Writing in the Margins

Welcome to the Jungle of Ministry

2011-08-15T11:29:00.000-07:00

By means of youtube, I’ve been listening to Guns N’ Roses annihilate the stunning classic tune ‘Finlandia’ by the Finnish composer Sibelius. I know the tune set with the lyrics, ‘Be Still My Soul’, which is a far cry from the band’s famous ‘Welcome to the Jungle’. In an attempt to please the crowd, the band closes their Helsinki concert with this tune now the Finnish national anthem. On the youtube comment board hundreds of concert goers write their twenty letter indecipherable Finnish words followed by American expletives. The closing song has not been well received.

Finding this song was serendipitous. The discord between band and ballad exemplify my own dissonance. Noisy pastor trying to please the crowd. Be Still My Soul meets Welcome to the Jungle. The antithesis between the two is the spiritual truth I have been living in this last season of ministry. Elijah confesses, “I’ve been very zealous for the Lord.” And so goes Elijah looking for God in the whirlwind, the storm and the fire. Tugged by outward forces, Elijah’s zealous leadership has reached a place of dissonance. So has mine. So have Guns N’ Roses.

Axl Rose has headlined tabloids for decades with news of his damaging addictions. Mine are more subtle: voracious appetite, constant need for affirmation, an appalling need to please, avoid anxiety at all cost. All result in an internal noisiness. In those moments when my center is lost, I feel like a spinning top careening out of its centered orbit and jumping and jolting until its momentum is fully lost.

The search for “Finlandia” online came in advance of a trip to Helsinki this summer. Helsinki is home to Jean Sibelius, haven of my mother’s ancestry and a harbinger for the church with a resurgence in worshipers since the beginning of the St. Thomas Mass at a Lutheran Church here in 1988. I am hoping this will be a place where my spiritual center will be recalibrated.

The website for the Michael Agricola Lutheran Church encourages, “The St. Thomas Mass invites doubters and seekers to celebrate, worship God, serve their neighbor and grow together.” And then continues, “Those who feel sinful and weak in faith are especially welcome.” Does this include the byline, ‘and for those who feel internally noisy, dissonant, out of sorts, lost, vocationally confused, exceptionally exhausted and off center?’

Before leaving for Helsinki I google directions to the church address: Tehtaankatu 23. The map points an arrow to the National Hunting Museum. I’m looking for stillness. I am destined for guns: Guns N’ Roses, that is. That night, we rely on the church website directions. Thankfully we arrive at the church not the hunting museum.

The service is translated into English by Mati who with a calming centeredness and clear, simple words ministers to his listeners. While it is the liturgist who has crafted the intent and phrasing of the prayer, Mati is the one who provides the English expression. His words are quiet, clear and disarmingly straight to the heart. As the opening prayer unfolds, my internal dissonance dissolves with the prayer’s opening petition:

Prayer helps you listen to yourself and to God

who speaks in silence in the noise of everyday.

This quiet moment will give you rest. Only with

the heart can you see well and it helps you to see

what is valuable in life. Just bowing down is not

enough, where words end God knows your heart.

Out of cold and dead hearts, God creates anew.

Let God love you.

Charles Morgan writes that we need “the stilling of the soul within the activities of the mind and body so that it might be still as the axis of a revolving wheel is still.” Who needs Axl Rose when maybe this is the ‘axle’ I have been looking for all this time. I had always thought the internal image of the shaking spinning top was about being tugged in different directions, I didn’t realize it was about the stillness at the center being missing. For a moment in that prayer, I heard that stillness clear and loud.

Upon return home, I continue to research the history of ‘Finlandia’ and discover an incredible setting of the tune to lyrics by Gloria Gaither:

I then shall live as one who’s been forgiven

I’ll walk with joy to know my debts are paid

I know my name is clear before my father

I am his child and I am not afraid

So, greatly pardoned I’ll forgive my brother

The law of love I gladly will obey.

Elijah felt fruitless in ministry. I felt internal dissonance. Instead of a pastor offering a concerted witness to the rock of salvation, I was a rock concert gone bad trying to please the crowd. We both had been zealous, but ended up exhausted.

These lyrics offer a new way of living into ministry, let alone life. The title to this setting of lyrics and tune is called, “Then Shall I Live”. I can’t think of a better starting place than this. While the lyrics do not tell of the events that necessitated the ‘then’ in the life of the lyricist, I know mine and I am so glad to have the ‘then’ behind me and for the chapter ahead, a new axle of stillness.

^{^[1]} http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_uIBvKtyy9I

^{^[2]} http://www.tuomasmessu.fi/?sid=72

^{^[3]} http://www.superlyrics.com/lyrics/kGRUvuNUj9@H@Hj/I_Then_Shall_Live_lyrics_by_Gaither_Vocal_Band.html

CHILDHOOD PATTERNS

2010-12-09T12:03:00.000-08:00

"Jesus is our childhood's pattern, day by day like us he grew..."

The third verse of the traditional carol "Once In Royal David's City" offers a moment into the life of Christ that the Bible does not. The childhood of Jesus is never mentioned in the four gospels, just once, in Luke do we see a glimpse of Jesus the teenager.

This verse offers an invitation for prayer. What was the pattern of Jesus' childhood?

Certainly his father Joseph's carpentry shop was a part of that pattern. The resounding sound of the hammer upon the nail, the sandy scrape of wood being softened and pearled, the measurements of perfect proportions and the visionary blueprints of the perfect design must have been sounds and sights Jesus experienced each day.

Yesterday I offered the devotion at the local Habitat home being built. As I walked in the door the sounds of hammers, drills and saws echoed through the bare walls of the home. This is it. This is the pattern by which Jesus was raised.

At the end of chapter 11 in Matthew comes those wonderful words, "Come to me all you who are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart and you will find rest for your soul. For my yoke is fitting and my burden is light."

Knowing that Jesus grew up in the home of a carpenter lends weight to these words. The yoke was carved out of wood and fitted for two oxen to be bound together to work. When Christ says, "my yoke is fitting" we might just wonder if Jesus was talking a little smack. His carpentry skills produced fitting yokes, unlike those of his competitors.

This season, I am trusting that Christ is carving out that yoke, that space, that apparatus which will bind him to me and me to him. As much as I want to make it perfectly fitting, I can trust that Jesus has just the right pattern, just the right blueprint, to draw me alongside him to continue the journey from here.

Gravy and Grace

2010-11-28T09:25:00.000-08:00

My grandparents moved to Lima, Peru in the late sixties. Shortly after their arrival, a neighbor showed up with a gift to welcome them to the country: a turkey. Yes, a live turkey.

