Papa

It has been hard to know what to say about my grandfather, and I am not sure why. He was a great man, one of the most important influences on my life. I have wondered if it’s just not all too much in the past year to deal with, and so perhaps that is why I feel somewhat flat. I guess it has been a hard few years, with failing health, difficult diagnoses, and death in the family.

There are too many memories of Papa. His place in California was the one stable place in my wandering life. It was always home. But I suppose that really, he was always home. That is, he made it a welcoming place, in every way. People commented that he was always making a pot of coffee for anyone who might come by. But it went deeper, to his patience and wisdom. Those things really make you feel at home.

I had the eulogy at his service, and one of our cousins said, “You spoke more words in your 5 minute speech than Papa would have in a day!” Ha ha! How true. He spoke little, but always to great effect. You listened. You craved what he might say.

The best times were early in the morning. We’d be up before sunrise for chores on the ranch. When we were done, we’d come back to the house and he’d make me hot chocolate and peanut butter toast.

I think that the thing that will stick with me the most is a story about trees. I guess I get my love of trees from him. There aren’t many trees in that part of California, and many there were planted by men. When Papa came to visit us in Mississippi, he took back some Southern Live Oak acorns and planted them on his ranch. They thrived in the constant sun. They grew a little too quickly and were a bit leggy, so they needed to be staked for a few years. One of the trees had two leaders, and we took some pruning tape and tied them together, making figure eights up the tree.

Papa said, “One day, long after we’re gone, people will wonder, what the hell happened to this tree?” Because, of course, no one plants a tree for himself. You go into it knowing your grandkids will get the benefit of it.

Papa used to ask me fairly often if I remembered doing that with him. Of course I did. I wondered why he always asked me that and then it hit me: he wanted to know if I would remember him. Some part of him was going to live on in that tree. Turns out, we did not separate the branches enough, and so they grew back together, looking like one trunk. But if you look at one of the oaks on his property, you can see, up the trunk, a spiral scar.

I don’t need a tree to remind me of Papa. It’s a great memory, no doubt. But there is a lot more of him that lives on in me.

And then, I think a conversation my mom had with him a few months ago is lifting me up. He commented on how a lot of people, especially in California, can’t handle sickness and death. They think they’ll never die in the land of sun and looking good. But he told my mom he had been ready to die since he was 6. His faith was in Jesus. When those who belong to the Lord die, and leave this earth, how can you mourn? There is human grief, of course. But there is also great joy.

While I was out there, I got to baptize my uncle, Tim. It was awesome. We have always connected over music (we went to see Dylan and Petty; he could never get me into Poco and Little Feat… I was too much of a metal head). As were in his car, listening to Emmylou Harris’ “Pieces of the Sky,” he started talking about wanting to be baptized, and I suggested a pastor he knew in town. But he said he wanted me to do it. I was blown away and honored beyond belief. It’s hard to be a witness in your family; they know you too well, and they see you too raw sometimes. But it just goes to show, baptism is God’s work, not ours!

We did it California style-- in a hot tub!!

You have to be ready in season and out of season. God is good.

Neglected Fruit

I am still trying to figure out what to say about my grandfather's death... it is part of the mystery of faith that the time surrounding the funeral became a family reunion, with a lot of laughter and joy.

My grandmother always has some fruit and cheese around. It just so happened that she had my favorite cheese, Petit Basque, a sheep's milk cheese, and my favorite fruit, pears. You don't always get pears, it seems. In fact, it seems that only now am I considering that they are my favorite fruit. Apples are their more glamorous, popular, available cousins.

But pears and sheep's milk cheese, it gets no better.

Pears are a lesson, really. You see them. But they're not ready yet. You have to wait and let them get to their syrupy best. They sit on the window sill and you about die until you can eat one.

So there I was in Cali, with some comfort food. And how awesome was it to come back to two pears waiting for me? I had them on the window sill.

Life in the Oh-5

So last night I had a run-in with this joker. He's a real punk and needs to get a clue. He's been harassing someone I know and was trying to use me in getting to the person he's harassing. I told him in pretty clear terms he'd better hit the road or...

He ended up hollering at me and said, "how can you call yourself a f@#$ing preacher!"

I hollered back, "You need to do better than that. People ask me that all the time. Doesn't even bother me."

Now, if he had said, "You look like a Baptist," we'd have rumbled.

