No School Christmas Party

It seemed wrong to do.  Should we really be encouraging our son to skip the fun and games of a 2nd graders last day before Christmas vacation? However, once the day was underway, it struck me of just how many simple decisions shape who our kids will be for years to come.  And how often those decision are shaped by the expectations of our community, rather than a thoughtful consideration of who we want our children to be.

I enter into a topic like this with some fearful trepidation.  I have seen enough to know there is no simple formula for parenting, and have no delusions that I have the nuances for optimal results figured out... but how do priorities encouraged in the 2nd grade play out into adolescence and beyond?

It was the week before Christmas, Jen's parents were here to celebrate Christmas with their grandchildren for the first time ever.  There were more things to do than days available, but we wanted to make the most of our ten days together.  If you know about our family, you know "The Woods" is a big part of our lives.  We definitely wanted Grandma and Grandpa to see the cabin we began building this summer, and experience our boys in their element.  However the only day it worked with my schedule, Jen's schedule, and holiday plans was the Friday before Christmas - Tobiah's class Christmas party (or whatever they were actually calling it...)

It was up to him; Christmas party with his class or family time at The Woods - what did he want to do, where did he want to be?  We left it up to him, but felt a little bad putting him in the position of having to choose.  In the end he was there with the rest of the family; making s'mores over the fire, battling his brothers with wooden light sabers, and enjoying a damp day in the wilderness with his family.  That's about when it hit me - this shapes the teenager to come.

If we had prioritized his school party over our family time now, it teaches values for years to come.  I don't want to make predictions of what teenage Tobiah will be, but he will be more likely naturally value family time than if we send the message that parties with friends have schedule disrupting value.  It will become part of who he is, just like kids who's parents watch sports, are more likely to value sports, or those who grow in a status seeking environment lean toward that value.  Yes, each of us is unique - and there are countless examples of teens who self-differentiate by heading in exactly the opposite direction (but then again, is that a value instilled by parents and surrounding culture) - but every move we make shapes the values and future of our children.

You'd be crying too!

No crying he made?  Really?  Come on - the writer of that carol couldn't do better than "away in a manger... no crying he made?"

Anyone who with a baby has politely discounted that line as poetic license for over 100 years... but my eleven year old son put the song in new light for me this year.  His observation, simple and profound, had nothing to do with the capacity of infant lungs to create sounds which demand the attention of any adult in the room, but rather what was in that little body.

All of God crammed into eight pounds of human tissue - now that would elicit some crying!  One minute you are all of all, unlimited in every way, and then, there you are, bound by biology, physics, and a puny human brain.  As earth's atmosphere fills your lungs for the first time, it is not a moment for peaceful reflection but a cry of eternal depth.  Not a cry of sadness, mourning, need or frustration, but a cry to release the shear adjustment of it all.

All the power of the universe and beyond, bound into the flesh of a baby.
That is the wonder of Christmas.

I hope you allow the power of Jesus to touch your life this Christmas.

Prattsville vs. Pompeii

Life left on the Kitchen Table

When I was in elementary school I vividly remember learning about the city of Pompeii, a city buried in volcanic ash, every detail frozen in time.  Working in the Prattsville four days after the destructive flooding of the town thoughts of Pompeii returned to my mind.  The homemade salsa finished the night before the flood was still on the counter; the jars covered in silt.  The child’s toy, under the coffee table, embedded in inches of heavy mud.  The flood was unexpected, there was no warning, no evacuation notice; time stopped and the destruction began. 

Main Street Prattsville

Arriving to this disaster zone, which was once a peaceful mountain town, a few days after the flood meant the initial triage was over, but now what?  Everyone on the mud covered main street was moving in slow motion past the destroyed houses and mangled businesses.  The immediate needs had been met, power lines cut, roadways cleared, water provided, shelter arranged – but now what?  It was like standing at the foot of a rugged mountain, how could you possibly climb to the top?  The destruction was so great, the mud so heavy, the debris so tangled. 

