 1/7th of our lives to remind ourselves that we are so.

We demarcate time based on the birth of Christ. But the confusion of time began not at Christ’s birth but at his resurrection. No one expected Jesus to be raised on Sunday morning – the day after the Sabbath. The Jewish Sabbath then as now began on Friday at sundown and ended at sundown on Saturday. No one expected anything to happen on Sunday morning but that was the time God so chose. Thus creating a conundrum for early Christians and holy time observers. The Early church stated that the celebration of the resurrection surpassed previous Sabbath observances, thus the new creation of First Day or Lord’s Day observance/celebration on Sunday, a mini-Easter each and every Sunday became the new standard; Sun rise on Sunday to Sun rise on Monday.

Christians have not incorporated Sabbath restrictions – no to somethings so we can say yes to others –into their practices: such as reading, yes (because it is enjoyment); writing, no (because it is work). There was a time when blue laws legislated Sabbath restrictions but in this multi-faith society we cannot and should not advocate their return. But the need for Sabbath is still present. Jesus gave us a firm call to love and to save our neighbor and creation. But how are we going to do so it if we never stop for a moment, if we never pause to catch our breath, if we never cease to ponder our motivations, if we never yield to God’s healing, if we never slow down to be blessed, if we never take a break to be in awe of the world around us? That is the gift of Sabbath once a week our inner clocks are re-oriented from the control of space to the experience of time.

This city is full of do-gooding people with large hearts and tons of good will but I can easily see that in a couple of years, if not already, many are going to burn out, give up, become frustrated with the lack of progress and move onto to other mundane existences. But what if one of our missions as a church was to offer Sabbath practices? I offer that we as a congregation have a tremendous opportunity if we too can be a part of the rebuilding of the city by modeling and witnessing to a way of life that pauses, wonders, awes, laughs, cries, naps, feasts together. It is going to take even more human hours of sweat and muscle, of creativity and plans, of will power and determination to rebuild this church and city but let us do it without killing ourselves along the way!

This is the fourth installment in the sermon series on Christian Practices. It is my hope that the Christian practices can act as a midwife to aide us in our journey towards birth and re-birth both as a church and as individuals; and what more appropriate time for this type of undertaking than Lent. During the season of Lent (40 days from March 9, Ash Wednesday to April 23, Holy Saturday) I am asking/challenging all of us to form small groups each dedicated to one of the seven practices: discernment, saying yes and saying no, singing our lives, observing the Sabbath, forgiveness, testimony, and honoring our bodies for the expressed purposed of experimenting with these variations of Christian disciplines. Each practice cannot be fully covered or fully defined. But together in small groups experimenting with the disciplines we can begin to share with one another the gifts of these practices. In small groups we can flesh out what it means to observe these practices in 2011 in New Orleans. You do not need expert leaders, for none of us are experts at these practices. We only need a few facilitators to get the groups up and running. Furthermore, I have study guides for everyone!

You can have any room in this building and feel free to take up residence outside this building at a coffee shop, a living room, or publick house. Rather than give up chocolate or the news try on a new Christian practice in a defined time with no strings attached. Simply try it for 40 days and see what happens, see if you surprise yourself, see if you are surprised by others, see if you are surprised by God, or better yet surprise God with your practices.

One point, the group that decides they want to explore observing the Sabbath will not be allowed to meet on Sunday. Instead you will have to meet at some other time so that you can observe the Sabbath. Perhaps you will want to ask a member or members to Temple Sinai or Touro Synagogue to talk with about what it means to them to celebrate and observe Sabbath. One thing you will find out is that it is work to prepare for the Sabbath, you will have to spend a good part of the previous day preparing for a day of rest. Kind of like jamming two weeks worth of work the week before you take a week of vacation. But once you get the hang of it you realize what a wonderful experience Sabbath rest and enjoyment are.

I am going to suggest that you begin new Sabbath practices starting today: go home and take a nap, take a walk in the park or around your neighborhood, get out your hymnal and sing some hymns around the piano, invite a friend or neighbor over for dinner or at least a glass of wine, or invite someone over to watch the game, play a game as John Calvin suggested, or make love with your spouse, as Calvin suggested also.

And during the next week or so I suggest that you find a copy of Abraham Joshua Heschel’s book The Sabbath: Its Meaning for Modern Man. Like all Heschel books you read it because not solely for the words on the page and because you are reading Heschel! Read the book and you will early on find this passage:

The higher goal of spiritual living is not to amass a wealth of information, but to face sacred moments. In a religious experience, for example, it is not a thing that imposes itself on man but a spiritual presence. What is retained in the soul is the moment of insight rather than the place where the act came to pass. A moment of insight is a fortune, transporting us beyond the confines of measured time. Spiritual life begins to decay when we fail to sense the grandeur of what is eternal in time.

I want us all to expect the grandeur of what is eternal time on Sunday, on our Sabbath. I want us all to experience God’s love, God’s grace, God’s healing touch. Let us and all of creation experience God’s gift of redemption in time, eternity in a day, a sacred moment where heaven and earth meet, where righteousness and peace kiss, where life is not abolished but fulfilled. Amen and Amen.

2011 Books - #s 2 & 3

2011-01-31T21:46:00.003-05:00

Book #2: Wandering Star by J.M.G. Le Clezio. I discovered Le Clezio in a NY Times article after he won the Pulitzer a couple of years ago. As I read the interview I started to think about sermon writing (it is a chronic disease most preachers suffer from). I couldn't help but apply his discussion of the novel as the only place in modern life where questions are asked to the purpose of sermons. Here is the quote that set me off on this journey:

Asked at the news conference if he had any message to convey, Mr. Le Clézio said: “My message will be very clear; it is that I think we have to continue to read novels. Because I think that the novel is a very good means to question the current world without having an answer that is too schematic, too automatic. The novelist, he’s not a philosopher, not a technician of spoken language. He’s someone who writes, above all, and through the novel asks questions.”

I clipped the article (another chronic disease that is somewhat particular to certain generations of Norvells) and stowed it away in my sermon idea box. Sometime last year as I prepared my sermons for the year I decided on a series on the parables of Jesus. I read the Le Clezio article and conjectured about the nature of the parables and the nature of questions. I also read quite a few essays and speeches by Le Clezio - the more I read the more I liked. But for some reason I never got around to finishing Wandering Star, until this evening!

When I compare WS to Freedom I am struck by the depth of WS, Freedom cannot compare. WS had no masturbation scenes, no detailed sex scenes, and no babble about middle class angst. It was a work that dealt with big questions and worked on them.

Book #3. I also like to include a favorite childrens book every now and then. Today I read to #3 Dr. DeSoto by William Steig. I love Steig's work for his use of language, his stories, and imagination. DD is my favorite.

Christian Practices III Singing our Lives

2011-01-30T10:39:00.004-05:00

Christian Practices III
Singing Our Lives: from Mass in B Minor to Prayer in Open D
Micah 6:1-8; Psalm 100; Matthew 5:1-12
text: “and he opened his mouth…” (Mt. 5:2)
The Fourth Sunday after the Epipjany – 30.January.2011
New Orleans, LA

I take as my text this morning the second verse of the fifth chapter of the Gospel according to Matthew, and he opened his mouth.

Ever since John Wycliffe in 1382 translated the Latin Vulgate into vernacular English this verse has read, and he opened his mouth. I never paid much attention to this rendering of Greek into English until I read The Cost of Discipleship by Dietrich Bonhoeffer who pointed out this act by Jesus. (On side note, sometime this Spring we will offer a Bonhoeffer symposium or set of seminars on him one because so many of you, like me, adore him and two because so many of you have or are reading the new biography of him – which I think stands in need of great rebuttal). The translation in your pews, the NRSV, decided to translate 5:2 otherwise, then he began to speak to them. It may seem like much ado about nothing or a brief foray into semantics but I think there is something to Jesus opening his mouth. For in that moment we are allowed the freedom to believe that Jesus sang the Beatitudes.

A year ago this month our neighbor in the Caribbean suffered a horrendous earthquake killing upwards of 230,000 people and counting; we watched with horror, we eagerly sent money, and offered prayer upon prayers. Do you recall the images from that week when thousands gathered each evening at St. Pierres Plaza in a make shift village to sing! One of the lines of the hymns translated into English reads,
God, you are the one who gave me life
Why are we suffering?
Then there was the “triple miracle” one week after the earthquake three people were found alive: a 15 day old baby, a young woman, and under the ruins of the Cathedral an elderly woman, an elderly woman found singing her own song, Don’t be afraid of death.

Singing, the simple act of vocalizing words to a tune enabled a ravaged community the ability to make it another day, to hope amid the rubble, and to out for mercy. I remember not only the astonishment of the news agencies that reported on the singing but my own astonishment at their capacity to praise and protest in the shadow and stench of death.

I hope that we are able to organize and take a team to Haiti to help the rebuilding, we know it will take years before the rebuilding is complete. When we go I hope we go with songs in our hearts to sing. Missionaries are asking work groups to specifically bring music, either memorized or in some form of bounded material, for we will be asked to share our faith in song and I hope we will have songs to share.

I know it may be an imaginative stretch to say he sung the Beatitudes but not much of one. Aramaic, at least modern Aramaic, does possess a rhythm akin to a Welshman’s tongue. The Beatitudes are the sung poem of Christianity, the sung hymn of our faith. Before there was the doctrine of the Trinity, before the various theories of the atonement, before the Resurrection even there were the Beatitudes – the theological underpinning for Christian belief and practice. We praise God because of the God who is expressed in them. We protest when God is not present in the way as promised in them. We are a community because of them; our communities split when they are not practiced or when they are cheapened. When they are sung the beautiful message of Christianity is revealed; when they are silent a loving God retreats behind closed doors.

