Last year the Presbyterian Church (USA), of which I am a pastor, changed language in its Book of Order to allow for same-sex marriage.  This change does not force congregations to have gay weddings; only to allow for the possibility.  So, rather than wait for a request to come and act hastily and reactively, many churches have undergone or are undergoing various processes to proactively set policy on what they will do when the request is made.
​
So the church I pastor, Trinity Presbyterian of Charlotte, began its own process in late spring.  Throughout the summer, members are invited to write a letter to session to express their thoughts and feelings.  Back on June 5, we hosted a potluck dinner to bring our church family around the table for fellowship and conversation.  Richard Boyce, dean of nearby Union Presbyterian Seminary, did a brief lecture on literalism, relativism, and the Bible's understanding of covenant as it relates to marriage.  Both Grace Lindvall, our associate pastor, and I were asked to share our thoughts on same-sex marriage.  Mine can be found below.

Anyone who has followed my blog for any length of time probably has an idea where I stand.  But in nineteen years of ministry, this is the first time I've spoken publicly to my congregation on the matter.  Why?  For many years the typical advice for pastors has been "don't talk about it;"  because doing so could compromise your pastoral credibility with those who disagree with you.  And we certainly didn't want anyone to leave the church over it.  Perhaps that was wise advice at one time.  But with our session prepping to vote on the matter in a couple of months, the congregation I serve deserves to know what's on their pastor's heart, regardless of whether they agree with me or not.

So here it is.  As I prefaced at the dinner, my hope is that whoever hears or reads my thoughts  receives them much as one receives a gift on Christmas morning.  Sometimes you open that gift and it's exactly what you want and you're excited.  Other times, it's not at all what you hoped for and you're disappointed, even angry.  Either way,  you still receive it in gratitude because that's the spirit in which it was given.  We can agree agreeably, and we can also disagree agreeably.  In the end, that's what being church is all about.

I mean, seriously, right?

Our country has two presumptive candidates for president who, historically speaking, each bear the highest disapproval rating of any person ever running for that office.  

The state I live in and love enacted legislation over bathrooms (but really, more than that) that quickly riled up respective party bases and, in the span of just a couple of hours one day, saw the state and federal government sue each other in rapid succession.

My denomination has contended for nearly twenty years over the ordination of LGBT persons and same-sex marriage.  The latter has prompted congregations like mine to address the issue head-on regarding church policy, leading to uncomfortable and anxiety-filled conversations.  Or just avoiding conversation altogether.

And remember tow truck guy?  About a month ago outside Asheville, a twenty-something motorist got stranded on I-26 and called for a tow truck.  When tow truck guy got there he went back to hook the car up to his truck.  And that’s when he noticed her bumper sticker promoting a presidential candidate he did not support.  So he stopped what he was doing and told the motorist that he would not tow her car, told her why, and then just drove off, leaving her stranded on the side of the interstate. When the news of this eventually got to the press and they tracked down the guy, this is what he told them: “Something came over me, I think the Lord came to me, and he just said, get in the truck and leave.  And when I got in my truck, I was so proud of myself for doing that.” (http://fox6now.com/2016/05/05/tow-truck-driver-leaves-woman-stranded-after-seeing-bernie-sanders-sticker/)

Somewhere along the line, we've lost something. At least it feels that way.  It's not like we've batted .1000 when it comes to solving problems and quelling arguments.  But something's been lost - perspective, maybe?  We used to be better about keeping things in perspective.  When we disagreed,  it wasn't that big of a deal.  Differences noted.  We worked through things.  We moved on.

But then it was like we got kindling and made a big pile, doused it with kerosene and set it aflame with one of these.  Everything has become so combustible.  Now, when someone expresses a thought or opinion different from our own, it's not that we just don't agree with it.  We're offended.  We take great offense at someone's diverging opinion, as if that opinion somehow injures us.  And we've learned to lash out in emotion, stoking the fires; or shut down the conversation entirely, killing the flames but also dousing the wood with water and throwing dirt on the remains so the conversation is snuffed out.

