Hey Guys,
I am going to be leaving this blog and heading to a new one, Apostolic Obsession. You can click on the link under Check out My Peeps.
Also, I am going to be out of pocket for about 3 weeks. I don't know when I will post. Check back.
Thanks for all the love and see you at the new place.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
It's Funny How Things Work Out
Nacho Libre is the movie of our life. If you haven't seen it, go now, so we can talk of holy things.
Saturday, we were reminiscing about how the boys called Jessie "Sister Encarnacion."
About a month ago, we had a discussion. What are we going to call her? Not just Jessie. Or other names they have for her. Joe has called her "Mommy" quite a bit. John has been hesitant. For the longest time we thought it was about divided loyalties. But he kind of broke down and said that if he called her "mom" he was afraid something bad would happen to her, too.
He got that out, and now he and Joe both call her "mom," and keep "Mommy" for Melissa.
So back to Saturday. They started singing Jack Black's Encarnacion song, but changed it to "encarnaci-mom."
I had to fight back some tears through hilarious laughter when John said, "Orphans, smile and be happy..."
Saturday, we were reminiscing about how the boys called Jessie "Sister Encarnacion."
About a month ago, we had a discussion. What are we going to call her? Not just Jessie. Or other names they have for her. Joe has called her "Mommy" quite a bit. John has been hesitant. For the longest time we thought it was about divided loyalties. But he kind of broke down and said that if he called her "mom" he was afraid something bad would happen to her, too.
He got that out, and now he and Joe both call her "mom," and keep "Mommy" for Melissa.
So back to Saturday. They started singing Jack Black's Encarnacion song, but changed it to "encarnaci-mom."
I had to fight back some tears through hilarious laughter when John said, "Orphans, smile and be happy..."
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Slowing Down
Michael and Becca Hughes came over to the Friday night dinner. They are moving into the neighborhood, just down the street, so we are very happy to have them with us. But they also came over because Michael and I are doing some music tomorrow in worship: “He Reached Down,” an Iris Dement song; “Moses Put Your Shoes On,” a kind of fast bluegrass number; and Kris Kristofferson’s “Why Me, Lord?” I am playing mandolin on the first and last, which is an instrument I am really getting to love. Luckily, Michael can carry a lot of the load, so I just show up and play a few chords—cause that’s all I know…
Around the dinner table, Michael, Rebecca, Melissa, Jessie and I got into a discussion that started out on how if you love the medieval period (and Michael and Becca did some architecture studies in Italy), this “postmodern” thing is no surprise. They may be nothing more postmodern, Michael said, than a baptistery he saw in… and I can’t remember the city! I agree; the cathedral of Notre Dame—postmodern. James Joyce knew that the Pearl-poem was more “modern” than his novel, Ulysses.
We got into crop biodiversity. And the slow food movement. And why the slow food movement has not necessarily invaded other aspects of our lives—such as relationships, or work. Michael opined that it’s because of a perfect storm that happened in urban planning and house development: cars, air conditioning, and t.v. Cars have us going all over, abandoning the “places” of our lives for significant stretches. AC means no more big porches. And t.v. means you look at the box, and you don’t have to talk to anyone.
Can technology aid the slowing down? So far it doesn’t look good. My Blackberry does if I make it—that is, I get more done during the day and turn it off at night. Otherwise, I ended up doing stuff I did not finish at home. Michael and I were on youtube looking up Bob Dylan and Bill Monroe. So there’s a chance to use it for a purpose besides something that is just done alone.
It will take some real thinking about how to slow down.
Around the dinner table, Michael, Rebecca, Melissa, Jessie and I got into a discussion that started out on how if you love the medieval period (and Michael and Becca did some architecture studies in Italy), this “postmodern” thing is no surprise. They may be nothing more postmodern, Michael said, than a baptistery he saw in… and I can’t remember the city! I agree; the cathedral of Notre Dame—postmodern. James Joyce knew that the Pearl-poem was more “modern” than his novel, Ulysses.
We got into crop biodiversity. And the slow food movement. And why the slow food movement has not necessarily invaded other aspects of our lives—such as relationships, or work. Michael opined that it’s because of a perfect storm that happened in urban planning and house development: cars, air conditioning, and t.v. Cars have us going all over, abandoning the “places” of our lives for significant stretches. AC means no more big porches. And t.v. means you look at the box, and you don’t have to talk to anyone.
Can technology aid the slowing down? So far it doesn’t look good. My Blackberry does if I make it—that is, I get more done during the day and turn it off at night. Otherwise, I ended up doing stuff I did not finish at home. Michael and I were on youtube looking up Bob Dylan and Bill Monroe. So there’s a chance to use it for a purpose besides something that is just done alone.
It will take some real thinking about how to slow down.
Largest Black Methodist Church in Kentucky
A few weeks ago, Dwight Ashley came to the Rock. He has a music ministry that is really something. He just has a powerful voice and testimony and praise. He sings across all styles it seems, but he has a decidedly black flavor. It’s soul music in every sense of the word!
That Sunday morning, Michael Hughes said he had thought about going to a black church, but came to the Rock… you just never know what it’s going to be!
We are within striking distance of being the largest black United Methodist Church in Kentucky. But we’re not black. Not white. Not Hispanic.
Tomorrow, Anthony Everett is coming to preach. He is the director for African American church development for the Kentucky United Methodists.
Can we dream that we will worship, not according to the color of our skin, but the confession of our souls?
That Sunday morning, Michael Hughes said he had thought about going to a black church, but came to the Rock… you just never know what it’s going to be!
We are within striking distance of being the largest black United Methodist Church in Kentucky. But we’re not black. Not white. Not Hispanic.
Tomorrow, Anthony Everett is coming to preach. He is the director for African American church development for the Kentucky United Methodists.
Can we dream that we will worship, not according to the color of our skin, but the confession of our souls?
Friday, June 26, 2009
They peed in my baptismal
It is a Lebowski moment. Andres points out that someone peed in our watering trough that we use for baptisms.
Whose hide do I take this out of?
Who is the Jackie Treehorn behind this. The nihilists, I can find them easily enough...
Whose hide do I take this out of?
Who is the Jackie Treehorn behind this. The nihilists, I can find them easily enough...
I'm an Uncle
My brother Nate and my sister-In-law Heather, have had their baby girl, Emersen.
Click on the link to their blog under "my peeps" to see that sweet little baby
Click on the link to their blog under "my peeps" to see that sweet little baby
Science Fiction Church
I grew up around Air Force personnel, on Air Force bases, and I spent a lot of time in the library. Air Force libraries have pretty decent science fiction sections, because so may of the airmen are in such high tech jobs, that science fiction is not far off from their day to day. Radar technicians, jet fuel labs, weapons/payload masters, jet engine mechanics, you name it. Occasionally I would meet them in the library and they would point me to the classics. I spent a lot of time reading Philip K. Dick, Robert Heinlein, Frank Herbert, Poul Anderson. In a lot of ways science fiction did not seem far off to me, either. Part of sci-fi is a kind of mind-numbing and exciting diversity of cultures. On some days I woke up, went to my neighbor Urban’s house, had good German bread with hot chocolate made from fresh sheep’s milk, then I’d go to the base where it was little America, but still a little tweaked. We moved a lot, made friends with all kinds of people.
Some days I would wonder, “will it be like Stranger in A Strange Land? What will it be like to interact with completely different people and mindsets?” And then I came to The Rock. It’s hard to tell what drives things. Have we accreted the groups we have—White and Hispanic to begin with, then African, then seeing class as culture in the white population, then African American, now possibly an outreach to refugees from Nepal—have we become this and it looks like Ensign Flandry’s world, or the court of Shaddam IV? Or is it something in our imagination, something embedded-- a kind of speculative anthropology—pulsating, in the Gospel?
Some days I would wonder, “will it be like Stranger in A Strange Land? What will it be like to interact with completely different people and mindsets?” And then I came to The Rock. It’s hard to tell what drives things. Have we accreted the groups we have—White and Hispanic to begin with, then African, then seeing class as culture in the white population, then African American, now possibly an outreach to refugees from Nepal—have we become this and it looks like Ensign Flandry’s world, or the court of Shaddam IV? Or is it something in our imagination, something embedded-- a kind of speculative anthropology—pulsating, in the Gospel?
Saturday, June 20, 2009
more of the good, the bad and the ugly
Friday was a huge evangelism day. I mean, that’s all it was, and I needed it. There is a part of doing evangelism that is therapeutic, something the Lord provides. Any time I start complaining, my friend Steve says, “who have you shared Christ with today?” Usually the answer is nobody! So I go out and find someone. Pretty soon, you realize that there is great need out there for the salvation that is found in no one else but Jesus, and what was bugging you while it may still be there, doesn’t seem so important.
Friday was visiting in the neighborhood and then helping Rosario do some evangelism downtown.
First house I met someone home, I knew it was a mistake to knock. I remembered the house as my hand was knocking. It’s a family where the two sons like to get drunk and grope women and the mom will cuss you in a heartbeat. Well, after I knocked, I hear a hard, woman’s voice (close your eyes if you’re of delicate sensibilities): “God damn it! If that’s Mike, I’ll run his ass off! That son of a bitch!” For information purposes: Mike is her son…
She flings the door open, I smile sweetly and say, “it’s not Mike, it’s worse. It’s the preacher.”
She came out kind of sheepish, but then was right back at it. “I know you, you’re that preacher at the church with that woman from the Bottoms!” I know she means Martina, our administrator. Martina used to be the pastor at the Nathaniel Mission in Irishtown, sometimes called Davis Bottom, or simply “the Bottoms.”
“That woman was hateful to me! Ran me off from the Mission, and I was born and raised there!”
“Well, to tell the truth, I have known Martina for 12-13 years, and that doesn’t sound like her. She must have had a reason.”
“She didn’t have no reason…”
“Do you remember what you were saying when I knocked on the door?” I repeated what she said. “You were jacked up before you even knew who was here. I bet she did have a reason.”
She said something about never coming to my church. That’s fine, it wouldn’t do her much good in that state anyway.
So I ambled on down the street, but she went right behind me to every house and said who knows what. I figured the day would be a wash with her hot on my tail, so I went to the only place on that street I knew a crazed preacher could be treated right: there’s a porch full of drunks in various stages of recovery and sobriety, so I sat with them until I figured mean old lady was back in her house and it was safe to go home…
____________________________
Kingsford Competition Briquets are some good charcoal. Last night, I smoked some ribs, and that charcoal burned long and hot enough to keep the smoke from the applewood rolling. A kid we know came by and asked nonchalantly if he could spend the night. Jessie knew right away what was up and why he did not want to go home. So we let him stay. We talked about what was going on and how for a couple of days he has thought about banging on the door late at night to see if he could stay. He said we ought to put one of those yellow Safe Place signs on the house. When you work with the poor, when you do evangelism, there is a never-ending line of people ready to kick your butt. But if you do the work, you’ll know why you do it, and why you’ll take the beating. So we stayed up late, smoking more ribs, an aroma pleasing to the Lord.
___________________________________
Roz is having a series of 3 welcoming services building up to a big service in the Fall, hoping to increase visibility, let people know about the church. So we have been passing out ice-cold water this week downtown, along with information about Embrace, his church. Couldn’t have asked for better days—hot, so people want the cold water.
Most folks are receptive, a few don’t want to be bothered, one hates church, one said he won’t come, but wants the water.
____________________________________
A word about the future. The church in America will be on hard times by the end of my life. It’s not just about declining numbers, or the secularization of the Church. It’s not even about the attack on the church by ACLU-type legal activity. It’s more about being a minority. When you are a minority, you can guarantee that your rights will be trampled, and beyond that, what you do will become more difficult. While we may like to think that the society and justice work on ideals, they really operate on what’s popular. So while taking prayer out of schools and ten commandments out of courthouses is a problem, it’s only a symptom. An example, the reason smoking is being “phased out” is not so much because of health, but because fewer people smoke. Alcohol is a serious problem, but there’s not near the effort put into stamping it out because enough people want to drink that they’re willing to put up with billions in lost productivity, death, serious health problems and dysfunctional families.
It won’t matter that people believe in the ideal of freedom of religion. When people are more secular, when Christians become more and more of a minority, no one will care. We might ought to hasten this along. I say let’s lose as many “rights” and privileges as we can. Then what we’ll have left is serious Christians, because the lukewarm people won’t want to be marginalized. Then maybe we can have a real revival.
Friday was visiting in the neighborhood and then helping Rosario do some evangelism downtown.
First house I met someone home, I knew it was a mistake to knock. I remembered the house as my hand was knocking. It’s a family where the two sons like to get drunk and grope women and the mom will cuss you in a heartbeat. Well, after I knocked, I hear a hard, woman’s voice (close your eyes if you’re of delicate sensibilities): “God damn it! If that’s Mike, I’ll run his ass off! That son of a bitch!” For information purposes: Mike is her son…
She flings the door open, I smile sweetly and say, “it’s not Mike, it’s worse. It’s the preacher.”
She came out kind of sheepish, but then was right back at it. “I know you, you’re that preacher at the church with that woman from the Bottoms!” I know she means Martina, our administrator. Martina used to be the pastor at the Nathaniel Mission in Irishtown, sometimes called Davis Bottom, or simply “the Bottoms.”
“That woman was hateful to me! Ran me off from the Mission, and I was born and raised there!”
“Well, to tell the truth, I have known Martina for 12-13 years, and that doesn’t sound like her. She must have had a reason.”
“She didn’t have no reason…”
“Do you remember what you were saying when I knocked on the door?” I repeated what she said. “You were jacked up before you even knew who was here. I bet she did have a reason.”
She said something about never coming to my church. That’s fine, it wouldn’t do her much good in that state anyway.
So I ambled on down the street, but she went right behind me to every house and said who knows what. I figured the day would be a wash with her hot on my tail, so I went to the only place on that street I knew a crazed preacher could be treated right: there’s a porch full of drunks in various stages of recovery and sobriety, so I sat with them until I figured mean old lady was back in her house and it was safe to go home…
____________________________
Kingsford Competition Briquets are some good charcoal. Last night, I smoked some ribs, and that charcoal burned long and hot enough to keep the smoke from the applewood rolling. A kid we know came by and asked nonchalantly if he could spend the night. Jessie knew right away what was up and why he did not want to go home. So we let him stay. We talked about what was going on and how for a couple of days he has thought about banging on the door late at night to see if he could stay. He said we ought to put one of those yellow Safe Place signs on the house. When you work with the poor, when you do evangelism, there is a never-ending line of people ready to kick your butt. But if you do the work, you’ll know why you do it, and why you’ll take the beating. So we stayed up late, smoking more ribs, an aroma pleasing to the Lord.
___________________________________
Roz is having a series of 3 welcoming services building up to a big service in the Fall, hoping to increase visibility, let people know about the church. So we have been passing out ice-cold water this week downtown, along with information about Embrace, his church. Couldn’t have asked for better days—hot, so people want the cold water.
Most folks are receptive, a few don’t want to be bothered, one hates church, one said he won’t come, but wants the water.
____________________________________
A word about the future. The church in America will be on hard times by the end of my life. It’s not just about declining numbers, or the secularization of the Church. It’s not even about the attack on the church by ACLU-type legal activity. It’s more about being a minority. When you are a minority, you can guarantee that your rights will be trampled, and beyond that, what you do will become more difficult. While we may like to think that the society and justice work on ideals, they really operate on what’s popular. So while taking prayer out of schools and ten commandments out of courthouses is a problem, it’s only a symptom. An example, the reason smoking is being “phased out” is not so much because of health, but because fewer people smoke. Alcohol is a serious problem, but there’s not near the effort put into stamping it out because enough people want to drink that they’re willing to put up with billions in lost productivity, death, serious health problems and dysfunctional families.
It won’t matter that people believe in the ideal of freedom of religion. When people are more secular, when Christians become more and more of a minority, no one will care. We might ought to hasten this along. I say let’s lose as many “rights” and privileges as we can. Then what we’ll have left is serious Christians, because the lukewarm people won’t want to be marginalized. Then maybe we can have a real revival.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly
John Owen is in love with the AME pastor's wife. He thinks she looks like Tina Turner. I know, he's a mess. In the innocence of children he says, "I think I am going to marry a brown woman." For those of you who don't know, the AME church is the African Methodist Episcopal Church, which broke off from the larger Methodist Church over integration issues a long time ago, 1790s if I remember.
John can't figure why if they're Methodists and we're Methodists, why aren't we all together? He says we ought to have the "All Methodist Church." Amen.
_________
There's a drunk maintenance man in the neighborhood who has it out for me. A few weeks ago he was spouting off at a pretty bad car wreck. I mean, really, you hate the preacher, we get that, but let's help the medics work.
Last night he came over and cussed me pretty good. Mama Itoula and Ines were planting peanuts and cassava. Luckily they did not understand what he was saying. I asked him if he could lean over and talk to the plants because the crap coming out of his mouth would really help them grow. They didn't teach me that in seminary. Actually, Jesus did (see Mark 7:1-23, The Parable of Those Whose Butts and Mouths are Reversed) What a jerk. He cussed Osman a few weeks ago. He really hates the church. I asked Leo about him and all Leo would say was, "That dude preached my funeral a time or two..."
John can't figure why if they're Methodists and we're Methodists, why aren't we all together? He says we ought to have the "All Methodist Church." Amen.
_________
There's a drunk maintenance man in the neighborhood who has it out for me. A few weeks ago he was spouting off at a pretty bad car wreck. I mean, really, you hate the preacher, we get that, but let's help the medics work.
Last night he came over and cussed me pretty good. Mama Itoula and Ines were planting peanuts and cassava. Luckily they did not understand what he was saying. I asked him if he could lean over and talk to the plants because the crap coming out of his mouth would really help them grow. They didn't teach me that in seminary. Actually, Jesus did (see Mark 7:1-23, The Parable of Those Whose Butts and Mouths are Reversed) What a jerk. He cussed Osman a few weeks ago. He really hates the church. I asked Leo about him and all Leo would say was, "That dude preached my funeral a time or two..."
Monday, June 15, 2009
Live from St. Anthony's
We just got out of the worship service at St Anthony's. That's what we call our Monday night ministry amongst ourselves. St Anthony was a man dedicated to serving the poor, and that's what Monday night is all about-- a service, a meal abd felllowship, and then families leave with a food basket.
The crazy thing-- a guy got up out of service, pissed because he "didn't come to hear abour religion" and at the communion rail another guy thanks me for serving the Lord's Supper.
What I want to call attention to tonight is the communion ritual. We have been using the hymnal, a ritual. What - have in mind is that for a lot of people who can't read, repeating the same words over and over is how they learn. Those of us who read the ritual usually miss the content...
So tonight, after four weeks, some people know it. It was loud. It wasn't just that 60 of us were in the small chapel-- no, they were primed when I asked them to "proclaim the mystery of faith:" and they rocked, in various cadences but clearly: "Christ has died, Christ has risen, Christ will come again.". It makes a difference when you really need Him to come, more than when you just sort of think it's cool He might come."
The crazy thing-- a guy got up out of service, pissed because he "didn't come to hear abour religion" and at the communion rail another guy thanks me for serving the Lord's Supper.
What I want to call attention to tonight is the communion ritual. We have been using the hymnal, a ritual. What - have in mind is that for a lot of people who can't read, repeating the same words over and over is how they learn. Those of us who read the ritual usually miss the content...
So tonight, after four weeks, some people know it. It was loud. It wasn't just that 60 of us were in the small chapel-- no, they were primed when I asked them to "proclaim the mystery of faith:" and they rocked, in various cadences but clearly: "Christ has died, Christ has risen, Christ will come again.". It makes a difference when you really need Him to come, more than when you just sort of think it's cool He might come."
Live from the courthouse
We are at court with Ines. She is a refugee from Congo with 5 kids. For a variety of reasons she had to leave the apt where she had a lot of support. John abd LG were there. The Itoulas. Now she is across town and it's hard for her to find anyone to watch her kids. So she' facing neglect issues.
What gets me is I know some families that should lose their kids. I have called and called, and nothing. I can't figure out how this works.
Thankfully, it seems that this is a preliminary hearing, and we can work on bringing her back close to us. By African standards she is a simple woman, so you can imagine how weird this country seems to her. We'll have to surround her with a family. Maybe North Broadway--Idlewild--Highland Park can be a new village?
What gets me is I know some families that should lose their kids. I have called and called, and nothing. I can't figure out how this works.
Thankfully, it seems that this is a preliminary hearing, and we can work on bringing her back close to us. By African standards she is a simple woman, so you can imagine how weird this country seems to her. We'll have to surround her with a family. Maybe North Broadway--Idlewild--Highland Park can be a new village?