This is the third installment in the sermon series on Christian Practices. Although the seven practices are neither exhaustive (they barely scratch the surface) nor original (I am using Practicing Our Faith: A Way of Life for a Searching People by Dorothy C. Bass) I offer them, nonetheless, as practices that I believe can both help our attempt at re-formation, or as Darla has suggested it is not that this church heading in the wrong direction and need turning around she simply need wind in her sails. It is my hope that the Christian practices can act as a midwife providing for us the necessary experiences for individuals as we seek the good life here and now. We will experience the breath of the Holy Spirit by seeking it out and by creating the ideal conditions for her to birth and re-birth us both as a church and as individuals.

During the season of Lent (40 days from March 9, Ash Wednesday to April 23, Holy Saturday) I am asking/challenging all of us to form small groups each dedicated to one of the seven practices: discernment, saying yes and saying no, singing our lives, observing the Sabbath, forgiveness, and honoring our bodies for the expressed purposed of experimenting with these variations of Christian disciplines. Sure, you could do them on your own but you know that you will not. If you have a group to share and hold you accountable you have a much higher percentage of incorporating them into your Lenten pattern. You can have any room in this building and feel free to take up residence outside this building at a coffee shop, a living room, or publick house. Rather than give up chocolate or the news try on a new Christian practice in a defined time with no strings attached. Simply try it for 40 days and see what happens, see if you surprise yourself, see if you are surprised by others, see if you are surprised by God, or better yet surprise God with your practices.

Singing our Lives

Hymns are part of the fabric and DNA of our souls; they provide the language and tempo of our expressions of the divine; they are the ties that bind our hearts in Christian love; they furnish us with a foretaste of glory divine; they call us to adore him, Christ the Lord; and acknowledge our failures by reminding us nevertheless it is well with my soul. Amos Wilder, the American poet and former Hollis professor of divinity at Harvard – once remarked that hymns are to Protestants what incenses are to Catholics, reminders of the presence of God. If we were to drill down even more I would say hymns are to Baptists what Calvin is to Presbyterians, what Wesley is to Methodists, and what Luther is to Lutherans. They define us and provide us with the language, nuance, and poetic notion of faith.

The famous Swiss professor of theology Karl Barth was once asked by a reporter to summarize the six million plus words of his multi volume magum opus Church Dogmatics. He replied very easily, Jesus loves me this I know for the Bible tells me so. 6 million plus words summed up in a song that anyone here, regardless of age or understanding can sing. That is the power of hymns. I pick the hymns very carefully, they are not happenstance or random notions. I know full well that years from now it will be all that you can do to remember one sentence from a sermon I preached but I full well know you will remember the words to hymns. I know that a wretched sermon can be transformed if the last hymn is a doozy. I can send you out with an uplifted spirit to such an extent that you may never even recall the level of disgust with a sermon. I learned this by mistake one Sunday in Rhode Island.

You will notice that the first hymn the last few weeks has been the Doxology, survey any Protestant worship service of the last 200 years and you will find that as the opening hymn. It became unfashionable for sophisticated churches like this one to open with the doxology around the 1940s but I am glad we have reinstated it. What a better way than to open up worship with a song of praise. So the next time someone asks you if we sing praise songs at SCABC you say with a sheepish grin, you betcha.

This summer I purposively chose all of the old Baptist standbys to sing on Sunday morning. My church, as far as I could tell, did not have the demarcation between Sunday morning hymns, Sunday evening hymns and Wednesday evening hymns we simply sung them all regardless. Although we were at a usual summer time attendance level you sang as if there were 200 people in attendance. I am sure ones walking by on the avenue thought that revival had broken out, maybe it did. Those who never sing were singing, no one needed a hymnal, and these walls were reverberating with joy.

When we sing hymns I am told that all of reserves are down and we are at our most vulnerable, even more vulnerable than when we sleep. I know this is true because sometime during the singing of a hymn it is all I can do to hold back the tears. In the moment I am standing present with my great aunt, my mother-in-law, my father. One of the saddest moments for me as a pastor is planning the funeral of a beloved member and the family looks at me with blank eyes when I ask them what hymns they would like to sing at the service. How many of you have been to a funeral and wondered why didn’t they sing O God Our Help in Ages Past or Children of the Heavenly Father? When Maggie Hicks told us all about her cancer and her decision to forgo treatment it just coincided with the Sunday we were singing Precious Lord, Take My Hand. I happened to look up at her and she was singing with all of her soul and crying with all of her soul. It was one of the most beautiful moments of my time as a pastor. Hymns function not only as our prayerbook but as a primary source for theology. Our hymnal mirrors our congregation in that every genre of theology is represented in our hymns. But when are backs are against the wall, when the way looks dim we don’t quote Augustine or Roger Williams we sing Be Thou My Vision Precious Lord or Take My Hand.

During one of my many Fridays spent in the American Baptist Historical Societies’s collection of the Walter Rauschenbusch material I stumbled upon a hymnal. At first I thought it was just a German hymnal from his past either growing up in Rochester, NY or as a pastor in Louisville, KY or New York City. But at a closer inspection I discovered it was a selection of hymns Rauschenbusch had collected. It was a hymnal of social justice hymns. He knew very well, as a Church historian, that the best way to get the message of the social gospel into the hearts, minds, bodies, and souls of Christians was not through sermons or theological works(as important as they were) but through song. He knew very well that the best way to incorporate the message of the social gospel was through hymns. We cannot imagine the social gospel without Where Cross the Crowded Ways of Life or O Master Let Me Walk with Thee or the penultimate example of God of Grace and God of Glory.

For that matter try to imagine any Christian attempt at renewal without a surge of hymnody. The Reformation without A Mighty Fortress Is Our God, the Civil Rights Movement without This Little Light of Mine or We Shall Overcome. The two go hand-in-hand; they build and feed off one another.

This church amazes me with your ability to make music and sing. It does not matter if you have either heard of a hymn or it is one that you do not like you will sing it and sing with great gusto. I ask that we continue to add to and expand our repertoire of hymns. I am not asking for screens, keyboards, and song leaders with highlighted hair. But I am asking that we loosen up our musical expressions. This is New Orleans and we need to find a way to incorporate on a more regular basis the jazz and gospel traditions of this city. Not for the novelty of the idea but to help our worship of God. We will need to learn new hymns so we can acquire new metaphors and poems about the God we are seeking to serve on this earth. Our goal, to quote Jaroslav Pelikan, is tradition the living faith of the dead not traditionalism the dead faith of the living. There will be choices in hymns and music that you may not like but during those moments look around and find that person who is being lifted up because of that hymn. We are going to sing this church into a new creation and you are going to sing yourself into a new and deeper relationship with the Living God.

In December of 1981 during an anti-guerilla operation in El Mozote Salvadoran armed forces killed at least 200 and possibly up to 1000 people as part of the tragic El Salvador Civil War. 1993 a reporter for The New Yorker Mark Danner revisited the massacre and retold the story by interviewing both villagers and soldiers. One story in particular still haunted the soldiers. The majority of those killed that terrible day in December of 1981 were women and children who were primarily Evangelical Christians. One small girl survived the initial round of killing. The soldiers found her curled up singing, to their ears, the strange sound of evangelical hymns. They shot her, point blank, but she kept singing, they shot her again, point blank, but she kept singing. Then the soldiers unleashed their fear on her until she was died.

There is no way that the little girl knew she was reinterpreting a tragic scene in the formative years of Christianity when the martyrs were being killed in the Roman Empire. But she was doing just that. She was singing because it was the only comfort she could find, her only self-medication to drown out the death around her and her own forthcoming death. Her, an anonymous figure in history, changed the lives of the soldiers by singing for it forced them to see her/to hear her as a human being. It still brings fear into their hearts when they retell the story and still brings healing to the community when they retell the story.

I pray that none of us every have to be in her situation. But I do pray that our songs are songs that she sings too. I pray that our songs never over look her suffering and injustice. I pray that the songs we sing bring us into closer communion with her and with all who suffer and lament. I pray that our songs will expand our hearts, conscientize our souls and tenderize our wills. If we are going to sing ourselves and this church into a new existence may indeed God be glorified in our music. Amen and Amen.

2010 Book List

2011-01-29T18:21:00.001-05:00

This is a post for my own referencing.

1. Preaching from Memory to Hope / by Thomas G. Long.
2. The Taste of Death / by PD James.
3. Service of All the Dead / by Colin Dexter.
4. A Young Person's Guide to New Orleans Houses / by Lloyd Vogt.
5. Arthur Hardy's Mardi Gras Guide 34th Annual Edition 2010 / by Arthur Hardy (magazine I know but it was too good and helpful not to include).
6. Rising Tide: The Great Mississippi Flood of 1927 and How It Changed America by John M. Barry.
7. Song for My Fathers: A New Orleans Story in Black and White by Tommy Sancton.

2011 Books

2011-01-29T17:57:00.003-05:00

I finished my first book for 2011, it was Freedom by Jonathan Franzen. I do not have the great goals of 100 or even 60 books for 2011 I am simply going to read what I can read and see what happens. The only specificity of 2011 is to read one major novel a month, read at least one classic selection, and as much Paul Tillich as possible.

Freedom I do not know why I picked it, perhaps b/c everyone else was reading, perhaps b/c everyone was talking about it. Overall it was an interesting. I kept fearing for a time that I may be Walter, but after the first 100 pages my worries flew away like a warbler. Unlike other reviewers I did not find it to be high literary quality, I appreciated the extended metaphors and development of characters. I finished the book for two reasons: one, I was determined to finish it; and two, the more I read the more it caused me to reflect on my own family of origin and the ways I interact with my children and wife.