Since it was mid-day, my grandmother was the only one at home. When the neighbor with the turkey arrived, she tried to wave them away. ‘No gracias,’ she tried. The neighbor insisted. ‘No gracias,’ my grandmother tried again. The neighbor shoved the turkey’s neck into my grandmother’s hands.

After the neighbor left, my grandmother was left standing with the turkey dangling from her grasp. Knowing no better alternative, she shoved the turkey into the trunk of the car and drove to the closest restaurant. There, she took the turkey out and brought it in for the cook.

The cook did not think this was the greatest gift either. Fear of killing the turkey forced him to offer the turkey some Pisco and then, the cook took a sip himself. Then, with knife in hand he took the turkey to the outside yard of the restaurant. A strange Peruvian thanksgiving of sorts was served at the restaurant that night.

Sometimes, life provides ‘gifts’ that are not always welcome.
Circumstances. Changes. People. Problems. Strange things. Surprises.
Sometimes, within a few days – unwelcome gifts reveal strange grace.
Sometimes it takes months, sometimes years.
Sometimes, well, those unwelcome moments are just turkeys with no gravy to be found.

Recently I spoke with someone who lost a job within the past six months, now, forty pounds thinner this person has found new energy. A whole lot of ‘turkey’, with just a little gravy.

When we found out that Caitlyn would be born with Down Syndrome, a friend said “Maybe she will be just the grace your family needs.” At the time, her words were pure turkey. In retrospect, now I can see they were gravy and grace.

As you sit down for Thanksgiving this year, I’m not sure what’s on your plate. The beauty of Christian community as the portraits of the early church in Acts depict is that we sit down together, side by side, turkey and all – to say grace and give thanks.

At the table the early church broke bread, prayed, shared resources and sang songs of praise. Though we’ve made it a lot more complicated, it doesn’t need to be.

Prayers for gravy and grace this Thanksgiving

Wordle - Writing In the Margins

2010-11-10T18:47:00.000-08:00

Wordle - Writing In the Margins

From "Faith and Leadership"

2010-11-09T19:06:00.000-08:00

November 8, 2010 | When a nurse is exhausted by the ills on his hospital floor, we might diagnose the problem as compassion fatigue. A form of traumatic stress disorder affecting overwhelmed caregivers, compassion fatigue takes a physical, financial, vocational, emotional and spiritual toll.

It was first diagnosed among nurses, and some people argue that it has become widespread because of pervasive news media coverage of crises around the world.

But if compassion fatigue is exhaustion from caring, perhaps a new, related diagnosis is needed for life in the 21st century: How do you describe someone who is exhausted, not from caring, but simply from living?

As the speed of living increases, the amount of sleep decreases, the connection to technological devices expands exponentially, the news unfolds 24 hours a day and the financial world spins chaotically, we are faced, not with a loss of compassion, but with utter exhaustion.

In those moments when we are asked to care, an “exhaustion ethic” is at play. What decision do I make when weary?

The story of the Good Samaritan in Luke’s Gospel aches with exhaustion. Poet e.e. cummings tells the story in the poem “a man who had fallen among thieves”:

a man who had fallen among thieves
lay by the roadside on his back
dressed in fifteenthrate ideas
wearing a round jeer for a hat

The third stanza names the source of the exhaustion:

whereon a dozen staunch and leal
citizens did graze at pause
then fired by hypercivic zeal
sought newer pastures or because

Three times in one line it points to the pulse of the people surrounding the man in need: “fired by hypercivic zeal.” Fired up. Hyper. Zealous. Though the citizens pause, they resume their frenetic pace to seek “newer pastures.” As our very pulses change from the invading impulse of a world fired by hyperconnectivity, our heart for care will be affected.

In the famous experiment at Princeton Theological Seminary, John M. Darley and C. Daniel Batson tested groups of seminarians to see how they reacted to a coughing man slumped in a doorway. One group was told they were late; other students were told to take their time. Overall, 40 percent of the seminarians stopped to help. But of the group urged to hurry, only 10 percent offered aid. Of those who had a few moments to spare, more than 60 percent paused to help.

Certainly this is a story of hypocrisy: seminarians who are not “Samaritans.” But it also is a witness to the conditioned mindset of hurry. The psychologists realized that as the speed of life increases, the possibility for ethical choice becomes a rarity: a too-full life limits the capacity to care.

In the tenth chapter of Luke’s Gospel, Christ commissions the disciples to go out two by two to cure the sick and proclaim the gospel (Luke 10:1-12). This text is paired with the telling of the parable of the Good Samaritan in the second half of the chapter (Luke 10:30-37). The lesson in exhaustion is a lesson for those who are sent.

Certainly Luke, a doctor, understood the possibility of both compassion fatigue and exhaustion ethics. Tiredness from the traumas of first-century Galilee would be plausible for a doctor of the day. Jesus himself got so overwhelmed from the necessary healings that he retreated upon numerous occasions to a quiet place for prayer.

Any doctor would hurry from patient to patient, so pressed that an ethic of exhaustion might help him rationalize passing by on the other side. But a priest and a Levite? These are two people in society who are expected to care. They are expected to be protected from compassion fatigue and exhaustion ethics. Yet they pass by on the other side.

It’s the Samaritan who stops. He shows mercy. Verbs dominate his response: moved, bandaged, poured, put, brought, took care, gave, came back, [promised to] give more. This Samaritan passes the test. He becomes the model for each of the 70, for the legal and the clerical worlds. He becomes the model for this life and for the next. He combats an ethic of exhaustion with the law of love.

Cummings describes it this way:

Brushing from whom the stiffened puke
i put him all into my arms
and staggered banged with terror through
a million billion trillion stars

This story that began on an ordinary highway now encompasses the universe. The citizens on the highways and byways, full of fired-up, hypercivic zeal, unable to see the one in need, are counterbalanced by the one who understands that little bit of heaven in the human before him. From a highway to those million billion trillion stars encompassing the heavens, the speaker gathers up the one in need “all” into his arms. Seeing both the human and the heavens is possible only for the one who operates out of expansive gospel love.

In Christ we find a gospel that trumps law, a service that goes beyond conscience and a heart that transcends compassion. What is the greatest commandment (Luke 10:27)? To love God and to love neighbor. In other words, Think about heaven; remember all humanity. Heaven, human. The Good Samaritan is the visual parable of this vision: Scripture with an eye to heaven on earth; service with an eye to human need.

A hospice care chaplain in our area recently told a story of a nurse in a local hospital. The nurse realized an elderly gentleman on her floor did not have friends or family visiting. He was lonely. Even more, she knew he was nearing the end of his life.

