Jesus is six feet ten inches tall. No exaggeration. Six feet ten, really. And black as the ace of spades. I know because I talked to him today.
He called the church this morning and asked for me by name. He had found my name in the telephone directory at the Best Western where he had spent the night.
His story began typically enough, with a rather long uninterrupted narrative that began at a prison in Texas and had a hopeful ending somewhere near Springfield, Missouri with a stop at Conway in between. Through the years it has become all too familiar: someone wants to tell me their life story before getting around to telling me what they want. But before my cynicism could set in completely, I found myself actually listening to his story.
Sure enough he had been incarcerated somewhere in Texas, where he had met some folk who were involved in the Emmaus/Kairos community. He had made a turn in his life and was trying to get back to Missouri where he wanted to attempt to reconcile with his wife. He told me he had made some bad mistakes and wanted to first show her that he was the man she had married, the man she loved, a man who wanted to get it right this time.
My caller’s name was Mike, and I later learned his wife’s name was Mary. Someone at a Church of Christ in North Little Rock had gotten Mike as far as Conway, and he had managed to get a room at Best Western for the night. Now all he wanted was a ride to Greenbrier, just a few miles north of here, and from there he would continue hitchhiking on up through Clinton, Harrison, and on into Missouri. Now I was a little surprised and I asked him to tell me again: so you just want a ride to Greenbrier? Yes, that was it.
This was not quite like the other calls, which usually end with a request for money or gas or a bus ticket or another motel room for the night. Quickly I told Mike I could get him to Greenbrier. After I clarified where he was I told him I would pick him up in fifteen minutes. I told him what kind of car to look for and he told me I could not miss him, saying he was six feet ten and would be standing right there in the parking lot.
After I hung up I realized what I had done. I had agreed to pick up a hitchhiker, sight unseen, and give him a ride in my car. Before leaving the office I took my credit cards out of my wallet, gave my secretary my license plate number and told her if she did not hear from me by ten thirty she was to call the police. On a cognitive level I realized the risk I was taking but on a spiritual level I knew it was ok. I am very intuitive that way. I was going to pick up Mike and take him to Greenbrier.
When I turned in to the Best Western parking lot I could see Mike standing there and instantly knew I had made the right choice. There he was, all six foot ten of him, with his canvas jacket and his bag which probably contained all his remaining belongings. He was a big gentle man. As he got in my car I told him he would probably need to push the seat back, to which he said, “I’ve heard that before!” And no doubt he had, many times.
In our telephone conversation I had learned that Mike knew a bit about religion and about churches. This much became obvious in just a few minutes. On our ride he told me that he had read a lot in prison and he was quite conversant about matters of faith. He asked me where I was from, where I went to school, and how long I had been in Arkansas. This was a little unusual because I am always the one who gets the other person talking. Mike and I made very easy conversation, and in just a few minutes we were in Greenbrier and found a place where he was ready to stop. In a very short time I had told Mike all about the places I had lived and served in the ministry, my widowhood and the blessing of my second marriage, and about some things he might watch out for further up the road. We discussed race and religion. I told him about an old friend of mine who was a Church of Christ pastor and how we loved to engage in friendly arguments about religious topics. He asked me about a town north of here that is notorious for its inhospitality to black people, and I apologetically told him he should be careful there. He assured me he had friends there and would be fine, to which I agreed. Then he shared with me that racism, as he put it, was a two-edged sword, that his wife was white and she had experienced it from the other direction. I gained some understanding from what he shared.
When we stopped I gave Mike a water bottle with our church logo on it and a little cash from my pocket. I wished him good luck on his journey and getting back in touch with his wife. He asked me to pray for them, and repeated her name, Mary. I said I will pray for you, Mike and Mary. He shook my hand, got out of the car and said, thank you for treating me the way Christ would have. I called my secretary on my cellphone and told her I was safe and on my way back to the office. As I was driving back I could not help the feeling that I had been with Jesus, who today was six feet ten inches tall and black. He had a small bag of his possessions, a plastic bag of food, and a couple of books.