Would I recommend it? Yeah, I would.

Item for your calendar

2011-01-26T11:58:00.003-05:00

Everyone in blogdom the VOR (aka Material Girl NOLA) has almost completed her outfits (2) for The Second Annual Recycled Fashion Show with items from the Bridge House Thrift Stores. Follow the link for more information. The outfits will be auctioned off after the fashion show, all proceeds will benefit Bridge House. I am going out on a limb here i know but if you print out this blog entry and bring it to the event it can be redeemed for a free round courtesy of yours truly.

Christian Practices II: Saying Yes and Saying No

2011-01-23T15:16:00.005-05:00

I had the flu like symptoms this week that unfortunately came on with a vengance on my two writing days (Thursday and Friday). So I had to rely on notes and some embryonic thoughts to get me through. I am not qualifying the sermon but simply stating sometimes the week doesn't go like you desire, sometimes you have to trust your research and the writing practice.

Christian Practices: Saying Yes and Saying No
The Third Sunday after the Epiphany – 23.Jan.2010
Isaiah 9:1-4; Psalm 27; & Matthew 4:12-23
text: “he saw two brothers…” (Mt 4:18)
The Rev’d G. Travis Norvell

Despite the old url address for New Orleans: www.cityofno.com it is anything but. It is truly the city of Yes: another beignet? Another cup of café au lait? Another roast beef po-boy with dirty fries from Mahony’s? Another fried chicken leg, another cup of gumbo, more boudain, another round of Abita, would you like to go to the Saints game, would you like to come over for dinner tonight, do you like ice cream, would you like to go to the park and pass baseball, how about golf tomorrow, do you want a pair of Jazz Fest tickets, and so on and so on. This is the city of Yes. Therefore this sermon may be a hard one to swallow or at the very least a difficult one to wrestle with. For as Christians one of the hardest tasks for us to undertake is the delicate balance between learning when to say yes and when to say no.

This morning we continue our exploration of Christian Practices with saying yes and saying no. I have chosen to employ practices rather than discipline on purpose. Although I believe these practices are disciplines that we all need to incorporate in our lives, however, we need to adopt the freedom and playful quality of practice in our incorporation of them. These are not easy practices to adopt: discernment, saying yes and saying no, singing, honoring the body, observing Sabbath, testimony, and forgiveness. They require a great deal of commitment and intentionality; expect to trip, fall down, and stub your toe as you invite them into your life. I am challenging us all to use the season of Lent as a season of experimentation and exploration of these seven practices; it is not a throw down but an invitation to break up into small groups with specific purpose of trying one of these practices on for 40 days. You can have any room at any time in this building, feel free to think outside of this building: a coffee shop, a living room, a publick house (this is New Orleans after all). Experiment and push yourselves during Lent and see what happens. But know this, in order to make this work, in order to say yes to this challenge you will have to learn to and say no to other activities, demands, and requests of your time and energy.

Along the shores of the landlocked freshwater lake in northern Israel, the lake that the first century Jewish-Roman historian Josephus called it the ambition of Nature, along the lazy lapping waves of the Sea of Galilee two fisherman prepared their nets for another cast. Their skin was tanned, their hands were rough, but their hearts were soft. They knew he would come, well they hoped he would come. John had told them about him, but he did not describe the Messiah in physical terms he described him in poetic terms as the great light, the dawning light, as fire, as water, as one who would turn our lives inside out. Then one day he emerged, unbeknownst to all others, some had seen him in the wilderness but they were not on the shore that day. Then he found them and offered one of the greatest translated invitations in the English language, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men.”

The phrase – enticing, mesmerizing, strange, intriguing, odd, just odd enough to get your attention, just odd enough to shake your innards just a bit. But it aint enough is it? As poignant and luring it is on face value I don’t believe it happened that way. I believe the invitation hooked them but there had to be more – their hearts were ready, their souls were expectant, their bodies were pregnant with hope they needed one more bit to reel them in. Exposed and vulnerable they looked to Jesus and without words said, Show us something beautiful. Then the poetry, then the vision of the kingdom, then the foretaste of glory divine. Between the invitation and the following sentence, “straightway the followed him” we have to take up the imaginative act which the late 18th century poet William Blake all invited to undertake, read the white not the black in the text.

We all know none of the disciples had any idea of what were the implications of their decision, their yes, to follow Jesus. It was a gamble to follow the man from Galilee but it was a risk worth taking. I find their acceptance of Jesus’ invitation as the moment to view the disciples throughout the gospels. Many people will argue that only when the experiences of life, only when people are in the midst of the tempest, only when they are struggling with God and life can one make a proper assessment of what someone is truly made of. But why not make the proper assessment when someone is acting out of their deepest hopes, dreams, and desires of true life? So do we judge the disciples by their actions during the crucifixion of Jesus or when Jesus called them? I offer latter as the appropriate lens or prism. They had no idea of what the future held for them, they were only on the shores of destiny, yet they knew they had to act and act decisively.

Where will our yeses and noes lead us? That is the great mystery and excitement of life for we do not know and dare I say I do not believe even God knows. I do not believe God foreordained the days of our lives – the biblical witness is a covenantal relationship cut with the understanding of mutuality; we are co-creators! In every situation rather than controlling the unfolding hours God stands with and by us expectant and hopeful of our yeses and noes.

Lost in the barren wilderness are the words and actions of John the Baptizer (I am sure the rocks and trees recorded them but they have yet to speak). We can only rest in the simple hope that he tempered and tenderized the hearts, minds, bodies, and souls of those who found hope in his message. As luring as the call of Jesus was and is, there had to be more, there had to be some prep work – like all autobody repair 90% is prep work. Something or things precluded Peter’s and Andrew’s yes to Jesus. As I am sure something or things precluded your yes to Jesus – the love of God showered through your grandmother, the fantasy of the poems in the hymns, the grandeur of the house of worship, the loss of a loved one, the termination of a job, something caused or will cause a small crack in our defenses of self and perception of life. For the disciples it was the forces of Roman occupation and domination – the legion crush upon their way of life, freedom and souls – something had to give. Their cities were transformed and renamed; their Temple was desecrated. Daily they saw the image of Caesar minted on coins and with every passing hour they witnesses the crumbling of life. There were other voices in the wilderness for sure: armed resistance, cell groups, alternative ascetic breakaways, philosophical departures, and full assimilation. Into the hungry eyes of Peter and Andrew, into our hungry eyes Jesus looked and with his message, his vision, his healing, his teaching, his embracing, and love he showed us something beautiful. Our only answer was yes.

What did they say Yes to?
A Yes to Jesus and his beautiful message was a No
To armed resistance and further fragmentation of life
To the madness around them
To alienation
To meaninglessness
To heartbreak
To apathy

Sure I am projecting onto them but the stories invite if not demand our projections; especially if we are to enter into them with open hearts and tenderized souls.

Place yourself there along the shores and discover again what you said yes to.

As the water from the sea lazily lapped around their ankles, as the sun beat down mercilessly on their backs, as they wondered if the next cast of nets would yield a catch Jesus found them – did he know their names already (had John told him), did he whisper the invitation like a goodnight kiss or did it possess volume like a dinner party conversation or did he shout it like a fully blossomed lily? Once the invitation was offered it could not be taken back. We know it found welcomed ears but how welcomed? Did they fall backwards into a sea of grace like a child on a playground, did they lose their breath like an extinguished candle, did their hearts stop beating like the end of a breeze? They said yes to Jesus with their lives, with their feet, with their smiles and with their hearts.

In some small way we need to periodically revisit our call to Jesus, our Yes to God it is our primal response to our desperate need of love, comfort, and grace; whether it took place when we were five or 50. We also need to revisit our noes to God throughout the journey for they are just as important! When did we say no to God and why? Only overtime can we assess whether our noes to God were genuine sounds of protest or whether they were masks of our fears. Only be revisiting these foundational choices over the course of our lives can we see the presence of God with, for, and by us. Rest assured as disciples of the Living God we will make wrong decisions we will say no when we should have said yes and we will say yes when we should have said no. But our choices are wrapped in redemption, we have the ability and capacity to right our wrongs and work towards the healing of the wounds we have caused.

Our yes and no to God is a response to trust a trust that God is God, a Loving God, a God of Life, and a God of Mercy. And so we can pray with Thomas Merton:

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going.

I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end.

Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so.

But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you and I hope that I have that desire in all that I am doing.

And I know that if I do this, you will lead me by the right road although I may
know nothing about it.

Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death, I will not fear, for you are ever with me and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

We are saying and hoping Yes to that kind of trust, even if we do not posses it ourselves at this moment for we know it will emerge.

Since my time here I have been amazed at the demands and requests for my time. It has been a steep learning curve on the wisdom of guarding my time for study, writing, spending time with church members, and finding the quiet for discernment. Let us be fully honest about our situation we are a church with its back against the wall. Our immediate and long-term survival depends on the right choices that we will make over the next months.

What are we going to say yes to and what are we going to say no to? We will need to say yes to growth & new life according to the values of our rich traditions of living and life giving worship, openness, critical biblical study, honest scholarship, innovation, social justice, and loving hospitality. What is going to make us younger, how are we going to invite new and younger families, how are we going to move from maintenance to ministry? We will need to say yes to these tough choices. We are going to need to find the right kind of person who will say yes to our living and life giving traditions but these people will also need to be patient because it will take time to create this new generation and community of the congregation and they will need to be creative because we are going to need their creativity, energy, and enthusiasm. Those people are already finding us and we are going to be more intentional about finding them.