She went in to visit him whenever possible, amid all the stress of a decreasing hospital staff and increased patient load. At first they talked about the day’s news and the weather outside. Over time, they talked about their faith and their fears. The patient admitted to the nurse how afraid he was of dying alone.

Knowing that her time, as much as she didn’t want it to be, was limited, she encouraged other nurses to pay visits around the clock as well. When she realized this was not enough, she dragged in a chair from a waiting room and set it next to his bed.

“I know you are afraid of dying alone. I am making every effort to be here as much as I can. If you are ever afraid or feeling lonely, I want you to know that I envision Christ himself sitting in this chair beside you.”

Weeks later, the nurse came into the hospital to learn that her patient had passed away during the night. The staff seemed to be scratching their heads as they said, “He wasn’t in his bed when he died. Why was he halfway on the chair?”

The nurse knew: He was reaching out to the embodiment of eternal life. Christ was the one who met him and said:

i put him all into my arms
and staggered banged with terror through
a million billion trillion stars

The loving nurse, the caring Samaritan, the unhurried seminarians -- all muddle through the complicated roadways of this life and even when “banged with terror” strive for those stars by placing the one in their care tenderly into the arms of Christ through compassion that transcends fatigue.

The Geography of Bliss

2010-10-31T20:24:00.000-07:00

...reading 'The Geography of Bliss' by Eric Weiner. A must read to learn why Icelanders are happier than Americans.

BABE by Leah Kristine Hickman, age 8

2010-07-21T10:53:00.001-07:00

My sister has Down Syndrome.

Sometimes I wonder what sets her apart.

My mom says, “Her weak muscles affect her mind, strength and heart.”

Then I wonder, what if she were born a different way….

Would she still end every sentence with, “I love you, Babe” ?

Would she still watch the same movies, again and again?

Would she still have Bethany as her very best friend?

Would she still repeat every single word I say?

Would those heart surgeries have required that four month hospital stay?

Would she still cry when we wash her hair?

And would she find it just as difficult to share?

Would she answer “NO” to every single question?

Would she still burp and think its sooo fun?

If you asked, “What did you learn at school today?”

Would she have the same answer, “Words…the, like, little” always?

Would she play without whining even though we include her?

Would she still have therapy, lessons and a special education teacher?

You know, if someone is feeling down, Caitlyn never misses…

She is always there for you with a helping hand and hugs and kisses.

I’d miss that about her if she were a different girl.

Caitlyn, I’m pretty sure you are the best sister in the world.

As much as I get frustrated almost every day,

I’m not sure I would want you any other way….

Because, “I love you, Babe.”

The Margins of Creation...The Gulf South

2010-05-30T18:43:00.000-07:00

Genesis, chapter one, resounds with astounding proclamations. God speaks and creation unfolds: air, water, land, life. Upon seeing each stroke of creation unfold God affirms the goodness of each element. In the culminating act, male and female are proclaimed to be the very image of God. The picture of God revealed in this text asserts: power and order, immanence and imagination, a God who finds peace at rest and profound joy in creation. These are truths we know.

So it comes as a surprise in Genesis 2:4 to read, “This is the account of the heavens and the earth when they were created…” Haven’t we heard this story already? Here, the story unfolds with a closer view. There is less precision and more dust and mud. There is less power and more personal presence as God seems to kneel down in the playground to form a person out of the dust and breathes in the breath of life. There is less professed joy and more personal concern, “It is not good for man to be alone.” And so we find between these two stories important differences in the order of creation, the nature of God, the relationship between man and woman.

Two stories, many affirmations. Why the tension? The answer lies in a crisis of exponential magnitude and experiential negation. Exile. Exile is that moment when everything changes in life, even your perception of God. Prior to exile, the text of Genesis 2 circulated through the oral tradition in the height of the prosperity – the theology affirmed a God close at hand. When the first deportation to Babylon occurred in 597 BC, that theology seemed negated. Life was dismal, God was distant. God appeared uninvolved and unable to save. So professors of faith lent new affirmations to the story of creation. The rhythmic liturgy of Genesis 1 was life-giving in the face of death. The resounding goodness of creation forced the people of Israel to take a new look at their surroundings. And for a people enslaved and oppressed, the affirmation they were created in God’s image was revolutionary.

Our world is in crisis. We need a new creation story.

On Earth Day, April 22nd, the Deepwater Horizon oil rig exploded, killed, sank and ruptured. Since then, the seams of the earth have been heaving oil and ordinary people on the shores of the gulf are grieving a way of life. Exile confronts them even in their own landscape.

The Gulf South needs a new creation story. The Gulf South needs a new creation story because our Biblical stories have been corrupted. This is a year where the Supreme Court gave corporations the right to have ‘freedom of speech’. Businesses whose very business it is to generate profits, are entitled to voice and action in political campaigns. Suddenly, this corrupts the concept God had in mind when he bent in the mud to shape life, breathing vitality into a human being whose lips give voice to praise and prayer, questions and lament, confession and calling. God created a human, not a corporation, to have freedom of speech.

And now, our corporations running amok in the muck and mud of the world today are scarring the face of the earth.

In the Gulf South where the ordained order of Genesis has been upended by the free speech, not of God, but of corporations – this liturgy falls on deaf ears. The flora and fauna of creation are now drenched in oil and dying a slow and painful death. These teeming elements of the earth – pelicans, turtles, alligators, dolphins, shrimp and crawfish – are no longer able to give praise.

The Gulf Coast needs a new creation story. This new creation story will not be written by tampering with the very Word of God. Instead, the inspired word our world needs will come from the voices of those created and called to praise, to lament, to ask and to seek. This community of those longing for a new creation will need to stamp their muddy feet, raise their dusty palms and from their breathy voices cry out in anger.

Genesis 1 describes a powerful God who is above creation and whose very voice booms creation into being. Genesis 2 paints a picture of a God at play in the world, personally present to those humans who dare not be lonely. If Genesis 1 says God is above, and Genesis 2 says God is beside, then perhaps this new creation story will proclaim God can be at work within this very mess.

In other words, the leadership of the church needs to be in the throes of this disaster praying and working for a redeemed creation. Consider these three suggestions to start that new creation story:

1. Consult Resources: The National Council of Churches has a humbling and challenging wealth of resources to guide and direct the leadership of churches in the area of eco-justice. Look to www.nccecojustice.org for a wealth of resources and stories to guide and inspire.

2. Create Partnerships: During the aftermath of Katrina many churches partnered with people to provide life-giving support. Fox Chapel Presbyterian Church adopted particular floors of hospital staff to provide resources through the disaster. Consider zooming in on a particular community and asking precisely what they need to survive.