Frederick Buechner said there is a treasure from God every day if we just look for it. Perhaps at the end of each day we should look back and find the treasure. My treasure for this day was giving Mike a ride, which at first I hesitated to do. What an opportunity I would have missed. An opportunity to “be Christ” for another human being and, in turn for him to “be Christ” for me.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Friday, March 13, 2009
"My Father Was a Wandering Aramean..."
“My father was a wandering Aramean…”
“Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.” Matthew 8:20
“In my Father’s house are many dwelling places; if it were not so I would have told you.” John 14:2
“We have a house from God,…not made by human hands.” II Corinthians 5:1
“Live your lives as strangers here in reverent fear.” I Peter 1:17
“They knew they were looking for a homeland of their own…” Hebrews 11:14
Friday, March 13, 2009
I woke up at 5:30 this morning on Friday which is my day off. Wouldn’t you know it -- on my personal Sabbath when I can sleep late without guilt it happens that I wake up at 5:30 in the morning! The reason I woke up this particular Sabbath is because I had my “home” dream. This is a dream which has appeared in my sleep from time to time and I have come to recognize it.
In this dream there is a house, a house which is my house and has been from the beginning. Its features are reminiscent of the Buchanan family place, an ante bellum mini-mansion which still stands on a few acres of ground just two long blocks from the town square in Brandon, Mississippi. The house was built by my great-grandfather, one in a long line of Buchanan men named William. It was started in 1860 and was finished after the War. It has tall ceilings with wood floors and a fireplace in every room. There is a massive wooden staircase in the center of the entry which leads to the four symmetrical bedrooms upstairs. Out back there is the old smokehouse and the detached kitchen, along with an old well and a gazebo. There is a running spring down in the woods about two hundred yards behind the house, and there are huge old magnolia trees surrounded by luxurious flower gardens in front.
In my dream I came over for a visit, and I met the present owner of the house whom I later realized was me. He gave me the grand tour and I was delighted at how he had restored the house and was caring for it. Then we sat and reminisced; he showed me a little book of history that had been written by one of those unknown Southern country writers who really knew how to tell a story. There were a number of preachers in the little book, some of whom I vaguely recognized. After our brief visit I took my leave and thanked my host for his hospitality. That is when I woke up and realized the reason for my dream on this day.
John Wesley once told his preachers, “Do not stay too long in one place,” or something like that. We still hear Wesley’s words in our ordination service. It was one of his maxims. I have been here in this place for seven years, a fairly long sojourn for an itinerant United Methodist pastor. Prior to coming here I was at the last place for eight years and probably could have stayed for another eight but God moved me on.
The house I live in now I bought seven years ago at the age of forty-eight, and other than a small lake house it is the only house I have ever bought. It is the only house of my own that I have lived in since becoming an adult. Being in my fifties and living in my own house for the first time has had a profound affect on me. I like it. The last two places where I have lived I have been there long enough to almost forget that I signed on to be an itinerant minister.
When I preached my mother’s funeral service last September I noted how important her home was to her. She had never lived outside of Jackson, Mississippi until moving here just three years before she died. The words of Jesus were particularly comforting for the time: “In my Father’s house are many dwelling places.” Jesus of course was speaking to a homeless Church, before there were church buildings, committees, or budgets. He was speaking to the first generation of Christians, and to me. The itinerant ministry is an adventure in homelessness, but in the heart of God I am always at home.
“Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.” Matthew 8:20
“In my Father’s house are many dwelling places; if it were not so I would have told you.” John 14:2
“We have a house from God,…not made by human hands.” II Corinthians 5:1
“Live your lives as strangers here in reverent fear.” I Peter 1:17
“They knew they were looking for a homeland of their own…” Hebrews 11:14
Friday, March 13, 2009
I woke up at 5:30 this morning on Friday which is my day off. Wouldn’t you know it -- on my personal Sabbath when I can sleep late without guilt it happens that I wake up at 5:30 in the morning! The reason I woke up this particular Sabbath is because I had my “home” dream. This is a dream which has appeared in my sleep from time to time and I have come to recognize it.