As I am coming to a close I ask that more than anything we say yes to foolishness! No I am not advocating for buffoonery in the pulpit or Galagher gags around the communion table. But I am advocating that we all embrace the foolishness of our message for some it will sound nothing more than foolishness that we are going to turn this church around, that we are going to bring in new young families, that we are going to find new life and find it in an abundant manner. And do it all while maintaining our values. But we are. We going to do it because we are going find, muster and employ the moral courage to say Yes to this vision of God. I came here with a vision of an embracing and intentionally open community of faith. I came here with a vision of a Baptist cathedral. I came here with a vision rebuilding a church not just for the time I am here but a church for future generations to enjoy and find grace. Whose with me? Will you help me make this dream and reality?

Finally, let me close with a prayer from Mother Teresa for in many ways I think it is what we are saying yes to. For even if we cannot concretize our visions we are going to move forward…anyway.

People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered. Forgive them anyway.
If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway.
If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies. Succeed anyway.
If you are honest and sincere people may deceive you. Be honest and sincere anyway.
What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight. Create anyway.
If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous. Be happy anyway.
The good you do today, will often be forgotten. Do good anyway.
Give the best you have, and it will never be enough. Give your best anyway.
In the final analysis, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway.

Amen and Amen.

Fountain Pen Adventure Part Two

2011-01-18T18:00:00.004-05:00

Last year for my birthday the VOR purchased me a "starter" fountain pen, the waterman phileas kit. It was a great pen and I only ruined one shirt in the course of six months (my fault I left the cap off and put the pen in nib first, plus I didnt like that shirt anyway). But sometime in the last few weeks between my home office (which basically means every room in the house) and the church office my pen went AWOL.

Rather than purchase another phileas i decided to use the wonder of this thing called the world wide web and "research" fountain pens under $50. I searched and searched before deciding on the Lamy Safari, another starter pen. It is made out of plastic, has a large clip and offers you the choice of several bold colors. I decided to pick the most outlandish pen I could find: bright yellow. One, who wants a bright yellow pen and two, it is harder for me to misplace.

Thus far I have enjoyed the pen, the way it feels, the ease of writing, and the fine craftpersonship for such a inexpensive pen. Did I mention it only cost $23.71? Thank you Goldspot Pens.

Discernment

2011-01-16T15:54:00.007-05:00

No standing ovation but a gentleman in the congregation who usually marks up my sermons (printed copies are available before the service) said there was no need for one mark this morning!

Christian Practices I: Discernment
Isaiah 49:1-7; Psalm 40:1-11; John 1:29-42
text: “He said to them, ‘come and see.’” (John 1:39)
January 16, 2010 -- Second Sunday after the Epiphany
The Rev’d G. Travis Norvell

On April 3, 1968 at the Mason Temple in Memphis, TN the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr delivered his last sermon. He began his last paragraph with these sentences, Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn't matter with me now. Because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will.

I just want to do God’s will. After the 16th Street bombing, after the dogs were unleashed, after the hoses were turned on, after the stabbing, after the death threats, I just want to do God’s will. The words may sound contrite, canned and devoid of meaning. I just want to do God’s will a phrase tested, tried, and trued, wrought out of the lived crucible of the transforming, violent, and societal changing Civil Rights Movement. I just want to do God’s will. I would say that is the desire of all us collectively and as individuals, that we just do God’s will. How to do God’s will has been a difficult, thorny, and vexing problem for the ages. I offer King’s life as one of perspective of a life that promoted the fruits of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance. The process of discovering God’s will, of aligning our hearts with God’s is the work of discernment.

Ed Rogers, Jr, a Catholic layman who teaches at the Methodist (for now at least) institution The Claremont School of Theology along I-210 between Los Angeles and San Bernardino defines discernment as, “the intentional practice by which a community or an individual seeks, recognizes, and intentionally take part in the activity of God in concrete situations.” I surmise his definition is what we all desire in our lives as individuals and as a church. The operative word may be discernment but the ground level question is what is God’s will for my life? Does my life have any meaning? Why haven’t I found what I’m looking for?

To all of these questions Jesus offers the invitation, “come and see.”

It is an invitation to a deeper, truer, and more authentic life. Look around at your life, the lives of others, and the life as portrayed in popular culture how much of it is the result of response and reaction rather than discernment? Our goal as a follower of Jesus is to discern the life giving ways of the Spirit for ourselves, for our church, and for our world. Our work is to seek and find where God is at work and where God is calling us to work so we can take part in the activity of God in concrete situations.

This morning we begin a seven-week sermon series on Christian practices. We is intentional. Seven weeks of sermons then during Lent I want everyone to break up into small groups and experiment with these seven practices until Easter, more on that later – just a heads up to pay attention! You will also notice that this sermon is a collective sermon about this church, please insert yourself instead of church as you wish. But discernment without the presence of a community is thin discernment. One of the gifts of Christian practice for this rebuilding of this city is the very gift of communal discernment, where two or three are gathered… The seven I have chosen are neither exhaustive nor exclusively within the purview of Christianity but they are representative of the elements of the community we are seeking to rebuild, foster, and nurture as individual followers of Christ and as a gathered community with the name this church. The seven: discernment, testimony, forgiveness, singing, saying yes and no, observing the Sabbath, and honoring the body are examples of an intentional approach to the practice, expansion, and cultivation of our faith.

We begin with discernment.

In 1995 the late Phil Hartman produce, in my mind, the greatest comedic skit of the 90s for SNL. It was an acting class and he was the teacher Bobby Coldsman. As Mr. Coldsman he informed the class of his acting genius in one simple exercise. Learning the difference between nothing and something. None of the students got it and Coldsman continued to roll his eyes at their lack of comprehension. I have held onto this image for I think it is the metaphor for us as we move forward, discerning God’s will as a choice between something and nothing – even when both look exactly alike. Moving forward I propose we switch from being a church where the expectation is to be served to a church that serves. We can take no one who walks through our doors for granted, we can take no one who reaches out to us or who we reach out to for granted. We cannot take our message of good news or the way we communicate the good news for granted. Discernment is a process but we cannot simply sit down and wait for it to come, we will have to learn on the fly, in moment, and through our mistakes what God is up to with us both as a church and as individuals.

Suffice to say discernment aint easy, regardless of the magnitude of the decisions. There are decisions that arise from moments of comfortability: is she or he the right one for me? Is he or she the one I want to spend the rest of my life with? Do I take this job or this one? Black pants or blue jeans? Crab cakes or steak at Clancys? Then there are decisions from the darkest parts of life: how do I get out of this relationship? Your told of being laid off, now what? Then there are decisions that come like a thief in a night: chemotherapy or no treatment at all? Do we remove the ventilator? All require a moment of discernment. All demand of us a decision, not reactions and not simply responses but decisions made with the help and aid of Christian discernment.

Nearly 2,000 years ago people in Palestine struggled mightily for both survival, age expectation for males was only 35 years old, and for meaning. The marketplace, the agora, of ideas and responses to Roman occupation were legion. Each group, ideology, and movement offered creative ways of resistance: general social banditry, brigands of bandits, messianic movements to restore popular kingship, the rise of prophets and prophetic movements, the Fourth Philosophy, the Sicarii, and the Zealots just to name a few. Would folk participate in clandestine plans for overthrow, would the masses rebel, or were the demands of life too taxing, literally, to fight, think or even respond? Into this confusing, pulling, and life-threatening world our Saviour was born, nursed and raised. Daily he sat at the feet of the stories which kept his community sane and on going. Surely the recent lore of the Hasmoneans were present, surely the stories of Isaiah and Jeremiah were there, surely the psalms were prayed, surely the meta-stories of the patriarchs and the little traditions of Elijah and Elisha were told, re-told, and re-told until they were no longer stories told but myths that shaped and formed who one was.

One day, nearly, 2,000 years ago two men were enjoying the afternoon when one crazed, prophetic, and mesmerizing man, John the Baptizer, saw him again. He had seen him yesterday, he had baptized him the day before, he had witnessed the presence of God overtake him just the day before. When he walked by this time John’s spirit arose from the midday haze and exclaimed, Behold the Lamb of God. Like love at first sight, like the savory aroma of a home cooked meal (or bacon that a Sunday School class cooked for breakfast), like magnetic pull from the depth of their souls Andrew and Peter knew he was the way.

How long had they been with John? How many times had they heard him defer to the one who would come after him? How many times did John wonder if Jesus would ever come? It was time for Jesus to emerge and begin his ministry, a way of teaching, healing, embracing, gracing, loving, challenging, reconciling, breaking up, tearing apart, building up, restoring, shaping, and preparing the kingdom of God. For an unspecified period Peter and Andrew along with some others spent time with the Baptizer. I wonder if they were only in the Jordan valley? only in the desert? only in the unpopulated areas? With unknown words, stories, tales of dreams and temptations John taught these men and women till they were ready to discern not right from wrong but truth, truth when it breathes on you, truth when it walks past you, truth when it kisses, truth when it embraces you wont let go.

John had taught in ¾ time, he waltzed the early disciples with his poems of the world to come, of his hopes for a non-violent world that he knew would bring its violence upon the message/messenger of peace, of his historical rootedness in stories told long ago of a captive Israel. When Jesus came there was no time to waltz, they did not simply double their step to a jig in 6/8 time they jumped to compound triple time of 9/8, they were in the unfamiliar and unpredictable world of jazz and improvisation. They would follow Jesus’ lead, feed off one another, try and fail, fail and try again, they would pick up old standards and reinterpret them, they would cause dead #s to live again and cause alive chords to cease. They had to discern on the fly, in moment. Constantly readjusting what they knew in light of what Jesus was saying and doing. It was the speed, time, and rhythm of the kingdom. It is not always Amazing Grace, it is more like Blue Rondo a la Turk.