3. Craft Responses: Craft sermons and educational series teaching environmental justice and mindful stewardship are essential in such a time as this. Craft letters to congressmen calling for resources in disaster areas and limits on corporate benefits. Craft pictures among the children in the church sharing images of a world that is broken and images of a world that is blessed.

Exile, that time when everything in life seemed X’ed out by the circumstances of the day, called the people of Israel to new worship, to deeper theology and to a renewed vocation. The Gulf South is not the only community in exile today that needs a new creation story. The re-release of “Exile on Main Street” by the Rolling Stones is a timely statement of the forces at work in our broken world pushing many to the margins. In this modern exile, where the world heaves and the Gulf South grieves, may the church be a voice for restored, redeemed, renewed creation.

Forgiveness, the Shack and a God beyond Puppet Strings

2010-05-14T06:32:00.000-07:00

Last week I had a conversation with a friend who went to see William Young, author of "The Shack" speak. She had a startling revelation to share.

The author of the Shack suffered abuse as a child. His parents were missionaries. He was abused within this system. The love and safety he felt was from an elder woman of the tribe, hence, in the Shack - God "Papa" is portrayed as this woman.

When he was 6 to 12 years old, and this was going on - he felt as if a part of him had died. He struggled with forgiveness - of self, of others, of God.

Last night, I read a series of papers from students wrestling with the topic of forgiveness in their lives. Reading those papers - from parents divorces, the loss of friends, break-ups, parents who let you down, struggling with the consequences of addiction, the loss and grief of a parent or friend - all gave expression to a moment when a part of them, an important part of them - became lost, and perhaps even died.

When William Young talks about the Shack - he says something really important. The character that represents himself is NOT just Mack. The young girl who dies - that is him as well. She represents that part of him that died during his abuse.

Forgiveness, then, happens in 'The Shack' on many levels-

Mack has to forgive those who made his daughter die. In real life, this means forgiving the event/person that caused the 'death' in his life.

Mack has to forgive God for 'allowing' these things to happen.

Mack has to return to 'the Shack' and 'forgive' the events that happened there. In real life, this means going back to that hard place and seeking peace.

And finally, Mack has to use that peace to find peace for that part of him that was lost. He will be a different person. But, he will use that struggle, conflict, anger, and now even, peace - in the next part of his life.

For those who read this blog, if a part of you has 'died' because of whatever event took place, my encouragement to you is the following:

1. If you need to ask forgiveness from someone, consider asking. In the moving 'Changing Lanes' Ben Affleck 'accidentally' makes a confession in church. Interspliced with this scene is Samuel Jackson doing the HARD WORK of going face to face to ask for forgiveness. One of the words for 'resurrection' in Greek means to stand up again - that can imply going back to that hard place, standing firm and strong - and offering an apology.

2. If you continue to be wronged by someone else, you are a 'steward' first and foremost of yourself. You can not change the other person's actions. You can change your responses - leave the situation, try a different response, honor your best self without reaction, anger, resentment toward the other person. Be YOUR best in that situation. Don't play games, but try a different non-reactive response and see what happens. You can also be a good steward of yourself by seeking counseling. I believe the world would be a better place with counseling and chocolate chip cookies everyday.

3. If you are carrying hurt, guilt, shame, loss, grief - then I urge you to read the Shack. What does this story, as a parable, mean for your life? What does this story mean if you are BOTH Mack and the little girl? What does it mean that the Shack transformed - from gray and dismal to a place of new life?

4. Finally, if you carry anger at God, I encourage you to do the following. Cut the puppet strings. Shirley Guthrie, author of 'Christian Doctrine' encourages us to let the 'puppet master God' die. The cross and Christ were not on puppet strings - this was not a divine orchestration, but a HUMAN FAILURE. At the cross, we let God die. Christianity affirms that God did not die at that place, but through a power beyond human comprehension - God overcame that death.

When you lay down the puppet strings, it is possible to see something that looks much more like an intricate spiderweb - with gossamer threads and dewy beads upon them. Perhaps there is an attribute to God that looks like that internal web of support - a structure that upholds though seemingly impossible. A structure that holds together the broken places.

In whatever place you are broken, and that aching child in you is screaming out for help and for reconciliation, know that God is the one who knits you together, not tears you apart.

A LETTER TO THE WILMINGTON HOUNDS...

2010-04-27T05:42:00.001-07:00

-

Dear Members of the Wilmington Hounds Football Team:

You are used to hard work outs.

On any given practice you might do sprints and scrimmages, calf-raises and calisthenics, you'll work on your squats and your bench presses, you'll run drills and practice plays. You'll run the cones, you will work on your core strength. All this to develop your explosive power, your deep strength, your agility and quickness on the field, your speed and balance, your knowledge of the game.

You will work out until you are drenched, until you can't run another step or flex another muscle. Through wind, rain, snow and cold you will walk out onto that field to get better at the game. It is an odd love for that game - so much anguish through practice, so much satisfaction in those moments of flow when all the practice pulses through body and mind to explode with power and strange grace out there on the field.

You are used to hard work outs. And guys, we respect you for the blood, sweat, tears - and dare I say, faith - you offer the game.

Last year you were the underdogs. You worked out knowing that the odds were against you. You worked out with prayers for a deployed Army man knowing that there are goals that go beyond wins, but there are goals that inspire heart, flesh, soul. And somehow the combination of all that practice and prayer paid off on the field and you came home state championships. That nights when the sirens blared through town at midnight we all knew, for once, it was great news. We all ran to the high school to welcome you home. (Let's not mention the work-out that was for us who are more used to sitting in the stands then entering the weight room.) The auditorium was alive with the energy you have worked out so hard to accomplish. We celebrated every move you made.

This week you are faced with one of the hardest work-outs you will ever face.

As you grieve the loss of friend and teammate Clint DeRosa, the work-out you now face is the path of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression to some strange path of accepting this hardest of losses.

And, you will try to work out the hardest of questions:

- Why did Clint lose his life at such a young age?
- Why do bad things happen to good people?
- Why so much for one family to deal with in a lifetime?
- Why didn't I tell him I was sorry?
- Why didn't I call him the last time he was on my mind?
- Why did my best friend have to die?

When you work out on the field or in the bench room, there is always an end in sight - a goal, a win, a congruency in the way the team works together to accomplish its mission, a synchronicity when combined discipline, muscle and practice find a flow out there on the field.

As much as we want these questions to have an end result, the 'why' questions always leave us wanting, wondering and waiting.