Saturday, June 13, 2009
More on Why We Suck
Go to the post on Why We Suck a few entries down, and you'll see a great comment from Inis, a blog friend and poster-of-challenging-comments.
Inis asks how it is that I push that the Church can't accept homosexuality. She asks, if I say we'd accept it because we cave, wouldn't not accepting it be caving to another side?
My answer is no, because this is the Church's position, that it's not acceptable. There may be many who dispute this, but that does not change anything. Maybe soon I'll post on Vincent of Lerins' formula for Christian Doctrine, "what was believed from the beginning, by all, everywhere."
But for now: Inis refers to the prohibition in Leviticus against homosexuality. That's not the only place the Bible prohibits homosexuality in the Old Testament. But more to the point for Christians, the New Testament prohibits it as well. In the first instance, homosexuality was rampant in the 1st century world. Jesus, following the order in Genesis, sees marriage as only one man and one woman.
Romans 1:27
1 Corinthians 6:9
Jude 7
Revelation 21:8
Additionally, Inis remarks that the Gospels don't condemn people for what/who they are. Yes, they do. Otherwise there'd be no call to repent. If we were just fine, Jesus would never have come, much less died for us. The gentleness that Inis sees is the kindness of God that sees the helplessness of humanity in its sinfulness, and God's grace in providing a remedy through Jesus Christ-- homosexual, adulterer, murderer, slave-trader, me-- all these things can and MUST be changed.
Inis asks how it is that I push that the Church can't accept homosexuality. She asks, if I say we'd accept it because we cave, wouldn't not accepting it be caving to another side?
My answer is no, because this is the Church's position, that it's not acceptable. There may be many who dispute this, but that does not change anything. Maybe soon I'll post on Vincent of Lerins' formula for Christian Doctrine, "what was believed from the beginning, by all, everywhere."
But for now: Inis refers to the prohibition in Leviticus against homosexuality. That's not the only place the Bible prohibits homosexuality in the Old Testament. But more to the point for Christians, the New Testament prohibits it as well. In the first instance, homosexuality was rampant in the 1st century world. Jesus, following the order in Genesis, sees marriage as only one man and one woman.
Romans 1:27
1 Corinthians 6:9
Jude 7
Revelation 21:8
Additionally, Inis remarks that the Gospels don't condemn people for what/who they are. Yes, they do. Otherwise there'd be no call to repent. If we were just fine, Jesus would never have come, much less died for us. The gentleness that Inis sees is the kindness of God that sees the helplessness of humanity in its sinfulness, and God's grace in providing a remedy through Jesus Christ-- homosexual, adulterer, murderer, slave-trader, me-- all these things can and MUST be changed.
The Night That Was Church
Last night, we had a birthday for Jose (pronounced Jo-say), a boy from Congo. He got here with his family almost 3 years ago. What changes! He was so traumatized in those days. He saw horrible things in the war, in fleeing for his life, not knowing if he would be reunited with family. Then some years in a refugee camp in Gabon. Then here, a new culture... but a good church family.
People have rallied around him and his family.
LG and John wondered if we could make Friday night's dinner a birthday party for him. Of course!
It was one of those bittersweet moments. It was so good to be with everyone, but that was the problem. It was church, and I wonder why that's rare, why Sunday is not like that, why church gets bogged down in organization and structure and money? There we were, eating together, playing together, laughing together-- white, African, Hispanic, young, old. The gifts ranged from sports equipment and money to some salted fish, an African delicacy that put a pong in the house!
See, even really bad news was ok. Unfortunately the Africans think that I have some pull and knowledge as a pastor. One of our flock is just totally beat down and might be losing her kids. She is distraught, unable to understand how it is that she could come here and have her kids taken away. So I get to be the one to say it will probably happen, find the way to help her understand that we can work on getting them back... it really pisses me off when they don't make any effort to translate, can't get the kids' name or sex right and then expect anyone to understand what they're talking about... they told her in English that she could get a lawyer or have one appointed. She is poor (and the poor are forced into decisions that got her where she is, about to lose her kids), and would have the court appointed attorney. The refugees' experience with court appointed lawyers is not so good... Misty and James, we need you down here!!!
I can handle being "Papa Pasteur," and all the outrageous demands and expectations that come with that when we're all together loving and eating. But too often church isn't church. We should have taken up an offering and preached a sermon... but then, I guess we did.
People have rallied around him and his family.
LG and John wondered if we could make Friday night's dinner a birthday party for him. Of course!
It was one of those bittersweet moments. It was so good to be with everyone, but that was the problem. It was church, and I wonder why that's rare, why Sunday is not like that, why church gets bogged down in organization and structure and money? There we were, eating together, playing together, laughing together-- white, African, Hispanic, young, old. The gifts ranged from sports equipment and money to some salted fish, an African delicacy that put a pong in the house!
See, even really bad news was ok. Unfortunately the Africans think that I have some pull and knowledge as a pastor. One of our flock is just totally beat down and might be losing her kids. She is distraught, unable to understand how it is that she could come here and have her kids taken away. So I get to be the one to say it will probably happen, find the way to help her understand that we can work on getting them back... it really pisses me off when they don't make any effort to translate, can't get the kids' name or sex right and then expect anyone to understand what they're talking about... they told her in English that she could get a lawyer or have one appointed. She is poor (and the poor are forced into decisions that got her where she is, about to lose her kids), and would have the court appointed attorney. The refugees' experience with court appointed lawyers is not so good... Misty and James, we need you down here!!!
I can handle being "Papa Pasteur," and all the outrageous demands and expectations that come with that when we're all together loving and eating. But too often church isn't church. We should have taken up an offering and preached a sermon... but then, I guess we did.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
The Little Seminary
Annual Conference, Again
One of the great things about Conference was the boys had a great time. They’ve been coming to Annual Conference since they were born. They actually want to go and be in the evening services. They got to see Rosario be commissioned.
Well, I think they are still thinking about some of the things they heard. Saturday evenings, I rehearse my sermons a few times. John went out with me about a month ago, walking around the block, just listening. Well, he wanted to again tonight. And then Joseph wanted to, as well. So we walked around the block and I worked on my sermon, and they were very quiet. They held my hand now and then, held each other’s hands, whispered to each other now and again. When I finished, Joseph started singing, “There’s Something About That Name.” That song has never been sung more sweetly.
I hope that maybe we can do this each week. Maybe, if the Lord calls them, they will have a jump on sermon preparation. But more importantly, it’s a time to be together, to plant seeds, to deepen their discipleship. Funny; you can be so intentional about something you forget about it. It becomes natural. Our house and family is what I looked for: a little seminary.
One of the great things about Conference was the boys had a great time. They’ve been coming to Annual Conference since they were born. They actually want to go and be in the evening services. They got to see Rosario be commissioned.
Well, I think they are still thinking about some of the things they heard. Saturday evenings, I rehearse my sermons a few times. John went out with me about a month ago, walking around the block, just listening. Well, he wanted to again tonight. And then Joseph wanted to, as well. So we walked around the block and I worked on my sermon, and they were very quiet. They held my hand now and then, held each other’s hands, whispered to each other now and again. When I finished, Joseph started singing, “There’s Something About That Name.” That song has never been sung more sweetly.
I hope that maybe we can do this each week. Maybe, if the Lord calls them, they will have a jump on sermon preparation. But more importantly, it’s a time to be together, to plant seeds, to deepen their discipleship. Funny; you can be so intentional about something you forget about it. It becomes natural. Our house and family is what I looked for: a little seminary.
Annual Conference is over
We had a good time at Annual Conference. Bishop Davis really keeps things moving. We had a lot of really good times, and it seems to me that the “real” work of Annual Conference is in a hundred conversations and lunches where old friends and new get together and where people in similar ministries share stories.
There was a great lunch at Molly Malone’s for those of us in what I call “freaked out ministries,” those ministries that work in marginal areas. There are a lot of opportunities for soul-saving ministries, but we struggle with a lack of resources. There is a lot we could do if we had the financial base a more prosperous church has. What I can’t figure out is why it is so segregated? Why are there rich churches and poor churches?
The Mission Night was awesome, raising more than $43,000 for a pension fund for pastors who have given it all for 30, 40 and more years in the third world, retiring with nothing. It’s amazing, isn’t it? The church is in decline in America, but the pastors here have it good. The church is growing and on fire, but the pastors have nothing. Can anyone doubt that in the Western Church, many other things besides Jesus occupy the pastors’ time?
When Conference was over, Roz, Jess, the boys and I ate lunch, and got to see some more friends on the way out. I slept as Jessie drove, and slept some more when I got home. I didn’t sleep much at Conference. A lot of things were on my mind, well really only one thing: how long does a ministry to the poor survive when everyone thinks the economic situation means hunkering down? The need is greater than ever, but the resources slimmer. But I had some really refreshing moments with Larry Stoess and Anthony Everett. So I caught up on some shut-eye with a full heart.
Got up, mowed, fixing to grill some yardbirds, and then see how the gardens are doing in the evening cool.
So, tomorrow it’s back to the valley, a good place in its own right.
There was a great lunch at Molly Malone’s for those of us in what I call “freaked out ministries,” those ministries that work in marginal areas. There are a lot of opportunities for soul-saving ministries, but we struggle with a lack of resources. There is a lot we could do if we had the financial base a more prosperous church has. What I can’t figure out is why it is so segregated? Why are there rich churches and poor churches?
The Mission Night was awesome, raising more than $43,000 for a pension fund for pastors who have given it all for 30, 40 and more years in the third world, retiring with nothing. It’s amazing, isn’t it? The church is in decline in America, but the pastors here have it good. The church is growing and on fire, but the pastors have nothing. Can anyone doubt that in the Western Church, many other things besides Jesus occupy the pastors’ time?
When Conference was over, Roz, Jess, the boys and I ate lunch, and got to see some more friends on the way out. I slept as Jessie drove, and slept some more when I got home. I didn’t sleep much at Conference. A lot of things were on my mind, well really only one thing: how long does a ministry to the poor survive when everyone thinks the economic situation means hunkering down? The need is greater than ever, but the resources slimmer. But I had some really refreshing moments with Larry Stoess and Anthony Everett. So I caught up on some shut-eye with a full heart.
Got up, mowed, fixing to grill some yardbirds, and then see how the gardens are doing in the evening cool.
So, tomorrow it’s back to the valley, a good place in its own right.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Why We Suck, and other thoughts
Random Notes from Annual Conference
It has been a good conference, I think. I mean, parts of it are boring and tedious. And then I wonder, what would a neutral observer learn about the church? A related question: is Annual Conference important? If it is, then a neutral observer should come away with some sense of what Christianity is. But I don’t think they would come away with what Christianity is about. So maybe we need to change what Annual Conference is and does.
The New Church and Congregational Development (NCCD) Committee report was good news. The Rock was started by NCCD, and they are helping us plant Roz’s church downtown. The reason I say it was a good report is that it vindicates our work. The United Methodist Church in Kentucky had a net decline of 400 people in worship from 2007 to 2008. But the new churches started by NCCD provide the church with 2000 worshippers. So the decline would have been pretty steep without us.
In those moments you snatch from Conference, I compiled a list of reasons as to why we suck. Actually, the list came in response to the Indiana Bishop, Michael Coyner, pointing out that there is not a county in Indiana where Christians are in the majority. Man, if you lose the heartland, what are you going to do? So here goes:
Why we suck (or, causes for the ineffectiveness of Christianity)
1. We’re not relevant. I don’t mean doing things the way “the world” does to be relevant, because even hard-core pagans know the world is not relevant to real life! I mean we don’t help people live life. Most of this is because we don’t preach from the Bible, the source of life-wisdom. Another part is that we ourselves don’t understand life. We miss how terrible and wonderful it is. We reduce it to some strange saccharine middle ground where all is well if you smile hard enough.
2. The people in the pews are not committed. They don’t tithe, they don’t invite, they barely worship beyond showing up. It’s a miracle I even show up for church. Seriously, if it weren’t that I know how wild Jesus is, and how much He wants to do with me, I don’t think I’d choose to worship in most churches.
3. The people in church don’t believe Jesus saves. They don’t believe that if you don’t believe in Him you go to Hell. If they do believe this and have not told anyone, they are the most hard-hearted, pitiless people the world has ever seen.
4. We’ve let the world in. Whatever the world does, we do. So when the world wanted to own slaves, church members and even clergy did, too. Because the world wants homosexuality, the church will swallow its convictions and cave there, too. That’s contextual ministry for you.
5. We are purveyors of Cheap Grace. We teach people, by precept and example, that there is no need for repentance. You might not even need to feel bad. All you need is to trust your cosmic sugar daddy to tell you it’s all going to be ok. This goes back to being relevant. A sinner in the grips of his sin knows that’s crap. He’s begging for a way out. But as long as you’re still ok with your sin, it’s time to join the church.
6. We privilege “brokenness,” creating a climate of hysteria where we won’t let Jesus fix us because we like the attention we get—both for being broken, and “ministering” to the “broken people.” (if you can’t tell, I hate the word “broken.”) This is no more than co-dependency. We’re more prone to have a prison ministry than a victim ministry. I have seen first-hand how this hysteria grips a church. We had a sad case of adultery, lack of repentance on the part of the adulterers, and when they were sent packing, we had people trying to defend them, even to the point of attacking the spouses who had been left.
I know this doesn’t sound like a good conference, but this kind of thinking spurs me on. I love getting to hang with old friends, guys who push the envelope—the kind of guys who ask what was your most spectacular failure, because they know the lessons learned are where success will come from.
Our new Bishop, Lindsey Davis, will he shake things up? Will we live into our job, nothing to do but save souls?
It has been a good conference, I think. I mean, parts of it are boring and tedious. And then I wonder, what would a neutral observer learn about the church? A related question: is Annual Conference important? If it is, then a neutral observer should come away with some sense of what Christianity is. But I don’t think they would come away with what Christianity is about. So maybe we need to change what Annual Conference is and does.
The New Church and Congregational Development (NCCD) Committee report was good news. The Rock was started by NCCD, and they are helping us plant Roz’s church downtown. The reason I say it was a good report is that it vindicates our work. The United Methodist Church in Kentucky had a net decline of 400 people in worship from 2007 to 2008. But the new churches started by NCCD provide the church with 2000 worshippers. So the decline would have been pretty steep without us.
In those moments you snatch from Conference, I compiled a list of reasons as to why we suck. Actually, the list came in response to the Indiana Bishop, Michael Coyner, pointing out that there is not a county in Indiana where Christians are in the majority. Man, if you lose the heartland, what are you going to do? So here goes:
Why we suck (or, causes for the ineffectiveness of Christianity)
1. We’re not relevant. I don’t mean doing things the way “the world” does to be relevant, because even hard-core pagans know the world is not relevant to real life! I mean we don’t help people live life. Most of this is because we don’t preach from the Bible, the source of life-wisdom. Another part is that we ourselves don’t understand life. We miss how terrible and wonderful it is. We reduce it to some strange saccharine middle ground where all is well if you smile hard enough.
2. The people in the pews are not committed. They don’t tithe, they don’t invite, they barely worship beyond showing up. It’s a miracle I even show up for church. Seriously, if it weren’t that I know how wild Jesus is, and how much He wants to do with me, I don’t think I’d choose to worship in most churches.
3. The people in church don’t believe Jesus saves. They don’t believe that if you don’t believe in Him you go to Hell. If they do believe this and have not told anyone, they are the most hard-hearted, pitiless people the world has ever seen.
4. We’ve let the world in. Whatever the world does, we do. So when the world wanted to own slaves, church members and even clergy did, too. Because the world wants homosexuality, the church will swallow its convictions and cave there, too. That’s contextual ministry for you.
5. We are purveyors of Cheap Grace. We teach people, by precept and example, that there is no need for repentance. You might not even need to feel bad. All you need is to trust your cosmic sugar daddy to tell you it’s all going to be ok. This goes back to being relevant. A sinner in the grips of his sin knows that’s crap. He’s begging for a way out. But as long as you’re still ok with your sin, it’s time to join the church.
6. We privilege “brokenness,” creating a climate of hysteria where we won’t let Jesus fix us because we like the attention we get—both for being broken, and “ministering” to the “broken people.” (if you can’t tell, I hate the word “broken.”) This is no more than co-dependency. We’re more prone to have a prison ministry than a victim ministry. I have seen first-hand how this hysteria grips a church. We had a sad case of adultery, lack of repentance on the part of the adulterers, and when they were sent packing, we had people trying to defend them, even to the point of attacking the spouses who had been left.
I know this doesn’t sound like a good conference, but this kind of thinking spurs me on. I love getting to hang with old friends, guys who push the envelope—the kind of guys who ask what was your most spectacular failure, because they know the lessons learned are where success will come from.
Our new Bishop, Lindsey Davis, will he shake things up? Will we live into our job, nothing to do but save souls?
Friday, May 29, 2009
Strawberries
So we had our first really good strawberries. we have been fighting the robins for them, finally won with a net. We picked the 10 or so ripest ones. They just melted in a blast of sweetness.
When we visited my grandmother's people in France, Bernardo the gardener would pick fresh strawberries and pour sweet red wine and sugar over them. Let's just say he and I had a few of those before dinner. I was 12, and hit the hay early that night.
These front-yard strawberries are so good you can't even call what you get in the store strawberries. My love for Santa Cruz notwithstanding, these are the best strawberries ever. I think next year we grow hundreds of plants in the garden and sell them.
Jessie's potato idea, of stacking tires around them is working. These taters are so tall some are ready for a second tire! The theory is covering up the leaves makes more tubers. Well, that's not a theory, it works. BUt what we're not sure about is how high you can force the plant to grow. One guy claims he got about 40 lbs from one plant growing them in a barrel. If that's true, and we get 20 lbs from each of ours that will be more than 500 lbs of taters in a little backyard spot.
I'll put some pics up when I figure out how to do this from my crackberry. Which by the way is awesome. Charlotte gives me all the info on new visitors. Used to be, I'd have that on a card or an email, and then I would look the number up and call. NO more. C-lotta sends me an email and then boom! I scroll down to the number, it's highlighted, I hit the trackball, call made.
Or how bout having my daily agenda sent to me first thing in the morning? My major disappointment has been my calendar. I have to write it on a paper calendar or call Charlotte to write it down. No more. I have my calendar in my hands, I can add to it wherever I am (and as some of you know, my confession is that no preacher's work gets done in the office), and Charlotte can add to it, and I get it.
When we visited my grandmother's people in France, Bernardo the gardener would pick fresh strawberries and pour sweet red wine and sugar over them. Let's just say he and I had a few of those before dinner. I was 12, and hit the hay early that night.
These front-yard strawberries are so good you can't even call what you get in the store strawberries. My love for Santa Cruz notwithstanding, these are the best strawberries ever. I think next year we grow hundreds of plants in the garden and sell them.
Jessie's potato idea, of stacking tires around them is working. These taters are so tall some are ready for a second tire! The theory is covering up the leaves makes more tubers. Well, that's not a theory, it works. BUt what we're not sure about is how high you can force the plant to grow. One guy claims he got about 40 lbs from one plant growing them in a barrel. If that's true, and we get 20 lbs from each of ours that will be more than 500 lbs of taters in a little backyard spot.
I'll put some pics up when I figure out how to do this from my crackberry. Which by the way is awesome. Charlotte gives me all the info on new visitors. Used to be, I'd have that on a card or an email, and then I would look the number up and call. NO more. C-lotta sends me an email and then boom! I scroll down to the number, it's highlighted, I hit the trackball, call made.
Or how bout having my daily agenda sent to me first thing in the morning? My major disappointment has been my calendar. I have to write it on a paper calendar or call Charlotte to write it down. No more. I have my calendar in my hands, I can add to it wherever I am (and as some of you know, my confession is that no preacher's work gets done in the office), and Charlotte can add to it, and I get it.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Check this out
The Drudger Report has a link to a California paper about the CA Supreme Court's Ruling that the voter-enacted gay marriage ban will stand.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Time
What a day!
Brandon and Erin, the boys' aunt and uncle brought them back from a fun-filled weekend at Mammaw's. It was so good to see B and E and to have the boys back. We had a day of rest and remembrance: the boys occasionally watched The Longest Day with me. How do you explain all that to them? And I think of Steve McKinney's wry words: the worst time to have a boy is 18 years before a war.
We lounged around. Ate lunch at DQ.
Wrestled. I was on fire. I won what is now called the "Pile of Babies" Match, in honor of my finishing move, pinning John by pinning Joe on top of him. I think they have been talking and strategizing because they worked me over tag-team pretty good.