The major quest for Christian communities and followers of Christ is to constantly be engaged with one another to discern the will of God. We cannot look at our Christianity as if it were on auto-pilot. We cannot view the working out of our salvation as something that took place at revival when were 12, the old account may have been settled long ago but the world is still in need of healing, restorative love, and mending. In mid song we will have to adjust the time signature and dance anew over and over and over again. Discernment is a practice we are betrothed to now and forever more.

As moving and true our moments of salvation were I think they did us a great disservice as we have attempted to live out our Christian experience. I vividly recall as a teenager after my baptism looking at the pastor and asking, “now what?” Formation was something I learned on the fly, there were and still are many mistakes but I have serendipitously stumbled onto realms of glory with contemplative prayer, lectio divina, and spiritual direction. But all roads of Christian discernment do not have to be like State St. Drive, the road to my family farm in the middle of Upshur County WV despite its ruts, mud holes, and protruding boulders is still smoother than that road. The road of Christian discernment can be made smooth like the avenue with the aide of a community. We have each other, the collection of a congregation – the love and pain, the hurt and healing, the joy and tears of a people who have lived life head on, bull headed, been blindsided, heartbroken, awestruck, and walked this world east of Eden with heavy souls. We can discern together, we can lean on each other, we can pray for one another, we can be a sounding board for each other. We have a lot to learn from our Quaker brothers and sisters on consensus and the Jesuit way of echoing down.

Realize that we go forward with a hindrance, we do not have our Lord and Saviour walking beside us, we do not get to hear the nuance in his voice, detect his body language or receive his non-verbal communication. We simply have stories, wonder working stories – yes, but stories nonetheless. If we are going to take up the practice of discernment we will have get to know the stories. Our very own Rev. Dr. Paul Powell is now giving up his free time to specifically work on this very project – how are we going to undertake Christian Education/Formation in our day and time? How can we create situations for folk to spend time with the stories, folk who don’t have time, folk who don’t stories, our plan is not for the church we have here but for the church we will have.

I would like to close with a story from a parishioner from the church I served in Rhode Island. His name is Raymond H. Raymond is the sage of the congregation and a man I learned to love and admire more and more. I offer this brief story as an example of discernment, of learning on the fly, and discernment only available from life in a Christian community.

Driving back from a jazz presentation at the University of Maine one Friday night in 1968 the news was delivered over the radio that Martin Luther King, Jr. had been assassinated in Memphis, TN. Raymond thought all night about his response to the killing. The next morning he woke up his two daughters, one was Nancy who was here last January, and drove to the Church of God and Saints in Christ; and African-American church on the south side of Providence, RI. In the early 60s this church and the Lime Rock church shared choirs, church suppers, and studies. When Raymond and his daughters arrived, they were the only white people in the congregation, the pastor looked at Ray and asked if they wished to say anything. Ray responded, “Yes, there’s been a death in the family. We had to come.”

Not many times in life will you or I ever get the chance to say something like Raymond did. But we will get our chance, when history and time collapse on our shoulders, when a loved one is dying, when there has been a terrible quarrel between two lovers, when someone is begging for bread we do not want to offer a stone. We want to discern God’s will, we want to intentionally participate in the healing of God on this earth in concrete ways. We just want to do God’s will.

God in Jesus Christ is calling us to the intentional life of discernment, accept the invitation, “come and see.”

Why I Go to Church: Part I, because I love funerals

2011-01-07T12:20:00.003-05:00

On the fourth Sunday of Advent my dear mother-in-law died. She was 83 years old; she was a great woman and I will sorely miss her. One of the privileges of being the clergy person in the family is the opportunity to participate in and conduct funeral services. I honor this opportunity. But the experience is difficult, especially when you love the person so and are mourning yourself.

The experience brought to light several issues I have been wrestling with over the past 10 years.

1. I prefer for funerals to be held in churches, not funeral homes. I know it is easier to conduct the services and I know that majority of people who work at funeral homes are kind hearted good people. But a funeral home is not a place of worship. They are sterile environment and impersonal. They are not particular, comfortable, and equipped to honor the deceased with sacred music, prayers, and memorial words. If the family so chooses of course I will conduct the service and give it all I have. But I cant get over how the experience of grief can be assuaged by conducting the service in a house of worship.

2. This brings me to my second point. What if the family does not have a house of worship? I never have given this much thought but it was made more clear recently. Most people have some experience, even tangential, with a house of worship but most, these days, do not have the necessary ties that bind to a local congregation. I was amazed how quickly those ties can be loosened and nearly unrecognizable. At my mother-in-law's funeral the room was filled with people who at one point in their lives knew the ins and outs of church life. It is not as if they are all fuming mad at God or never had absent feelings in their hearts that only God can fill. Religious commitment takes time and intention. It is easy to move on, to misplace and almost forget to the point when there is a funeral the normal steps at planning and participating in a funeral service become unknown. I saw this as well meaning and lovely people struggled to find the right ways to express grief by the choosing of music and poetry that expressed for them the moment of loss and pain in their lives. The choices were fine but they could have been given greater expression within the Christian tradition.

In many ways this last point is a wake up call for me as a pastor. Perhaps religious communities are not clear about the depth of their religious traditions! What happens when people dont know Precious Lord, Take My Hand or Children of the Heavenly Father, or Be Thou My Vision? Well they turn to what resources they have collected in their lives.

3. I go to church because I want to be surrounded by people who are tied to a living tradition: the living faith of the dead. Because I want to be apart of a community that is going to sing, prayer, sermonize, and worship brothers and sisters to heaven. Because I want the organ to vibrate the pews, hymnals to be opened, prayers said responsively, folk to say thanks be to God after the gospel is read, to say the Lord's Prayer together, to know the 23rd Psalm in the KJV and know that is a psalm of David who also lost a son and knowing that changes the psalm in dramatic ways.

This is not a critique of my family by any means. I was proud of the way they came together, supported one another and held each other up during a difficult moment. I suppose more than anything it is a part of the mourning of my mother-in-law and an understanding of life.

Cooking Innovations

2011-01-02T21:17:00.004-05:00

As my athletic prowess has precipitously declined in the past few years the skill of cooking has just as precipitously taken its place. One of the most fascinating aspects of cooking is the art of making stock (except for the one year, probably the healthiest of my life, when I was a vegetarian). I love piling varied and sundry portions of bones in a pan, roasting them, de-glazing with wine, and then watching bones slowly break down, release their marrow, and gelatin to produce a blob of unspeakable goodness.

But the one consistent problem is the space a huge pot takes on the stove, having 5+ hours to watch a pot while there are so many cultural and sporting choices (I live in New Orleans for crying out loud), and the heat spread throughout the room (I live in New Orleans for crying out loud, it is humid in the bleak mid-winter!) So the other day a great friend suggested to make the stock like her brother does...in a crock pot. For the record I despise the crock pot it is too simple, takes too long to heat up, and does not have adequate temperature controls. But they are great for cooking red beans, soups and a pot roast. After pondering the ingenuity of preparing stock in the crock pot I decided to give it a whirl.

The other evening I bought a package of soup bones at Whole Foods (unfortunately, the sarcastic and over-the-top butcher waited on me). {Which by the way brings to mind the sad absence of actual butchers in modern life. There are all kinds of butchers and specialty meat shops but none of these men and women (as far as I can tell) actually cut and dress sides of beef. Instead the cut up designated portions of beef that were processed at regional meat processing plants. Go ahead and try to find fresh knuckle bones, rib bones, chicken feet, hogs feet, & etc. at your favorite locale to buy beef. Sure, they can special order it for you but it will be a few days and it will be frozen.} I also bought some beef stew meat. I chose to follow Gordon Hamersly's recipe in Bistro Cooking at Home which I love and use often but I should've known better, he always takes his food one step further than I my palate will allow. But if you need a basic intro to bistro cooking, wine pairings, cheese plate suggestions and why you should simply eat dark chocolate after dinner - this is your book.

Hamersly calls for the roasting of the bones and beef, the fat drained, pan de-glazed, then placed in the pot followed by the roasting of the usual vegetables,and...tomatoes which I knew was a mistake but I included them anyway. After which you de-glaze, place in a pot, fill with water and simmer for hours. But I placed all of the ingredients in a crock pot, set it on low, and went to bed. It was a great stock, lots of marrow, lots of gelatin, and unfortunately bizarre sweet tomato flavor.

Making stock in a crock pot is a great idea. I recommend that you bring the contents to a boil on the stove top first before placing them in the crock. I would also have a cup or two of water in the crock pot warming up. The only complaints I have with the methodology is that when you wake up in the morning the first aroma that meets your nose is that of beef stock which can and cannot be an exhilirating experience. Also, you are not able to lift the lid to let the moisture boil off.

Considering you do not have to watch the pot for hours, keep a watch on the water and not fill the room up with an excessive amount of heat I think it is a great idea.

Second innovation. Today i made the ubiquitious beer can chicken. I have made it several times but I never have been comfortable placing a beer can with a pop top inside my chicken. So today I decided to try to cut the top off with a can opener and viola it worked perfectly.

Now I mustn't end this post without two pictures of my favorite new culinary delights.

1. Boudain. This stuff is amazing! A friend of ours gave us some frozen boudain from cajun country. I thawed them out and grilled them. Amazing.

2. Cafe au Lait. I know most people know about this but what a wonderful treat every morning: French Market Coffee and Chicory with steamed milk. The perfect way to say hello to the new day.