I'd encourage you in the days to come to set the 'whys' aside and to consider the 'who'. Who is the person before you is aching? Who is the person to your right who needs a word of encouragement? Who is the person in my life I could do a little better job loving? Who is the person I need to work out a conflict with before it is too late?

This is the work-out you have before you in the weeks to come - seeing WHO you might just be an answer to their hardest of questions just by being loyal and steadfast. For you see, whys just leave you dangling with all those questions below the surface. The who, just like that circle it ends with, opens up a relationship - and creates a circle of support.

As many times as you will run those mental circles of questions through your heads, as many times as you will flex those heart muscles flinching with grief and sadness, as many times as you will sweat the hard circumstances that you are called to - NONE of those work outs will answer the deepest questions.

If a question mark formed the shape of your work-out, you would run a long slow curve that bends to the right. That path will lead you to that final point - the place where you must stand strong and steadfast and look around you. At that point, there is no place to turn. Instead, of the why you will see the who. For those of Christian faith, that who is Jesus Christ who comforts our every grief and knows the deepest of human suffering. Through him we can see the one in our midst - the very who - who needs comfort, encouragement, prayer, support.

For us here in New Wilmington, this isn't the ending we wanted to work out for the inspiring team that you are.

We love you, respect you, cheer countless games for you. We know you have a discipline and steadfastness of spirit that would give any one of us a challenge to attempt ourselves. We respect your coaches for the hours they put in. We value the leadership you offer the younger kids in our town who look up to you as heroes.

While we have one less hero, here with us now, we know that all things work out for those who love and serve God. In no way does that mean God intended this death to happen as a part of God's plan. But by God's good grace may we learn from Clint's life and death a secret to how we might work out the hard parts of our life - through conflict, grief, fear, estrangement, in whatever circumstance we face.

Today may you work out the secret of turning your whys to the who:

Who Clint was, inspired us all.
Who you are, will be changed by this great loss.
Who is the person you need to face today -
to reconcile? to help? to comfort? to love?

These are the questions that do have answers. Live into one of those answers as you work out your life today, for Clint, for Christ.

We love you Hounds. Our hearts ache for you. Play on.

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The Gifts Increase...

2010-04-26T13:58:00.000-07:00

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Crisis Shelter of Lawrence County
Hospice Care on Cape Cod, in honor of a friend who volunteers there
Communidad Connect in Nicaragua
Warren Hickman Math Scholarship Fund at Westminster College
Berea College
American Diabetes Association
Warren Hickman Math Scholarship Fund at Westminster College
World Vision
Prince of Peace Center
Crisis Center of Lawrence County

And two additional gifts to the woman walking for MS given by friends inspired by the story. Thank you!

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WHEN A LITTLE GOES A LONG WAY...

2010-04-25T10:04:00.000-07:00

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This has been a tough week.

A suicide in my extended family system.
The death of an inspiring gentelemen, Ken, from our congregation.
A brain aneurysm that killed a college freshmen from our community.
A hospital stay for my stepfather Steve.

This morning, worship was about the feeding of the 5000. A story we have all heard before. In Matthew's gospel, the detail that helps the story be heard in a new way is that in the verses preceding the miracle (Matthew 15:29-31), we learn that this miracle feast is for the ill and for their caregivers - ALL of whom are in need of sustenance beyond what they possess on their own.

I am reminded of multitudes who offer daily care to others - both within their own household and beyond.

I believe wholeheartedly in 'crumby theology' where a broken piece of bread has the possibility to nourish and sustain those who are exhausted and broken themselves.

And I know a little goes a long way some days.

Yesterday, in celebration of Jason's birthday, we saw that exponential increase unfold. Jason's desire was for forty birthday cards from friends and family - where forty dollars was given to a charity and a letter sent to him explaining where and why.

Those forty cards and forty dollars has multiplied into over $3000 given to organizations and people near and far.

In the midst of this difficult week, I celebrate this incredible list where the resources were given:

St. Jude's Hospital
Mercer County Juvenile Advisory Council
Cleveland Aquarium
Math Scholarship at Westminster College in honor of Warren Hickman
Yak Labor for the Central Asia Institute (Greg Mortensen)
Heifer Project International
To Greg Taylor, a man wrongly imprisoned for twenty years, now free.
Playground at Fox Chapel Presbyterian Church
Pittsburgh Community Food Bank
To Margaret, a young woman with MS, walking in the MS walk in Minnesota
To Crystal who runs an orphanage in Nigeria
World Vision
SIDS support
Western Pennsylvania Table Project
Christian Appalachian Project
The Medical Partnership of Sabeneta de Yasica
Scholarship fund at Westminster College for math majors
Keystone Blind Association
Heifer Project
City Rescue Mission
Kirk House, Leadership house for CCO in Erie
Gas card to a family traveling to hospital in Cleveland
Campus Christian Organization
Products for Good, supporting disabled vets and families
Guthrie Presbyterian Church Library
Hope for Children of Haiti
Make A Wish
Samaritan's Purse
CCO, Kirk House
Western Pennsylvania Table Project
PC(USA) Theological Education Fund
Woodlawn Chapel Gifts of Hope (Mother's day gifts for moms with kids in children's hospital- kids give moms these gifts)
Africa Inland Mission
Joshua's Haven
Presbyterian Church of West Middlesex Pastor's Emergency Fund
Goodies for You (G4U) Care packages for military
Pastor's Emergency Fund
American Diabetes Association
Heifer Project
Shenango Senior Care Support
Pastor's Discretionary Fund
Partner's In Health - Paul Farmer's medical organization

A little goes a long way. For this we are encouraged and sustained.

_

"IFs" in the Margins of our Lives

2010-04-22T10:29:00.000-07:00

So much of each day is spent in the "IF".

If I just...
If I had...
If I lived...
If she...
If he...

Conditional theology runs rampant through mind and heart. The urge to flee, change, dismiss, possess, leave ALL deceive the present by laying claim to a hope that exists only outside of our current reality.

In her book "The Wisdom of No Escape", Pema Chodron says it this way, "If we are committed to comfort at any cost, as soon as we come up against the least edge of pain, we're going to run; we'll never know what's beyond that particular barrier or wall or fearful thing."

Jonathan Wilson Hartrgrove invites us to erase those 'ifs' from the margins of our thinking and instead to sit with that edge of pain. His book, "The Wisdom of Stability", is an invitation to stay grounded in place and purpose. Rooted in community, grounded in love - abundant life is present here and now without any 'ifs'.

In this video, he offers a word of invitation: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z4KBRL8NjJk.

