Louisiana Saturday Night

This past Saturday night I continued my Louisiana education by attending the LSU vs. WVU football game. I had been planning to attend this game since I accepted the call to New Orleans. I hoped to attend a LSU game last year but I was unable to do so.

Let me simply offer my impressions of the game and experience.

Saturday afternoon I left New Orleans for Baton Rouge to attend the game. The wife of a couple who I and the VOR have found to be great people and friends (side note to all the married couples with kids who read this blog: if you find a couple that you both like treat them like gold! If your kids like their kids then it is too good to be true!) gave me her ticket so I and her husband could attend (yeah I know I owe her big time). We arrived in the capitol city sometime around 4, if I am not mistaken. Within two and one half minutes after we parked someone yelled "tiger bait" at me since I was wearing a WVU hat and t-shirt. (I am of the pro-West Virginia and pan-Appalachia school of thought: it is one's moral duty to promote, defend, and cheer on all things West Virginia and Appalachia).

We moseyed on up to a bar to grab some lunch and a beer but learned it was an hour and half wait, so we moseyed next door hoping for better luck. The wait at restaurant #2 was 30 minutes, doable we thought. So we headed up to the bar, ordered a couple of bud lights and watched the alabama vs. arkansas game. We moved from the bar to the side for a little breathing room - unbeknownst to me we were also near the bathrooms. A few minutes later a college girl came up, started pinching me on the belly and saying "tiger bait, tiger bait, tiger bait." It was the most embarrassing moment of my 30s. I know my face turned 10 shades of red and I could barely breathe, my friend just laughed.

After another round we headed off near the stadium hoping to grab a bite around the student union. It is here that I need to insert my feelings of awe at the number of people tailgating, they were everywhere. Why someone would haul the amount of food, chairs, tents, stereos and yes large screen televisions for a few hours of tailgating is beyond me. I personally would not want to set all that up each week but I would I happily mooch off someone who had - I would probably even pay to hang out with them. I also need to insert how damn proper everyone was. I expected folk to yell and curse at me for wearing WVU paraphanelia, instead they all teased me with the constant "tiger bait" but they all said it with a smile on their face. One time I asked where the bathroom was located and one student politely directed me to the nearest lavatory. It was too bizarre.

Next year LSU travels to Morgantown. Several LSU fans have expressed interest in traveling up north for the game. I am advising them to think long and hard about this. Morgantown is not Baton Rouge and WVU fans are not like LSU fans. I am sure folk will yell and curse at them, throw beer on them & etc. And I'm not even talking about the student section!

About a couple hours before kickoff we headed towards "the hill" to watch the band descend and run into the stadium. I couldn't believe all the people waiting to watch the band, that would never happen in WV. Dont get me wrong the band was great.

After the band parade it was time to get something to eat. We settled on a stand outside of the stadium selling jambalaya and boudain balls. Since I did not eat lunch it was the best jambalaya and boudain balls I had ever had! (I could not believe there was no beer to go with it! Apparently you cannot sell alcohol at SEC games, which really threw me for a loop. I bet New Orleans folk go to games and think they entered bizarro world in B.R.).

We finally settled into our seats at the stadium to watch the game. After a few minutes I noticed a phenomena that made me feel right at home: Louisiana has just as many if not more rednecks than WV. As the kickoff neared the music switched from JayZ to Don Williams (now dont get me wrong I love Don Williams just as much as the next guy but it did seem a bit of a musical stretch to have those two played back-to-back. The selection: Louisiana Saturday Night.) Then an interesting seguey to Born on the Bayou by CCR then a flourishing finish with Calling Baton Rouge by Garth Brooks. Yes, everyone was singing and dancing and you can easily see why I felt so "at home." Plus the two gentlemen to my left could have easily been my neighbors back on Dry Ridge. These guys were loaded by the time they entered the stadium, luckily they were well past drunk by kickoff and had entered into the sleepy zone.

The game, it was sloppy and boring. The excitement the crowd exhibited was when the booed the quarterback and the constant calling of the option. My biggest surprise concerned the calmness of the crowd: I expected to stand for the entire game, cheer my head off, and go crazy. They were too polite!

Around midnight the game ended, we headed back for New Orleans, and listened to the post game shows. One of the last callers suggested LSU ask the baton twiller for WVU to try out for quarterback. The host did not like that suggestion and quickly ended the call but the caller had a point. During the halftime show the baton twiller threw the baton at least 45 yards across the field and someone actually caught it. I was amazed.

All in all it was a great time and I look forward to taking the family up for a game in the future. Thanks for the Louisiana Saturday Night.