Son of A Preacher Man

On Friday, I headed to drop the boys off at Mammaw’s, where they stayed while I was in Cali. I called my mom to see how she was doing. John talked to her for a minute. I gathered that my mom was explaining to him that my grandfather was her dad. I heard John say something amazing. “Mimi, it will be ok. My mommy died, it will be ok. I bet they are having a good time in heaven.” He said it compassionately, but as a fact. I wonder if John knows that God redeems everything? That even pain and worry can be turned to good.

My mom said that was the most comforting thing anyone had said. “From the lips of children and infants, you have ordained praise, because of your enemies, to silence the foe and the avenger” (Psalm 8:2) That Psalm was on the schedule for me and Jessica this morning. A 7-year old boy shut the devil up and shut down all his plans for death.

Psalm-O-Matic

A few weeks ago in our prayer and fasting time, I started with reading Psalm 15 aloud:
“Lord, who may dwell in your sanctuary?
Who may live on your holy hill?
He whose walk is blameless, and who does what is righteous,
Who speaks the truth from his heart and has no slander on his tongue.
Who does his neighbor no wrong and casts no slur on his fellow man,
Who despises a vile man but honors those who fear the Lord,
Who keeps his oath even when it hurts, who lends money without usury
And does not accept a bribe against the innocent.
He who does these things will never be shaken.”

I try to read five Psalms a day. I’ve been doing that for I guess 4 years now. I have impressed that on as many people as will listen. Leo is one who took to it immediately and has been doing it for over a year. It goes in cycles; some days I forget. But Leo and I were in sync on that day of prayer and fasting. He came in late and after a few minutes he said he had something on his heart to read and it was Psalm 15! We wondered why did God want us to hear it twice? Maybe we didn’t get it the first time around? Maybe it’s just good to hear it twice? Maybe, in fasting, we were seeking to live on the holy hill, purifying ourselves? Whatever it was, we were blessed!

This morning (and I mean early, because I am in Cali), Jessica called. We had decided that we were going to read 5 Psalms together, and it seemed we needed to start as soon as the Lord placed it on our hearts to do so, not waiting for me to get back to the Kentuck. I guess, too, I really needed it; being here for my grandfather’s funeral has opened up a lot of stuff.
So the phone rang. Psalms 1-5. Read out loud. And then prayer. And then bye. That was it. Perhaps the best conversation we have ever had, letting God speak into us.

Uncle Johnny

This past Thursday night we had our first dinner for the community on Highland Park. Those of us preparing the meals, being the base of the work, whatever, had met three times before, getting to know each other. I think it is going to take some time for the neighbors to see that we mean it, that we are actually doing it every Thursday at my place, that it really is open, that we’re not the stereotypical church folk (i.e. me and Andy making plans to see Gov’t Mule), etc. As it was, Ann and her granddaughter came (thanks Maggie!) and then a whole pile of kids showed up early. One of them, Chance, told me that he would like to be a pastor. I think he thinks it’s all partying and wrestling…. Which isn’t far from the truth!

I have been doing some reflection about this whole community dinners thing, why it is that I like it so much. As I reflected, some things were obvious—the 12^th Street Girls do a good job of making an open and inviting space, and who doesn’t like that? But then, some buried things cropped up. I am always surprised when theology shows up so practically. The Parable of the Great Banquet in Luke 14 and the celebration at the Prodigal Son’s return in Luke 15 are probably my favorite parts of the gospel. When you see them happening, that’s what gets me. It really is this simple: “They’ll know you’re my disciples if you love one another.” And then, to paraphrase, “invite them to eat at your house. Where a few of you gather in My Name, I’ll be there, too. Let My Kingdom come.”

It’s so quiet, so simple and finally so subversive. The world changed because of the dinners and parties Jesus showed up at.

Then there’s my uncle, John Gill. He was a successful farmer in California. He and his cousins had a huge operation. Still do. But Johnny was always a farmer first, and I think that dealing with too much business or knowing that he had a software engineer was weirding him out. So he bought some acreage out towards Jolon, CA and planted grapes, had his own wine label. He was looking for a simpler life. He built a huge house. That doesn’t sound simple until you realize that most of the space was a huge living room and kitchen. Johnny was an awesome cook and grill master. The house was built for parties.