We went to Half Price books. Joe got an Iron Man activity book and John got a book n Frederick Douglas, his new hero.
Then we took a short nap.
We ate some serious roast, green beans and Ica's mashed taters.
Then a pillow fight with all of us.
We wrestled again. I did not fare so well. I must say tho, that I out both of them in a figure four leg lock and then pulled their underwear over their foot, effectively hog tying them.
Then dessert and bed time.
A sabbath.
Brandon and Erin, the boys' aunt and uncle brought them back from a fun-filled weekend at Mammaw's. It was so good to see B and E and to have the boys back. We had a day of rest and remembrance: the boys occasionally watched The Longest Day with me. How do you explain all that to them? And I think of Steve McKinney's wry words: the worst time to have a boy is 18 years before a war.
We lounged around. Ate lunch at DQ.
Wrestled. I was on fire. I won what is now called the "Pile of Babies" Match, in honor of my finishing move, pinning John by pinning Joe on top of him. I think they have been talking and strategizing because they worked me over tag-team pretty good.
We went to Half Price books. Joe got an Iron Man activity book and John got a book n Frederick Douglas, his new hero.
Then we took a short nap.
We ate some serious roast, green beans and Ica's mashed taters.
Then a pillow fight with all of us.
We wrestled again. I did not fare so well. I must say tho, that I out both of them in a figure four leg lock and then pulled their underwear over their foot, effectively hog tying them.
Then dessert and bed time.
A sabbath.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Orthed Out
We just finished with the Monday Service. This evening’s was the best service I can recall being in. Blake and I have been doing a lot of thinking and praying about the service. I am actually pretty jealous of him—he is getting to work on this service and take it in some amazing directions.
For a few weeks, we have been wanting to have communion. We have been preaching on it and preparing the folks in the service. There are faithful, believing Christians, backsliders, non-believers, and the confused. So we had communion for the first time with them tonight. Blake and I practiced the ritual. When the time came, it was beautiful: the folks responded along with us. There were people locked in on us in ways I have not seen before in the service.
When we served communion, it was a high and holy moment. Two folks came up with tears, both of them saying, “It’s been so long…”
The chapel at The Rock is small. Fits maybe 70 comfortably. There is a beautiful stained glass window, of Jesus consoling Mary at the Resurrection. So we have this beautiful picture. We have words and songs to hear. We walk up and touch the bread with our hands. We taste it and the juice. All that we’d be missing is the sense of smell, but we busted out the incense and totally orthed it up. When we prayed, we put the incense on and Blake went out and censed the congregation. We reminded them that the smoke is a symbol of our prayers rising to God, a pleasing sacrifice of praise.
There was a different feeling tonight. People left in such a good mood. Not really a mood or feeling, a sense that something important had happened in the life of the church. At dinner afterwards, many people commented on how they loved the service. We gave them Jesus.
For a few weeks, we have been wanting to have communion. We have been preaching on it and preparing the folks in the service. There are faithful, believing Christians, backsliders, non-believers, and the confused. So we had communion for the first time with them tonight. Blake and I practiced the ritual. When the time came, it was beautiful: the folks responded along with us. There were people locked in on us in ways I have not seen before in the service.
When we served communion, it was a high and holy moment. Two folks came up with tears, both of them saying, “It’s been so long…”
The chapel at The Rock is small. Fits maybe 70 comfortably. There is a beautiful stained glass window, of Jesus consoling Mary at the Resurrection. So we have this beautiful picture. We have words and songs to hear. We walk up and touch the bread with our hands. We taste it and the juice. All that we’d be missing is the sense of smell, but we busted out the incense and totally orthed it up. When we prayed, we put the incense on and Blake went out and censed the congregation. We reminded them that the smoke is a symbol of our prayers rising to God, a pleasing sacrifice of praise.
There was a different feeling tonight. People left in such a good mood. Not really a mood or feeling, a sense that something important had happened in the life of the church. At dinner afterwards, many people commented on how they loved the service. We gave them Jesus.
Salad Days
This evening we have picked our first salad greens from the kitchen garden. Spinach, 8 kinds of heirloom lettuce and fresh picked radishes. It's fresh, local (as in outside the kitchen), organic. If you got a salad like this at a restaurant, and it would have to be a luxury restaurant, it would cost you $8 for three leaves.
I hope that everybody loves it! It's one of those things that's really easy to do... we can give the most needy a most excellent salad, and bring people together in growing and picking and eating.
The Lord is so good to us. I get a laugh out of where this is all going. People are paying big bucks for organic food, paying more the more local it is, paying even more if the varieties are heirloom... and here we are giving it away! Maybe we should open a restaurant and get paid big bucks for all the wild stuff we're growing...
I hope that everybody loves it! It's one of those things that's really easy to do... we can give the most needy a most excellent salad, and bring people together in growing and picking and eating.
The Lord is so good to us. I get a laugh out of where this is all going. People are paying big bucks for organic food, paying more the more local it is, paying even more if the varieties are heirloom... and here we are giving it away! Maybe we should open a restaurant and get paid big bucks for all the wild stuff we're growing...
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Glandion Carney
Well, what a week. We are all dead, I think. Johnny G and the youth put on a great talent show. They had worked for months and it showed. And then today was the garden. People at work all over the place. We sat back and looked at the calendar and saw that there is something going on at the church every day of the month. At first, I was a little worried, because we are trying hard not to be a “program church.” We’re tryingto make disciples, not keep people “active.” Sometimes there is so much you can do that you just end up doing, and not becoming anything. I think, however, that the activity is generally a sign of doing things that connect us to God and the neighborhood. What had me specifically worried is that we more or less had to kick Gordon and Fran out!!! They were at the church every day one week! Ah, but what they do… it gets after the mission.
And how is all this supposed to work? How does a church have a mission? I don’t mean a mission statement. It is difficult to be a church in the traditional sense of members, because that tends to mean that there is a focus on the people that are already “in.” But as our District Superintendent, Paige, says, “Meat eaters take care of themselves,” by which she means you have to get out and find the lost sheep. She also says, “The Gospel is precious and time is short,” so we move out of the church and into the neighborhood. This is an important piece of being a disciple-making church. Yes, we have Sunday worship. And it is a high and important time.
But so is Wednesday prayer and fasting. And Bible Study. And street evangelism. And scaring atheists in coffee shops. And Monday nights, feeding the hungry and clothing the naked.
In all this, how do we survive? That is, ministry to the least is hard. Living in the middle o fit harder still. And when we asked folks to commit to not just doing ministry to people, but doing it with them, from them (within their midst, but also allowing the poor to determine what the poor need most), this got hard. Frustration. Getting in over our heads. We needed spiritual sustenance to get us through, but everything about our society and even the church tells us that we do it on our own strength.
Enter Glandion Carney. He works with Richard Foster and Dallas Willard. I have known for more than 10 years that I would need to work with Glandion. He gets the inward spiritual development that is desperately needed. But he also gets—because he is a black man from Oakland and, as he says, “a 60s guy”—how that inward spiritual development flows to and sustains a hard-core outward focused life: evangelism and justice.
Glandion is an Anglican priest, ordained in Rwanda for the Anglican Mission in America. This past week was the second retreat he has led with us. We focused on the spiritual disciplines, of course, but with an eye towards writing a “rule,” an agreed-upon way we as a staff will live together. It’s not a vision or a mission statement. It is a path to sustain us, to allow us, as Glandion pushes us, “to do and suffer all things for the sake of the Kingdom of God.”
I think that we have hit our stride in this process. Since Glandion’s first visit in January, we have met regularly for spiritual accountability and encouragement along some very specific lines. And two weeks ago, I think we hit the spot of trust. This past week with Glandion, we blew it wide open: we found what we need to nourish us when we’re worn out, criticized, confused, frustrated, angry at the injustice of the world, the destructive behaviors in the neighborhood, put out with each other.
He comes back in September, and we will continue our work as a staff, but we will be turning our attention to how we bring spiritual development to the church especially to the volunteers who jump right into ministry. Glandion will be coming in the New Year to lead the church in spiritual formation. It’s so easy to get burned out, and if there is anything we have seen, the pace of the work and the intensity drains people, and next thing you know, another soldier is down. May God bless us with the sense of Him that keeps us going!!
And how is all this supposed to work? How does a church have a mission? I don’t mean a mission statement. It is difficult to be a church in the traditional sense of members, because that tends to mean that there is a focus on the people that are already “in.” But as our District Superintendent, Paige, says, “Meat eaters take care of themselves,” by which she means you have to get out and find the lost sheep. She also says, “The Gospel is precious and time is short,” so we move out of the church and into the neighborhood. This is an important piece of being a disciple-making church. Yes, we have Sunday worship. And it is a high and important time.
But so is Wednesday prayer and fasting. And Bible Study. And street evangelism. And scaring atheists in coffee shops. And Monday nights, feeding the hungry and clothing the naked.
In all this, how do we survive? That is, ministry to the least is hard. Living in the middle o fit harder still. And when we asked folks to commit to not just doing ministry to people, but doing it with them, from them (within their midst, but also allowing the poor to determine what the poor need most), this got hard. Frustration. Getting in over our heads. We needed spiritual sustenance to get us through, but everything about our society and even the church tells us that we do it on our own strength.
Enter Glandion Carney. He works with Richard Foster and Dallas Willard. I have known for more than 10 years that I would need to work with Glandion. He gets the inward spiritual development that is desperately needed. But he also gets—because he is a black man from Oakland and, as he says, “a 60s guy”—how that inward spiritual development flows to and sustains a hard-core outward focused life: evangelism and justice.
Glandion is an Anglican priest, ordained in Rwanda for the Anglican Mission in America. This past week was the second retreat he has led with us. We focused on the spiritual disciplines, of course, but with an eye towards writing a “rule,” an agreed-upon way we as a staff will live together. It’s not a vision or a mission statement. It is a path to sustain us, to allow us, as Glandion pushes us, “to do and suffer all things for the sake of the Kingdom of God.”
I think that we have hit our stride in this process. Since Glandion’s first visit in January, we have met regularly for spiritual accountability and encouragement along some very specific lines. And two weeks ago, I think we hit the spot of trust. This past week with Glandion, we blew it wide open: we found what we need to nourish us when we’re worn out, criticized, confused, frustrated, angry at the injustice of the world, the destructive behaviors in the neighborhood, put out with each other.
He comes back in September, and we will continue our work as a staff, but we will be turning our attention to how we bring spiritual development to the church especially to the volunteers who jump right into ministry. Glandion will be coming in the New Year to lead the church in spiritual formation. It’s so easy to get burned out, and if there is anything we have seen, the pace of the work and the intensity drains people, and next thing you know, another soldier is down. May God bless us with the sense of Him that keeps us going!!
And Now Deservedly This Easy Chair
Today, we planted the garden.
I did not sleep much last night, as this think is huge. I was guessing 17,000 square feet, but I think it might be more. It’s a lot, way bigger than anything I have ever considered. Of course, only part of it was planted today. First Methodist Church will plant some on Tuesday. We planted tomatoes and peppers today. In a few weeks, we’ll hit beans, cukes, melons, okra and some other things. But it is still big. I was worried about all the stuff we had to do.
But we got after it. Me, Jess and the boys, Bob McKinley, Larry Stewart, Benjamin (from Chiapas, I forget his last name), Melissa McDonald and Katelyn, Bobbie Fullwood, Regina and Keshandon Fuller (they just showed up at church wondering what was going on!!), and then the Posse: Matthew, Chris, Seamus, and Jose. Martina came towards the end and watered it all in.
This is how many tomatoes we have: we had to buy an engine-powered post hole digger. It’s close to 300 maters. About 100 peppers, and more to come. We plan on selling some stuff in addition to feeding the folks. We’re hoping the garden can begin to raise some money for the church’s ministry to the poor—we have fewer resources in these times, and more need.
At one point, Melissa took a picture—there was Larry, Bobbie, Regina, Benjamin and one of the youth working together. Melissa’s comment—“there’s a group that has no reason to know each other.” White, young, old, African American, Hispanic, African. But that’s the whole point of the Kingdom of God, our church. And so it shouldn’t be too surprising that we see it in our garden. I think we just like seeing it, being reminded of it. It’s crazy, not supposed to work, all that jazz.
I did not sleep much last night, as this think is huge. I was guessing 17,000 square feet, but I think it might be more. It’s a lot, way bigger than anything I have ever considered. Of course, only part of it was planted today. First Methodist Church will plant some on Tuesday. We planted tomatoes and peppers today. In a few weeks, we’ll hit beans, cukes, melons, okra and some other things. But it is still big. I was worried about all the stuff we had to do.
But we got after it. Me, Jess and the boys, Bob McKinley, Larry Stewart, Benjamin (from Chiapas, I forget his last name), Melissa McDonald and Katelyn, Bobbie Fullwood, Regina and Keshandon Fuller (they just showed up at church wondering what was going on!!), and then the Posse: Matthew, Chris, Seamus, and Jose. Martina came towards the end and watered it all in.
This is how many tomatoes we have: we had to buy an engine-powered post hole digger. It’s close to 300 maters. About 100 peppers, and more to come. We plan on selling some stuff in addition to feeding the folks. We’re hoping the garden can begin to raise some money for the church’s ministry to the poor—we have fewer resources in these times, and more need.
At one point, Melissa took a picture—there was Larry, Bobbie, Regina, Benjamin and one of the youth working together. Melissa’s comment—“there’s a group that has no reason to know each other.” White, young, old, African American, Hispanic, African. But that’s the whole point of the Kingdom of God, our church. And so it shouldn’t be too surprising that we see it in our garden. I think we just like seeing it, being reminded of it. It’s crazy, not supposed to work, all that jazz.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Picaresque
Two Sundays ago:
We had a meeting after church. We left about 1:30. As we were pulling onto Limestone Street, a truck turning off Lime almost ran into us, driving like a fool. Jessie noticed that the truck turned into the church lot and went behind the building. Well, we have had trouble back there. Especially people messing with my greenhouse.
So I head back there. The truck has pulled between the dumpster and the greenhouse. Just as I am getting out to tell the guy to head on, Jessie says, “Uh, I think there’s a woman in there with him and they are up to something…”
Sho nuff, when I tap on the window the guy jumps and looks at me in utter bewilderment. And then I recognize the woman. She lives not too far from the church and I see her around quite a bit. I saw more of her than I wanted to as she got her clothes back on. They peeled out of there, and I was glad one of the boys had not got out of the car, because that dude pretty well had no control of his car.
I called the cops. And of course, I was able to tell the cops exactly where he was; he stopped at White Castle. I guess you work up an appetite.
___________________________________
Last Friday:
I went to pick up a guy who said he wanted to come to the Friday night dinner at my place. Well, he lives in pretty much the roughest part of Lexington, which isn’t saying a lot, except in a relative sort of way. He had told me how he suffers down there. He’s old and getting weaker. He struggles with alcohol (ok he doesn’t struggle—he stays lit) and is at least fighting his cravings for drugs. He had a birthday here a week or so ago, and that marked the tipping point: he had no longer spent half his life in prison. But I digress. He suffers down there because people just come into his house and stay there. He says they pretty well leave him alone, but they have robbed people who come to his house.
So I go to get him. Before I even get to the door, three thugs get off the neighbor’s porch somehow thinking they’re going to check me out or something. They start the whole We’re-going-to-talk-about-you-as-if-you-aren’t-here thing. But no big deal; my bs threshold is pretty low these days and I walk right thru them and head to my bud’s place. Then one of the thugs says, “don’t knock, just go on in; he’s home.”
Well, I go in and there’s some rough dudes in there and a girl they’re pimping. It hits me that there I am in my ragged out pants and a hoodie, long beard and all. They think I am there for drugs or the girl or maybe both. My bud comes out from the back and says, “Oh, hey, that’s my preacher.” Even this group of people snapped to. But my friend could not come; his toilet was backing up and he was cleaning up, and, he sadly noted, he had gotten drunk and was not going to come like that. I invited everyone to church. They didn’t come, so now I have an excuse to go back and tell them they hurt my feelings. They need a pastor.
We had a meeting after church. We left about 1:30. As we were pulling onto Limestone Street, a truck turning off Lime almost ran into us, driving like a fool. Jessie noticed that the truck turned into the church lot and went behind the building. Well, we have had trouble back there. Especially people messing with my greenhouse.
So I head back there. The truck has pulled between the dumpster and the greenhouse. Just as I am getting out to tell the guy to head on, Jessie says, “Uh, I think there’s a woman in there with him and they are up to something…”
Sho nuff, when I tap on the window the guy jumps and looks at me in utter bewilderment. And then I recognize the woman. She lives not too far from the church and I see her around quite a bit. I saw more of her than I wanted to as she got her clothes back on. They peeled out of there, and I was glad one of the boys had not got out of the car, because that dude pretty well had no control of his car.
I called the cops. And of course, I was able to tell the cops exactly where he was; he stopped at White Castle. I guess you work up an appetite.
___________________________________
Last Friday:
I went to pick up a guy who said he wanted to come to the Friday night dinner at my place. Well, he lives in pretty much the roughest part of Lexington, which isn’t saying a lot, except in a relative sort of way. He had told me how he suffers down there. He’s old and getting weaker. He struggles with alcohol (ok he doesn’t struggle—he stays lit) and is at least fighting his cravings for drugs. He had a birthday here a week or so ago, and that marked the tipping point: he had no longer spent half his life in prison. But I digress. He suffers down there because people just come into his house and stay there. He says they pretty well leave him alone, but they have robbed people who come to his house.
So I go to get him. Before I even get to the door, three thugs get off the neighbor’s porch somehow thinking they’re going to check me out or something. They start the whole We’re-going-to-talk-about-you-as-if-you-aren’t-here thing. But no big deal; my bs threshold is pretty low these days and I walk right thru them and head to my bud’s place. Then one of the thugs says, “don’t knock, just go on in; he’s home.”
Well, I go in and there’s some rough dudes in there and a girl they’re pimping. It hits me that there I am in my ragged out pants and a hoodie, long beard and all. They think I am there for drugs or the girl or maybe both. My bud comes out from the back and says, “Oh, hey, that’s my preacher.” Even this group of people snapped to. But my friend could not come; his toilet was backing up and he was cleaning up, and, he sadly noted, he had gotten drunk and was not going to come like that. I invited everyone to church. They didn’t come, so now I have an excuse to go back and tell them they hurt my feelings. They need a pastor.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Church Planting is a Crock
So, about two weeks ago I was hatin’ life. There was the usual piece in the local paper about a new church “plant” in Lexington. I could not pin it down, but something about what I was reading made me think that church “planting” (starting new churches) was a trend, a fad, the latest thing to ease the mind of the mainline denominations who know they are dying and dying fast, in a loud and grotesque train-wreck sort of way.
I was sick to my stomach. Seriously. I thought I was going to puke. I had a sinking feeling that maybe I had been sold a bill of goods on this whole church planting thing. Maybe it is a trend. A fad. I put a lot of money and way more personal capital into The Rock’s Church plant downtown, Embrace United Methodist Church. I thought I had a sober perspective. Who could doubt that church planting was the way? Has it not always been the way?
I was stressing out for a few days and then I got my wits about me. “It was just an article that hit you wrong, kid” is what I told myself.
Enter Rosario, the pastor and planter of Embrace, the man of whom I proudly say, “You can’t train Rambo and expect him not to kill.” We’re sitting at Frisch’s, and he says, “what if church planting is a crock?”
Now look, church planting is the hardest kind of evangelism there is. The most successful, but the hardest. Especially the way Rosario does it—going to the most secularized places. I mean, he could just move to the burbs, throw up a building from the General Steel Co and raid a few churches for members. Nope. Boozers, fornicators and atheists. That’s his target. And so it is really easy to get bummed as day in and day out you get pummeled.
So I said to Roz, “I am so glad to hear you say that.” We breathed a sigh of relief, having confessed to some deep dark secret sin. [You can tell the Bishop me and Roz had this conversation; we’re pretty transparent dudes. We wear our gospels on our sleeves.]
Here’s why we’re ok talking like this: it leads us deeper into mission. It’s gut-level talk about our love for bringing people to Christ. Not to church, to Christ. The reason we were bummed was because we were worried that maybe we’re just stupid and naïve. We know that we are the kinds of pastors you seal in glass, break only in case of rampant pagan revelry. We’re “big dumb animals” as Roz says. Did we get duped into doing something to save the denomination?