And when we manage to have the conversation, it's all about winning the argument.  Convincing the other person that they are wrong and we are right, and that they need to see things the way we do.  They need to agree with us.  They need to change.

It's a counter-productive and dangerous way to exist.

As a society our ability to engage in meaningful dialogue is disintegrating at a rapid pace.  Blogger extraordinaire Seth Godin unpacks this beautifully:

The easiest way to disagree with someone is to assume that they are uninformed, and that once they know what you know, they will change their mind. (A marketing problem!)The second easiest way to disagree is to assume that the other person is a dolt, a loon, a misguided zealot who refuses to see the truth. Their selfish desire to win interferes with their understanding of reality. (A political problem!)
The third easiest way to disagree with someone is to not actually hear what they are saying. (A filtering problem!)
The hardest way to disagree with someone is to come to understand that they see the world differently than we do, to acknowledge that they have a different worldview, something baked in long before they ever encountered this situation. (Another marketing problem, the biggest one).
There actually are countless uninformed people. There are certainly craven zealots. And yes, in fact, we usually hear what we want to hear, or hear what the TV tells us, or hear what we expect, instead of hearing what was said, and the intent behind it. Odds are, though, that we will make the change we seek by embracing the hard work of telling stories that resonate, as opposed to dismissing the other who appears not to get it. (http://sethgodin.typepad.com/seths_blog/2013/10/the-easiest-way-to-disagree-with-someone.html_)

I'm not sure what the way out of this is (I'd love a few tips, as my next post will be about my thoughts on same-sex marriage and I know some folks won't agree with me).  But I have to think it involves some or all of the following:

Listening.
Loving.
Letting go of fear.
Realizing you may not be as right as you think.
Realizing the value of someone else's thoughts, especially when they're different from yours.
Acknowledging that we have more in common than not.
Accepting that winning the argument is not the goal, having the conversation is.
Learning how to disagree agreeably.

None of that will instantly change our politics, churches, governments, or AAA service.  But if we could make a habit of listening, loving, letting go, realizing, acknowledging, accepting and learning in all human interactions - well, I have to think that would help. 

I think it's worth a shot.  Wouldn't you agree?

So did you hear that they're tearing down the Build A Dream playground?

My wife says this to me last night from the other side of the couch, each of us half-heartedly watching the Warriors/Cavs game on the TV in front of us (to be fair, the Cavs were half-heartedly playing) and scanning our respective Facebook feeds.   A quick Google search led me to this article from the local Mount Airy newspaper.  It was true, the playground was coming down.  Coming down today, in fact.

Playgrounds, like pretty much everything in life, come and go; but this playground was different.  It was a dream playground.  Built by the community, from the ground up.  One of those companies that comes in with a tailored plan, some how-to and a way for everyone to get involved.   My young family had been residents of our new town for not quite a year when the project began.  We loved it, for a couple of reasons.  The "park" that existed before was not just nonfunctional but downright unsightly, bringing tears to our eyes the first time we saw it.  That, and the playground build was a phenomenal community-builder.  There was food, there was music, it was fun.  Lorie and I met lots of good folks; many would become great friends.

For those few weeks the build took place, we were all in.  I spent my days off on the build.  Lorie spread chips under structures, crawling around on her hands and knees, all the while pregnant with the second child we'd not told anyone about yet.  My Dad even got in on the act, coming from Raleigh for a few days to help with the build and even purchasing a Lindsley fence picket to help raise funds.  It was all so invigorating.  And I'll never forget that moment when the playground opened for the very first time, all those kids running in with such excitement and anticipation.  It literally brought tears to our eyes, for a very different reason than the time we cried there before.

For the next nine years or so, our family made the most of the park.  Picnic lunches and playdates and afternoon excursions.  The last couple of times we were there, I began to notice some of the wear and tear on a playground much loved, but assumed it could all be repaired.  Twelve years after its inception, though, wood had been rotting.  Some parts of the playground were not even functional anymore.  It had gone from attraction to eyesore, in the same way perhaps that its predecessor had once appeared to me.  