I can remember calling during Monday Night Football, knowing that he would be there and so would half that part of Monterey County. Someone would answer the phone and I’d ask to talk to Johnny. They’d ask who was calling. Sometimes someone would say, “I knew your old man,” or “I was your mom’s friend in third grade.” To know and be known… Maybe the one answering the phone did not know me and they’d holler “Do you want to talk to Aaron Mansfield?” And Johnny would holler back, “That’s my nephew, Nina and Bobby’s boy…” Half the time the phone would get passed around to people who wanted an update on where the heck were we—my mom and dad left a small farming town and never went back, but it’s still home.

Johnny died of ALS in summer of 2000. We named my oldest boy, John, after him. I did not get to go to too many of the parties. I remember going when he was ill, and you can’t recover from ALS. Somehow, there was still great joy in getting together. I heard about one time that Nessen killed a wild boar and Johnny grilled it. Talk about pot-luck!

Everybody knew they did not have a lot of time with Johnny, so they made the most of it, because, really, the times are evil. We live in this world full of violence, sickness and death. When we can transcend it, we jump on it. So, something theological, desperately theological, can happen when there’s a party with great joy. When I think of Johnny nowadays, I usually think of it in terms of the Last Supper. Friends and family were there with him. I don’t doubt that there were some folks there for the wrong reasons-- because it was a party, because the liquor was top shelf. But that’s the amazing grace of the Kingdom—when I came to the Cross, how selfish was I? How fawning and seeking? Not fully aware of this Jesus, I was just there to get what He had, what He so liberally spread out before me.

So hear this lesson they did not teach me in seminary, but rather that I learned from my uncle Johnny: if you pour it all out, a new life forms around you. In some way, Johnny hated his life in this world. He gave so much of it away, and he keeps it for eternal life. This is what makes me so wildly content when my house is full.

My Big Fat 05 Wedding

Friday night was huge for us at The Rock. Charley and Becky got married.

Charley and Becky moved in next to the 12^th Street Girls back in the early summer. Laura told me one day back then that there was a house with 5 kids in one family and four visiting cousins. So I headed over one day and so did Melissa McDonald (our children’s pastor). We made some contact, building on what the girls had started.

Charley and Becky were displaced by Katrina, and have been bouncing around since that storm. But, they were bouncing around even before that, trying to scrape by. As we got to know them, I began to sense that they were the kind of family we work best with: a family with kids, a family that needs some close fellowship, and a family that needs some serious, committed financial help to get on their feet. Luckily in the 12^th Street Girls, we have a group that draws people in thru hospitality and prayer, and also has bought into the model of ministry to the poor that says you have to be willing to pay a lot, to have an accountable relationship as opposed to a one-time shot of some pittance that won’t change anything anyway.

It hasn’t been easy, that’s for sure. There have been times where all kinds of relationships have been strained—between us and Becky and Charley, between Becky and Charley, between those of us doing the ministry. But one great thing came out of it: it drove us to prayer and intentional community.

So after a few months of Becky and Charley seeing how much we love each other, how much we love them, they started realizing that we weren’t going anywhere, that we stood beside them through all kinds of hard times, they began to want to be part of the work the Holy Spirit is doing among us. A few weeks ago, I baptized their youngest children, reminding the congregation that baptism is not our individual vote for Jesus (I stole that from Charles Brockwell), but rather is God’s work, His grace, bringing us into the Kingdom. It would be especially important for the congregation to know that Becky and Charley were giving us their children. We will raise them with them, especially until Becky and Charley reaffirm their faith.

So they told me they wanted to get married. So much stuff came out of that. Chucky, their first-grader asks, “Do we have to get married, too?” I wanted to say, “But you are getting married! The closer your family comes to Jesus and the Church, the more it must resemble a marriage, love and submission to the Lord.” But you can hardly explain that mystery to adults. But maybe kids can get it? Jazmen said, “Mommy, I am so glad you are getting married!” So while we may think that getting married after you have 5 kids doesn’t seem like the way to do it, look what God redeems! I think it will be very important for the children to remember when their mom and dad got married!

Charley and Becky were worried about a reception. I said, “Let you friends take care of that.” I suppose I was presumptuous in this (Sorry, Laura!) but I knew the 12^th Street Girls would have no problem with their Friday night dinner being a wedding reception, especially not for Charley and Becky, because all this Holy Spirit work started in Laura and Jessica’s back yard…

So last night we had a simple service in the chapel. Becky looked beautiful (Shannon, a 12^th Street neighbor, set her up with a dress, nails, make-up, hair) and Charley had on a nice suit and bow tie. Jazmen and NeNe were flower girls. I was so glad to see everyone there who came. It was some important work we were up to, something that transcends the personal lives of the people involved; it is the very heart of the church.