That’s the heart of our depression and worry. The talk in church planting sometimes drifts to: you have to plant so that the denomination keeps growing. For example, in an official United Methodist publication, you read: “Statistics are showing us that we need healthy and existing churches plus new churches in order for the denomination to progress and to grow” (Interpreter, March/April 2009, p. 15). This is from one of pour most successful church planters. I know what he means, because I too have said it. It IS true—the denomination WILL die without new churches. But we can’t plant churches solely to keep the denomination alive. It’s not just that that’s not much of a reason, it’s that it is doomed to fail.
Pretty soon you’re right back where the United Methodist Church is today—more interested in supporting an institution than being a witness for Jesus Christ. When being a witness for Jesus is unpopular, we back down. People might leave. There might be less money. We have a church institution that, in spite of well-meaning and faithful people, does what all institutions tend to: it serves itself. The survival of the institutionalized forms is more important than the mission.
Church planting has to be about the mission: bringing people to faith in Jesus Christ.
Roz and I were wondering if we’re at cross purposes with the church planting movement. Big dumb animals that we are, we went to work for Jesus. We sat back and took a deep breath and we’re back, more determined than ever that this about Jesus and His people. In that same Interpreter issue is what we’re trying to do: “look for those rare Annual Conferences [a regional administrative division of Methodism]… where the church is still growing. In every case all of their growth is accounted for by the growth in their newest churches…. This isn’t about church institutional survival. It’s about the Great Commission. It’s about sharing Christ with the next generation” (p. 13)
I was sick to my stomach. Seriously. I thought I was going to puke. I had a sinking feeling that maybe I had been sold a bill of goods on this whole church planting thing. Maybe it is a trend. A fad. I put a lot of money and way more personal capital into The Rock’s Church plant downtown, Embrace United Methodist Church. I thought I had a sober perspective. Who could doubt that church planting was the way? Has it not always been the way?
I was stressing out for a few days and then I got my wits about me. “It was just an article that hit you wrong, kid” is what I told myself.
Enter Rosario, the pastor and planter of Embrace, the man of whom I proudly say, “You can’t train Rambo and expect him not to kill.” We’re sitting at Frisch’s, and he says, “what if church planting is a crock?”
Now look, church planting is the hardest kind of evangelism there is. The most successful, but the hardest. Especially the way Rosario does it—going to the most secularized places. I mean, he could just move to the burbs, throw up a building from the General Steel Co and raid a few churches for members. Nope. Boozers, fornicators and atheists. That’s his target. And so it is really easy to get bummed as day in and day out you get pummeled.
So I said to Roz, “I am so glad to hear you say that.” We breathed a sigh of relief, having confessed to some deep dark secret sin. [You can tell the Bishop me and Roz had this conversation; we’re pretty transparent dudes. We wear our gospels on our sleeves.]
Here’s why we’re ok talking like this: it leads us deeper into mission. It’s gut-level talk about our love for bringing people to Christ. Not to church, to Christ. The reason we were bummed was because we were worried that maybe we’re just stupid and naïve. We know that we are the kinds of pastors you seal in glass, break only in case of rampant pagan revelry. We’re “big dumb animals” as Roz says. Did we get duped into doing something to save the denomination?
That’s the heart of our depression and worry. The talk in church planting sometimes drifts to: you have to plant so that the denomination keeps growing. For example, in an official United Methodist publication, you read: “Statistics are showing us that we need healthy and existing churches plus new churches in order for the denomination to progress and to grow” (Interpreter, March/April 2009, p. 15). This is from one of pour most successful church planters. I know what he means, because I too have said it. It IS true—the denomination WILL die without new churches. But we can’t plant churches solely to keep the denomination alive. It’s not just that that’s not much of a reason, it’s that it is doomed to fail.
Pretty soon you’re right back where the United Methodist Church is today—more interested in supporting an institution than being a witness for Jesus Christ. When being a witness for Jesus is unpopular, we back down. People might leave. There might be less money. We have a church institution that, in spite of well-meaning and faithful people, does what all institutions tend to: it serves itself. The survival of the institutionalized forms is more important than the mission.
Church planting has to be about the mission: bringing people to faith in Jesus Christ.
Roz and I were wondering if we’re at cross purposes with the church planting movement. Big dumb animals that we are, we went to work for Jesus. We sat back and took a deep breath and we’re back, more determined than ever that this about Jesus and His people. In that same Interpreter issue is what we’re trying to do: “look for those rare Annual Conferences [a regional administrative division of Methodism]… where the church is still growing. In every case all of their growth is accounted for by the growth in their newest churches…. This isn’t about church institutional survival. It’s about the Great Commission. It’s about sharing Christ with the next generation” (p. 13)
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Garden
I think we have the best compost heap I have had in 20 years of composting. We pulled two loads out of it this spring. The first one was stuff that had been going for about a year, so no surprise that something was in there. The second load came when had made a sifter and could get more stuff than what we could eyeball. About three weeks ago, I added fresh grass clippings and turned it. This past weekend, we mowed and added new grass clippings, turning it. I noticed that there is a lot more stuff that is finished or nearly so. At this rate, we’ll probably get about half a 5-gallon bucket every week.
And now (5 days after I wrote the above paragraph) I checked the heap, and it is on fire! Steam comes out of it when you move it a bit. And it doesn’t stink, so it has hit the sweet spot where the bacterial decomposition is raging. I stuck my meat thermometer in (not the good one you gave me, mom, the one I got at Kroger), and it read 130 degrees, and that’s just about four inches in. So at the core, it’s probably at that nice 160.
Miguel Mazariegos delivered the dirt for our raised beds in the backyard, so we’re ready for summer planting.
Jessie’s grandmother gave us about 10 sweet potatoes to start plants from. Each one is producing ten or more plants, so we’ll have lots of sweet potatoes. These are an old variety handed down for at least 5 generations, grown from “seed” potatoes stored under the bed each year. So I guess they’re ours to keep passing on.
Jim Embry brought some nice greens by to transplant. It’s going to be a good year in the garden, that’s for sure!
Todd Clark plowed the ground at Andover. We have about 17,000 square feet there. It is going to take all of us working hard! But the prize is rich! So many people to feed and so much good food!
And now (5 days after I wrote the above paragraph) I checked the heap, and it is on fire! Steam comes out of it when you move it a bit. And it doesn’t stink, so it has hit the sweet spot where the bacterial decomposition is raging. I stuck my meat thermometer in (not the good one you gave me, mom, the one I got at Kroger), and it read 130 degrees, and that’s just about four inches in. So at the core, it’s probably at that nice 160.
Miguel Mazariegos delivered the dirt for our raised beds in the backyard, so we’re ready for summer planting.
Jessie’s grandmother gave us about 10 sweet potatoes to start plants from. Each one is producing ten or more plants, so we’ll have lots of sweet potatoes. These are an old variety handed down for at least 5 generations, grown from “seed” potatoes stored under the bed each year. So I guess they’re ours to keep passing on.
Jim Embry brought some nice greens by to transplant. It’s going to be a good year in the garden, that’s for sure!
Todd Clark plowed the ground at Andover. We have about 17,000 square feet there. It is going to take all of us working hard! But the prize is rich! So many people to feed and so much good food!
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Ica Sue
Last week was me and Ica’s first anniversary. In some ways, it seems longer than a year, it seems we have known each other a lot longer than perhaps we really have.
There’s a lot of things I could say about her. Here’s what I particularly treasure.
She loves Jesus more than she loves me. This is absolutely the only thing that makes it work. If we didn’t love Jesus more than we love each other, it would be a pitiful, paltry love. Sure, it might be good at times—the best human love can be. But then it would also be the worst human love can be. We’ll take Jesus and His love.
On our wedding night, she was cool with the boys wanting all of us to sleep in the living room, watching t.v. all night. They said it was her “sleepover.” I think most folks thought we were nuts about that. Her comment about coming into our lives was that she knew the Bible called her to take care of widows and orphans, she just didn’t think that was going to mean marriage!
She is preternaturally strong for someone so small. This really helps when you need to move a fridge or furniture. Or when you have to pack a lot of lumber. I call her “my mule.” Sadly for her, this has spread around…
She likes being in the garden. Maybe likes it more than I do, so there’s no conflict about working in the garden all day Saturdays and then most evenings, too.
She has a heart for people who need Jesus.
She can cook some really good potatoes.
She is so pretty, and has this air about her that brings a lot of joy into our house, like a fresh breeze, and that sure was needed.
John says:
She’s funny
She has a nice grandma
I like her green beans
I like the way her nose looks like one of those skateboard ramps
She wants to grow a garden and I want to grow a garden, so we have something in common
I like how she likes to listen to Marty Stuart
Joe says:
She’s nice
She’s cute
She’s cool
I play games with her
I feel happy because she loves me
There’s a lot of things I could say about her. Here’s what I particularly treasure.
She loves Jesus more than she loves me. This is absolutely the only thing that makes it work. If we didn’t love Jesus more than we love each other, it would be a pitiful, paltry love. Sure, it might be good at times—the best human love can be. But then it would also be the worst human love can be. We’ll take Jesus and His love.
On our wedding night, she was cool with the boys wanting all of us to sleep in the living room, watching t.v. all night. They said it was her “sleepover.” I think most folks thought we were nuts about that. Her comment about coming into our lives was that she knew the Bible called her to take care of widows and orphans, she just didn’t think that was going to mean marriage!
She is preternaturally strong for someone so small. This really helps when you need to move a fridge or furniture. Or when you have to pack a lot of lumber. I call her “my mule.” Sadly for her, this has spread around…
She likes being in the garden. Maybe likes it more than I do, so there’s no conflict about working in the garden all day Saturdays and then most evenings, too.
She has a heart for people who need Jesus.
She can cook some really good potatoes.
She is so pretty, and has this air about her that brings a lot of joy into our house, like a fresh breeze, and that sure was needed.
John says:
She’s funny
She has a nice grandma
I like her green beans
I like the way her nose looks like one of those skateboard ramps
She wants to grow a garden and I want to grow a garden, so we have something in common
I like how she likes to listen to Marty Stuart
Joe says:
She’s nice
She’s cute
She’s cool
I play games with her
I feel happy because she loves me
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
New Pentecost
Ok, you’ve heard this story before (or maybe you haven’t) and now there’s a twist. Or rather an intrusion of the Holy Spirit.
I took Russian in college. Not proficient, just a bit of conversation.
In 96, I go to Estonia, where maybe 40% are ethnic Russians.
I get back from that mission trip all jacked up. I quit grad school and head off to be a preacher.
Maybe 2 months after the trip, I saw a woman in the UK library, looking lost not getting any help. I could tell right away she was Russian. She is so happy to get some help and have someone to talk to, she takes m home! I meet he husband, kids, and parents who live wth her. Her dad s a great tenor and she is pianist. They give me an impromptu concert. She lived in an apt complex where waves of refugees have settled (Africans are there now). There were Russians all over the place.
I brought this to the attention of the Methodist leadership. We need a Russian speaking pastor. But it was not on anyone’s radars screen, and I could not really articulate the plan that I see now.
But I made a vow—if the Lord placed a people group in my path, I would do what I could to learn the language, and connect with their home people and start churches.
8 years later, I am in the Ville. Not even a week. My dad buys me a suit. The tailor is Ukrainian. I meet a Ukrainian in the Post Office. I took me a few weeks, but I finally figured it out! I started learning Ukrainian. But then, church leadership did not think this was a very good use of my time.
I was pretty upset about it. I wondered, “Hey wait a minute, God! Doors open and then slam shut!”
I get to Lexington, The Rock, and I had a lot to learn to keep up. And then, the Congolese come! Ok, Lord, is this it? For one reason or another, that door has closed to—at least to going over to Congo. We still have a strong ministry with them here.
So there has been a lot of soul searching. What is happening? Have I missed the boat? Is this about me?
I have pointed out before that we are in a new Pentecost. America is STILL a land full of churches. And people are coming here from all over the world. If we will reach out in ministry, we can form bonds that will allow us to do effective mission work in their home countries. But that means we will have to break out of a lot of ways we do things. Language and culture are the big issue we face, not contemporary or traditional worship. And then, too, we will actually have to be evangelistic. There can’t be any of this wishy washy crap about Jesus is A way or the way for me, but you find your own path. There may only be a very small number of churches that can pull this off. But the prize for those that do is huge: feeling the rush of the Spirit as it spreads across the earth, convicting the world of sin and bringing the world into all truth.
Ok, so it’s Saturday night. The Congolese worship service is humming. Friday night I met a fellow pastor, Leopold. We had a prayer meeting in my office because we find we have so much in common. He is from Cameroon. But he planted churches in… Russia. It’s an amazing story I’ll tell later. The kicker is he works with a Russian church here in Lexington, the daughter church of a Ukrainian church in Versailles, KY.
They are looking for a place to worship. We are going to see if there is anyway that can be part of what we’re doing, work with us, worship in our sanctuary.
I guess what kills me is that 13 years ago, we should have had a Russian-speaking Methodist Church. How many more opportunities are we going to miss? I mean, please. A man from Cameroon comes to the US to help lead a Russian congregation?
Can you imagine the Holy Spirit freak-out? White Americans, African-Americans, Africans, Hispanics, Russians. And y’all, this is Kentucky. Can you imagine what is happening in New York, Chicago and San Francisco?
So while we’re at the concert, I get an invitation to preach at the Russian church, and an invitation to be the preacher for the Congolese Evangelistic Association’s annual retreat, in Chicago. I am totally humbled, and I take all this as the highest honor from God. I left the richest church in Kentucky Methodism to come to the poorest, and am called to preach the irresistible Pentecost to the invisible participants in this Holy Spirit mystery.
I took Russian in college. Not proficient, just a bit of conversation.
In 96, I go to Estonia, where maybe 40% are ethnic Russians.
I get back from that mission trip all jacked up. I quit grad school and head off to be a preacher.
Maybe 2 months after the trip, I saw a woman in the UK library, looking lost not getting any help. I could tell right away she was Russian. She is so happy to get some help and have someone to talk to, she takes m home! I meet he husband, kids, and parents who live wth her. Her dad s a great tenor and she is pianist. They give me an impromptu concert. She lived in an apt complex where waves of refugees have settled (Africans are there now). There were Russians all over the place.
I brought this to the attention of the Methodist leadership. We need a Russian speaking pastor. But it was not on anyone’s radars screen, and I could not really articulate the plan that I see now.
But I made a vow—if the Lord placed a people group in my path, I would do what I could to learn the language, and connect with their home people and start churches.
8 years later, I am in the Ville. Not even a week. My dad buys me a suit. The tailor is Ukrainian. I meet a Ukrainian in the Post Office. I took me a few weeks, but I finally figured it out! I started learning Ukrainian. But then, church leadership did not think this was a very good use of my time.
I was pretty upset about it. I wondered, “Hey wait a minute, God! Doors open and then slam shut!”
I get to Lexington, The Rock, and I had a lot to learn to keep up. And then, the Congolese come! Ok, Lord, is this it? For one reason or another, that door has closed to—at least to going over to Congo. We still have a strong ministry with them here.
So there has been a lot of soul searching. What is happening? Have I missed the boat? Is this about me?
I have pointed out before that we are in a new Pentecost. America is STILL a land full of churches. And people are coming here from all over the world. If we will reach out in ministry, we can form bonds that will allow us to do effective mission work in their home countries. But that means we will have to break out of a lot of ways we do things. Language and culture are the big issue we face, not contemporary or traditional worship. And then, too, we will actually have to be evangelistic. There can’t be any of this wishy washy crap about Jesus is A way or the way for me, but you find your own path. There may only be a very small number of churches that can pull this off. But the prize for those that do is huge: feeling the rush of the Spirit as it spreads across the earth, convicting the world of sin and bringing the world into all truth.
Ok, so it’s Saturday night. The Congolese worship service is humming. Friday night I met a fellow pastor, Leopold. We had a prayer meeting in my office because we find we have so much in common. He is from Cameroon. But he planted churches in… Russia. It’s an amazing story I’ll tell later. The kicker is he works with a Russian church here in Lexington, the daughter church of a Ukrainian church in Versailles, KY.
They are looking for a place to worship. We are going to see if there is anyway that can be part of what we’re doing, work with us, worship in our sanctuary.
I guess what kills me is that 13 years ago, we should have had a Russian-speaking Methodist Church. How many more opportunities are we going to miss? I mean, please. A man from Cameroon comes to the US to help lead a Russian congregation?
Can you imagine the Holy Spirit freak-out? White Americans, African-Americans, Africans, Hispanics, Russians. And y’all, this is Kentucky. Can you imagine what is happening in New York, Chicago and San Francisco?
So while we’re at the concert, I get an invitation to preach at the Russian church, and an invitation to be the preacher for the Congolese Evangelistic Association’s annual retreat, in Chicago. I am totally humbled, and I take all this as the highest honor from God. I left the richest church in Kentucky Methodism to come to the poorest, and am called to preach the irresistible Pentecost to the invisible participants in this Holy Spirit mystery.
Cold Night
We have about 600 plants in a greenhouse--mostly maters and peppers, a few cabbages, some broccoli and onions. Those last 3 are ok in cool weather. Maters and peppers not so much. But it is a lot of plants to drag back into the house. The forecast was it would get into the upper 30s. This was crunch time, because after a cool and cloudy day, we had doubts that the greenhouse could keep it close to 50 for the night. Lower than that, tomatoes and peppers hate life.
Well, Bob McKinley mentioned that we could try candles in a coffee can. Thta was a blast from the past. When I was a kid in germany, you kept a coffee can with some sand in it in your car. If you were stranded in a winter storm, you put a candle in it and lit it. The light reflecting off the can trapped heat and radiated it. It was a crude oven.
Well, it's hard to find coffee cans-- we had a plastic one, no dice, and I was not going to buy a few cans of coffee just for the can. Ica remembered some galvanized tubs we had. So we dug them out, raided a bunch of candles, and voila.
I didn't sleep much last night, worrying if it would be ok. I checked them about an hour ago and the plants are doing great. I think we can pass thru any cold spells.
Watch, in two weeks I will be back writing about how I have had to handle the opposite problem-- the greenhouse being too hot. I hope this crazy weather settles down and we can just get them in the ground!
Well, Bob McKinley mentioned that we could try candles in a coffee can. Thta was a blast from the past. When I was a kid in germany, you kept a coffee can with some sand in it in your car. If you were stranded in a winter storm, you put a candle in it and lit it. The light reflecting off the can trapped heat and radiated it. It was a crude oven.
Well, it's hard to find coffee cans-- we had a plastic one, no dice, and I was not going to buy a few cans of coffee just for the can. Ica remembered some galvanized tubs we had. So we dug them out, raided a bunch of candles, and voila.
I didn't sleep much last night, worrying if it would be ok. I checked them about an hour ago and the plants are doing great. I think we can pass thru any cold spells.
Watch, in two weeks I will be back writing about how I have had to handle the opposite problem-- the greenhouse being too hot. I hope this crazy weather settles down and we can just get them in the ground!
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Clarification
A friend who knows me pretty well said this by way of introducing a comment: "I know you don't like him, but Jean Vanier says..."
So I suspect other folks who know me think I don't like Vanier. But I do. What I don't like is people who read his books, take a class or write a paper, and start yammering about "community." Because invariably they are in the very place he warns against: self-indulgence. Community begins to mean "the gang's all here!" Or it remains an idea, and talking becomes the same as doing.
I have had to quit using the word community because it has been stripped of all meaning. Unless community now means, "the place where I am comfortable, constantly affirmed, and there's only the people I like."
I like Vanier very much; it's how he gets watered down that I can't stand. And then the ridiculous posturing that comes along with it. That's what I can't stand.
So I suspect other folks who know me think I don't like Vanier. But I do. What I don't like is people who read his books, take a class or write a paper, and start yammering about "community." Because invariably they are in the very place he warns against: self-indulgence. Community begins to mean "the gang's all here!" Or it remains an idea, and talking becomes the same as doing.
I have had to quit using the word community because it has been stripped of all meaning. Unless community now means, "the place where I am comfortable, constantly affirmed, and there's only the people I like."
I like Vanier very much; it's how he gets watered down that I can't stand. And then the ridiculous posturing that comes along with it. That's what I can't stand.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Good Times
We have had some wonderful times in ministry lately.
Sitting around the table on Friday night, we read a little bit from Justin Martyr. It was about Christian worship, and what struck us was how Justin describes that during the service, the wealthy and the willing gave a freewill offering, and that money was used to support widows, orphans, the poor, and strangers. We all thought how freeing it would be for the church if that’s what the offering went to.
One of the guys there asked me about Justin and I was able to hand him a volume of the Apostolic Fathers. He came back to me and held up crossed fingers, “Me and Clement are like this!”
And then Diane Sears asked what do we know about some of the minor characters of the New Testament. So I handed her Jerome’s “Lives of Illustrious Men.”