It's so funny as I think about this.  I am a pastor, and being a pastor in the 21st century means I have to help my church realize that it cannot simply keep doing what it's always done.  My job is to strategically and pastorally steer the church through change, nudging when nudging is needed and holding hands when that's needed.  My job is to work with our leadership to build a dream of our own of what we think God wants to see for our future.

And yet my initial reaction when I heard the news about the Build A Dream playground was NOOO!  Even though I didn't live there anymore.  Even though I hadn't seen it in three years and had no idea of its condition.  In my mind, at least, what I continued to see was that brand new sparkling playground of twelve years ago that was a source of pride for so many.  But more than that - what I remember was the palatable sense of community in those early halcyon days, a bond forged with people I knew and didn't know, the joy and satisfaction that comes when you are part of something bigger than yourself.

Memory and community are incredibly powerful forces of human nature.  They connect us to something other than right now; they bestow meaning and significance on that which otherwise would simply be a collage of events and an assortment of people.  Memory and community answer the critical question of "why" in our relationships with each other.  They are portals through which you and I extend outside ourselves and into the world around us.  Memory and community grant meaning to things, and that is why our traditions and history matter.  They tell us where we have come from and who we are so we can hope to have a clue to know where we're going.  Memory and community are sacred.

But memory unchecked can hold us back in those instances when we need to see what's ahead of us.  Community restrained can stifle as we foolishly attempt to do the very human thing of limiting access to others because "we like things the way they are."  And I realized this anew, sitting on the couch last night.  The fact that I don't like the idea of the Build a Dream playground becoming just a dream does not mean that it isn't the right thing to do.  

It is time, hard to let go though, a friend of mine texted, commiserating.  But she added - how excited the new families and young kids will be! 

​And that's it, right there.  When you're able to acknowledge that change is loss and grieve that, and simultaneously embrace and celebrate the new thing that is coming, that is when you know that you've truly grasped a full sense of memory and community.  

​It's the best of both worlds, really.  I'll always be able to remember the Build A Dream playground. My friend graciously snagged our Lindsley fence picket, as the city was putting them aside for folks to claim all this week.  We'll eventually get it from her and do something with it, even if that something is nothing more than remembering.

But while we remember the dream that was, we get to know that a new one will unfold, and a new community birthed through it.  And from that community - new memories made, new friendships forged, new vision revealed. It starts all over again, until it ends, and then it'll start again too.

Here's hoping those new families get to enjoy themselves in the same way mine once did.  Here's hoping we all can maneuver the sacredness of memory and community with grace, with hope and with gratitude, building a new dream all over again.

Tomorrow, my last studio project hits the five-year mark.  Let Go came out May 9, 2011, the result of a three-month music sabbatical the previous summer.  Freed from the weekly ritual of sermon writing, I could devote all of my creative muse to songwriting.  Having a Lily-endowed grant to leave no musical stone unturned didn't hurt either.

Some highlights from the whole endeavor:
- Working with a noted Nashville recording studio and go-to cellist John Catchings,
- Watching the string section take "Where There's Love" to places I never fathomed,
- Taking a bit of a risk letting the band record the vast majority of "Better Off" live instead of tracked, and embracing the little joyful imperfections,
- The awesome party in Doug's driveway that became the beautiful chorus at the end of "The Dance/Grace,"
- Huddling around a studio mic with my wife and two sons, all of us wearing headsets, singing "na-na-na's." 

If anything, "Let Go" taught me that the studio is not where songs go to be finished, but to be birthed.  So many of those songs wound up going in very different, beautiful directions than what I anticipated them being when I first took them there.  Lots of thanks to fraternity brother/former bandmate Doug Davis, who owns a super little garage studio outside downtown Winston-Salem, pushed me not to settle, and knows exactly what he's doing.