It was a cool night and so we decided that 12^th Street had to be in the Fellowship Hall. Some folks set it up really nicely, with lights and a bridal party table on the stage. Jim and Becky Connell of the Lexington Rescue Mission made a great meal for us. How awesome is that, to have those kinds of friends who jump in because they see what God is doing and want in!

We had a great reception for Becky and Charley. Sure enough, 12^th Street was there that night, and it felt good to be in the church, to be at home with family. Carlotta said, “We need to celebrate stuff like this more often.” Amen, sister. I sense that if we kepe being faithful to this move of the Holy Spirit, this drive to quit planning and controlling, to let Him work and bless and push us past where we are comfortable, we will see more people bringing more of their lives to celebrate with us.

We were involved in the mystery of God last night. It seems simple enough: a wedding of two people who love each other, who are seeing the possibility of a different kind of life, friends getting together. But it was so much more. A shadow of things to come. An exhilaration if we think how much we should, and can, commit our lives to Jesus, to each other.

Monday

Monday was a long, wonderful day. It started at 4:30, getting up, making lunches for the boys, bustling them off to Don and Laura Ellis’ house right around the corner. They would get them off to school in Don’s work van (a real treat for the boys), because I was headed down to Knoxville. At 5, I had the boys at Don and Laura’s—Laura is already up by this time, because she is a sick woman! Next stop to pick up Jessica and Russ on Twelfth Street, and then Becky and her two youngest, Selena and Justin.

Russ had to go back to Knoxville for a court date. He was worried he might end up in jail. Becky’s mom lives near Sevierville, and she had not seen her two youngest grandkids, so Becky would stay there while Jessica and I provided moral support to Russ.

The first case came up, and the judge threw the guy in jail, and Russ was pretty worried that was where things were headed for him. But the judge dismissed the charges and waived the fines. At that point, we were able to have a good talk with Russ about giving God the thanks, glory, and credit. He agreed, and felt like a burden had been lifted off of him. Pray that he can keep a thankful heart, and that we can keep letting him know how Jesus dropped all the charges Satan has laid against us.

Becky had a good visit with her mom, and it was important to her for us to meet her mom, to learn a little bit more about her story.

Becky’s family and Russ’ family were both homeless a few months ago. We have been working with them, getting them places to live, but mostly loving them. This simple thing Jesus was talking about, that people will know we’re His disciples by how we love each other, it works. Both families went from people who were hardened against the church by a life of poverty, to people who are coming around to accepting that they are in a family of believers now.

Becky and her man Charles are going to be married in our church on Friday. The 12^th Street Dinner is going to be the reception. How appropriate! It was there on 12^th Street when they lived next door to Jessica, Laura, Seble, and Rebecca, that all this stuff started happening. They not only came to dinner, but found themselves surrounded by people who would visit with them, pray for them, teach them the basics of life together, and sometimes press them to make better choices, to push through the places where people in poverty generally give up trying.

The Kingdom is happening in our midst! But we don’t always see it. It’s slow, hidden work, this building relationships, loving people in Jesus’ name. I sometimes get the credit—because of the blog, because I show up and have more apparent authority because I’m the pastor. But it has taken Meg’s prayers and gentleness, Jessica’s refusal to let go, Laura’s willingness to keep the house open for a bunch of kids, Peter’s having my back when I wasn’t sure how a confrontation with the evil landlord was going to turn out. And there have been people who have come alongside the families in ways that I don’t know about. I know you’re out there, and thank you.

The Kingdom is happening in our midst. We’re going to have to find some way to express the importance of it without being self-conscious about it. An awesome wedding will happen. And then, we’ll walk over to where the Jesus life started breaking into this family. Somehow, I don’t think we’ll ever quite get the importance of it. At the bluegrass concert we had a few weeks ago, apparently I was looking pretty content. Peter said something like, “You looked like you were really happy. You didn’t sit still much, moving all around, shaking hands, talking to the people who have never come to the church.” I think I said something like, “They’re my people. They don’t know it yet, but they’re my people.”

Peter asked, “do you think sometimes after Jesus performed a miracle, like the loaves and fishes, that He said to Himself, ‘That was awesome!’?”

Yes, I do.