It’s nice to be able to hand out stuff from the early church.
I did get called to account by the guy who like Clement… It’s Steve McKinney. He pointed out that Chrysostom died in 407 or something and so therefore when I say I don’t read anything past the fourth century… hey I’m just glad people are paying attention.
Friday and Saturday Night we had prayer and praise with the Congolese. For hours they sang and prayed and preached. We had some powerful times in the Lord. I was asked if I would come to their retreat in Chicago. I preached last year for them when it was in Lexington, and I can say I am honored. One of the fellows, Phanuel, came up t me and said, “Thanks for being our Papa.” I thought, it is sad that what little I have done for them has affected them so much as to embrace me and thank me and invite me to preach.
The garden ministry is going along great as well. We planted twenty pounds of potatoes, along with onions, spinach, lettuce, and radishes. We’ll be looking forward to summer gardening, raising food for hungry peoole.
John Gallaher preached Sunday and it was awesome. How good it is to be working with guys like Rosario, Blake, and John.
Sitting around the table on Friday night, we read a little bit from Justin Martyr. It was about Christian worship, and what struck us was how Justin describes that during the service, the wealthy and the willing gave a freewill offering, and that money was used to support widows, orphans, the poor, and strangers. We all thought how freeing it would be for the church if that’s what the offering went to.
One of the guys there asked me about Justin and I was able to hand him a volume of the Apostolic Fathers. He came back to me and held up crossed fingers, “Me and Clement are like this!”
And then Diane Sears asked what do we know about some of the minor characters of the New Testament. So I handed her Jerome’s “Lives of Illustrious Men.”
It’s nice to be able to hand out stuff from the early church.
I did get called to account by the guy who like Clement… It’s Steve McKinney. He pointed out that Chrysostom died in 407 or something and so therefore when I say I don’t read anything past the fourth century… hey I’m just glad people are paying attention.
Friday and Saturday Night we had prayer and praise with the Congolese. For hours they sang and prayed and preached. We had some powerful times in the Lord. I was asked if I would come to their retreat in Chicago. I preached last year for them when it was in Lexington, and I can say I am honored. One of the fellows, Phanuel, came up t me and said, “Thanks for being our Papa.” I thought, it is sad that what little I have done for them has affected them so much as to embrace me and thank me and invite me to preach.
The garden ministry is going along great as well. We planted twenty pounds of potatoes, along with onions, spinach, lettuce, and radishes. We’ll be looking forward to summer gardening, raising food for hungry peoole.
John Gallaher preached Sunday and it was awesome. How good it is to be working with guys like Rosario, Blake, and John.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Sheep
I think I got liberated these past two weeks. I have wrestled with what is called “justice ministry.” It has seemed to me that there is no way to get involved with the mainstream of “justice ministry” without having to be a liberal. Folks, this should not be a shocker, but apparently it is: Jesus is the Savior, not whoever we anoint whenever. When you try to get Jesus to fit an ideology, either you’re in for a rude awakening when He hurts your cherished assumptions and values, or you will create a Jesus to suit yourself and those cherished assumptions and values. There will come a time when, if you are liberal or conservative, Jesus is going to shred your values. And it won’t do you any good to be halfway on board with His plans. Anyone who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is not fit for the Kingdom of God.
Martina said something about the garden being a justice ministry. I think I myself may have said the same. But I really did not see how. We’re just growing stuff and feeding people. And I was starting to worry: when are people going to think this is bait-and-switch? I mean, I ride an extracycle, and garden like a Mendocino County hippie. The kind of folks who conflate this work with the whole gospel are going to be pretty mad when they find out I’m a Jesus-is-the-only-way preacher. But Martina knows justice, so I had to think about it some more, take it more seriously.
On a long drive from Texas, there was lots of time to think. We were coming through some really pretty parts of North Texas and Arkansas. The grass was coming up, and winter wheat, too. I got to thinking about sheep, and that got me to the 23rd Psalm.
This Psalm has been a favorite of mine. Sometimes we take it for granted, having seen it on a million cards or wall plaques, heard it at funerals, who knows. But it is a very deep poem, worthy of serious study.
When I first became a Christian, Psalm 23 was one of the first things I memorized. I remember telling a professor who helped lead me to Christ that if you could just really “get” Psalm 23, it would take you a long way. I now know that trusting the Good Shepherd will take you all the way.
Anyway, the line that kept coming to me was “Thou preparest a table before me, in the presence of mine enemies.”
Some of what I love about the verse is its honesty; the phrase “in the presence of mine enemies” is an admission that there is evil in the world, that you have enemies. Most times, we’d rather hear (or say) that everything is just great, there’ll be no problems if we follow Christ.
Think about the table the Lord prepares—both a literal table where one can eat in peace even tho surrounded by enemies. And it is a “table” meaning flat high ground where the sheep go for summer pasture. The Lord, the Good Shepherd prepares it by going there in advance of the sheep, rooting out noxious weeds, looking for good water, killing bears in their dens and bringing down wolves on the run with a well-aimed shot.
And it was in this verse that I got a new lease on, a new understanding of, justice. Or maybe it has been brewing for awhile, and Martina just pushed it over the edge. I have been working on a line of thought for a while: what to do about the gentrification that is slouching up North Limestone? It looks good, real good. But it is going to run off the people who live here. The conclusion is that the poor have to have their own place, and it must be the church. It is the table where they can eat in peace in spite of the conspiracy outside.
If the work of the Good Shepherd is to be imitated by the little shepherds, then we, too, must prepare a table in the presence of enemies. We have to be able to carve out a space and time of peace and plenty where now there is only confusion, chaos, threats, lies, and hunger.
The Good Shepherd never asked the wolves if they liked it or not. This was my new lease on justice. Not waiting for politicians to enact justice, not even expecting them to. Not trying to be a player.
The shepherd makes sure the sheep are fed, watered, and safe, in this life and the next.
Martina said something about the garden being a justice ministry. I think I myself may have said the same. But I really did not see how. We’re just growing stuff and feeding people. And I was starting to worry: when are people going to think this is bait-and-switch? I mean, I ride an extracycle, and garden like a Mendocino County hippie. The kind of folks who conflate this work with the whole gospel are going to be pretty mad when they find out I’m a Jesus-is-the-only-way preacher. But Martina knows justice, so I had to think about it some more, take it more seriously.
On a long drive from Texas, there was lots of time to think. We were coming through some really pretty parts of North Texas and Arkansas. The grass was coming up, and winter wheat, too. I got to thinking about sheep, and that got me to the 23rd Psalm.
This Psalm has been a favorite of mine. Sometimes we take it for granted, having seen it on a million cards or wall plaques, heard it at funerals, who knows. But it is a very deep poem, worthy of serious study.
When I first became a Christian, Psalm 23 was one of the first things I memorized. I remember telling a professor who helped lead me to Christ that if you could just really “get” Psalm 23, it would take you a long way. I now know that trusting the Good Shepherd will take you all the way.
Anyway, the line that kept coming to me was “Thou preparest a table before me, in the presence of mine enemies.”
Some of what I love about the verse is its honesty; the phrase “in the presence of mine enemies” is an admission that there is evil in the world, that you have enemies. Most times, we’d rather hear (or say) that everything is just great, there’ll be no problems if we follow Christ.
Think about the table the Lord prepares—both a literal table where one can eat in peace even tho surrounded by enemies. And it is a “table” meaning flat high ground where the sheep go for summer pasture. The Lord, the Good Shepherd prepares it by going there in advance of the sheep, rooting out noxious weeds, looking for good water, killing bears in their dens and bringing down wolves on the run with a well-aimed shot.
And it was in this verse that I got a new lease on, a new understanding of, justice. Or maybe it has been brewing for awhile, and Martina just pushed it over the edge. I have been working on a line of thought for a while: what to do about the gentrification that is slouching up North Limestone? It looks good, real good. But it is going to run off the people who live here. The conclusion is that the poor have to have their own place, and it must be the church. It is the table where they can eat in peace in spite of the conspiracy outside.
If the work of the Good Shepherd is to be imitated by the little shepherds, then we, too, must prepare a table in the presence of enemies. We have to be able to carve out a space and time of peace and plenty where now there is only confusion, chaos, threats, lies, and hunger.
The Good Shepherd never asked the wolves if they liked it or not. This was my new lease on justice. Not waiting for politicians to enact justice, not even expecting them to. Not trying to be a player.
The shepherd makes sure the sheep are fed, watered, and safe, in this life and the next.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Happy Birthday!
Today would have been Melissa’s 38th birthday. There’s too much to say, but let me share with you some of what I have been thinking about after going through some memories of her.
What do you do when you think God has let you down?
It feels like He has let you down?
It sure looks like He has let you down?
What do you do?
What do you do when it seems like everyone is, could be, or should be thinking He let you down and yet you still believe and trust?
Are you a fool?
About 5 years ago, me, John, Joseph and Melissa started praying that we could be “preachers together.” We did not mean that in any really definite way—we just thought that as families worked together on the farm that we could be at work in the fields of the Lord. Well, that came to a pretty abrupt halt almost 6 months after we started praying the prayer: Melissa was diagnosed with cancer. About 18 months after we started praying that prayer, things were really grim: bone marrow transplant, graft vs. host disease, lots of weakness. But one day, she had enough strength to go visiting with me and the boys. We were living about 35 miles from the church in those days, so we piled in the car and came down. We visited a particular family, the Mapiganos, refugees from Congo. It was a great day—our boys playing with their boys, Melissa and Noella visiting and really forming a friendship that would have been deep and lasting. And all that day and for many days after, we praised God that we were getting to be “preachers together.” Surely, this was how it was meant to be! She would recover! We would never get back to normal, because we did not want to get back there! Every day would be precious!
Within six months, Sissy was dead. So where was all the preachers together stuff? What to do with two heartbroken boys? How to pick up the pieces? A man asked me, “And after all this, you still believe in God?”
What do you do?
How do I explain that my faith never wavered? That I never thought to myself that God had let us down? How do I explain it when it seems so clear that there is no purpose, no God?
First, Melissa never wavered in her faith. She never asked “why me?” She believed, rightly, that if God healed her, what a testimony. And that if He did not and she died in peace, joy, and victory, then what a testimony. Let me tell you about her resolve. A month or so before she died, it really looked like she was turning a corner, going to make it, all that jazz. But we knew that she was going to be weak, really weak for a long time. And in the end, we knew enough to know that too many things had gone wrong that we needed to go right, and so, in spite of appearances, she might not make it.
One way or the other, I told her, I think maybe I need to leave off preaching for a while. Get a regular job with nights and weekends free, to take care of her and have real time for the boys. If she made it I would be there to help. If she did not, then I would have the long blocks of time for the little guys. She was adamant that this was a stupid idea. “You wouldn’t be happy.” And then she said, “If I don’t make it, I don’t want the boys to see that there was anything that could stop you.”
When you live with someone with that kind of faith, it builds up your own faith. And when the person who is suffering all the things that cause the worldly mind to doubt, and that person does not doubt, then a lot of walls are beat down, strongholds are destroyed, arguments are demolished, and thoughts are taken captive. So the second reason I keep believing, and believe more deeply, is because who am I to question God about how He dealt with Melissa when she never did?
Third, I start to wonder—what are the options if I reject God? There is no God? Trust fate? A universe that is haphazard, morally neutral, and unimaginably violent? Regardless of what anyone might say, no one believes that.
Finally, and here is the part where you can call Eastern State and have me committed: He has never let me down. I don’t mean that I have some carefully constructed theology to deal with all contingencies. I don’t mean that grief, pain, and suffering are not real. I don’t mean, finally, that the Cross makes it alright—although it does! I mean that I saw and see clearly and feel intensely that this world will break your heart and strip away everything you have. And if you live in this world, that’s it. But I saw, see, and feel, that even when everything was taken away, everything, I still had Jesus and had more than I ever had.
It’s not that God is absent, doesn’t care, or doesn’t know. He knows it all for what it is. We would curse Him and deny Him—and rightly so-- if He gave us a kingdom and riches that were of this world.
In the end, I could tell you all kinds of things about Melissa—about how pretty, kind, sweet, generous, loving, smart she was—but I have found that in comparison to her faith none of them matter.
What do you do when you think God has let you down?
It feels like He has let you down?
It sure looks like He has let you down?
What do you do?
What do you do when it seems like everyone is, could be, or should be thinking He let you down and yet you still believe and trust?
Are you a fool?
About 5 years ago, me, John, Joseph and Melissa started praying that we could be “preachers together.” We did not mean that in any really definite way—we just thought that as families worked together on the farm that we could be at work in the fields of the Lord. Well, that came to a pretty abrupt halt almost 6 months after we started praying the prayer: Melissa was diagnosed with cancer. About 18 months after we started praying that prayer, things were really grim: bone marrow transplant, graft vs. host disease, lots of weakness. But one day, she had enough strength to go visiting with me and the boys. We were living about 35 miles from the church in those days, so we piled in the car and came down. We visited a particular family, the Mapiganos, refugees from Congo. It was a great day—our boys playing with their boys, Melissa and Noella visiting and really forming a friendship that would have been deep and lasting. And all that day and for many days after, we praised God that we were getting to be “preachers together.” Surely, this was how it was meant to be! She would recover! We would never get back to normal, because we did not want to get back there! Every day would be precious!
Within six months, Sissy was dead. So where was all the preachers together stuff? What to do with two heartbroken boys? How to pick up the pieces? A man asked me, “And after all this, you still believe in God?”
What do you do?
How do I explain that my faith never wavered? That I never thought to myself that God had let us down? How do I explain it when it seems so clear that there is no purpose, no God?
First, Melissa never wavered in her faith. She never asked “why me?” She believed, rightly, that if God healed her, what a testimony. And that if He did not and she died in peace, joy, and victory, then what a testimony. Let me tell you about her resolve. A month or so before she died, it really looked like she was turning a corner, going to make it, all that jazz. But we knew that she was going to be weak, really weak for a long time. And in the end, we knew enough to know that too many things had gone wrong that we needed to go right, and so, in spite of appearances, she might not make it.
One way or the other, I told her, I think maybe I need to leave off preaching for a while. Get a regular job with nights and weekends free, to take care of her and have real time for the boys. If she made it I would be there to help. If she did not, then I would have the long blocks of time for the little guys. She was adamant that this was a stupid idea. “You wouldn’t be happy.” And then she said, “If I don’t make it, I don’t want the boys to see that there was anything that could stop you.”
When you live with someone with that kind of faith, it builds up your own faith. And when the person who is suffering all the things that cause the worldly mind to doubt, and that person does not doubt, then a lot of walls are beat down, strongholds are destroyed, arguments are demolished, and thoughts are taken captive. So the second reason I keep believing, and believe more deeply, is because who am I to question God about how He dealt with Melissa when she never did?
Third, I start to wonder—what are the options if I reject God? There is no God? Trust fate? A universe that is haphazard, morally neutral, and unimaginably violent? Regardless of what anyone might say, no one believes that.
Finally, and here is the part where you can call Eastern State and have me committed: He has never let me down. I don’t mean that I have some carefully constructed theology to deal with all contingencies. I don’t mean that grief, pain, and suffering are not real. I don’t mean, finally, that the Cross makes it alright—although it does! I mean that I saw and see clearly and feel intensely that this world will break your heart and strip away everything you have. And if you live in this world, that’s it. But I saw, see, and feel, that even when everything was taken away, everything, I still had Jesus and had more than I ever had.
It’s not that God is absent, doesn’t care, or doesn’t know. He knows it all for what it is. We would curse Him and deny Him—and rightly so-- if He gave us a kingdom and riches that were of this world.
In the end, I could tell you all kinds of things about Melissa—about how pretty, kind, sweet, generous, loving, smart she was—but I have found that in comparison to her faith none of them matter.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Demons
“Respectable” churches don’t believe in demon possession; it’s not so much that the members are too smart, or would be embarrassed if anyone knew. It’s not that we can write it off to some kind of psychiatric problem. Those are factors no doubt. But the biggest reason we don’t believe in demon possession is because we don’t see it. And we don’t see it because anyone with a demon and sense enough to get some help from Jesus’ people is not going to show up at a church that doesn’t believe in it. I know, chicken or the egg.
Or maybe respectable churches do see cases of demon possession, but don’t know how to call it that. Or don’t recognize anything at all.
I guess respectable churches have a lot to answer for: so many people who need real help can’t get it because we don’t confront sin, we don’t ask for repentance, we just let people drift, and then we don’t recognize the spiritual oppression people face. We listen to the sinners and cater to them. Where they need the strong medicine of Holy Spirit conviction and repentance, we want to make sure they feel welcome.
This is all coming out due to a conversation I had a few days ago. “Sue” was talking about “Dan,” who had come to church drunk and mean and scared. Drunk and mean was about all you’d see, but Sue, herself one who battled the bottle and the needle, pointed out Dan is scared. Scared as Hell, scared of Hell. And I find something he said pretty telling. I came into church with a bag of ice. He said, “You have what every soul in Hell wants.” Ice. Yes, but more: ice and Jesus.
Sue let me know part of what I already knew, that Dan is dying, and is thinking of some of the guys around us who have died lately from wearing their bodies out with alcohol, drugs, homelessness and despair. She said he told her he sees demons everywhere, feels them clawing at him, dragging him off.
Now, it’s easy enough to say, “well of course he does. He’s drunk all the time. No telling what he sees.” And that is true, literally true.
And yet here’s what else is true: Sue told me of the time she was just sobering up, getting back to church, cleaning things up. There’s no harder place to do that, she said, than along North Limestone. Every time she went anywhere, especially on her way to the church, “the demons were everywhere. Every crackhead came out of the woodwork, and it took all I had to keep going where I was going and not get dragged back into that life.”
So while he may have a desire to stop drinking--and how many times have I been in his house pouring out liquor, wrestling with him, and he has knuckled under?—there’s plenty of folks who don’t want him to stop, who want to sell him some, who want him to buy them some.
And if the demons are so brazen, so out in plain sight, and God’s people cannot recognize spiritual oppression, then it is not so hard to imagine that indeed, the closer Dan gets to death, the more he feels the tug of the grave, and the more there are demons who cannot wait to devour him for eternity.
Or maybe respectable churches do see cases of demon possession, but don’t know how to call it that. Or don’t recognize anything at all.
I guess respectable churches have a lot to answer for: so many people who need real help can’t get it because we don’t confront sin, we don’t ask for repentance, we just let people drift, and then we don’t recognize the spiritual oppression people face. We listen to the sinners and cater to them. Where they need the strong medicine of Holy Spirit conviction and repentance, we want to make sure they feel welcome.
This is all coming out due to a conversation I had a few days ago. “Sue” was talking about “Dan,” who had come to church drunk and mean and scared. Drunk and mean was about all you’d see, but Sue, herself one who battled the bottle and the needle, pointed out Dan is scared. Scared as Hell, scared of Hell. And I find something he said pretty telling. I came into church with a bag of ice. He said, “You have what every soul in Hell wants.” Ice. Yes, but more: ice and Jesus.
Sue let me know part of what I already knew, that Dan is dying, and is thinking of some of the guys around us who have died lately from wearing their bodies out with alcohol, drugs, homelessness and despair. She said he told her he sees demons everywhere, feels them clawing at him, dragging him off.
Now, it’s easy enough to say, “well of course he does. He’s drunk all the time. No telling what he sees.” And that is true, literally true.
And yet here’s what else is true: Sue told me of the time she was just sobering up, getting back to church, cleaning things up. There’s no harder place to do that, she said, than along North Limestone. Every time she went anywhere, especially on her way to the church, “the demons were everywhere. Every crackhead came out of the woodwork, and it took all I had to keep going where I was going and not get dragged back into that life.”
So while he may have a desire to stop drinking--and how many times have I been in his house pouring out liquor, wrestling with him, and he has knuckled under?—there’s plenty of folks who don’t want him to stop, who want to sell him some, who want him to buy them some.
And if the demons are so brazen, so out in plain sight, and God’s people cannot recognize spiritual oppression, then it is not so hard to imagine that indeed, the closer Dan gets to death, the more he feels the tug of the grave, and the more there are demons who cannot wait to devour him for eternity.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
A Good Day
Today was a wonderful day. We spent it all outside, except for a few runs to the hardware and seed stores.
It started with working out with some of the boys at church.
Then we got some supplies for the transplants (tomatoes, peppers, eggplants, etc—we’ll be selling them soon!).
We came home and the boys played basketball or some games on the porch. Jessie and I mowed the yard and got the compost pile turned and the grass added in. We had a picnic lunch on the steps.