Christmas Eve Sermon: When Hope and History Rhyme

2010-12-25T13:23:00.003-05:00

A brief introduction. Last year I decided to forgo the usual Lessons and Carols service for Christmas Eve. I have always found the service a little stale. It is great if you are at King's College, Cambridge, and all of the dignitaries of the town and university community come together, along with a live taping by BBC Radio, but you cannot replicate it stateside. By the way, at least one or two new carols/hymns/anthems are commissioned for the service. The energy, finances, and resources cannot be duplicated. So I jettisoned the service and modeled a service after the Christmas Eve service at Memorial Church, Harvard University, I'm not a Gomehead for nothing. This idea also emerged after the realization that people can hear and sing carols 24/7 from Thanksgiving on and Linus does as good if not the best job ever at retelling the gospel story. So here is a full and proper Christmas Eve sermon. I figure this is the one or two chances a good number of people are in church so why not give them something worth listening to; thus a sermon on peace.

When Hope and History Rhyme
text: “…from this time onward and evermore.” (Isaiah 9:7)
Isaiah 9:2-7; Psalm 97; Titus 2:11-15 & Luke 2:1-20
Christmas Eve 2010 6:00pm
The Rev’d G. Travis Norvell

Lord take our hands and work through them
Take our eyes and see through them
Take our minds and think through them
And take our hearts and set them on fire. Amen

Easter is the magical morn; Christmas Eve is the magical night. Only an angel or two shared the Resurrection; on Christmas night a multitude of the heavenly host along with the angel of the Lord sang in the birth of the Messiah. On Easter only three women reported the empty tomb; on Christmas night the shepherds in the field, the magi from the east, and the animals in the manger witnessed when the days were accomplished that Mary delivered the babe. The aura of this night is puzzling to say the least, for this night neither attained significance in the early church nor major status in the medieval church. Christmas as we know it is a modern phenomena. We can have Christianity without Christmas but not without Easter. Why then does this night above all nights still remain a high day in our religious sensibilities? Why does this night possess more promise than Easter morn? Why did the heavenly host sing with gusto? Why did men drop their livelihood and come to the manger? Why did nature honor the occasion with a new celestial body? Why does this night cause the range of emotions to well up within us? Why is this promise so prevalent tonight?

Every Sunday is a small “e” Easter; we continually celebrate God’s honoring of Jesus’s life by Resurrecting him with a strong hand, and with a stretched out arm. Only once a year do we celebrate a birth with all the promises of new life wrapped in swaddling clothes. Once a year the promises of new life once again cross the threshold, once again you and I and all of creation have another chance with the retelling of this story. Once a year our lives are reset: with the hope this year will be better than the last, this year there will be no deaths, this year love will flower, this year I will laugh more than cry, this year, this year will not be so damn difficult. That is the hope of Christmas, once a year we are reminded of not just of new life in the presence of the babe but of transformed life in the presence of the Christ.

In the 1960s before he died the theologian Paul Tillich proposed that we place a 100 year moratorium on Christian terms: love, God, salvation, grace, & etc. But he did not, whether intentional or happenstance, include peace. Perhaps peace was too important a word to cease using. Tillich knew the horrors of war; he was a chaplain in World War I; he said stated indeed there were atheists in foxholes.

Peace was too important to let go. Peace, I offer is what has brought us all here this evening because of the promise and prospect of peace; real peace both now and forever more. For in the birth of this child was the peace of God made incarnate, helpless, vulnerable, powerless, exposed, unprotected, and defenseless. Which simply means if peace is to come in our lives, if peace is to reign then we must help usher it in, care, nurture, cultivate, tend, foster, support and raise Peace within our hearts, within our homes, within our churches, and within our world. To put it more succinctly: on Christmas we are reminded that our lives matter and are needed for an approximation kingdom of God to come in our lives. On Christmas we are reminded that we are not automatons simply waiting for godot. On Christmas we are reminded that God did not create us without a greater purpose in mind. On Christmas we are reminded that the prospect and practice of peace is not out of step with the world but that the world is out of step with the Christian message. On Christmas we are reminded of why, as translated by William Tyndale, And straight way there was with the angel a multitude of heavenly soldiers, lauding God, and saying: Glory to God on high, and peace on the earth: and unto men rejoicing.

This promise, this imaginative prospect, this generative poem was not written on the shores of calm waters but in the midst of a living hell. It was wrought out the inevitable destruction of the northern kingdom of Israel and the southern kingdom as well. The thundering army of Assyria was surely on the way, the sure event of defeat and destruction was given. Would Israel surrender and become a vassal state? Would Israel align with other nations and mount a defense? Or would Israel trust in God and God alone?

Under these austere auspices the prophet Isaiah received his call and worked out his salvation. He was the one who spoke the word of the Lord, both uplifting and damning to the kings and people of Israel. The message of peace was clear throughout his message: swords beaten into plowshares, spears turned into pruning hooks, wolf and lamb, child and asp lying down together, and as tenor sang in the “The Messiah,” When every valley shall be exulted, every mountain and hill made low, the crooked straight, the rough places plain.

At one point it appeared the message of peace would prevail when Hezekiah was made king in 729 BCE. He was keen on religious reform, progressive thought, and engineering aptness. Upon his mantle the southern kingdom placed their summation of hope: For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace. Notice that the personal names are for God who will perform this through this person, they are not prescribed for the person. Hezekiah by all measures for kings was a great king, he ruled from 729-686 BCE but he did not live up to his promise. In 705 saw an opening in the Assyrian armor as his chance for Israel’s freedom. He entered into alliances with Egypt and Ethopia to counter Assyria. The prophet Isaiah went nutso. For three years he walked barefoot and naked as a symbol of what would happen to Israel if she entered into alliance with Egypt and Ethopia to fight Assyria. The message worked during Hezekiah’s time but the bond of trust had been broken. This act set off a series of complicated and historical events which led to the eventual destruction of the southern kingdom in 586 BCE when the inhabitants of Jerusalem were led off in chains to Bablyon.

The description and promise of Hezekiah would lay dormant for roughly 800 years until the early church began searching for the right words to describe the one whom God resurrected. Their words did not emerge from the shores of calm waters, as a people subjective to Roman occupation they searched for a proper way to not only describe and define but interpret they turned to the generative poems, primarily, of the prophet Isaiah. For Jesus was not the normal “ruler.” He did not participate in the warrior myth, he was not a general who led troops into battle. Ponder this for a moment not only was Jesus not a warrior but none of Apostles or members of the early church were warriors. Christianity was not an armed movement. It did not seek blood.
The authors of the gospels turned to Isaiah and woke up the dormant words for Hezekiah and transformed them as the titles to describe Jesus as Lord, and with the choir from The Messiah we sing: For unto us a Child is born, unto us a Son is given, and the government shall be upon His shoulder; and His name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The Mighty God, The Everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace. Or as John Wycliff’s disciples in the late 14th century would translate directly from the Latin Vulgate, Forsothe a litil child is borun to vs, and a sone is youun to vs, and prinsehod is maad on his schuldre; and his name schal be clepid Wondurful, A counselour, God, Strong, A fadir of the world to comynge, A prince of pees.

Isaiah’s poetry funded a Christian imagination of non-violence & peace for the new world to come. This book emboldened the creativity of an embryonic movement to see a greater vision. The prophet Isaiah enabled them to see beyond the war torn and crushing occupation of Rome, beyond the defeat Rome at all costs voices. Isaiah gave them the necessary imaginative seeds to proceed on with a non-violent movement. Christianity at its core has been, is, and always will be a non-violent movement heaven bent on changing the world, heaven-bent on making real a new reign of peace.

Every Christmas we are reminded once again that God’s Son, our Saviour is a Prince of Peace, whose kingdom is always but coming, and whose way on this earth is non-violent.

Yes there are wars and rumors of war. Yes there is still an enmity between you and I, between nations, between tribes, betweens clans, between peoples everywhere. Yes, nations need to be able to defend themselves. Yes, this is a troubling world with people who possess a singular vision to eliminate elements of western society. Yes, this is a fragile world with nuclear arsenals abounding and in production by unreasonable regimes. But is our only salvation to the world an eye for an eye? Our times were no different than those of Isaiah and of the New Testament – they were just as fragile and just as warring and yet they still had the confidence, albeit wavering confidence for sure but confidence nonetheless, in a greater vision then what they saw in their world: a greater vision for peace, real peace both now and forever more.

Our vision of peace is not passive, inactive, and acquiescent it is active, engaged and aggressive. Christian peace is not even the cessation of war or violence between people or nations. The angels did not raise their voices, the heavens did not create a new star and we are not gathered to celebrate a worthless vision of peace. Christian peace is in the words of the Apostle Paul, a more excellent way. Christian peace is the practice and implementation of the healing of the nations, of bridging the enmity between you and I, between you and God, and between you and yourself. It is about the increase of love of God, neighbor, and self. Christian peace is about praying for those who persecute us and loving our enemies both personally and abroad. It is about changing this world from the inside out. It is the active seeking out and practice of reconciliation, of healing the brokenness in our own souls and in the world we inhabit.

On Christmas we are reminded of the vision of Christ’s peace and the invitation to participate in its fulfillment. What is needed is a new human being, a new Adam, a non-violent way of life.

As World War I approached Harry Emerson Fosdick, the pastor of FBC Montclair, NJ, eagerly volunteered to promote the war effort. He traveled from coast to coast preaching at every fort and training facility he could to promote the war and civic duty of armed service. Then he took a trip to Europe before the armistice; he saw the blood soaked barren land of the Western front, the gas stained trenches, and the mutilated corpses thrown in mass graves. Upon his return to the US he vowed never again to be a pawn for war and worked like mad for peace. His stance was put to the test when the drums of WWII began to beat Fosdick angered the majority of his congregation, Riverside Church NYC, with his pacifism and calls for peace. We connect to his devotion to peace each instance we sing the second verse to God of Grace and God of Glory,
Cure your children’s warring madness,
Bend our pride to your control.
Shame our wanton selfish gladness,
Rich in things and poor in soul. Grant us wisdom, grant us courage,
Lest we miss your kingdom’s goal. Lest we miss your kingdom’s goal

For weeks and months and years the voice of violence, might is right, and war get the upper hand but for one night for one glorious and majestic night of Christmas, let us mimic the birth of our Saviour, let the message of peace seep into your heart, let it sneak into your consciousness, let it arrive unannounced into soul until you and I and all of the heavenly multitude sing in one accord, Peace on Earth, Peace on Earth, Peace on Earth.