The Benefits of a No-Trade Clause

On Tuesday my new cassock arrived from Bristol, England. I had to order a new one because my old one was well...too cheap. It adhered to my clergy shirts, it did not fit right, it formed a minor oven when worn, and held odors! (none of which are conducive for proper clergy-parishioner relationships).

So I ordered a new one of higher quality material, custom fit, and silky smooth sleeves. I tried it on yesterday and felt the wonder of it all. Wow what a fit and what feel. I think my slugging percentage may rise at least 5 % points with this new cassock. More than likely I will not premier this new clerical fashion until next Sunday - I dont care what type of material it is made out of, it is still 90+ degrees and humid like crazy outside. Perhaps one more week...

Now, to the title of this blog. The last time I ordered something from Wippell it was delivered on a Sunday afternoon! This time it was delivered on a Monday but the packaging slip caught me off guard. I can only surmise Wippell thought nothing as cool as their garmet could ever be delivered to a Baptist church, thus the address:

Despite my Anglican overtures I am in love with the Baptist fold, family, and faith. Despite their best attempts I have invoked my no-trade clause. I know they could use some help down the stretch as they prepare for the race at Advent but I am sticking with my tradition.

Religious Liberty and The Ground Zero Mosque

In response to this issue I wrote this op-ed piece that will be in tomorrow's Times-Picayune.

You're Here for the Fried Chicken?

Last night I returned from the New Church Leadership conference in Decatur, GA; I was there as part of the Center for Progressive Renewal as a participant of the Bridge 4 Faith program. It was a fantastic program. My goal as a pastor is to help in the revitalization of The St. Charles Avenue Baptist Church. I think I have good ideas, I think the congregation has great ideas but how to implement them? This conference gave me a notebook full of ideas and several pounds of nuts and bolts. I will prepare my notes into something accessible for a wider group over the next couple of weeks.

Odd how going to a different city and listening to new voices can enthuse and ignite you.

Here is the day-to-day

Day One, a nice drive from NOLA to Decatur. If anyone ever says there is not enough land for the citizens of this nation just show them Alabama - there were deserted miles between exits. I began to think what if I get a flat tire or run out of gas. I checked into the hotel and decided to go for a walk. Instantly I realized odd things: even sidewalks, large lawns, quiet neighborhoods, so quiet that my presence caused a few folk to peer out their window wondering what was going on. After the walk I moseyed over to the reception the conference had arranged. Side note -- If anyone ever wonders: what separates Baptists from other groups (this conference was largely a UCC event) it is the presence of alcohol. It was a nice change to see clergy having a casual glass of wine or even a cheap American beer. After the occasion I continued my exploration of the downtown area then returned for a good night sleep.

Day Two, lots of plenary sessions, workshops, lots of notes, and ideas. I began the day hoping to find some sausage biscuits and gravy; the hotel offered them but it was terrible. For dinner the Bridge for Faith group all met at The Watershed. Once we were seated our waitress asked if we were here for the fried chicken? But of course, even though I had never heard of this place if they have a special fried chicken night - I'm good. Sometime along the way I mentioned I came from New Orleans - this changed everything! Even though the mashed potatoes did not come with gravy the chef made gravy especially for me, he even came out and met me afterwards. I have to say Chef's fried chicken was the best I have ever had! hands down. Better than my mother-in-law's, better than my grandmother's, better than my wife's and I hate to say it mom -- but even better than yours. The meal was full of great conversation, food and libations. We all left way too full and happy.

Day Three, more great plenary sessions, workshops, lots of notes, and ideas. A good friend from Birmingham drove over for the supper. We ate at the Brick Store Pub (supposedly the #2 beer bar in America - quite a recognition for a restaurant without any cask ale! -- yeah, yeah I heard it too--they usually have it). They were out of Ommegang, so I settled for an IPA, chicken fingers, and fries (yes, I felt like a kid ordering that).

Day Four, I headed back home for New Orleans. From the notes and twitter feeds it looks like I missed some great stuff.

Lots of good people, good resources, and overall great time. Look forward to implementing some of the ideas now....

Rest, Relax, Renew why is this a problem?

i realize i was quite chatty last week on the blog. Sometime Friday afternoon it hit me why i was so giddy and relaxed: i was not preaching; the intern preached (by the way she did an amazing job!). Amazing how not having to preach totally changes the way one views and experiences the week.

All over facebook today friends and colleagues posted the NY Times article on clergy burnout. Why those of my tribe experience burnout, obesity, hypertension, diabetes and etc at such higher levels than other professions boggles my mind.