Then we built the three raised beds for the backyard garden. While we were working on this, John said, “we should do this everyday. This is really good family time.” Jessie reminded him that come summer, we’ll have nothing to do but this kind of work! John is excited by the seed potatoes that came in yesterday—15 lbs of heirloom taters. Jessie has this plan to grow them in tires, covering the potato leaves with dirt, which forces the leaves to create more tubers… Theoretically, one plant can produce up to 40 lbs of potatoes this way.
As the day was winding down, we planted strawberries in their bed, watered them and the onions, thought about planting peas, lettuce, and radishes. We’ll have a dinner of roast pork, mashed potatoes, salad and cornbread. Then maybe we’ll go see Steve and Connie.
We did not go see Steve and Connie. So Steve, if you're reading this and getting excited that we were going to have come and seen y'all, don't be bummed when we didn't arrive...
Jessie said, "It's going to be a good summer." It has struck me lately that for some time I did not allow myself to think it was going to be a good anything. You just have no way of knowing. Time has eased some pain. And then a new faith in the Lord has grown and has shown that come what may, "all things will be well. All manner of things will be well."
It started with working out with some of the boys at church.
Then we got some supplies for the transplants (tomatoes, peppers, eggplants, etc—we’ll be selling them soon!).
We came home and the boys played basketball or some games on the porch. Jessie and I mowed the yard and got the compost pile turned and the grass added in. We had a picnic lunch on the steps.
Then we built the three raised beds for the backyard garden. While we were working on this, John said, “we should do this everyday. This is really good family time.” Jessie reminded him that come summer, we’ll have nothing to do but this kind of work! John is excited by the seed potatoes that came in yesterday—15 lbs of heirloom taters. Jessie has this plan to grow them in tires, covering the potato leaves with dirt, which forces the leaves to create more tubers… Theoretically, one plant can produce up to 40 lbs of potatoes this way.
As the day was winding down, we planted strawberries in their bed, watered them and the onions, thought about planting peas, lettuce, and radishes. We’ll have a dinner of roast pork, mashed potatoes, salad and cornbread. Then maybe we’ll go see Steve and Connie.
We did not go see Steve and Connie. So Steve, if you're reading this and getting excited that we were going to have come and seen y'all, don't be bummed when we didn't arrive...
Jessie said, "It's going to be a good summer." It has struck me lately that for some time I did not allow myself to think it was going to be a good anything. You just have no way of knowing. Time has eased some pain. And then a new faith in the Lord has grown and has shown that come what may, "all things will be well. All manner of things will be well."
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Wow
I heard on the news that the Episcopal Church defrocked a priest because she had converted to Islam. She believes the two religions are compatible (I wonder where she got her Islam, but anyway.) So I guess she did not really convert as much as she's trying to be "two things."
Apparently in the Episcopal Church, you can be gay, just not a Muslim. Heck, you can be ANYTHING, just not a Muslim.
I am shocked, positively shocked, at this level of intolerance.
Apparently in the Episcopal Church, you can be gay, just not a Muslim. Heck, you can be ANYTHING, just not a Muslim.
I am shocked, positively shocked, at this level of intolerance.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Joe Dongell has worms... graphic video
So Saturday, Jessie and I went to see Joe Dongell, the pastor/professor who married us. He does worm composting. We went to see his worms. The worms were awesome, but Joe also has all kinds of cool stuff going on-- he built a barn out of pallets. Has a 5 ton truck used for hauling manure. Had a steel broadfork fabricated for tearing up sod before tilling. But then we go downstairs into the worm pit. He has a few plastic boxes where he keeps the worms. Basically, the bottom is sand so that there's drainage and also for the worms' gizzards to grind up food. Then there's some dirt. And then you throw in kitchen garbage, all the stuff that you'd put in a compost heap. Then the worms chow down and their "castings" is the best soil you can imagine. I mean it looks like black coffee grounds. Amazing stuff. Best soil you have ever seen. He reached in and pulled out a handful of worms. He said he started some 5 or 6 years ago with a pile of worms in a bix about the size of a chinese take-out box. And the worms just keep reproducing. It was pretty awesome. Every so often he can take out the worm soil and add it to the garden. Man I am so jealous, because this stuff really is the best soil additive I have seen. Joe uses it around plants, just adds it to the soil around a growing plant. As we talked about the theory of it, Joe started talking about some cutting edge research that indicates you should put worm castings and compost on the top don't worry so much about mixing it in, because the thought is that topsoil grows from the top down. Additionally, there is some sense that plants are not so much absorbing nutrients from the soil as they are absorbing the decaying remains of all the microorganisms that have died. In fact, it appears that much of the nitrogen in the soil is from the bodies of dead worms. So there you have it. A professor who really helped me through some tough times and taught me New testament and Old testament... it all comes down to making good soil.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Tuesday
Deep in his heart, every man wants a burger named after him. Or rather, he wants to create a burger that will be forever remembered. Today, I stopped by a store across from Stella’s, a French market kind of place. Well, they had my favorite, sheep’s cheese. Two varieties, and one from my great-grandfather’s home region, Bearn. So I had to get it.
Tuesday after school is family night around our house. We decided to hang out here. We put together a raised bed. We built a small fire. We played basketball. John said, “This is the best family night ever,” which was gratifying because we weren’t DOING anything. We were just hanging out, taking care of some stuff, playing. But that’s all it takes. Anyway, we grilled some burgers, and I decided to put the sheep’s milk cheese on mine. Very nice. A thick slice of onion. Nice. Next time (uh, that would be Thursday!) I am going to perfect what I shall call “The Basque Burger:” Ossau-Iraty cheese, onion, and some (ok, lots of!) roasted garlic smeared on the bun.
There’s all kinds of crazy talk going on at the Rock. We’re looking at fewer resources, like everyone in these time. I’m not sure if I should call them “tough” or “uncertain,” but whatever it is, it is impacting the church. Well, with the seed sale, we realized we can make some money for the mission of feeding hungry people. We are going to sell some transplants (tomatoes and peppers) and hopefully ease some more of the burden on the budget. I have challenged our garden and First Church’s garden to supply all of our needs for the Monday Night ministry this summer. Additionally, Bob McKinley is helping us to market some of our vegetables to add more resources to the church.
And then, there’s this madness: for years I have wanted to grow fish in a barrel. I know, I know, I am Tommy Boy. But you can grow fish easily and it would be good protein on the table. Well, my partner in crime John Crissman introduced me to Kentucky’s aquaculture expert. A Methodist, no less.
So anyway that was two months ago. Jim Embry and some others convinced me I was not thinking big enough. Can we really close the fresh food gap by urban “farming?” Could we raise fish in more than barrels? Lots of fish? To feed the hungry and to sell? The Lord keeps putting people in our path who shed a little more light on the way.
I walked past Arlington one day and lamented to Ica that I had not thought big enough. Krikey, Erin had given me a coffee mug years ago that says, “what would you do if you knew you couldn’t fail?” I guess one of the things I would do is end hunger as far as I could, one person, one neighborhood at a time. Can you send up some prayers that many doors will open and paths will be illuminated, so that we do more than we imagine, and indeed do what we ourselves could not do.
Tuesday after school is family night around our house. We decided to hang out here. We put together a raised bed. We built a small fire. We played basketball. John said, “This is the best family night ever,” which was gratifying because we weren’t DOING anything. We were just hanging out, taking care of some stuff, playing. But that’s all it takes. Anyway, we grilled some burgers, and I decided to put the sheep’s milk cheese on mine. Very nice. A thick slice of onion. Nice. Next time (uh, that would be Thursday!) I am going to perfect what I shall call “The Basque Burger:” Ossau-Iraty cheese, onion, and some (ok, lots of!) roasted garlic smeared on the bun.
There’s all kinds of crazy talk going on at the Rock. We’re looking at fewer resources, like everyone in these time. I’m not sure if I should call them “tough” or “uncertain,” but whatever it is, it is impacting the church. Well, with the seed sale, we realized we can make some money for the mission of feeding hungry people. We are going to sell some transplants (tomatoes and peppers) and hopefully ease some more of the burden on the budget. I have challenged our garden and First Church’s garden to supply all of our needs for the Monday Night ministry this summer. Additionally, Bob McKinley is helping us to market some of our vegetables to add more resources to the church.
And then, there’s this madness: for years I have wanted to grow fish in a barrel. I know, I know, I am Tommy Boy. But you can grow fish easily and it would be good protein on the table. Well, my partner in crime John Crissman introduced me to Kentucky’s aquaculture expert. A Methodist, no less.
So anyway that was two months ago. Jim Embry and some others convinced me I was not thinking big enough. Can we really close the fresh food gap by urban “farming?” Could we raise fish in more than barrels? Lots of fish? To feed the hungry and to sell? The Lord keeps putting people in our path who shed a little more light on the way.
I walked past Arlington one day and lamented to Ica that I had not thought big enough. Krikey, Erin had given me a coffee mug years ago that says, “what would you do if you knew you couldn’t fail?” I guess one of the things I would do is end hunger as far as I could, one person, one neighborhood at a time. Can you send up some prayers that many doors will open and paths will be illuminated, so that we do more than we imagine, and indeed do what we ourselves could not do.
Friday, March 20, 2009
The Ride
Tuesday, after school, we were in my office. My extracycle was in there, as well as Joe’s bike. He begged to ride home, could we both ride together. I had my doubts. There are three long hills (not steep, just long) and Joe’s bike doesn’t have gears. But I thought, ok, we’ll see. It was Joe’s first time to do more than go around a block, ride in the church lot, etc. So we walked across Limestone and headed down Arceme. Well, that was the first hill, right as he got moving. He was so frustrated, really taking it out on himself. I calmed him down and we walked to the top of the hill and rode down. But then Parkview is more of the same, a hill right as you get started after we walked across Bryan. But he got it and he had those little legs working. Brandon, Joe’s uncle, is fond of pointing out that when little kids walk or climb stairs, they are really strong—stairs for a four-year old is like us stepping repeatedly onto a truck tailgate, he says, aptly.
Well, Joe made it, and he made it up the hill on Highland Park. It was really cool.
I’ll try not to ramble on about how bikes are such elegant pieces of technology, so simple, such a human pace to them. And I won’t let that get me started on how musical instruments are such elegant pieces of technology, how as Mike Cecil says, “Bluegrass is the people’s music”—no amps, no drums, just open up a case anyone can carry and play.
And did I mention that last night Joseph was strumming the guitar and among the many strange noises coming from many attempts at putting fingers down on the fretboard, one of them was E-minor?
Well, Joe made it, and he made it up the hill on Highland Park. It was really cool.
I’ll try not to ramble on about how bikes are such elegant pieces of technology, so simple, such a human pace to them. And I won’t let that get me started on how musical instruments are such elegant pieces of technology, how as Mike Cecil says, “Bluegrass is the people’s music”—no amps, no drums, just open up a case anyone can carry and play.
And did I mention that last night Joseph was strumming the guitar and among the many strange noises coming from many attempts at putting fingers down on the fretboard, one of them was E-minor?
The Ride
Tuesday, after school, we were in my office. My extracycle was in there, as well as Joe’s bike. He begged to ride home, could we both ride together. I had my doubts. There are three long hills (not steep, just long) and Joe’s bike doesn’t have gears. But I thought, ok, we’ll see. It was Joe’s first time to do more than go around a block, ride in the church lot, etc. So we walked across Limestone and headed down Arceme. Well, that was the first hill, right as he got moving. He was so frustrated, really taking it out on himself. I calmed him down and we walked to the top of the hill and rode down. But then Parkview is more of the same, a hill right as you get started after we walked across Bryan. But he got it and he had those little legs working. Brandon, Joe’s uncle, is fond of pointing out that when little kids walk or climb stairs, they are really strong—stairs for a four-year old is like us stepping repeatedly onto a truck tailgate, he says, aptly.
Well, Joe made it, and he made it up the hill on Highland Park. It was really cool.
I’ll try not to ramble on about how bikes are such elegant pieces of technology, so simple, such a human pace to them. And I won’t let that get me started on how musical instruments are such elegant pieces of technology, how as Mike Cecil says, “Bluegrass is the people’s music”—no amps, no drums, just open up a case anyone can carry and play.
And did I mention that last night Joseph was strumming the guitar and among the many strange noises coming from many attempts at putting fingers down on the fretboard, one of them was E-minor?
Well, Joe made it, and he made it up the hill on Highland Park. It was really cool.
I’ll try not to ramble on about how bikes are such elegant pieces of technology, so simple, such a human pace to them. And I won’t let that get me started on how musical instruments are such elegant pieces of technology, how as Mike Cecil says, “Bluegrass is the people’s music”—no amps, no drums, just open up a case anyone can carry and play.
And did I mention that last night Joseph was strumming the guitar and among the many strange noises coming from many attempts at putting fingers down on the fretboard, one of them was E-minor?
One Week Later...
So, we were out doing evangelism again this week. A street away from my soi-disant Buddhist.
We were having a good time; Jessie made up a song, borrowing an old Lewis Family tune: “So many years, so many houses… so many years, so many blessings, we’ll have eternity to share.”
A door opened and an honest man stepped out. When he heard I was from the church, he was not too pleased, a smirk of resignation on his face. I asked if he had a church.
No, he said, drawing it out, emphasizing being resigned to having to deal with creatures barely above Mormons.
I asked why not.
He said, “I don’t go.”
“Too ornery?”
A smile, albeit faint. “I guess so.”
“Well,” I says, “you’ll die and face the judgment same as all of us. When you want to get ready before that day, come see us,” and I handed him my card.
This I will deal with, I’ll talk to this guy. I expect to be back. I expect he’ll talk to me. Just don’t feed me a line of bull. You don’t go, you hate God, you think preachers are idiots, immoral, both or worse, whatever, just don’t bs me. You can run me, you can beat me, just don’t bs me.
We were having a good time; Jessie made up a song, borrowing an old Lewis Family tune: “So many years, so many houses… so many years, so many blessings, we’ll have eternity to share.”
A door opened and an honest man stepped out. When he heard I was from the church, he was not too pleased, a smirk of resignation on his face. I asked if he had a church.
No, he said, drawing it out, emphasizing being resigned to having to deal with creatures barely above Mormons.
I asked why not.
He said, “I don’t go.”
“Too ornery?”
A smile, albeit faint. “I guess so.”
“Well,” I says, “you’ll die and face the judgment same as all of us. When you want to get ready before that day, come see us,” and I handed him my card.
This I will deal with, I’ll talk to this guy. I expect to be back. I expect he’ll talk to me. Just don’t feed me a line of bull. You don’t go, you hate God, you think preachers are idiots, immoral, both or worse, whatever, just don’t bs me. You can run me, you can beat me, just don’t bs me.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
On the Street
Another in the annals of evangelism stories. Me and Roz really need to write a book. Anyway, on a street where I have had encounters with Jehovahs and Mormons, the only guy I got to meet is a case study. He was picking up trash from the where the trash pickup had scattered it. I commented by way of introduction that there’s more trash after they come by, and he laughed. As I handed him the card I use (church name, service times, etc), and mentioned that I was a pastor, he immediately waved me off and said, “I’m not a church-goer.”
“Why not?”
“I follow more of the Buddhist way.”
So I had to turn down my inner monologue. Here’s what the filter caught: “You Northside stoner! Of course you follow Buddha! You were baked and god forbid your dealer is the county jailhouse philosopher…”
What I said was, “it’s been my experience that people who say that have no idea what they are talking about. It’s really more honest to just say you don’t have time for really changing your life to please God. We won’t waste each other’s time that way.”
The problem is this: b.s. is worse than lying. B.S. is still a lie, it just fools the hearer and speaker into thinking something was actually thought out and said. Tell me you go to Nonesuch Baptist Church. Lie to me, just don’t b.s. me.
“Why not?”
“I follow more of the Buddhist way.”
So I had to turn down my inner monologue. Here’s what the filter caught: “You Northside stoner! Of course you follow Buddha! You were baked and god forbid your dealer is the county jailhouse philosopher…”
What I said was, “it’s been my experience that people who say that have no idea what they are talking about. It’s really more honest to just say you don’t have time for really changing your life to please God. We won’t waste each other’s time that way.”
The problem is this: b.s. is worse than lying. B.S. is still a lie, it just fools the hearer and speaker into thinking something was actually thought out and said. Tell me you go to Nonesuch Baptist Church. Lie to me, just don’t b.s. me.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Seed Sale
Holy Crow! We sold $2,057 worth of seeds. Thanks to everyone who came. And we still have some stuff left if you didn't get any... or enough!
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Sunday Gift
So Sunday morning, Johnny G and I are in the hall a few minuted before Sunday School. Up comes Diane Sears, about as sweet a saint as there is. She has had and has a tough life. But she is full of the joy of the Lord. She came up and put her arms around me and started singing, "Good morning to you, good morning to you..."
It was a boost. I mean, I was already having a good day, but what a blessing.
It was a boost. I mean, I was already having a good day, but what a blessing.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Joe Joe's 1st Free Throw Shot in a Game....
Joseph had his next to last basketball game today. Joseph likes to play, but he does more running than anything else. He kind of wanders around. But he has a lot of fun. He can flat out get down the court for a “big man.” Today they were playing the only team to beat them this season. Joe’s team, The Spartans, poured it on early and had The Crimson Tide in a hole. But The Tide has a player who can really shake and bake for a 2nd grader. Joe ended up defending him in the next to last quarter, when it looked like they might make a run. He stayed with the boy, put those long arms out and up, the kid could not get a look. Only scored 2 points. Tenacious D. Just like his old man, as John Gallaher knows only too well.
Here’s a video of Joe “Money”
Friday, February 27, 2009
The Skro
This past Monday, Blake Brodien preached. Brodien, known affectionately as “flake,” “Skrodien,” or “Brodizzle” is a seminary student who works with the youth here at the church. He is looking hard at his call to preach. He is one of the folks who moved into the neighborhood and toughed it out. It’s a hard place to be. But he’s there for the kids. And whenever I need his truck. Don’t sell a Toyota to keep a Chrysler, dude. You have like 6 days before the Chrysler starts burning oil. I’ve seen it a hundred times.
Anyway, he asked over a year ago if he could preach. I told him if he let me hear him first. Seminary students tend to think they can just come in and preach. I was once one. Well, he finally screwed up the guts to meet me in the chapel at high noon, and he rocked.
Here’s how it went. He preached on the transforming power of grace.
My response: “You had me convinced you were going to suck.”
Blake: “huh? Wha?”
He needed to preach with boldness, and he did, but it was not what he expected, I don’t think. He was ready to go. So we set a Monday, this past Monday, and he dropped the Word on the people. It took me and Roz to help him handle the altar call. Krikey, I’ll be out of a job. He spent the rest of the evening ministering to the people.
He’s almost ready for Sunday. I don’t say that to say Monday night is not important. Au contraire; Monday night, if you can preach there, you’re ok. They heckle, the fuss, they ask questions. How I knew Brodien was really ready, even before he preached: One of our tattooed brethren took offense to me saying that peace would be a result of the Spirit in our lives. Barb Foster – yes, Barb!—about lost it! The guy said I did not know real life and about fighting and fussing. Turn the other cheek and all that. Look at my nose. Whatever. Anyway, he got upset with me when I said, “Jesus didn’t say, “You get two free shots and then it’s your tail…” He walked out fussing about real life and Barb was muttering “Jesus is real life, buddy!”
Well, Brodien went out with him and talked him down. Wow. Went to the rough dude and talked him down. Pray for Brodien. Pray that he will keep his confidence in preaching and pick up the call we see in him. Pray that the Rock doesn’t ruin us all. The previous pastor, Wes Olds, said, “Welcome to your last appointment in Knetucky.” He meant that there may not be anywhere else to send us, anywhere else that would have us. We preach the full Gospel, hard and edgy, full of grace and truth. We get heckled. We got called white motherf#$%ers a few days ago. And we thanked God for it! What will we do if we settle down?
Anyway, he asked over a year ago if he could preach. I told him if he let me hear him first. Seminary students tend to think they can just come in and preach. I was once one. Well, he finally screwed up the guts to meet me in the chapel at high noon, and he rocked.
Here’s how it went. He preached on the transforming power of grace.
My response: “You had me convinced you were going to suck.”
Blake: “huh? Wha?”
He needed to preach with boldness, and he did, but it was not what he expected, I don’t think. He was ready to go. So we set a Monday, this past Monday, and he dropped the Word on the people. It took me and Roz to help him handle the altar call. Krikey, I’ll be out of a job. He spent the rest of the evening ministering to the people.