My story has been one of many places - rich, diverse, beautiful places - Louisiana, Virginia, Tucson, Princeton, New Wilmington, New Jersey, Charlotte, Staunton, St. Louis. But that history comes with an urge to flee I often wrestle with internally. Jonathan's words come at a time when I personally am wrestling with place and purpose. I'm eager to erase a few ifs, and write in some stabilizing words: serenity, stability, courage, challenge, wisdom, winsome, home.

TEN WORDS TO GUIDE YOUR LIFE

2010-04-19T13:51:00.000-07:00

Ten words, underlined in the bibles of many people young and old, represent an entire life's journey.

These ten words negate the need for any self-help book to see you through pregnancy, toddlerhood, midlife, retirement. So set aside: What to expect when you are expecting, Dr. Spock’s Baby and Child Care, Barron’s Test Prep and College Rankings, What color is your parachute?, Passages, Crazy Time and The Idiot’s Guide to Retirement. These ten words will save you from purchasing hundreds of books.

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.

Ten words.
A life journey.

These ten words take us through every single developmental stage.

I – “I” describes the first baby glimpse – that miraculous life knit together in the mother’s womb.

I can – “I can” is the toddler’s first steps, first words, first leaps.

I can do – “I can do” is all of the things we celebrate about the youth in our community -creative, dramatic, athletic, faithful, smart, leaders, jugglers, dancers. We love seeing what you do.

I can do all – “I can do all” reminds us of our idealistic young adult days. All things were possible. A world wide open. No constraints. A future to live into.

I can do all things – “I can do all things” takes us to those moments when life becomes routine. Things are marked by the weekly trash take-out, taxes each April, take out food on soccer nights. Things can overwhelm.

I can do all things through – “I can do all things through” reminds us of the resilience through which we get through the tough parts of life. With thanks to friends and the faith community and the formation of prayer.

I can do all things through Christ – “I can do all things through Christ” gives us the strength that we are never alone. Christ, companion, savior, redeemer, friend, nourisher, healer and teacher is with us to the very end.

I can do all things through Christ who – Of course there are moments when we question WHO is this Christ? This resurrected one who calls me by name? Who is he, and who is he calling me to be?

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens – Strengthens, allows us to look back on a life’s journey and see the saving grace of Christ along the way who brought strength to sustain all things. This is the down in your bones faith – deeply engrained.

I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me. And finally, the ten words come full circle – back to me. Our identity is made complete from womb to grave by the presence of Christ who continually saves. This isn't a 'selfish' me, but a fully 'me' made whole through the saving grace of Christ Jesus.

Ten words, a life’s journey.

In confirmation class this year, we have been thinking about the strength Christ provides. And we have been considering a phrase from the Psalmist that ‘deep calls to deep’. In those words we hear the cry of a human deeply in need, calling out for the deep and sustaining grace of God.

In each of those ten stages of life represented in “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” We hear a deep cry of human life calling out for the deep things of God.

The call of the church is to come alongside every stage in this life’s journey to offer scripture, sacrament, service and the possibility for being a good steward of the blessings and challenges of this particular moment in life.

Even though these ten words are most likely marked in your Bible, I’d invite you to consider several ways of praying through these words from Philippians 4:13.

First, you might use the words as a breath prayer –
Inhale: I can do all things
Exhale: through Christ who strengthens me.
Swimming laps. Earth day 5 K. Indian soccer runs. Doing dishes. Making choices.

Second, you might build on these words one by one – until you find the place where you find yourself that day.
For example, you might start by saying one word at a time:
I, can, do, all, things…
Until you find the word that resonates where you are today.
Things? Exams. Homework. Driving duties. Community involvements.

Third, visualize the cross as a prayer.
Horizontal line – I can do all things
Vertical line – through Christ who strengthens me
At the intersection of those two lines is the place where God is at work in your life today.

Breath prayer. Word building prayer. Praying through the cross. Ten words, a life’s journey.

Mark them in the margin of your Bible. Come back to them through every development of your life's journey and find anew the strength that Christ offers.

From the margins of my Bible, 1 Corinthians 13 in reverse...(Love WILL turn things around!)

2010-03-28T16:50:00.001-07:00

Love, the way. Follow!
Love is the greatest.
These three remain: love, faith, hope.
Known fully, I am.
Part, I know now.
Face to face I will see.
Mirror is a poor reflection now.
Behind me, childish ways.
Grown up, I became.
Childlike reason, childlike thought, childlike talk – a child was I.
Disappear – imperfect.
Perfection, come!

Fail not – love.
Perseverance, love.
Hope, love.
Trust, love.
Protection, love.
Truth rejoices
Evil delights not in love.
Wrongs? recorded not.
Anger easily? Not.
Self-seeking? Not love.
Rude? Not love.
Proud? Not love.
Boasting? Not love.
Envy? Not love.

Kindness – love.
Patience – love.

Nothing gain I, without love.
Flames, my body surrenders.
Poor, possessions I give.
Nothing am I – love not have.

Mountains, knowledge, mysteries – fathom.
Prophecy gift have I.

Cymbal clanging, gong resounding – love not have.
Angels and humans – tongues speak.
Way most excellent?
You
Show
Now.

THE FIVE MOST DANGEROUS WORDS IN SCRIPTURE

2010-03-24T06:29:00.000-07:00

There are no tougher words than these: "Your faith has made you well." Many an ill person has questioned their faith amid their prayers for healing. Rosemary lived into the fullest sense of these words. With her husband Art's blessing, I share her story here:

Duke Divinity Call & Response Blog | Faith & Leadership | Lisa Nichols Hickman: How does faith make us well?

Duke Divinity Call & Response Blog | Faith & Leadership | Lisa Nichols Hickman: Even Jesus’ healing is costly

2010-03-18T11:06:00.000-07:00

Duke Divinity Call & Response Blog | Faith & Leadership | Lisa Nichols Hickman: Even Jesus’ healing is costly

FROM THE MARGINS OF HEALTH CARE

2010-03-17T20:52:00.001-07:00

Ronald McDonald is there for the ill. Is the church?

As the church observes Lent, American health care reform is at a standstill. On his journey to the cross, Jesus went out of his way to heal. Each week of Lent, Lisa Nichols Hickman will ask, "Is there any balm in Gilead?"

http://www.faithandleadership.com/blog/03-04-2010/lisa-nichols-hickman-ronald-mcdonald-there-for-the-ill-the-church

WHAT A WONDERFUL WOR(l)D

2010-03-16T06:57:00.000-07:00

I learned the distance from word to world on a mission trip two years ago. If I had not been in New Orleans with sixty youth and adults from my church, I would have been enjoying a week in a writing workshop with Eugene Peterson. It would have been wonderful. When telling a friend my decision to go to New Orleans after the invitation for the week of study came, she said, “I understand your decision. But isn’t Peterson one of the most prolific theological writers of our generation?” She probably didn’t realize I had cried for two days after the call came in. I knew there was only one answer for the decision. “No, but thank you. Maybe next time,” I still couldn’t believe I had uttered the words. The pastor in me would do the right thing and go to New Orleans, but the writer in me would long for learning with Eugene. I’ve given up a lot. Was this a missed opportunity, or did another writer have a different plot line to unfold?