Amen and Amen.

Stewardship Sermon

2010-11-15T10:47:00.002-05:00

A Church that Didn’t Get the Memo
Psalm 100 & Ezra 5:6-17
14.November.2010

Brothers and Sisters the Lord be with you.
And also with you.
Let us pray:
God of wisdom and life grant that we your children might know the vastness of your love, that your love has no end, that your grace can never be consumed, that you center is everywhere and your circumference is yet to be discovered so that we might live in this world as your children: loved, graced, forgiven, transformed, and healed. But Lord just as we seek not to take you for granted do not take us for granted either. We need thee, every hour we need thee. Do not hide your love, do not assume we will know about you and your love for us. In this moment come to us, speak to us through the scriptures and through life both now and forevermore. Amen.

If some authoritarian body were to write an official memo on church life today it would look something like this:

To Those Who Still Bother.

On average those in your situation close their doors at the rate of 75 a week or 4,000 per year. On average at the rate of 52,000/week of those who make up your houses of worship walk away from church altogether or 2.7 million per year. The median of those who still bother to worship is 75 a Sunday and their clergy are part-time. Of those who still bother to give 17% say they really tithe but only 3% actually tithe, the rest contribute 2.6% of their after tax income. Finally of those who still bother the recent Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life revealed atheists and agnostics know more than you about scripture and religious practices in America.

Good Luck.

J. Walter Knowitall

I am sure a similar memo was delivered to the Israelites after the Babylonian Exile. Their city was destroyed, their temple lay in charred ruins, there was in fighting between those who returned from exile and those who remained, there were those who said forget it and there were those who wanted more than anything to enter his courts with thanksgiving and praise. Eventually the Temple was built and with it Jerusalem was re-established. In the midst of the rebuilding project some Persian emmisaries asked the Israelites what on earth they were doing. They simply responded, “We are the servants of the God of heaven and earth, and we are rebuilding the house that was built many years ago…”

Last year our theme for our stewardship campaign was survival, simply put this church made it! Despite the storm, despite the loss of members, despite the loss of income, despite all of it, despite the discussions whether close up shop and relocate or dissolve, despite the uncertainty of the future of the city this church made it…and had the fortitude, courage, and audacious hope to call a new pastor. Now what?

Now what? This year I offer the Israelites’s answer as our answer, “We are the servants of the God of heaven and earth, and we are rebuilding the house that was built many years ago…”

Brothers and Sisters I ask that we live our lives and dedicate our hearts as if we didn’t get the memo, that we didn’t get the word that churches like this are not supposed to grow, succeed, or thrive. Churches like this are not supposed to focus on evangelism, stewardship, youth groups, small groups, prayer circles, reaching out to young professionals, build with and for college students, hopes a certain quarterback yearns some morning for his Baptist roots, logging in hours feeding the hungry, speaking up for the voiceless, basic Christian education, & etc. But that is exactly what we are going to have to do to get this ship moving.

We can all assert and assess that our sights are above the horizon, all signs are pointing upward: new members, increase in giving, and general sense of gonna make it.

We can all assert and assess that the needs are vast and numerous as we move forward. My thought it is to use every creative angle I can to network and leverage help and aide for this church. That means foundation grants, underwriting of programs and positions, seminary and college interns. I am going to lean on you for connections and support. I am going to lean on you for odd jobs and requests. Every day the Queen of England receives hundreds of letters – obviously she cannot answer each and every one yet she thinks it is important that each receive an answer she asked for a group of retired women to answer her letters for her. This group of women is called the Queens Ladies in Waiting. I need a group of “ladies-in-waiting” to help organize our membership lists, file away papers, help write grants, send out correspondences, make phone calls to simply say hello, check up on folk, & etc.

Paul Powell has volunteered to come on board at the start of year as a coordinator of Christian Education to help in this venture. I believe I have a post-seminary graduate intern lined up for 2011 (we need to come up with health insurance only). I believe I have several seminary intern for the summer. In the Fall an architecture class from Tulane will be looking at how to redesign our building space as a class project. And I am hoping for a few college interns in the Fall to help with the business aspects of the congregation. We are also applying for a worship and the arts grant to initiate a jazz and gospel Sunday evening vespers service or camp or early morning alternative service. We have to act like we didn’t get the memo that this type of work can’t be done.

After Christmas we are going to delve into a congregation wide study on Christian practices. Over the course of Lent I am going to charge the congregation to break up into specific small groups to experiment with these Christian practices then convene after Easter and share about your experiences. The hope is to jump start the experience and practice of small groups.

In 2011 I also hope to re-connect with our sister churches in Cuba, organize a mission trip to Haiti through International Ministries, and ask every person for every hour in worship you spend an hour in mission work somewhere in the church or in the city.

All of this will take money. We are a generous giving congregation. We are on target to give approximately $270,000 from members and supporters. For a church of 125-150 active members that is a phenomenal number. We are, I am, asking for everyone of us to continue to increase our giving as much as we can for the next coming year. If you have never filled out a pledge card I challenge you to do so this year. We need as accurate financial number more than ever to form our budget this year. Historically this church, like all churches has had a hard time fulfilling its budget. My research over the past few weeks revealed countless examples of pleas by the pastor to fulfill pledges in December. My personal goal is that we begin to change the church culture of giving. That at the end of the year when we have a surplus we do not reallocate it to savings but we have a grand/excitement filled meeting where we decide how we are going to give our extra money away to missions or fund new ministry initiatives. We have to change and act like we didn’t get the memo about how to live out our calling as Christians – I think it is our only way to grow.

In closing, let me share a story. The Sunday before I started Lou Irwin preached a sermon titled A Ministry of Reconciliation. It was a fine and proper sermon. But there was something about it that I didn’t like. I suppose it was the fact that it did not fit with my own hopes and dreams of helping to reawaken a Baptist cathedral. I mean you cant grow a church with a ministry of reconciliation. It is not like I didn’t feel an affinity, even a co-dream of a ministry of reconciliation but it just didn’t seem possible. Apparently no one from the search committee gave Lou the memo about how we were going to flourish.

A few weeks ago I began preparing for this sermon and this day by looking over historical documents of this congregation. I kept coming back to the mentioning of the dedication and naming of the baptistery, this is the formal Purser Memorial Baptistery. I googled, tore up the history and safe room, and asked everyone I could if they knew anything about the men for whom the baptistery was named. All anyone could tell me is that they were Baptist ministers. Finally I unearthed some stories, finally my birddogging produced a useful find.

David Ingram Purser and John Frederick Purser were brothers, both Baptist preachers and both served, primarily, congregations in Alabama. David Ingram was a Confederate solider of the Seven Stars Artillery company and was participated in 16 hard-fought engagements. After the war he started a business and became quite wealthy. In 1870 he was ordained and because of his previous success in business never accepted a dollar for his work as a pastor.

John Frederick Purser was a minister from the start. He always lived in the shadow of his older brother but all admit that David would never have been the success he was if it weren’t for John.

In 1906 Morehouse College, in Atlanta, GA, elected its first African-American president, Dr. John Hope. Sitting on the board who elected Dr. Hope was John Frederick Purser.

Neither in 1906 or 1925 when the baptistery was memorialized in the Purser name could anyone have imagined the ministry of reconciliation that emerged from Morehouse College. In 1923 Howard Thurman graduated from Morehose, went to Rochester Theological Seminary in Rochester, NY then onto Boston University to serve as Dean of Marsh Chapel. While serving as Dean of the Chapel another Morehouse graduate and Crozer Theological Seminary graduate (both schools merged to form CRCDS, my alma mater) was pursuing academic study, his name was Martin Luther King, Jr. These two men offered America the greatest ministry of reconciliation our nation has ever known. King was obviously the public figure but Thurman was the chaplain of the civil rights movement. King carried a copy of Thurman’s most popular book Jesus and the Disinherited with him wherever he went, it was in his briefcase when he was assassinated in Memphis, TN 1968.

In this simple and ornate baptistery, named for two Baptist preachers is a legacy of a ministry of reconciliation, it is our tradition and it is our challenge and charge as a community today. In this city, in our lives, in our world.

Stewardship is not about giving money to keep the lights on, to pay the pastor, to mow the grass although your giving does ensure all of that. Stewardship is about giving so that we can be the people God has called us to be, is desiring us to be, is challenging us to be. This congregation has a ministry of reconciliation. The memo says you cant grow a church with that tradition, challenge, and ministry. But we are going forward as if we didn’t get that memo. We are going to grow with integrity, with grace, with love, with an intentional ministry of reconciliation. Reconciliation is where God is at work in this world, may we be a part of God’s work too. Amen & Amen.

Bustin' A Move: The Need for an Expansive Theology

2010-11-10T22:15:00.003-05:00

This week I attended the National Council of Churches, USA, gathering here in NOLA. For the record I also worked at the church - had a meeting on Tuesday night, Wednesday evening stewardship program, Thursday lunch, and sermon prep for Sunday - so yes I was present but not fully present at the NCCUSA meetings. Nevertheless I am enjoyed my time there and thought it was worthwhile my time and effort.