My oldest son occasionally asks if I'll ever do another studio album.  I honestly don't know.  It takes a lot of time to do it right, along with a lot of money, and these days I don't have much of either.  Besides, other than the occasional retreat theme song, I'm not doing a lot of writing.  If this winds up being my last album, I can count myself content.  Five years later and I'm still proud of it.  

I hope you'll give it a listen if you haven't already.  It is - as it's always been and always will be - a totally free download.  Thanks much for listening.
​

when i was younger
family trips to the house in daytona beach
they'd let me sleep on a cot out on the screened-in back porch
for some reason I slept wonderfully there, in spite of humidity and heat
the occasional train whistle stirring me from sleep
and lulling me back as its sound faded in the distance.

but the thunderstorms, when they came rolling through
i'd wake excitedly
a flash at first and i'd count the seconds,
1....2....3....4.....
and then a rumble
because they said you can tell how far away the storm is 
by how many seconds it takes
for the sound to catch up to the light.
i'd lie on my cot as the storm grew louder
the sound of rain pounding the pavement outside
and sometimes sideways, coming in
misting my face
strange - i felt secure and safe in the midst of it all
rarely did i ever go inside.

these days, my dog is scared of thunderstorms
he hides up on our bed or presses himself
in the wedge where our two sofas come together
a worried look on his face
but me - i am still entranced
and while i don't sleep out on the porch anymore
there is a sofa and some chairs
and so i'll find my way out there
to see the flash
hear the rumble and rain
and be comforted by 
this power that is far
far beyond my own.

​This past week I stumbled on on an old blog post of mine from a few years back about church marquees  - this weird fascination I have where I'm simultaneously attracted to and repulsed by them. More often than not they portray a version of Christianity I simply cannot identify with.

But it's not just church marquees I'm failing to identify with these days.  As we enter another presidential election cycle, as we continue to struggle as a society with terrorism and immigration and health care and human sexuality, the rhetoric is rising to new frightening levels.  It's as if Jesus and the church are being hijacked and contorted in ways that render them unrecognizable, at least to me.  And it's happening so often now that I'm kind of numb to it - which concerns me.

The obvious counter to all of this must come from the community of faith.  More and more I'm beginning to view this as a specific calling for the church in our day and time - not just to do all the things churches are supposed to do, but to also intentionally speak up and out toward a different kind of Christianity than the one so frequently promulgated over the airwaves.  Certainly we do this by living out the kinds of things Jesus called us to do - feed the hungry, clothe the naked, give voice to the oppressed and marginalized. 

Even so, our words still matter.  And while I'm in no way advocating for a church marquee outside our church on busy Providence Road (my Buildings and Grounds folks will be most pleased to hear that), I do wonder: how awesome would it be if the thousands of people who drive by our building on their way to and from work each day might experience a more nuanced, loving and even prophetic kind of Christianity?  Makes one wonder.....

In the end, what matters most is not the catchy slogan we stick on a church sign, but how the people of that church live out the message in their daily lives.  That always resonates more than the crazed candidate or catchy headline.

​(signs above created at this website - give it a visit and have some fun!)

He moves to stand in front of me,
The ritual of the Ash Wednesday service propelling him forward.
Her eyes meet mine, and I see in them
Something deeper than this strange thing we call "imposition."
It is almost as if he knows, somehow;
So I don't have to say the words I've prepared:
Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.

I can tell she knows them already, lives them every day
Words that rested on his heart when he buried his mother last year
Words she hears whispered in the evening newscast about another ISIS beheading,
Words he lives into when a sought-after job promotion
Brings longer work hours and increased expectations.
Nothing but dust.

So I simply say his name as my blackened index finger
Drags the ash across her forehead.
Peter.   Will.  Lilly.  Hunter.  Ruth Ann.  Kathleen.  Irva.  Monte.  
Tom.  Another Tom.  Bruce.  Carolyn.  Michelle.  Rhonda.
And now it is my turn, and as the cross is formed
I hear my name called.  And my eyes speak the truth:
I am dust, and to dust I shall return.