Stepping into the flood ravaged house, which a week before was a happy lively home for a young couple raising a darling toddler and expecting their second child in only three months, was an overwhelming experience.  I could feel a sliver of what Greg and Becky were dealing with, the question of “where to begin?”  When four feet of water flows through the first floor of your house it is merciless.  It mashes together the treasure with the trash, and when it is done it leaves behind a muck that binds it all together.  Everything but two laptops and a camera had been left just as it was, and thus destroyed.

Greg came downstairs Sunday morning, noting the rain, he started the day with a quick check of e-mail, Facebook and internet headlines.  After ten minutes online, he looked outside again and noticed water starting to flood main street.  He roused Becky, and in twenty minutes they were pulling out of their driveway through twelve inches of water; having grabbed only a few items from the house where they have lived for years.  As they left it was unfathomable to think of six feet of flood water rushing down the main street in a flow which literally rivaled that of Niagara Falls.

But how does one climb even the tallest mountain?  One step at a time.  And so we began on that sunny Friday morning; piece by piece to empty out the first floor of their house.  From cabinetry to Crocs, from water logged boxes of pasta to antique instruments, it all ended up outside on the remains of the driveway.  Once the belongings which had been reduced to refuge were removed, then we could shovel.  But you don’t cart a wheelbarrow through a home, so one shovel at a time the mud which effortlessly swept into the house was carried out so the house could begin to dry and undergo inspection.  Once items had been extracted from the muck and removed to a sunny place, Greg and Becky Town could recover the durable artifacts from their life; carefully placing them in plastic storage bins for a day in the future when life might return to normal.  They know there will be a day when once again they turn a house into a home.

It was only a start, but the climb up the mountain had begun.  It was a blessing to be part of the process of recovery which will continue for a very long time.  Ultimately every scrap of flooring, drywall, trim and cabinetry would need to be removed and replaced, but the house was no longer frozen in time.  Unlike Pompeii which was lost forever, Prattsville is on the path toward new life.

Pastors Greg and Becky Town
(with inspector - center)

Starting where you are at....

In a little over a week Pastor Dave and I will be spending four Sundays on Prayer 101.  In preparation for this, I have started asking people about their prayer lives.  Some of the spiritually vibrant people I know are conversationalist - living life with a heavenly dialogue within their heads.  Others stand in the gap, taking focused time praying for specific people who have a need.  Others are more meditational, trying to get out of the way to be open to hear from God.  Some pray out loud before meals, some have a time at the end of the day before they "lay down to sleep," some gather with others, while many are very uncomfortable having their prayers heard.

What strikes me when I consider myself, and when I listen to others - where we are at is great, but there is so much more.  Within myself I have been applauding the prayer lives of those I talk to, any conversation with God is great.  But just because what we are doing is good doesn't mean we shouldn't strive for more, for better.  In prayer we have resources made available to us which are beyond comprehension, so the deeper we go, the more of the good stuff we can discover.

I'm looking forward to preaching "Prayer 101" to help people start where they are at, and then go further.  But just as much, I hope to go further. "Starting where you are at..." means you don't stay where you are!

In the Aftermath...

Yesterday it was officially official, my three month sabbatical is over.  I spent the day in the office, created a todo list longer than the paper I was using, threw out junk mail, changed voice mail, submitted financial reports, caught up with staff, and I'm back on at DRC!  And it is good!

The past three months have been great.  And that great is on many different levels.  Great because of what I was able to do, and great because of the things I didn't do.  Great because of what I learned and thought, great because none of my learning or thinking was out of a pressing urgency of ministry.  It was a time without lasting pattern or routine, but pointed me back to the benefit of pattern and routine.  I thank God for the opportunity to have this sabbatical, and for the fact that I have a ministry I am excited to return to now that it is over.

It's who I am...

It has been two weeks since I decided to break from blogging, but I don't want to lose my thought from this past weekend - so here I go...
(I guess I needed the break from thinking about what to blog and how my blogs would be received...)