I am still not fully sure why the meeting took place. I mean there was no real business done, there were no knock out drag out fights concerning statements, there were no designated business card exchanges. Yet at the end of the day I realized how parochial my own theology and Christian practice had become. I had forgotten the need and depth to say "Lord, have mercy" concerning the pains and sufferings in this world. I had forgotten how much I need the sense of one among many not simply an island. I had forgotten the need for solidarity with my Christian brothers and sisters in Cuba, Latin America, Africa, and Iraq.

I am not sure how these remembrances will work their way into my thinking and practice but I am glad they are rattling around in my noggin.

And, I was able to meet Minister Antoine Brown III.

13 X 9 = Love 4 times

2010-11-09T21:33:00.004-05:00

Yesterday, Monday, I began a new ritual of morning Sabbath practices. I placed a folding sports chair in the car, packed my journal, and spent an hour or so looking at the Mississippi River. It was a relaxing and refreshing.

After an afternoon with the youngest the time for a decision about what to have for dinner emerged; being my day off I like to use my time to cook. I decided upon lasagna. Now here is the catch I've never made lasagna. So I thought about what it is about lasagna that I love the most: the red sauce, the meat on the bottom, and the cheese mixture.

The sauce:

sauteed onions, green peppers, and carrots in butter.

Added some merlot for reduction. -- yes, unlike Miles, I cook with and drink merlot

Plopped in a can of fire roasted tomatoes.

Sprinkled some salt.

Placed it all in the blender till smooth.

In a separate pan I fried some turkey legs and ground beef.

Cheese mixture:

Ricotta tub, Parmesan cheese chunk, and shredded mozzarella and a whipped egg.

I assembled in a 13 X 9 pan first the sauce, then meat, noodles, cheese, sauce and meat, repeated again a few times then topped with shredded cheese.

baked for a good while at 375. served with some bread, salad, and wine.

It was so good I had 4 helpings. I couldn't stop.

Professional Sermon Writers and 40 Under 40

2010-11-03T11:55:00.002-04:00

In the Monday NY Times was the obituary of Theodore C. Sorensen, the former speech writer of President Kennedy.

In the past I have imagined, comically, of course, about the implications of pre-written or ghost written sermons. I have often wondered what it would be like if pastors actually had folk on staff who wrote sermon for them. I hope folk would not appreciate them, but I am not a 100% sure on that.

I take pride in the fact that I write every sermon I preach. I feel that each piece I deliver has the marks of my interest, curiosity, love, and life all over it.

Nevertheless I have to admit was intrigued by a line in Sorensen's obituary.

He spent most of the next four years working to make his boss the president of the United States. “We traveled together to all 50 states,” Mr. Sorensen wrote in his book “Counselor: A Life at the Edge of History,” a memoir published in 2008, “most of them more than once, initially just the two of us.” There was no entourage until Kennedy won the Democratic nomination in 1960. It was not clear at the outset that he could do that, much less capture the White House.

“It was only after we had crisscrossed the country and began to build support at the grass roots, largely unrecognized in Washington, where Kennedy was dismissed as being too young, too Catholic, too little known, too inexperienced,” Mr. Sorensen said in the interview.

In those travels, Mr. Sorensen found his own voice as well as Kennedy’s. “Everything evolved during those three-plus years that we were traveling the country together,” he said. “He became a much better speaker. I became much more equipped to write speeches for him. Day after day after day after day, he’s up there on the platform speaking, and I’m sitting in the audience listening, and I find out what works and what doesn’t, what fits his style.”

The last sentence in particular caught my attention. I am not advocating ghost sermon writers but what if a select group of people in a congregation was asked by the preacher to listen with critical and appreciative ears to sermons for a month of Sundays with the charged to discover what work and what doesn't, what fits the style of the particular preacher. I think that would be a worthwhile project.

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40 under 40 Last night I attended a reception, as an honoree, for the Gambit's 40 under 40. I was the only pastor in the group. Folk were slightly intrigued by my presence there. My running joke every time I go into a new store or make a large purchase is to ask, 'do i get a t-shirt with this?' 99.9% of the time folk usually smile. Only one time did someone actually give me a t-shirt. I was at an auto repair shop when i asked and the lady behind the desk replied, 'did paul tell you to ask? sure, what size do you wear?' Last night the 40 of us were awarded with a fantastic write-up, picture, reception, a certificate and you guessed it: a t-shirt. I was on cloud 9, I love getting new t-shirts!

As for the significance of the award I am happy that Gambit recognized the importance of an attempt to revive the soul of one congregation in this great city. The church is coming along well but there is still much to do before we reach critical mass (250), till then we will have to keep up the drumbeat of invitation and do whatever we can to get our name out there in the minds and hearts of people. I hope after folk read the article that when someone goes to bed on a Saturday night and they roll over to their spouse or partner and say I think I'm going to church tomorrow and the spouse or partner responds but you don't know where to go they respond yes I do. I'm going to try out St. Charles Avenue Baptist.

Why I Am Not a Kierkegaardian & other thoughts

2010-10-27T09:43:00.002-04:00

On Monday the VOR took a job as a long-term substituting teaching job at a local middle school which meant that I had the entire day to myself. I made filled the back of an envelope with projects and things I would love to do. But the house needed cleaning so I thought I would spruce up the place.

As I cleaned I realized how scattered my mind is. As soon as I started picking up magazines I began leafing through them searching for sermon fodder. As soon as I started sorting out cds I began searching for certain songs I had not heard in a while. Then it hit me how intentional one has to be if they want to clean the house. Then it hit me that I could never live up to Kierkegaard's famous maxium book title: The Purity of Heart Is to Will One Thing.

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Tonight the church I serve and Temple Sinai will gather for supper and then begin a study of the Parables of Jesus. If you are in the New Orleans area plan on stopping by. This may very well be the first ever co-congregational Jewish-Christian study of Jesus' Parables. My job is to provide a Christian perspective. The Rabbi's job is to provide his interpretation and to provide rabbinic parables that either challenge, illumine, or critique the parables of Jesus.

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Back to cleaning the house. My time picking up and following tangent after tangent provided me the first moments of quiet in weeks. Out of nowhere deep emotions of grief and sorrow emerged, affections I had not paid much attention to in a good bit. Amazing how my life has not provided the opportunities for silence and contemplation. As soon as I quieted my soul (even unintentionally) the very issues that were needing attention rose to the surface. Could this be why I have been on edge lately and not as compassionate and patience as I need to be? Probably so.

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Rangers win the series 4-2.

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I will be back in the pulpit this Sunday. After three weeks away I am champing at the bit to get back. The day is Reformation Sunday, the sermon is a back to basics offering.

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What I wouldn't give for a gallon of cider from Hill Orchard's in Johnston, RI.

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Finally, now that I am 36 I am finally giving up the aspiration to dunk a basketball (at least on a 10ft goal).

EmmyLou

2010-10-14T15:31:00.001-04:00

Several weeks ago a fellow Emmylou fan asked if I would post a link to his fanblog: 365 days of Emmylou Harris. I agreed but never did post it. Here you go Paul.

Preaching

2010-10-13T16:16:00.002-04:00

This past Sunday the church welcomed Rev. Dr. Charles "Chuck" Bugg as the Lee Preaching Series preacher. Dr. Bugg did a fantastic job, usually when I listen to colleagues I am thinking things like "I hope when I cross my legs my socks are long enough to cover the gap in my pants so no skin shows" or "please tell me I zipped up my pants" or "who turned up the a/c" or "why does so and so already napping" or "the church really should get a different colored carpet." But while Dr. Bugg preached I didn't notice my goofy grin, the tears that quietly fell from my eyes, or how loud I cackled. Yeah, he is that good.

Sad to say I never took a preaching class from him while I was a student at BTSR. We both arrived the same year, 1996. He felt some kind of bond with my class, he even attended our flag football games and rooted us on. One afternoon before a game Dr. Bugg was passing ball with one of us when all of a sudden Daniel Willis took off running and yelled, "hit me Bugg." We all fell over laughing and Daniel turned several shades of red when he realized what he said. That was a good day.

I recall my classmates on the days they had to preach in class - all dressed up and cotton mouthed. I scoffed at them for their pompousness. Outside I wanted nothing to do with preaching; inside I wanted nothing more. For me, the label of "preacher" was an insult, someone who couldn't make the grade in class, a second tier dude or dudette. After my second year I transferred to Colgate Rochester Divinity School to pursue studies in Yankeedom. It was the best decision for me and for Lori. I loved the liberation of the north. I soaked every inch of the culture up. But then came my senior year of study. What was I going to do? Apply to PhD programs or (gulp) preach? Slowly my hesitancy towards pastoral ministry melted, primarily thanks to Peter Carman (longer tribute here). If so, then I better sign up for a preaching class. I waited till my last semester and signed up for the only class available, with special permission I was admitted into Advanced Feminist Preaching (yes, I was able to skip right past the intro class). It was a fantastic class but I was in over my head. My classmates were better preachers and knew what they were doing when they got into the pulpit - that phrase "into the pulpit" has always bothered me but folk roll with it.

For two years at Athens Baptist I butchered my way through the lectionary; they were gracious people! At Lime Rock I started to find my voice as a preacher. Thanks to two people: Peter Gomes at Harvard Memorial Church and through the writing of Dr. Bugg - I read all of their books, imitated, and improvised.

When the moment appeared for me to pick my first preacher for the series Dr. Bugg was my first and only choice. He, graciously, agreed.

I am just through the first quarter of preaching (10 years, roughly 400+ sermons) with lots of room for growth and expansion. But I cannot get over how enjoyable it is to write and preach sermons. When people ask what I do I proudly say I am a preacher.