There is hope in the ashes
Faithful expectation embracing the bitter raw world 
Of death, terrorism and fear, endless ladder climbing.
There is hope in knowing
That we come from and one day will return to dust.
For even dust has a Creator.
Even we have a name.

We leave the sanctuary silently, so words
Will no longer get in the way.
Later she would say to me, It's my most favorite service of the year.
And now, finally, I believe I know why.
Ashes. Dust. A name.
At 
long
last.
Hope.

Yes, I'm an unabashed Panther fan.  Yes, I know eyes are rolling on the other side of computer screens.

I'm cool with that.  These are exciting times in the Carolinas, folks.  We have a team playing in the Super Bowl.  And while the winning certainly facilitates our enthusiasm, it's the intangibles that really have us hooked.  This team has personality.  This team has drive.  This team has fun!

So pardon me a few minutes of fandom, but when I look at the Carolina Panthers in their current incarnation, I see some qualities that all leaders - including those in the church - could learn something from.

LEADERS USE THEIR INNATE SKILLS WHILE LEARNING NEW ONES
Cam Newton came into the league as a bit of a freak of nature - a QB built more like a running back.  This was supposedly the "new NFL quarterback" prototype that would move the position away from a traditional "pocket passer."  Cam fit this new model to a "t."  Problem was, running QBs who don't learn to run judiciously get beat up and see their careers end prematurely (see: RG III, Michael Vick).  

So Cam worked with his QB coach to learn to be a better pocket passer.  It wasn't always pretty - balls soaring well above wide open receivers were a common occurrence the past few Panther seasons.  But this year, things seemed to click. He became a legit pocket passer, while at the same time still able to burn you with a strong run to get a first down - or more.  Which is certainly keeping the Denver defense up at nights over the next two weeks.

I've written before for NEXT Church about the need for pastors to be able to stand with one foot in "tradition" and the other in change.  This is not easy, but very necessary.  If we come in and try to immediately change everything, chances are we're going to get pretty beat up.  But to simply lead the church where it's always comfortably been isn't good, either.  We have to be skilled at doing both, or at the very least intentionally learn how to be.

EVERYONE ON THE TEAM IS A VALUED MEMBER OF THE TEAM
In case you haven't heard, Panthers owner Jerry Richardson is paying for all support staff and interns in the Panthers organization to attend Super Bowl 50 - travel, accommodations, tickets, the whole thing.  For the record, he also did this the last time they made the Super Bowl, in 2004.  

Call it a PR stunt if you want, and Richardson certainly has deep pockets, but it should be noted that this is not something NFL owners typically do.  He chose to do this.  Which, as a friend of mine commented, makes us wish we had applied for that stadium sweeper job.  

In all seriousness, it sends a very powerful and important message - the team is more than just the 50+ players on the field.  It makes me happy to think that Jason (the guy who contacted me about doing the invocation at their first playoff game a few weeks ago) and Allyson (the lovely staffer who served as my family's escort during our on-field time) are heading to Santa Clara with Cam, Luke and the others.

Churches are notorious for making both successes and setbacks about one person or a small group of people - the pastor, the session, etc.  A true culture of leadership recognizes that every person involved needs to be held accountable and get credit when things go well.

GOING THE EXTRA MILE WHEN YOU REALLY DON'T HAVE TO
Panthers star linebacker Luke Kuechly is an amazing player, but seemingly an even better person, as this story lays testimony to.  I showed this video at a church staff meeting last week and paused it in that moment right after Luke accepted the car with thanks.   I asked the staff, what are some possible scenarios of how this might play out going forward?  Responses were as expected: he could simply move on to the next kid, he could toss the car in the trash when he got out of the kid's view, etc. etc.  Then I started the video again.  And we watched Luke, in a brief moment of pause, seem to make a conscious choice to take things a step further with the kid - going off script, as it were, and kind of let things play out themselves.  And that changed the whole scene from simply being a neat gesture on the kid's part to a transformative experience for both.  I love thinking about that kid at the school lunch table the next day: Yeah, I got Luke's gloves, but my signed Pinewood Derby car is on display in his locker right now.