It Works/ How It Works

About a year ago, I made a call for people to move into the community. I heard from some of them recently that they were pretty mad about it. The community doesn’t have the best reputation. Northside is a great place to live! But the idea is that since it is older, and tough in some places, it’s not the place to live. So some of the folks felt like I was asking them to live in a war-zone. (It is a war-zone, but not quite the way we think: the war is for lives and spirits, and is fought slowly and in hidden places.)

Anyway, a number of people have moved in—me and the boys, Maggie, Sara, Chelsea, Rebecca, Jason and Tawndee, Peter and Jackie, and John and Laura. Hope I did not forget anyone. They were added to those who have lived here for some time, and also to the 12^th Street Girls who have been incarnated here in one form or another for a few years.

John and Laura were living rent-free in a family member’s empty house. They were on the Southside, right where the American Gospel says you ought to be. But they felt like they could get a lot more ministry done if they lived here, in the 05. So they left a free 3BR house to pay rent on a one-bedroom apartment, in the complex where the refugees live. And they are so happy! Praise God!

I went with John just a few minutes ago to see his place. It is right in the middle of it all. But the cool thing was not they place. It’s what they’ve done with it. And I don’t mean Laura’s mad decorating skills. It’s bar-b-q’s with Mapigano, Laura taking Joyce and Rosy with her when she goes shopping, youth group kids coming over. And then John told me that a few days ago he and Laura went to a youth’s house and by the time they made it back home, he had talked to 23 people that he knew. All right here in the community. When he was talking to Russ, Peter pulled in. After he talked to Tina, I pulled up—the people he talked to are people that many of us have relationships with. So we’re doing the work, and winning people to Christ by our love for each other and for them.

We’ll be starting our “community dinners” soon, at my place. Our neighborhood is a lot different than 12^th Street, so we’ll have to adjust. One of the adjustments is that two of my older parishioners-- Lida Fugate and Thelma Glass—are going to be involved with us in the dinners. The awesome thing is, we have picked up 19 people in the last 3 months thru the work on 12^th Street—the work of hospitality, evangelism and most especially prayer. We are hoping that the same happens on Highland Park.

Prayers

So it’s back to this: making choices. Every day with the boys, you have to make a choice that the day is going to be good. I have to make that choice, they have to make that choice. Largely, it rests on me to keep pushing for all of us to make the choices, because if they wake up in a foul mood, or a sad mood, or an angry mood, they’re not going to break out of it without some help.

It’s hit or miss, if I rely on myself. That is, I am generally happy and ready to go in the mornings, but if we start running late, or there’s a lot of whining about breakfast, or they’re slow getting dressed… it can all add up. And then I’m not so nice and I only add to the frustration and misery of the morning.

One of the great blessings of living in the 05 now is that we have a lot more time for and with each other. Even though I am a lot busier scouring the neighborhood for people who don’t know Christ, we spend more time with each other than we have in almost three years. If I let it, resentment builds about that, how hard this has been on them, how hard it has been on me. We’re not much interested in stuff—we just like each other, and any energy we have comes from hanging out, doing even the simplest things, like throwing balled-up socks at the ceiling fan.

I think I am a lot calmer than I have been for, well, two years now. But again, it’s not about my own strength to pull off having a productive relationship with the boys. That still goes awry. Jason Dillard and I were pounding the pavement a few days ago, and he mentioned that he and Tawndee have a kind of modified Liturgy of the Hours. It’s not just devotional time, but there is a sort of Vespers where they discuss the day and God’s presence in it. It got me to being more intentional about what I call The Little Seminary. (Kerry and Tim, you’ll hear about this at your wedding…) The Little Seminary is what I hope me and the boys’ life together is, a space where we learn in a kind of natural way the rhythms of Christian life. It’s not just church on Wednesday and Sundays, but evening prayer, discussion about favorite Bible stories, remembering Jesus…. And now our own sort of Vespers, where we ask about where God was in the day. Thanks, Jason! We’ve added it to our Compline, where we have had over the years some regular prayers that both express and form who we are (That we could know Jesus’ voice so that when He calls we can say “Here I am,” that God might make us “preachers together,” that we would be ready to go to far away places—like Las Vegas, John says—and tell people about Jesus). And it strikes me that a sweet time back in the day was when John and Joe were infants, and they would wake up early, it was a good time for Lauds, or praise. And so we start the morning with praising God for another day, for each other, and all the ways He is going to be there with us. That seems like a pretty good choice. This is, finally, “praying without ceasing.”