In this dream there is a house, a house which is my house and has been from the beginning. Its features are reminiscent of the Buchanan family place, an ante bellum mini-mansion which still stands on a few acres of ground just two long blocks from the town square in Brandon, Mississippi. The house was built by my great-grandfather, one in a long line of Buchanan men named William. It was started in 1860 and was finished after the War. It has tall ceilings with wood floors and a fireplace in every room. There is a massive wooden staircase in the center of the entry which leads to the four symmetrical bedrooms upstairs. Out back there is the old smokehouse and the detached kitchen, along with an old well and a gazebo. There is a running spring down in the woods about two hundred yards behind the house, and there are huge old magnolia trees surrounded by luxurious flower gardens in front.
In my dream I came over for a visit, and I met the present owner of the house whom I later realized was me. He gave me the grand tour and I was delighted at how he had restored the house and was caring for it. Then we sat and reminisced; he showed me a little book of history that had been written by one of those unknown Southern country writers who really knew how to tell a story. There were a number of preachers in the little book, some of whom I vaguely recognized. After our brief visit I took my leave and thanked my host for his hospitality. That is when I woke up and realized the reason for my dream on this day.
John Wesley once told his preachers, “Do not stay too long in one place,” or something like that. We still hear Wesley’s words in our ordination service. It was one of his maxims. I have been here in this place for seven years, a fairly long sojourn for an itinerant United Methodist pastor. Prior to coming here I was at the last place for eight years and probably could have stayed for another eight but God moved me on.
The house I live in now I bought seven years ago at the age of forty-eight, and other than a small lake house it is the only house I have ever bought. It is the only house of my own that I have lived in since becoming an adult. Being in my fifties and living in my own house for the first time has had a profound affect on me. I like it. The last two places where I have lived I have been there long enough to almost forget that I signed on to be an itinerant minister.
When I preached my mother’s funeral service last September I noted how important her home was to her. She had never lived outside of Jackson, Mississippi until moving here just three years before she died. The words of Jesus were particularly comforting for the time: “In my Father’s house are many dwelling places.” Jesus of course was speaking to a homeless Church, before there were church buildings, committees, or budgets. He was speaking to the first generation of Christians, and to me. The itinerant ministry is an adventure in homelessness, but in the heart of God I am always at home.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Laudete Omnes Gentes
*LAUDETE OMNES GENTES
Begin softly with a gradual crescendo through the 4th repetition, then decrescendo in like manner...
Sing praises, all you peoples!
Sing praises to the Lord;
Sing praises, all you peoples!
Sing praises to the Lord.
Funny how a song or a fleeting image can take us back to places we have been. This song takes me back to the little community of Taize' in 2003. “Sing praises, all you peoples! Sing praises to the Lord.” In the orange and yellow glow I can see the “church” at Taize’ and can lift my voice with perhaps a thousand pilgrims from France, Germany, Switzerland, the Netherlands, USA, and many other places. I can see the white-robed brothers processing in and can hear the cantor’s voice behind me as he reads the psalm. On my knees I grunt audibly as I try to fold my legs under the angular little wooden kneeling stool. I look around to see if anyone is watching, and of course they aren’t.
Recently I was reading once again Robert Benson’s book Living Prayer which tells of his first visit to Alabama’s Camp Sumatanga for the Academy for Spiritual Formation. As I read his description of the landscape I could almost see myself there again. It was like hearing an old song fraught with laughter and tears and signs of change.
When Robert first visited Sumatanga he wondered aloud how in the world he wound up there. “This isn’t the Promised Land, for Pete’s sake, it’s Alabama.”
Eventually he heard the Lord telling him, “You promised to follow wherever I might take you, and this is where we go next. You are here because the road leads here.”
We are here because the road leads here, and the Lord is with us. Praise the Lord.
“Sing praises, all you peoples!
Sing praises to the Lord;
Sing praises, all you peoples!
Sing praises to the Lord.”
Begin softly with a gradual crescendo through the 4th repetition, then decrescendo in like manner...
Sing praises, all you peoples!
Sing praises to the Lord;
Sing praises, all you peoples!
Sing praises to the Lord.
Funny how a song or a fleeting image can take us back to places we have been. This song takes me back to the little community of Taize' in 2003. “Sing praises, all you peoples! Sing praises to the Lord.” In the orange and yellow glow I can see the “church” at Taize’ and can lift my voice with perhaps a thousand pilgrims from France, Germany, Switzerland, the Netherlands, USA, and many other places. I can see the white-robed brothers processing in and can hear the cantor’s voice behind me as he reads the psalm. On my knees I grunt audibly as I try to fold my legs under the angular little wooden kneeling stool. I look around to see if anyone is watching, and of course they aren’t.