In church we have a lot of practices/policies/procedures that give us direction and tell us what we need to do in most any situation.  And that's certainly ministry.  But a deeper ministry can happen when we go off-script - take the common practice a step further and see where it leads us.  More and more I'm convinced these opportunities are around us all the time - that casual conversation in the hallway, a moment in worship, a session meeting.  Our job is to remain alert so we see them when they materialize and let the Spirit do its thing through us.

WHEN SOMEONE GOES DOWN, SOMEONE ELSE STEPS UP
Football is a tough sport and guys get injured all the time.  Star players, too.  Often this affect's a team's success.  At the beginning of the year before even the first game, star wide receiver Kelvin Benjamin was lost for the season, leaving a cadre of no-names and castoffs to fend for themselves.  Those guys, as it turned out, banded together and proved to be a more than adequate receiving corps.  There was no single breakout star in the bunch, but together they helped take the team to a 17-1 record.

Churches stay, but ministers and staff come and go.  The sign of a strong church is one where a church's well-being and future don't hinge on who comes and goes.  A strong sense of team and vision provides the continuity a church needs.  And if there's a strong sense of team and vision, good people will always be drawn to the mix.  

THIS TEAM HAS FUN, AND IT'S CONTAGIOUS
I feel for Cam.  All he wants is to enjoy the ride, and yet people are raking him over the coals.  How dare he dance in the end zone, do the dab, give footballs to kids!  

Admittedly more than a little biased on this and fully acknowledging that #1 is a bit of a showboat, I still have a hard time understanding the Tennessee Moms and Seattle petition guy.  This quarterback isn't accused of taking performance-enhancing drugs or beating his girlfriend.  And while his wardrobe choices are slightly suspect, and naming your kid "Chosen" certainly takes some chutzpah, I'm convinced that he really is just enjoying the moment, eagerly sharing it with teammates and an entire city.  

In fact, the very act of giving footballs to kids is worth note.  Cam started it himself - run for a TD, give the ball to a kid in the stands.  If a wide receiver or running back scored, they'd give the ball to Cam so he could do his thing.  Then one game, wide receiver Devin Funchess (gotta love the name) caught a TD and handed it to Cam.  But Cam declined it, pointed to him and then the end zone crowd.  The message was clear through my TV set: No, you give it away! It's a blast!  Now, it's rare that Cam does the actual football-sharing himself.  Setting a standard and then letting everyone else in on the fun is shared leadership at its best.

The church deals with a lot of heavy things - life and death, sin and salvation, kingdom-building, heavy social hot-button issues, all on a tight budget.  That's serious stuff.  But sometimes I wonder if we wind up taking ourselves too seriously, and not the God we claim to serve.  Ministry should be fun, and we should find enjoyment in each other and the ministry we are called to carry out, always seeking to share that joy with whomever.  After all, joy is biblical.

And as an example of said joy, I dare you to tell me this doesn't brighten your day:

Go church.  Go Panthers.  Keep Pounding.

A few years ago, my Acoustic Blend bandmate Ken Davis and I were invited to share some music for a Martin Luther King Jr. celebration in Mount Airy.  At that gathering, a friend of mine, Marie Nicholson, gave a stirring interpretation of Maya Angelou's poem, "Still I Rise." I love the way she owned it and gave her own voice to Angelou's words. You can watch and listen below.

Listening back on it now, and certainly in light of last summer's tragedy in Charleston, I thought these particular words took on new meaning:

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes
You may kill me with your hatefulness
But still, like air, I rise!

Remembering anyone or anything can be a tricky thing.  If all we do is remember, we kind of miss the point.  By looking back today, let's not forget to keep looking - and moving - forward. Persistently, stubbornly, hopefully.