He’s almost ready for Sunday. I don’t say that to say Monday night is not important. Au contraire; Monday night, if you can preach there, you’re ok. They heckle, the fuss, they ask questions. How I knew Brodien was really ready, even before he preached: One of our tattooed brethren took offense to me saying that peace would be a result of the Spirit in our lives. Barb Foster – yes, Barb!—about lost it! The guy said I did not know real life and about fighting and fussing. Turn the other cheek and all that. Look at my nose. Whatever. Anyway, he got upset with me when I said, “Jesus didn’t say, “You get two free shots and then it’s your tail…” He walked out fussing about real life and Barb was muttering “Jesus is real life, buddy!”
Well, Brodien went out with him and talked him down. Wow. Went to the rough dude and talked him down. Pray for Brodien. Pray that he will keep his confidence in preaching and pick up the call we see in him. Pray that the Rock doesn’t ruin us all. The previous pastor, Wes Olds, said, “Welcome to your last appointment in Knetucky.” He meant that there may not be anywhere else to send us, anywhere else that would have us. We preach the full Gospel, hard and edgy, full of grace and truth. We get heckled. We got called white motherf#$%ers a few days ago. And we thanked God for it! What will we do if we settle down?
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Seed Sale
If you're looking for seeds, go over to the right, scroll down to blog archive and click "Seeds for Sale."
Rogation Day
The closer spring gets, the more you want it to get here. You think that somehow you can make it get here more quickly if you do spring-like things. In one of our breaks from the intense cold of this winter, Jessie and I took a look at our compost heap. We had not done a thing to it since the last time we dumped grass clippings into it. So imagine our surprise when we had some finished product!
We set to work to turn and reform the pile, and we shook out as much compost as we could, leaving the stuff that still needs to rot down. We got about 4 cubic feet out of it, and that went immediately to the raised bed in the front yard where we expect to grow lettuce this year. [Did I mention that our lettuce seeds for sale are the best selection I have seen in one place?]
I think that you need a visual, physical picture of some of the abstractions that are so important in our lives. “Love,” for example. Or “together.” Jessie and I may say that we love each other. And we may say that we are blessed to have the opportunity to work together. But the work of ministry can be abstract. And we all know that love cannot be just a word.
Doing the first spring-like thing was also doing, seeing the first love-like thing, together-thing. It was not a warm day, really, but it wasn’t snowing! As we got to work with the pitchforks, it was not long before the clumped and moist pile had us breathing heavy and sweating. We quickly found a rhythm of shaking the heavier matter away from the finished “dirt,” and twisting and turning and loosening it up for the new pile.
There was not a lot to say, no need to say anything. It’s one thing to imagine that you are at work in the fields of the Lord; that the sowing and reaping of the Word and souls is every bit as real as broadcasting seed and mowing hay, and yet… a large part of me has to have some tangible ritual, some training by motion and posture that keeps me from flying away; propositions and logical conclusions are fine enough, but I can’t seem to get a point unless I see it. [Chris Baker knows this better than anyone!]
When I think of being human, of human culture, the rock-bottom sign of being human is work together, the work that the Lord gave to husband and wife and families. We pray every night that God will make us “preachers together.” Who knows if that is His will? But I can say that I do not understand that except when I can remember (or better yet, do) the work of raising food with the people closest to me. (Already on the floor are all the things we need to make a sieve for our compost, to get as much of the finished stuff as we can and put the rest back to rot; we all went to Lowe’s together, and we’ll get the saw and hammer out and hopefully John and Joe can see what all those trips they made to the backyard with a bucket full of slimy eggshells and coffee grounds was all about!)
It is at once our glory and tragedy that we do not depend on each other. Glorious, because to some degree, Sartre was right when he said, “Hell is other people.” We don’t want to depend on another for our survival. At least not in the direct ways we would if, for example, we were on a prairie farm in 1825. But it is our tragedy as well, because we have lost connection. It is just as easy to love someone and then not love them if it is only a word, an abstraction, or a “feeling.” If we have to cut wood, mow hay, and put up the harvest, it will be harder for me to simply say I am walking away from my family. But when we have jobs away from home, and a world that responds to the independence of cash, we can and do easily walk away.
All this is to say, I am looking forward to a long, hot summer. I love to sweat, to get dirty. I love it when you have to give the boys a pre-bath bath. And I can’t wait to be in the garden with Ica, the place where we really met and got to know one another, saying sometimes nothing and sometimes everything…
We set to work to turn and reform the pile, and we shook out as much compost as we could, leaving the stuff that still needs to rot down. We got about 4 cubic feet out of it, and that went immediately to the raised bed in the front yard where we expect to grow lettuce this year. [Did I mention that our lettuce seeds for sale are the best selection I have seen in one place?]
I think that you need a visual, physical picture of some of the abstractions that are so important in our lives. “Love,” for example. Or “together.” Jessie and I may say that we love each other. And we may say that we are blessed to have the opportunity to work together. But the work of ministry can be abstract. And we all know that love cannot be just a word.
Doing the first spring-like thing was also doing, seeing the first love-like thing, together-thing. It was not a warm day, really, but it wasn’t snowing! As we got to work with the pitchforks, it was not long before the clumped and moist pile had us breathing heavy and sweating. We quickly found a rhythm of shaking the heavier matter away from the finished “dirt,” and twisting and turning and loosening it up for the new pile.
There was not a lot to say, no need to say anything. It’s one thing to imagine that you are at work in the fields of the Lord; that the sowing and reaping of the Word and souls is every bit as real as broadcasting seed and mowing hay, and yet… a large part of me has to have some tangible ritual, some training by motion and posture that keeps me from flying away; propositions and logical conclusions are fine enough, but I can’t seem to get a point unless I see it. [Chris Baker knows this better than anyone!]
When I think of being human, of human culture, the rock-bottom sign of being human is work together, the work that the Lord gave to husband and wife and families. We pray every night that God will make us “preachers together.” Who knows if that is His will? But I can say that I do not understand that except when I can remember (or better yet, do) the work of raising food with the people closest to me. (Already on the floor are all the things we need to make a sieve for our compost, to get as much of the finished stuff as we can and put the rest back to rot; we all went to Lowe’s together, and we’ll get the saw and hammer out and hopefully John and Joe can see what all those trips they made to the backyard with a bucket full of slimy eggshells and coffee grounds was all about!)
It is at once our glory and tragedy that we do not depend on each other. Glorious, because to some degree, Sartre was right when he said, “Hell is other people.” We don’t want to depend on another for our survival. At least not in the direct ways we would if, for example, we were on a prairie farm in 1825. But it is our tragedy as well, because we have lost connection. It is just as easy to love someone and then not love them if it is only a word, an abstraction, or a “feeling.” If we have to cut wood, mow hay, and put up the harvest, it will be harder for me to simply say I am walking away from my family. But when we have jobs away from home, and a world that responds to the independence of cash, we can and do easily walk away.
All this is to say, I am looking forward to a long, hot summer. I love to sweat, to get dirty. I love it when you have to give the boys a pre-bath bath. And I can’t wait to be in the garden with Ica, the place where we really met and got to know one another, saying sometimes nothing and sometimes everything…
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
My Boy// Scroll Down to FInd Seeds for Sale!!!
There has been an ongoing "negotiation" with John. He wanted an office. So we set him up in a closet that we use for keeping records from our MOnday night program. He had not been in there 5 minutes before he said, "now that I have an office, can you get me a laptop?"
He wants to be a miniature Glandion Carney (the fellow who came to us to lead us through some spiritual exercises). John has decided that he needs to give Laura Gallaher homework, so that she can do better spiritual formation with the youth group. I know; this from an eight year old.
Anyway, he asked for a secretary, too. I found out, tho, that he has already had Charlotte making copies of homework for Laura...
One morning last week, John said that he likes 2% milk better than the 1% I buy. "Why don't you make sure the store has 2% cows?" he asked. "They should have a tag in their ears that says 2% so you'll know." I had to pull over and compose myself before we went any further...
Just yesterday, he decided he should be the Vice-Pastor.
He wants to be a miniature Glandion Carney (the fellow who came to us to lead us through some spiritual exercises). John has decided that he needs to give Laura Gallaher homework, so that she can do better spiritual formation with the youth group. I know; this from an eight year old.
Anyway, he asked for a secretary, too. I found out, tho, that he has already had Charlotte making copies of homework for Laura...
One morning last week, John said that he likes 2% milk better than the 1% I buy. "Why don't you make sure the store has 2% cows?" he asked. "They should have a tag in their ears that says 2% so you'll know." I had to pull over and compose myself before we went any further...
Just yesterday, he decided he should be the Vice-Pastor.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Sick Baby// Looking For Seeds? Keep Scrolling Down
You never know what you’re going to learn, or how good things can be when they don’t seem very good.
Last Saturday, Joseph was sick. He woke up at about midnight puking. I mean lots. I have no idea where he was keeping it all. One of his dresser drawers was half-open, and of course, he yacked there. I put him in bed with us and he spewed 2 more times. Poor little guy.
Well, he was fine by next morning, eating some banana and toast. He was curled up to me a little later and I said, “well, one good thing that comes from all this is that when you’re sick you’re extra snuggly!” He looked at me and said, “Another good thing is I was frowing up and you took care of me.”
I just laid there and hugged him more. It seems that sometimes we can break through and recognize that this a bad world, not our place. And we know things will be tough—from the aggravation of a stomach bug to real suffering and death. And yet, we pray that God fills us with compassion, that we don’t walk by, that we don’t just keep living our lives. We stop, pray, love, minister, and let suffering open up paths for mercy.
A long-time member of the church received news that he has terminal cancer. As the family gathered around the bed, there was a lot of sadness and the confusion that comes from wondering what are you supposed to do or think? He said simply, almost as if he did not understand the fuss, “You knew I wasn’t going to live forever.”
He is just stone-faced about it. Not set like flint, as if he endures some uncommon trial. He was in church the Sunday after the bad news, and we just rejoiced to know that he lives in triumph. He is a Methodist, and we have no fear of death. [I have seen the peace of the Gospel among the dying too many times to dispute it. It is the gift of those who believe. Not resignation to fact, but faith in the Living God] He has assurance of Jesus. He had no false hopes for this life, only the promises of Jesus for this life and the life to come.
He wants to keep reading the Scriptures I read to him, Psalm 50:9-12 and Philippians 3, esp v. 20-21.
Last Saturday, Joseph was sick. He woke up at about midnight puking. I mean lots. I have no idea where he was keeping it all. One of his dresser drawers was half-open, and of course, he yacked there. I put him in bed with us and he spewed 2 more times. Poor little guy.
Well, he was fine by next morning, eating some banana and toast. He was curled up to me a little later and I said, “well, one good thing that comes from all this is that when you’re sick you’re extra snuggly!” He looked at me and said, “Another good thing is I was frowing up and you took care of me.”
I just laid there and hugged him more. It seems that sometimes we can break through and recognize that this a bad world, not our place. And we know things will be tough—from the aggravation of a stomach bug to real suffering and death. And yet, we pray that God fills us with compassion, that we don’t walk by, that we don’t just keep living our lives. We stop, pray, love, minister, and let suffering open up paths for mercy.
A long-time member of the church received news that he has terminal cancer. As the family gathered around the bed, there was a lot of sadness and the confusion that comes from wondering what are you supposed to do or think? He said simply, almost as if he did not understand the fuss, “You knew I wasn’t going to live forever.”
He is just stone-faced about it. Not set like flint, as if he endures some uncommon trial. He was in church the Sunday after the bad news, and we just rejoiced to know that he lives in triumph. He is a Methodist, and we have no fear of death. [I have seen the peace of the Gospel among the dying too many times to dispute it. It is the gift of those who believe. Not resignation to fact, but faith in the Living God] He has assurance of Jesus. He had no false hopes for this life, only the promises of Jesus for this life and the life to come.
He wants to keep reading the Scriptures I read to him, Psalm 50:9-12 and Philippians 3, esp v. 20-21.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Seeds For Sale
Hey guys-- this is a long post. We're having a seed sale, with heirloom seeds-- old varieties, with lost of flavor! You won't find these in the store or at the garden center. We're selling seeds as a fund-raiser for our garden ministry, which is growing by a huge amount this year! So please help us out! Ordering instructions at the bottom-- or come to the Sale, Saturday March 7, from 9 a.m. to 3 p.m.!!!
BEANS
Empress - $2.00 Bush variety - exceptional flavor, stringless green snap bean, a great bean for fresh eating, freezing or processing. 55 days.
Rattlesnake Snap - Certified Organic $2.50 Pole variety - dark green pods are brushed with purple streaks, drought resistant. 60-90 days.
Sultan’s Golden Crescent - Certified Organic / Very Rare $3.00 Pole variety - Nearly extinct! Curved yellow snap bean, stringless, and prolific. 75 days.
BEETS
Albino - Rare $2.25 Totally white, sweet roots. 50 days.
Early Blood - Certified Organic / Rare $2.50 Dark red, sweet, crisp and tender.Good for summer and autumn planting. 48-68 days.
Broccoli
DeCicco - Certified Organic $2.00 Made U.S. debut in 1890. Italian origin. Early variety. Compact plants with 4” main head, prolific side shoots. 48 days from transplant.
CABBAGE
Winningstadt - $2.25 German heirloom introduced to American in 1866. Sweet mild flavor and dense heads are great for sauerkraut or other favorites. Excellent keeper. 85 days.
Corn
Country Gentleman - Certified Organic $2.50 Introduced in 1890. Late season white, “shoe peg”, 7 - 8 foot stalks often produce two ears. 88 days.
Cucumbers
Armenian - $2.00 Heavily ribbed, pale green, burpless, no need to peel. Retains flavor at 12 - 18” long. 50 - 75 days.
Boothby’s Blonde - $2.00 From the Boothby family in Livermore, Maine. No peelin’, fresh eatin’. Crisp sweet flavor and pale green skin make it a great choice for bread and butter pickles. Best picked at 4”. 55 - 60 days.
Crystal Apple - Certified Organic $2.50 Originated in New Zealand. Unique creamy green, apple shaped variety, very prolific. 65 days.
Mexican Sour Gherkin - Rare $2.50 Culinary oddity. 1 -2” cukes look like tiny watermelons and fall off the vine when ripe. Sweet flavor backed up by an unexpected sourness, as if they were pickled on the vine. 60 - 70 days.
Miniature White - $2.00 Short vined variety is great for gardener with limited space. No peel, sweet flavor. Best raw or in salads, under 3”. 50 days.
Parisian Pickling - Certified Organic / Rare $2.75 From early 1800’s France. Used for pickling gherkins and cornichons. 55 days.
White Wonder - $2.00 Introduced in 1893 from New York. Blocky, ivory-white, 7” fruits are great raw or for pickling. Highly productive, even in hot weather. Cukes start to turn yellow when past maturity. 58 days.
EGGPLANT
Applegreen - Certified Organic / Rare $2.75 Oval, 5” fruits have pale green skin, are non-acidic, no peel, extra early variety that does well in cool and wet conditions (a true feat for eggplant). 65 days from transplant.
Thai Green - $2.00 Long & slender 12” fruits are light green, no peel, and absorb spicy flavors well, hence their use in Thai cuisine. Drought Resistant. 75 days from transplant.
LETTUCE
Amish Deer Tongue - Rare $2.50 Slow bolting. Unique triangular green leaves with straight edges. Broadcast for fantastic baby leaf, “cut and come again” lettuce, or wait for very loose bibb heads. 30 days baby. 55 days head.
Bronze Arrowhead - $2.00 Medal winner at the 1947 All American Selections. One of the very best. Red and green oak leaf type, looseleaf. 45 days.
Crisp Leaf - Certified Organic $2.50 Romaine. Flavorful heads grow to 10” tall with serrated leaves. 45 - 55 days.
Forellenschuss - Rare $2.50 Romaine. Austrian heirloom. Superior flavored lettuce with green leaves and maroon splotches. Holds well in summer. 55 days.
Grandpa Admire’s - Certified Organic $2.50. From civil war veteran George Admire. Bronze tinged lettuce that forms large loose heads. Slow bolting, stands up well to summer heat. 60 days.
Merveille Des Quatre Saisons - $2.00 Butterhead. French heirloom chronicled
in 1885. Attractive reddish bibb type rosette with excellent flavor. Color and flavor do best in cool spring/autumn climate. 60 days.
Reine des Glaces (Ice Queen) - Certified Organic $2.50 Crisphead. Great slow bolting, summer variety. Dark green, deeply pointed, lacy leaves. Use as leaf lettuce once head is cut. 62 days.
Rouge d’ Hiver (Red Winter) - Certified Organic $2.50 Romaine. Green heart with brownish red leaves. Grows 10 -12” tall. Great for salad mixes. 60 days.
Tennis Ball - Certified Organic $2.50 Butterhead. First introduced in the 1850’s. Small tight rosettes of light green leaves form loose heads no bigger than 7”. 50 days.
LIMA BEAN
Christmas - $2.00 Pole variety. Dates back to the 1840’s. Heavy yields of large white beans with maroon spots and swirls. Use as a green shell lima, or dry. Does well even in extreme heat. 75-90 days.
MELONS (canteloupe/honeydew etc.)
Canoe Creek Colossal - Rare $2.50 Large, 8 to 15 pound, deeply ribbed. Great taste, pick when just beginning to “slip”. Pale orange flesh. 85 - 90 days.
Charantais - $2.00 Consensus pick among melon lovers. Smooth, round, 2 pound melons have sweet, fragrant and juicy, salmon colored flesh. Creamy-gray skin with green stripes. 75 - 90 days.
Delice de la Table - Very Rare $2.75 Nearly extinct, late 1800’s French heirloom. Small 1 to 2 pound fruits are mottled orange, have deeply ribbed fruits, and are very sweet. 85 - 90 days.
Ha’Ogen - Rare $2.25 Israeli variety. Deep yellow-orange rind with slight green ribs. Green flesh is sweet with spicy undertones. 75 - 80 days.
Minnesota Midget - Certified Organic $2.75 Extra early, short vined variety. Round 4”+ fruits have a high sugar content and are edible to the rind. Resistant to fusarium wilt. Developed at Univ. of Minnesota in 1948. 60 - 75 days.
Petit Gris de Rennes - Certified Organic $2.75 French melon grown nearly 400 years ago in the garden of the Bishop of Rennes. Sweet orange flesh. 80 - 85 days.
Prescott Fond Blanc - Rare $2.25 French melon documented before 1850. Fruits weigh up to 9 pounds, have a dense sweet flesh and a divine aroma. Skin is “lumpy”. Drought tolerant, and like all rock melons, will NOT “slip”. 85 - 95 days.
Tigger - $2.00 Armenian variety. 1 pound fruits are a vibrant yellow with dark orange zig-zag stripes. The white flesh is semi-sweet, but it is mostly used in gourmet restaurants for it’s visual appeal and incredibly powerful aroma. They are often cut in half and used as striking dessert cups. 85 days.
OKRA
Red Burgundy - $2.00 From Clemson University. 4 foot tall plants with 6 - 8” burgundy colored, tender pods. 55 - 60 days.
ONION
Long Red Florence - Rare $2.00 Italian heirloom. Elongated, bottle shaped bulbs with mild flavor. Great for fresh use. For spring and fall planting. 110 days.
PEPPERS (Heat scale 1 to 5)
Alma Paprika (1) - $2.25 The best for drying and grinding into paprika. Can also be eaten fresh. Round, thick walled peppers are slightly warm and sweet. Ripens from cream-white to orange to red. 75 days.
Fatalii (5) - $2.50 One of the hottest peppers we know of. 3” long, top-shaped, golden-yellow peppers have a citrus flavor, with very few seeds. Can be grown in large pots and kept alive for several seasons. 90 days from transplant.
Fish (3) - $2.50 Pre-1870’s, African-American heirloom. Variegated leaves are creamy grey and dark green, making this a nice edible ornamental. 3 inch fruits start out cream with green stripes, then ripen to orange with brown stripes, then finally red. Use in white stage for cream sauces, or for salsas and fresh use at any stage. 80 days from transplant.
Mustard Habanero (5) - Rare $2.75 Unique colors and shape. Starts out pale green with a purple blush, then mustard orange, then finally reddish orange. 95 days from transplant.
Miniature Chocolate, Miniature Red, Miniature Yellow - $2.50 each color. From the Lucina Cress family in Ohio. 2 inch, mini 2 -3 lobe peppers. Great for stuffing or pickling. 90 days from transplant.
Quadrato Asti Giallo - Rare $2.75 Large blocky bell pepper from Italy. Ripens very slowly from green, to green and yellow, finally to a golden color. Sweet and spicy flavor at any stage. Thick, crisp flesh. 70 - 80 days.