So instead of gathering writing samples in preparation for the workshop, I was writing devotion manuals for our evening worship. Instead of packing retreat clothes, I was packing tools and insurance forms and letters from parents to their kids. Instead of booking a flight to Minnesota, I was arranging and rearranging and arranging once again air travel for sixty. Instead of meeting with other pastors who have a heart for writing, I was writing worship alongside our team of teens for a congregation devastated by the storm. Instead of working on chapters and first drafts, I was entrusting our team to the work projects organized by the grassroots ministry of a church whose mission was rewritten overnight. And instead of sitting around a table, sharing a meal with Eugene Peterson, I found myself with a potato pressed to my forehead doing the Cajun potato dance.

I packed my bags and headed south. After arriving in New Orleans, a local musician comes by to get us dancing after a long day of travel. We learn the two-step, the Zydeco culture, play with the Cajun instruments and compete in the Cajun potato dance. My husband says, “I’m sure they teach every northerner the Cajun potato dance and watch them dance all the way through town.” I am less concerned about entrusting ourselves to our dance instructor, and much more concerned about the size of the potatoes. If a bunch of teenagers are placing these potatoes between their foreheads and dancing, what size are these potatoes? I vote for G-rated potatoes, four inches in length. Bruce Daigrepont, Cajun musician, gives them R-rated russets. I sigh, pull the gum from my mouth, tear it in half and attach the potato to my forehead and to my partner’s. If only Eugene Peterson could see me now.

The rib of the rubboard washes over us, and the two-step begins to seep into my bones. I pray to settle into this experience and leave the disappointment over a lost opportunity behind. New Orleans and her people have lost so much more. “Lâche pas la patate,” shouts Bruce Daigrepont, Cajun that he is. He’s been speaking Cajun French all night to stump the kids. Lâche pas la patate. Don’t drop the potato. No problem, I think, even as my gummy potato drops and leaves my right toe throbbing. He explains, “Dat’s Cajun for sayin’, ‘Don’t give up.’” I grab my red russet and try again.

Little did we know that night, how much we would need his word of encouragement the next day after the disaster tour. Mile after mile we saw little sign of life. The Ninth ward? Not one living soul. A grocery store? None for miles on end. An ice cream shop? None open. Neighborhoods decimated at every income level. A member of our team finds a driver’s license. Another, an abandoned doll. Someone steps on a set of house keys. These simple ties to sanity abandoned in a desperate flee for safety. Our group spent just two hours touring the city and we were exhausted and hopeless, the citizens of New Orleans had been living this disaster for two years. Where did they find hope? Somehow we needed more than a potato and a clever Cajun phrase.

That evening the devotion team led us in worship and prayers. “Write down where you experienced hopelessness today,” we are instructed. And so the ripples of prayers unfold. Where to begin in such a ghost town when faced with such a great task? These prayers are written on scraps of paper. I found the enormosity of our tasks troubling. I thought this because it would only be a small part of an extremely troubled city. And it would be impossible to help everyone in one week. Please help us out. And, What did the children do during the flood? How did this tragedy affect their lives? What do they think of the world now? These prayers are immersed in water, and the scraps are fished out to spell a singular word visible as we peer over the balcony onto the still rugless sanctuary floor. HOPE. We see that hope is born not of something other than what already exists, but is constructed of the bits and pieces we are left holding in our hands. We see the possibility for a whole new world to exist within a single word.

Each day we go out and work in the world. Each evening we reflect and dwell in the word. As the two spheres of world and word intersect, we see our theme “What a Wonderful World” come to life. Louis Armstrong, may have penned, “I see fields of green” to give expression to the wonders of the world, but we see different wonders displayed. Plugging in his washer and dryer into currents of electricity that work after two years of waiting, Ray said was “wonderful.”

Our theme verse is from Psalm 31, verse 21. Months ago, our planning team just happened to pick The Message translation of the text because its words echoed our theme, “What a Wonderful World.” The translation calls out, “Blessed God! His love is the wonder of the world. Trapped by a siege, I panicked.” We explore with our group how New Orleans is under siege, and how the storm of that siege calls up other storms in marriages and family systems, in governmental agencies and even within the church. We ask them to keep a list of the places of siege and the places of wonder. And so, surprisingly even here in New Orleans, I end up hanging out with Eugene along with some impressionable teens.

I lived with Psalm 31 that week, and turned to it for guidance and encouragement. You might even say I got to dance with the Bible that week, well that is, Mr. Bible. Martin Bible from Opelousas who goes dancing three or four nights a week at Mulate’s along with his wife and friends to stay young and healthy, to have fun, and especially after the storm to make visitors like us feel welcome. He taught me the alligator waltz, a back and forth sway of arms and legs. I plodded along, as I sometimes do, when I am hand in hand with the Bible, gaining my footing and struggling for grace.

After dancing that night, we sit down in our devotions to look at Psalm 31. Twice in the first five verses, we learn that a cliff is a place of safety. I’m not saying anything, one of girls offers, but isn’t our pastor named Cliff? Hasn’t he been a place of refuge and safety in the midst of the storm? What would a professor of Old Testament say to this one? There are things you learn in exegesis class about proper and improper ways to read the Bible, but then there are things you learn in a flooded church, surrounded by waterlogged pews, 59 smelly other adults, hungry for a word from the Lord. And then, let me tell you when I got to the end of the passage which I had read a hundred times before in preparation for the trip and saw the words “Don’t give up,” there in the text, I wept. I wept because the phrase, Lâche pas la patate, was no longer about red russets, but about the reality of a disaster before us. I wept for the city of New Orleans. I wept for the lone man alone in his neighborhood. He was the one who mouthed, “Thank you for coming,” as he saw our vans drive by on the disaster tour. I wept for Bradley, who lost his dog to the storm, after a neighbor tried to protect his dog and 28 others safe on the roof of a house for five days straight. Bradley’s dog died hours before the rescue team arrived. I wept for our leadership team, men who have been hospitalized, homes that have been broken, folks who search for meaning in daily life asking daily what it means not to give up when life tells you otherwise. I wept for myself, the series of circumstances I am faced with that I would never have chosen, but that call out for characterization deeper than I personally know how to write. I wept in humility as I see the character of others who have emerged from the storm.