I look at colleagues who never walk away from their job, who trade their families for their jobs or who never cease talking about their job. I have had my moments of bringing my work home (solved by a new family rule - I cannot come on Friday till my sermon is done, I am not allowed to work on it at the house over the weekend). I have been known to have tunnel vision and only read theology books or only talk shop (the sudden lack of friends ruled this one out, I now keep up with athletic teams just to force myself from being one dimensional). I have even thought a meeting was more important than a baseball game (but coaching this year purged that idea from my head).

I am by no means a perfect model when it comes to health and well-being as a clergyman but I do think my approach is healthier than a lot of my colleagues. I do not know why they have such a hard time walking away from church work, turning the church work button off, or saying good bye to the office for a few days. It baffles me. I have fun at work, I love my job. But I have more fun passing ball with my kids and enjoy my time away from work.

I think about the historical nature of this job: did Jonathan Edwards, Elijah Craig, Lyman Beecher, Cotton Mather, or James Manning have a vacation or a sabbatical? Don't get me wrong I love and cherish my vacation time and am counting down the days till my sabbatical in a couple of years. What prevented their burnout? I think I know: they were multi-dimensional people with many interests and hobbies. They seemed to marry well, liked and loved their spouses.

Yet there is another reason for the lack of holiday. Being a clergy person right now is not the easiest profession. Most of us are working like mad to make it in this business. We all have old buildings, aging memberships, budgetary problems, staffing shortages and what not. There is the temptation to buckle down and work harder. maybe working harder gets more people in the door and more funds in the offering but if I lose my soul and my family what good is that?

Publish or Preach: The Teaching Ministry of Werner Lemke, an appreciation

I received word a couple weeks ago, via facebook that Werner Lemke had died of a heart attack while visiting family. Dr. Lemke was a giant of a man both physically and in a spiritual sense. From the first moment I talked with him I knew I was in the presence of an individual with the gift: the consummate professional, the apex of scholarship, the gentlest of human beings. He scared the hell out of me - in a good way.

CRDS was a loose ship when I arrived, except in Dr. Lemke's class. If class started at 10:00am, it started at 10:00am! If the assignment called for 100 pages of reading, you found a way to read 100 pages. The impetus was not fear but respect. You knew the man had poured his heart and soul into the lesson and he deserved the same from his students. If you opened up just a bit he filled it to the brim and then some. I can produce sermon after sermon on the book of Jeremiah from his Jeremiah class. He didnt beat it in or drill it in, he simply loved it in. He was an amazing teacher.

Then there was his briefcase. It looked like something from 1920s Egypt, it was huge and looked like it had been through war and back (given his life experiences it may have well been). It was cavernous and held a small library, papers, lectures, sermons, pens, and at least four sandwiches (this is all speculation but I bet I'm not too far off). I have looked in vain for a duplicate, perhaps it is fitting that there is only one in existence.

In class one day I asked why he stayed at CRDS all of these years. He replied that he had many opportunities to leave but his calling was to teach. The other opportunities carried a simple expectation: publish or preach. He chose neither, he chose to teach. Thank you Dr. Lemke for teaching. You were a great man and will be remembered always as so.

A Counter Intuitive Profession

It has been a great year thus far, a stressful year (every hair cut witnesses gray hairs), and a fast year. I am at least 10lbs heavier than when I arrived (like the Mike Myer's SNL character Middle-Aged-Man, 'I'm Workin' On It!') And I have at least enough material for three novels - yes, from just one year.

We have adjusted to Central Standard Time, vistas with no hills, valleys or granite outcroppings, french bread made by German bakers, chicory coffee, seafood, beignets (I can even spell that right on the first try), drive thru daiquiri shops, no open container laws, beer and wine at little league games, street cars, house rattling thunder storms, lighting that stays in the air long enough for you to snap a picture, lizards, spontaneous gatherings of friends, parades, marching clubs and dinner parties, Pimm's cups, people saying alright when i say hello to them, lack of New England apples, okra, jambalaya, gumbo - in all varieties, boudain - where have you been all my life?, people not planning, roast beef poboys, to name just a few.

But the hardest adjustment has been the reading the people at church while delivering a sermon. One would think people are people and how people interact with a sermon in Lincoln, RI or Athens, WV or St. Albans, WV or Scott Depot, WV or Rochester, NY would be universally, somewhat, the same. But they aint.

Everytime I think oh brother I really blew that the sermon. Or man hopefully they'll give me a mulligan. Or I hope the adage you're only as good as your last sermon is not true. This has happened a couple of times here recently but afterwards I find that what I was feeling was completely wrong. I have pondered this for some time: is the culture really that different? do they just not get me? do they not know what to do with me? is my style that different? Then this evening I came to the probably conclusion: I'm just not used to a church actually listening. This is not to say that every other place I preached in didn't listen or pay attention. Sure there were folk who would rake me over the coals or offer the best words of encouragement, or simply made me feel amazing with their compliments. But there is a level of difference when vast majority of folk actually listening.