I spent the weekend at the Pyramid Life Center near Paradox, NY.  A beautiful, simple, natural retreat center in the Adirondacks.  I was there for a men's retreat organized by John Daubney (www.johndaubney.com) who has been leading these retreats for men for 19 years.  They are a time and place for men to be real, express emotion, explore what's happening in their lives, have spiritual experiences, and experience something different/sacred.  It was a mix of men, I was the youngest, and the common denominator is that most of the men involved are in recovery.

If you are not familiar with the phrase "in recovery," it is not that these men are currently using, or have abused substances recently, but they have been brought out of addition through a 12 Step program.  Most of the men at the retreat (17 of us) have not had a drink or used drugs for over a decade - but they realize who they are and that they will always be "in recovery."   But then again - aren't we all.  

"Hello, my name is Dirk, and I'm a sinner." (but by the grace of God I'm in recovery)

I was not viewed as a pastor by the group (other than by the man who invited me).  I was just a guy, invited to a retreat, hanging out with other guys.  The leader and one other who had visited DRC once knew my role outside of the retreat, but they kept quiet.  So I was just Dirk from Delmar.  People didn't shift their language around me, didn't try for the "right" answer (this was not a place for that type of thinking anyway), and didn't probe into what it is like to be in a role which few find themselves.  I could just be me...

But somewhat to my surprise - I am a pastor!  In just being me, I found myself being a pastor.  I am on sabbatical - so I'm not fulfilling my normal pastoral "duties,"  I was with people who were not looking at me as a pastor, I was away from all that is familiar, I was in spiritual environment - but it never went beyond "my higher power," but through it all, my identity within myself was that of pastor.  As the weekend progressed it came out within individual conversations, but the response was never disbelief, nor was it "I knew it."  It was just natural - because that is who I am now.  

It is still not a clear cut notion within my mind, because Dirk as a pastor is different than the stereotypical "man of the cloth," but even detached from my congregation, it is still my internal identity.  I think this is the most significant gift of my sabbatical so far.  I have been feeling it through the struggles of seeking to separate my church life from my personal life for three months, but my weekend with John, Scott, David, Paul, Steve, Dave, John, Brian, Zenek, Chris, Anthony, Andy, Mike, Paul, Dale, and Tom helped show me what God is growing within me.

Life in a Fishbowl

I'm not Schwarzenegger, Lohan, or Jolie; with millions of people gawking at the details of my life. However, there is a very real fishbowl aspect to my life as a pastor. And from the time I arrived at DRC I've decided to embrace this reality. There was an exercise of intentional pendulum swing - from privacy to public - when we lived our first year or so without any sort of blinds on the downstairs windows of our house. I forced a mental conversation, "yes, people are watching... and that's okay."

Hopefully I'm never as interesting as those who grab the headlines. But hopefully God is working in my life in such a way that there are things which people can benefit from by watching. It isn't about being perfect. I think some pastors avoid the fishbowl because they think they have to be perfect in everyones' eyes, but know they can't. I know I won't be perfect in everyones' eyes - if for no other reason than there are so many different definitions of perfect... (oh, and then there is the fact that I'm far from perfect)  So I seek to live my life, and if people choose to watch, that's okay - it is part of the call to which God has called me.

I want others to see that abnormal has its benefits. Normal is totally missing out on the joy and blessing (and great sex) of marriage. Normal is striving after things which will not satisfy. Normal clinging to money, but never having enough - heck, normal is functionally broke. Normal is fractured relationships which fester as wounds which will not heal. Normal is giving lip service to being a Christian, but not having God as the top priority in your life and experiencing the freedom and peace that comes with it.  Normal is having kids, but barely having a family.  I don't claim to have it all figured out, or that I'm getting it all right - but I know who does, and I'm seeking to follow Him. And as a pastor I'm in a position where I'm watched - because what I preach better make a difference, and let it begin with me.

However...
Jesus lived with his disciples. He didn't swoop in, teach, and then go back to his other life. But at times he did pull away, to be out of the crowds, to be away from those he shared life with daily, to spend some time in a opaque fish bowl. I think that is part of sabbatical, to step away from all that is my normal ministry. And part of my ministry, part of my fishbowl, is blogging - so for now I'm going to pull down the blinds of my blog...