Tolli’s Sweet Italian - $2.50 Sweet red Italian heirloom is versatile and tasty. Great for fresh eating, canning, or added to tomato sauces. Heavy yielding, 4 - 5” long tapered fruits. 80 days from transplant.
Swiss CHARD
Five Color Silverbeet - Certified Organic / Color Guarantee $2.50
Unlike most commercial “rainbow” chard, all the colors in Silverbeet are grown in isolation to insure a proper balance, and give you the best color. 50 - 60 days.
SOYBEAN
Agate - Certified Organic / Very Rare $2.50 Historic New Mexico heirloom. Highly productive, medium-sized yellow seeds with reddish-brown saddles. 80 days.
RADISH
Helios-Certified Organic $2.50 Pale yellow, sweet spring radish, white flesh. 35 days.
Plum Purple - Certified Organic $2.50 Exceptional variety. Round, deep purple roots, white flesh, sweet and mild all season, hardy and never pithy. 25 - 30 days.
SPINACH
Monnopa - Certified Organic $2.50 Round leaf type, claimed to be the sweetest of all spinach. High in vitamins A, C, and E. It is very low in acid which promotes the absorption of calcium and other minerals. 45 - 60 days.
Strawberry Spinach - Very Rare $2.50 Grown in Europe for centuries. 16” plants have triangular toothed leaves and tender shoots good in salads or steamed. Red mulberry-like fruits grow on the same plant and are edible, good for drying or mixing in with salads. A self-seeding annual.
SQUASH
Australian Butter - $2.00 Thick, dry orange flesh is superb for baking and is a good keeper. Hard shelled fruits weigh up to 15 pounds, with a small seed cavity. 95 days.
Galeux d’ Eysines - Rare $2.50 First seen in Tranzault, France. Sweet, moist, orange flesh is great for baking and soups. Fruits weigh 10 - 20 pounds and should be harvested before total maturity. 90 days.
Musquee de Provence - SSE Prize Winner $2.75 From southern France, introduced to America in 1899. Gorgeous, flat “pumpkinesque” fruits average 20 pounds and ripen from green to a rich brown. Deep orange flesh is perhaps the very finest for baking, and is a good keeper too. Often mixed into Fall ornamental displays.
100 - 110 days.
Thelma Sanders Sweet Potato - Certified Organic $2.50 Ohio heirloom from the Knoche family, noted squash collectors. Cream-colored acorn-type squash is great for baking. Very productive. 85 - 90 days.
TOMATO
Blondkopfchen (a.k.a. Little Blonde Girl) - Certified Organic $2.75 Perhaps, the very best all-around grape tomato. 1” golden-yellow fruits with sweet taste, high yields, grows in giant clusters, and unlike many grape/cherry varieties it does not crack. Bears until frost. Indeterminate. 75 - 80 days.
Isis Candy - $2.25 Gorgeous grape tomato marbled with red and has a cat’s eye starburst on the blossom end. Almost too pretty to eat. Sweet and fruity. Indeterminate. 70 - 80 days from transplant.
Jaune Flamme - $2.25 Deep orange, apricot-shaped heirloom from France. Excellent, “bitey” flavor. Great for drying as well. 2 - 3 ounce fruits, borne in clusters. Indeterminate. 70 - 80 days from transplant.
Martino’s Roma - Certified Organic $2.50 SSE’s pick for best Roma variety. Good flavor for a Roma, unlike the supermarket. As always, great for sauce, salads and salsa. Rugose. 75 days from transplant.
span style="font-weight:bold;">John Baer - Certified Organic $2.75 Great all-around tomato. Use for canning and fresh eating. Bright red, smooth and round, meaty with a balanced flavor. Indeterminate. 70 days from transplant.
Plum Lemon - $2.25 Seed found in Moscow market during the 1991 coup. Small, yellow, meaty, pointed end fruits really resemble a lemon. Sweet, refreshing flavor.
Indeterminate. 72 days from transplant.
Purple Russian - $2.25 From Erma Henkel in the Ukraine. Plum shaped, purple-black fruits are meaty with the fantastic “black” flavor, but without the heavy cracking most other black tomatoes have. Indeterminate. 80 days.
Moonglow - Certified Organic / SSE Prize Winner $3.00 Medium size, bright orange fruit, with orange meat and few seeds. Winner of the SSE’s 2007 Heirloom Tomato Tasting. Wonderful flavor. Indeterminate. 80 days from transplant.
Striped Cavern (a.k.a. Schimmig Stoo) - Rare $2.75 Gorgeous stuffing tomato. Hollow, red fruit with yellow stripes and thick flesh, looks like a pepper! Holds 4 weeks in the fridge. Perfect for stuffing with pimento cheese, chicken salad or more. Super choice for caterers. Indeterminate. 80 days from transplant.
Watermelon
Cream of Saskatchewan - Rare $2.50 White fleshed, Russian heirloom. 4 - 10 pound, round fruits have exceptional flavor. Stands up to cool weather. 85 days.
Golden Midget - Rare $2.75 Very early variety with golden-yellow exterior and sweet salmon-pink flesh. Small melons have thin rind and black seeds. 70 days.
Mountain Sweet Yellow - Rare / SSE Pick $3.00 Popular in 1840’s Pennsylvania. Very high sugar content. Dark yellow flesh inside of long, 20 - 30 pound melons. Productive plants. 90 - 100 days.
Moon & Stars (Van Doren strain) - Rare $2.50 This is the original strain of the famous green melons covered with yellow “stars” and having one larger yellow “moon”. Unlike many novelty heirlooms, Van Doren’s sweet pink flesh is good eating. Spotted foliage and brown seeds. 90 days.
Mail Order Instructions
: Simply send us a list of the heirloom varieties you want, and indicate how many packets of each heirloom you need. Add up your total from the pricing given in this list, then add the postage and handling from the guide below. Allow 5-7 days for delivery. Make checks and money orders out to The Rock / LaRoca. Send your seed order to:
In-Feed
c/o: Bob McKinley
472 Larkwood Drive
Lexington, KY 40509
Shipping Fees:
$10 or less………..$3.50
$10 to $20.……….$5.00
$20 to $30.……….$7.00
$30 to $50.……….$9.00
Over $50.…………$10.00
BEANS
Empress - $2.00 Bush variety - exceptional flavor, stringless green snap bean, a great bean for fresh eating, freezing or processing. 55 days.
Rattlesnake Snap - Certified Organic $2.50 Pole variety - dark green pods are brushed with purple streaks, drought resistant. 60-90 days.
Sultan’s Golden Crescent - Certified Organic / Very Rare $3.00 Pole variety - Nearly extinct! Curved yellow snap bean, stringless, and prolific. 75 days.
BEETS
Albino - Rare $2.25 Totally white, sweet roots. 50 days.
Early Blood - Certified Organic / Rare $2.50 Dark red, sweet, crisp and tender.Good for summer and autumn planting. 48-68 days.
Broccoli
DeCicco - Certified Organic $2.00 Made U.S. debut in 1890. Italian origin. Early variety. Compact plants with 4” main head, prolific side shoots. 48 days from transplant.
CABBAGE
Winningstadt - $2.25 German heirloom introduced to American in 1866. Sweet mild flavor and dense heads are great for sauerkraut or other favorites. Excellent keeper. 85 days.
Corn
Country Gentleman - Certified Organic $2.50 Introduced in 1890. Late season white, “shoe peg”, 7 - 8 foot stalks often produce two ears. 88 days.
Cucumbers
Armenian - $2.00 Heavily ribbed, pale green, burpless, no need to peel. Retains flavor at 12 - 18” long. 50 - 75 days.
Boothby’s Blonde - $2.00 From the Boothby family in Livermore, Maine. No peelin’, fresh eatin’. Crisp sweet flavor and pale green skin make it a great choice for bread and butter pickles. Best picked at 4”. 55 - 60 days.
Crystal Apple - Certified Organic $2.50 Originated in New Zealand. Unique creamy green, apple shaped variety, very prolific. 65 days.
Mexican Sour Gherkin - Rare $2.50 Culinary oddity. 1 -2” cukes look like tiny watermelons and fall off the vine when ripe. Sweet flavor backed up by an unexpected sourness, as if they were pickled on the vine. 60 - 70 days.
Miniature White - $2.00 Short vined variety is great for gardener with limited space. No peel, sweet flavor. Best raw or in salads, under 3”. 50 days.
Parisian Pickling - Certified Organic / Rare $2.75 From early 1800’s France. Used for pickling gherkins and cornichons. 55 days.
White Wonder - $2.00 Introduced in 1893 from New York. Blocky, ivory-white, 7” fruits are great raw or for pickling. Highly productive, even in hot weather. Cukes start to turn yellow when past maturity. 58 days.
EGGPLANT
Applegreen - Certified Organic / Rare $2.75 Oval, 5” fruits have pale green skin, are non-acidic, no peel, extra early variety that does well in cool and wet conditions (a true feat for eggplant). 65 days from transplant.
Thai Green - $2.00 Long & slender 12” fruits are light green, no peel, and absorb spicy flavors well, hence their use in Thai cuisine. Drought Resistant. 75 days from transplant.
LETTUCE
Amish Deer Tongue - Rare $2.50 Slow bolting. Unique triangular green leaves with straight edges. Broadcast for fantastic baby leaf, “cut and come again” lettuce, or wait for very loose bibb heads. 30 days baby. 55 days head.
Bronze Arrowhead - $2.00 Medal winner at the 1947 All American Selections. One of the very best. Red and green oak leaf type, looseleaf. 45 days.
Crisp Leaf - Certified Organic $2.50 Romaine. Flavorful heads grow to 10” tall with serrated leaves. 45 - 55 days.
Forellenschuss - Rare $2.50 Romaine. Austrian heirloom. Superior flavored lettuce with green leaves and maroon splotches. Holds well in summer. 55 days.
Grandpa Admire’s - Certified Organic $2.50. From civil war veteran George Admire. Bronze tinged lettuce that forms large loose heads. Slow bolting, stands up well to summer heat. 60 days.
Merveille Des Quatre Saisons - $2.00 Butterhead. French heirloom chronicled
in 1885. Attractive reddish bibb type rosette with excellent flavor. Color and flavor do best in cool spring/autumn climate. 60 days.
Reine des Glaces (Ice Queen) - Certified Organic $2.50 Crisphead. Great slow bolting, summer variety. Dark green, deeply pointed, lacy leaves. Use as leaf lettuce once head is cut. 62 days.
Rouge d’ Hiver (Red Winter) - Certified Organic $2.50 Romaine. Green heart with brownish red leaves. Grows 10 -12” tall. Great for salad mixes. 60 days.
Tennis Ball - Certified Organic $2.50 Butterhead. First introduced in the 1850’s. Small tight rosettes of light green leaves form loose heads no bigger than 7”. 50 days.
LIMA BEAN
Christmas - $2.00 Pole variety. Dates back to the 1840’s. Heavy yields of large white beans with maroon spots and swirls. Use as a green shell lima, or dry. Does well even in extreme heat. 75-90 days.
MELONS (canteloupe/honeydew etc.)
Canoe Creek Colossal - Rare $2.50 Large, 8 to 15 pound, deeply ribbed. Great taste, pick when just beginning to “slip”. Pale orange flesh. 85 - 90 days.
Charantais - $2.00 Consensus pick among melon lovers. Smooth, round, 2 pound melons have sweet, fragrant and juicy, salmon colored flesh. Creamy-gray skin with green stripes. 75 - 90 days.
Delice de la Table - Very Rare $2.75 Nearly extinct, late 1800’s French heirloom. Small 1 to 2 pound fruits are mottled orange, have deeply ribbed fruits, and are very sweet. 85 - 90 days.
Ha’Ogen - Rare $2.25 Israeli variety. Deep yellow-orange rind with slight green ribs. Green flesh is sweet with spicy undertones. 75 - 80 days.
Minnesota Midget - Certified Organic $2.75 Extra early, short vined variety. Round 4”+ fruits have a high sugar content and are edible to the rind. Resistant to fusarium wilt. Developed at Univ. of Minnesota in 1948. 60 - 75 days.
Petit Gris de Rennes - Certified Organic $2.75 French melon grown nearly 400 years ago in the garden of the Bishop of Rennes. Sweet orange flesh. 80 - 85 days.
Prescott Fond Blanc - Rare $2.25 French melon documented before 1850. Fruits weigh up to 9 pounds, have a dense sweet flesh and a divine aroma. Skin is “lumpy”. Drought tolerant, and like all rock melons, will NOT “slip”. 85 - 95 days.
Tigger - $2.00 Armenian variety. 1 pound fruits are a vibrant yellow with dark orange zig-zag stripes. The white flesh is semi-sweet, but it is mostly used in gourmet restaurants for it’s visual appeal and incredibly powerful aroma. They are often cut in half and used as striking dessert cups. 85 days.
OKRA
Red Burgundy - $2.00 From Clemson University. 4 foot tall plants with 6 - 8” burgundy colored, tender pods. 55 - 60 days.
ONION
Long Red Florence - Rare $2.00 Italian heirloom. Elongated, bottle shaped bulbs with mild flavor. Great for fresh use. For spring and fall planting. 110 days.
PEPPERS (Heat scale 1 to 5)
Alma Paprika (1) - $2.25 The best for drying and grinding into paprika. Can also be eaten fresh. Round, thick walled peppers are slightly warm and sweet. Ripens from cream-white to orange to red. 75 days.
Fatalii (5) - $2.50 One of the hottest peppers we know of. 3” long, top-shaped, golden-yellow peppers have a citrus flavor, with very few seeds. Can be grown in large pots and kept alive for several seasons. 90 days from transplant.
Fish (3) - $2.50 Pre-1870’s, African-American heirloom. Variegated leaves are creamy grey and dark green, making this a nice edible ornamental. 3 inch fruits start out cream with green stripes, then ripen to orange with brown stripes, then finally red. Use in white stage for cream sauces, or for salsas and fresh use at any stage. 80 days from transplant.
Mustard Habanero (5) - Rare $2.75 Unique colors and shape. Starts out pale green with a purple blush, then mustard orange, then finally reddish orange. 95 days from transplant.
Miniature Chocolate, Miniature Red, Miniature Yellow - $2.50 each color. From the Lucina Cress family in Ohio. 2 inch, mini 2 -3 lobe peppers. Great for stuffing or pickling. 90 days from transplant.
Quadrato Asti Giallo - Rare $2.75 Large blocky bell pepper from Italy. Ripens very slowly from green, to green and yellow, finally to a golden color. Sweet and spicy flavor at any stage. Thick, crisp flesh. 70 - 80 days.
Tolli’s Sweet Italian - $2.50 Sweet red Italian heirloom is versatile and tasty. Great for fresh eating, canning, or added to tomato sauces. Heavy yielding, 4 - 5” long tapered fruits. 80 days from transplant.
Swiss CHARD
Five Color Silverbeet - Certified Organic / Color Guarantee $2.50
Unlike most commercial “rainbow” chard, all the colors in Silverbeet are grown in isolation to insure a proper balance, and give you the best color. 50 - 60 days.
SOYBEAN
Agate - Certified Organic / Very Rare $2.50 Historic New Mexico heirloom. Highly productive, medium-sized yellow seeds with reddish-brown saddles. 80 days.
RADISH
Helios-Certified Organic $2.50 Pale yellow, sweet spring radish, white flesh. 35 days.
Plum Purple - Certified Organic $2.50 Exceptional variety. Round, deep purple roots, white flesh, sweet and mild all season, hardy and never pithy. 25 - 30 days.
SPINACH
Monnopa - Certified Organic $2.50 Round leaf type, claimed to be the sweetest of all spinach. High in vitamins A, C, and E. It is very low in acid which promotes the absorption of calcium and other minerals. 45 - 60 days.
Strawberry Spinach - Very Rare $2.50 Grown in Europe for centuries. 16” plants have triangular toothed leaves and tender shoots good in salads or steamed. Red mulberry-like fruits grow on the same plant and are edible, good for drying or mixing in with salads. A self-seeding annual.
SQUASH
Australian Butter - $2.00 Thick, dry orange flesh is superb for baking and is a good keeper. Hard shelled fruits weigh up to 15 pounds, with a small seed cavity. 95 days.
Galeux d’ Eysines - Rare $2.50 First seen in Tranzault, France. Sweet, moist, orange flesh is great for baking and soups. Fruits weigh 10 - 20 pounds and should be harvested before total maturity. 90 days.
Musquee de Provence - SSE Prize Winner $2.75 From southern France, introduced to America in 1899. Gorgeous, flat “pumpkinesque” fruits average 20 pounds and ripen from green to a rich brown. Deep orange flesh is perhaps the very finest for baking, and is a good keeper too. Often mixed into Fall ornamental displays.
100 - 110 days.
Thelma Sanders Sweet Potato - Certified Organic $2.50 Ohio heirloom from the Knoche family, noted squash collectors. Cream-colored acorn-type squash is great for baking. Very productive. 85 - 90 days.
TOMATO
Blondkopfchen (a.k.a. Little Blonde Girl) - Certified Organic $2.75 Perhaps, the very best all-around grape tomato. 1” golden-yellow fruits with sweet taste, high yields, grows in giant clusters, and unlike many grape/cherry varieties it does not crack. Bears until frost. Indeterminate. 75 - 80 days.
Isis Candy - $2.25 Gorgeous grape tomato marbled with red and has a cat’s eye starburst on the blossom end. Almost too pretty to eat. Sweet and fruity. Indeterminate. 70 - 80 days from transplant.
Jaune Flamme - $2.25 Deep orange, apricot-shaped heirloom from France. Excellent, “bitey” flavor. Great for drying as well. 2 - 3 ounce fruits, borne in clusters. Indeterminate. 70 - 80 days from transplant.
Martino’s Roma - Certified Organic $2.50 SSE’s pick for best Roma variety. Good flavor for a Roma, unlike the supermarket. As always, great for sauce, salads and salsa. Rugose. 75 days from transplant.
span style="font-weight:bold;">John Baer - Certified Organic $2.75 Great all-around tomato. Use for canning and fresh eating. Bright red, smooth and round, meaty with a balanced flavor. Indeterminate. 70 days from transplant.
Plum Lemon - $2.25 Seed found in Moscow market during the 1991 coup. Small, yellow, meaty, pointed end fruits really resemble a lemon. Sweet, refreshing flavor.
Indeterminate. 72 days from transplant.
Purple Russian - $2.25 From Erma Henkel in the Ukraine. Plum shaped, purple-black fruits are meaty with the fantastic “black” flavor, but without the heavy cracking most other black tomatoes have. Indeterminate. 80 days.
Moonglow - Certified Organic / SSE Prize Winner $3.00 Medium size, bright orange fruit, with orange meat and few seeds. Winner of the SSE’s 2007 Heirloom Tomato Tasting. Wonderful flavor. Indeterminate. 80 days from transplant.
Striped Cavern (a.k.a. Schimmig Stoo) - Rare $2.75 Gorgeous stuffing tomato. Hollow, red fruit with yellow stripes and thick flesh, looks like a pepper! Holds 4 weeks in the fridge. Perfect for stuffing with pimento cheese, chicken salad or more. Super choice for caterers. Indeterminate. 80 days from transplant.
Watermelon
Cream of Saskatchewan - Rare $2.50 White fleshed, Russian heirloom. 4 - 10 pound, round fruits have exceptional flavor. Stands up to cool weather. 85 days.
Golden Midget - Rare $2.75 Very early variety with golden-yellow exterior and sweet salmon-pink flesh. Small melons have thin rind and black seeds. 70 days.
Mountain Sweet Yellow - Rare / SSE Pick $3.00 Popular in 1840’s Pennsylvania. Very high sugar content. Dark yellow flesh inside of long, 20 - 30 pound melons. Productive plants. 90 - 100 days.
Moon & Stars (Van Doren strain) - Rare $2.50 This is the original strain of the famous green melons covered with yellow “stars” and having one larger yellow “moon”. Unlike many novelty heirlooms, Van Doren’s sweet pink flesh is good eating. Spotted foliage and brown seeds. 90 days.
Mail Order Instructions
: Simply send us a list of the heirloom varieties you want, and indicate how many packets of each heirloom you need. Add up your total from the pricing given in this list, then add the postage and handling from the guide below. Allow 5-7 days for delivery. Make checks and money orders out to The Rock / LaRoca. Send your seed order to:
In-Feed
c/o: Bob McKinley
472 Larkwood Drive
Lexington, KY 40509
Shipping Fees:
$10 or less………..$3.50
$10 to $20.……….$5.00
$20 to $30.……….$7.00
$30 to $50.……….$9.00
Over $50.…………$10.00
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