On the one hand it would be great if they didn't listen that much (more room for half-hearted sermons, indeed). But on the other hand I am thrilled and intimidated that they listen. It makes the writing process much more enjoyable. What other art form has this kind of weekly feedback and interaction? What kind of artist has the confidence knowing that if he or she pours their heart, soul and mind into a piece of art a group of people will take their creation seriously? The job may be counter intuitive, but it is a fascinating job.

One year down, and many more to go...

A Biblical Mandate

We read in Genesis that one of Adam's duties was to name everything. Rather than a duty God did not have time for it appears God was anxious to see what Adam would come up with, So God formed from the soil every living-thing of the field and every fowl of heavens and brought each to the human, to see what he would call it; and whatever the human called it as a living being, that became its name. Everett Fox translation. You may recall season 10 The Simpsons where Homer (Adam) and Marge (Eve) disagree over the naming of a rodent. Marge: groundhog; Homer: "landmonster."



I suppose I have taken the biblical mandate of naming a little too far. I name rooms, nooks, even chairs at the rental chateau. At Lime Rock Baptist I had a contest to name the bell for the outdoor chapel. I even made up a holiday "The First Ever 28 days after WV Day Party" in an attempt to name the day.


This brings me to my current abode T-F and Sundays. There are multiple rooms and only a handful have proper names: The Harris Room and the Lee Reading Room. But I really think the offices, hallways, gates, trees, library, & etc. need names. I already have ideas for some it is just a matter of presenting them in the right way. I am also in the process of naming the small strips of grass as the North and South Lawns. My reasoning is that this place is too historic not to have formal and proper names. Furthermore, naming keeps memories alive and creates opportunities to tell the stories of this church and God's presence in them.

Any suggestions?

Publish or Preach: The Teaching Ministry of Werner Lemke, an appreciation

I received word a couple weeks ago, via facebook that Werner Lemke had died of a heart attack while visiting family. Dr. Lemke was a giant of a man both physically and in a spiritual sense. From the first moment I talked with him I knew I was in the presence of an individual with the gift: the consummate professional, the apex of scholarship, the gentlest of human beings. He scared the hell out of me - in a good way.

CRDS was a loose ship when I arrived, except in Dr. Lemke's class. If class started at 10:00am, it started at 10:00am! If the assignment called for 100 pages of reading, you found a way to read 100 pages. The impetus was not fear but respect. You knew the man had poured his heart and soul into the lesson and he deserved the same from his students. If you opened up just a bit he filled it to the brim and then some. I can produce sermon after sermon on the book of Jeremiah from his Jeremiah class. He didnt beat it in or drill it in, he simply loved it in. He was an amazing teacher.

Then there was his briefcase. It looked like something from 1920s Egypt, it was huge and looked like it had been through war and back (given his life experiences it may have well been). It was cavernous and held a small library, papers, lectures, sermons, pens, and at least four sandwiches (this is all speculation but I bet I'm not too far off). I have looked in vain for a duplicate, perhaps it is fitting that there is only one in existence.

In class one day I asked why he stayed at CRDS all of these years. He replied that he had many opportunities to leave but his calling was to teach. The other opportunities carried a simple expectation: publish or preach. He chose neither, he chose to teach. Thank you Dr. Lemke for teaching. You were a great man and will be remembered always as so.

The Final Out

Last night sometime around 7:00 I turned in my coaching bag, thus ending my time as a baseball coach. I decided to wait until now to share some stories from my experience.

1. I now have enough material for a book full of short stories!

2. I now know what it means to be god - not because I call the shots: who plays first and who doesn't, batting order, & etc - because I know the true meaning of frustration. Every game I seek to line the boys up and get them in a ready baseball position. But as soon as I get them lined up they break out: one kid starts digging a hole, one kid starts hugging second base, one kid is watching the train, and one kid is picking their nose. In this way I feel like God - a higher power who does their best to get people in a ready position for human flourishing but they reject it and do their own thing. I have three godly options: yell at the kids (the easy route) or leave them on their own and let them get hit by the ball or go over and get them in place again.

3. If you can get a kid to hit a ball or put them in position to catch a ball it can make their day.

4. Kids are more fascinated with watching the ball they just hit then making it safe to first base.

5. Finally, at the end of the day the only thing that really matters is the team drink. In my day we called it "Around the World" here they call it "Swamp Water."

Yet all of these experiences are almost trumped by the most bizarre occurrence that can only be described as one of those "only in New Orleans types" Beer and Wine for sale at the concession stand.