Tell our story. Don’t give up. Don’t forget us. As these phrases rippled through our days, hearing the same thing over and over again from all we encounter, it becomes clear our words matter. The way we tell this story will make a difference for those who are living this story. The ways we get those around us to tell their story, to give voice to their experience, will provide a platform for healing and for change. Here is an opportunity for a writing workshop complete with texts in draft form, subtexts of drama and disappointment, contexts of characters and community. And the text before this workshop? It is one where the narrative arc of the story went belly flop in the flood. We all saw it unfold on CNN, where the rounded cover of the Superdome failed to protect all who needed to be under its bow. So tragic in fact was this trajectory of failure, we all cried as the residents of New Orleans were caught in its hopeless trench pawing to reemerge. With the collapse of that narrative arc (or should I say Noahic ark) a life boat is needed and perhaps what is most life-giving is the words we find to tell the story. Our words matter and the way our youth discover their voice and articulate what they have seen and heard in their days in what was once The Big Easy will make a difference.

Tell our story, the ice cream truck driver, the plumber, the architect down the street, and Yolanda one of the home owners for whom we are working all remind us. I realize then that New Orleans depends not just upon our work, but also upon our word. Without our telling the story of both the hopelessness and the hope, there would be no rewrite. And so the writing workshop begins.

Don’t give up. As the devotions continue to unfold into the week, I bring the passionate, visceral call of writing to my work as a pastor and find new energy. For some, simply getting sixteen year old boys to say something beyond “Fine” or “whatever” is a miracle. They need to be able to tell the story. How was your trip? It was good mom. Tell me more. Can I go take a nap? Easing out that narrative thread becomes a call. Others are more pliable – can you show, not tell? God is in the details. Paint a picture. Tell the story. Can you deepen the characterization? Can you give fuller expression to the story? We are in a town of writers, but maybe this is a youth group of writers as well. And so I start to ask them questions – If you were writing a book about this week, what would it be called and why? Which character we met this week would you like to explore more aspects of their life and why? What would the opening line of your essay, novel, lyric or poem me? Would you write a novel or a song about our experience? These I ask along with the highs and the lows, the presence of Christ, the challenge of the day, the prayer requests. These questions energize the conversation and my calling in the midst of the storm. New Orleans will be rewritten by our words.

Don't Forget Us. And so I ask, What book would they write? Vaughn says, “A Substantial Drop”- when the ability to make a difference seems impossible, our drops do matter, he contends. What would be the first image they use to tell the story? John says, “The wall of steel that is still up in that tree two years later. There has got to be a story there. It represents so much, particularly our steely inability to respond when needed.” What picture would be on the cover of your book? Caitlyn says, “A juxtaposition of three homes – the first in total disrepair, the second is the one that we are in the process of working on, the third is almost complete due to the work of a volunteer woman from Maine who spends as much time here as possible, not just rebuilding, but rebuilding with decorative touches that add to people’s appreciation of their new home.” Which character would you want to explore? An adult advisor who says, “Robert, who started crying when he said he nearly lost it all, his home, his children, his marriage. He has had to rebuild everything.” What metaphor would you use within your story to show the damage done by the storm? Ellie remembers, “Hearing Bradley tell us about finding photographs in his bedroom floating on the flood waters. At first he was glad to see something had remained, but then the colors bled from the photo as he lifted it from the water. So much of people’s lives bled into the flood. So much was washed away.” Telling the story – is the only ink New Orleans has. Our words paint the picture of a world that was lost, of communities and churches, schools and streets, families and friends. Don’t forget us. So here we are, fifty-nine new authors, with ink in hand, ready to write the world.

Writing, according to Wikipedia, “is the preservation and the preserved text on a medium, with the use of signs or symbols.” Here we find that the preservation of New Orleans depends on the signs and symbols we choose to use to tell the story. Don’t forget us. We hear over and over again. And so we pray for the right word.

The way this youth group tells the story, engages in dialogue, develops the characters, frames the narrative arc, paints a picture of the situation will change the way the world about them understands the disaster so far removed. And so we practice in ways only a youth group can do. We send emails to our prayer partners and parents. We post updates on the webpage. We write thank you letters to all who have offered support. We craft paper plate awards, naming in humor and with encouragement the traits we celebrate in each person. We prepare sermons for worship. We partner in worship with congregation members in threes, where one is an active listener, one is a recorder of prayers and the other is an initiator of conversation. In that setting in the sanctuary, the questions of our teens usher in paragraphs of response by those who have lived stories we never will. We write song lyrics. I am broken, the lyrics begin. We scribble on scraps of paper prayers, places where we are broken, places that need hope, people we will remember. We sign pages of affirmations. Ever since fifth grade I’ve considered him to be my best friend. He is my role model for what I would like to be without my turrets and ADHD. We write letters of affirmation to each other. So that one of the young men in our group, who was suspended for smoking weed as the school year came to a close, is affirmed (in an ironic twist only a clever writer could create) for devoting forty hours to hacking down weeds in a flooded and overgrown field of eight foot weeds. You used your energy to the best of your ability to serve God and to serve neighbor. These letters give testament to how the recipient of the letter is a wonder of the world. I read these letters and cry tears that surface not from selfish longing as before, but a sense of deep belonging. In all of these activities, the underlying theme is not giving up. Our stories are shored up as they intersect the stories of Katrina. The residents of New Orleans rely on our words, alongside their words, to change their world.

We went home with bags made heavier by tears, sweat, grime, and a few souvenirs that didn’t seem as exciting at the end of the trip as they did in the beginning. The scene in the novel would have described the chaos at the counter as we tried to rid ourselves of pounds. But the real weight was on our hearts, aching with words to tell the story as we go home.

Eugene, even the Montana mountain man that he is, would certainly have smelled better to hang out with that week then the sweat laden crew I was with in New Orleans. But what I thought would be grind and grim, became an opportunity for growth in my skills both as a pastor and a writer. Maybe my book wasn’t begun, but the first drafts of fifty-nine others certainly were. That book I hope to write one day can stay shelved in my heart. But what I hope all will read are the texts and pictures of those who took in the stories of New Orleans and are ready to tell them. Don’t forget us. Tell others our story. Eugene, if you want to go to a writing workshop that will help rewrite the world come with us next year to New Orleans. Will you be my partner for the Cajun potato dance? And even more so, will you partner with us to tell the story so we can discover what a world of difference a wonderful word makes?