Recently I was reading once again Robert Benson’s book Living Prayer which tells of his first visit to Alabama’s Camp Sumatanga for the Academy for Spiritual Formation. As I read his description of the landscape I could almost see myself there again. It was like hearing an old song fraught with laughter and tears and signs of change.
When Robert first visited Sumatanga he wondered aloud how in the world he wound up there. “This isn’t the Promised Land, for Pete’s sake, it’s Alabama.”
Eventually he heard the Lord telling him, “You promised to follow wherever I might take you, and this is where we go next. You are here because the road leads here.”
We are here because the road leads here, and the Lord is with us. Praise the Lord.
“Sing praises, all you peoples!
Sing praises to the Lord;
Sing praises, all you peoples!
Sing praises to the Lord.”
Monday, March 9, 2009
Lenten Metanoia: a Change of Heart
It's about time I got back to my blog. It's been too long.
Maybe I will start back in slowly, like dipping one's toe in the water before diving in. Lent is a time that is ripe for new beginnings, so I will start at the beginning with my favorite mentor Henri Nouwen:
"Jesus does not respond to our worry-filled way of living by saying that we should not be busy with worldly affairs. He does not try to pull us away from the many events, activities, and people that make up our lives. He does not tell us that what we do is unimportant, valueless, or useless. Nor does he suggest that we should withdraw from our involvements and live quiet, restful lives removed from the struggles of the world.
Jesus’ response to our worry-filled lives is quite different. He asks us to shift the point of gravity, to relocate the center of our attention, to change our priorities. Jesus wants us to move from the ’‘many things” to the ”one necessary thing.” It is important for us to realize that Jesus in no way wants us to leave our many-faceted world. Rather, he wants us to live in it, but firmly rooted in the center of all things. Jesus does not speak about a change of activities, a change in contacts, or even a change of pace. He speaks about a change of heart. This change of heart makes everything different, even while everything appears to remain the same. This is the meaning of “Set your hearts on his kingdom first…and all these other things will be given you as well.” What counts is where our hearts are. When we worry, we have our hearts in the wrong place. Jesus asks us to move our hearts to the center, where all other things fall into place." ---Henri J.M. Nouwen, Making All Things New: An Invitation to the Spiritual Life
I've been working on a Benedictine retreat for this fall based on The Sacred Way by Tony Jones. Will post progress reports I promise.
In the meantime have a most blessed Lent.
Yours in Christ,
Rev
Maybe I will start back in slowly, like dipping one's toe in the water before diving in. Lent is a time that is ripe for new beginnings, so I will start at the beginning with my favorite mentor Henri Nouwen:
"Jesus does not respond to our worry-filled way of living by saying that we should not be busy with worldly affairs. He does not try to pull us away from the many events, activities, and people that make up our lives. He does not tell us that what we do is unimportant, valueless, or useless. Nor does he suggest that we should withdraw from our involvements and live quiet, restful lives removed from the struggles of the world.
Jesus’ response to our worry-filled lives is quite different. He asks us to shift the point of gravity, to relocate the center of our attention, to change our priorities. Jesus wants us to move from the ’‘many things” to the ”one necessary thing.” It is important for us to realize that Jesus in no way wants us to leave our many-faceted world. Rather, he wants us to live in it, but firmly rooted in the center of all things. Jesus does not speak about a change of activities, a change in contacts, or even a change of pace. He speaks about a change of heart. This change of heart makes everything different, even while everything appears to remain the same. This is the meaning of “Set your hearts on his kingdom first…and all these other things will be given you as well.” What counts is where our hearts are. When we worry, we have our hearts in the wrong place. Jesus asks us to move our hearts to the center, where all other things fall into place." ---Henri J.M. Nouwen, Making All Things New: An Invitation to the Spiritual Life
I've been working on a Benedictine retreat for this fall based on The Sacred Way by Tony Jones. Will post progress reports I promise.
In the meantime have a most blessed Lent.
Yours in Christ,
Rev
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