Posts Tagged ‘faith

24
May
23

Through the eyes of an eight-year-old

It probably shouldn’t have, but his question caught me completely off guard.

There I was, innocently watching my grandson play baseball with his team there in the steamy heat of southwestern Louisiana this past weekend. I was there sitting on the bleachers on the third-base side, squirming to get comfortable on the hard aluminum surface. At the same time I was yelling words of encouragement (and OK, occasionally politely questioning an umpiring decision or two). When out of the clear blue, an eight-year-old seated nearby pointed to my chest and asked, “What’s that?”

I looked down and saw that the cross I usually wear on the inside of my shirt was hanging there on the outside. 

“It’s a cross,” I smiled and replied, confident I had satisfied his curiosity. 

I guess not. Still staring intently at my ornamentation, he persisted. “What’s it for?” he asked then.

That question was the stumper. 

Had this been an adult quizzing me… say, another one of the parents or grandparents sitting there in the bleachers… I would have been happy to respond by explaining that the cross reminded me of the way faith in Christ is a central part of my life, adding the explanation that the two axes of the cross symbolize both the VERTICAL as well as the HORIZONTAL nature of God’s love.

There may then have ensued a thoughtful theological discussion of faith, doubt, heaven, hell, sin, salvation, brokenness, healing, and the demise of the designated hitter.  (Remember… this was a baseball tournament after all). 

But what do I say to this eight-year-old to explain what the cross is “for”?

As I struggled to articulate the cross’ purpose in a way that made sense to him, a loud cheer went up from the crowd and we both turned to see what had happened. It was a bases-loaded triple which sent the home team into a raucous impromptu celebration and made me temporarily forget the kid’s question.

As you can see though, it stayed lodged somewhere in my brain long enough to prompt a Russelling.

Had our conversation continued, I imagined it going a little something like this:

KID:     What’s it for?

ME:      Well, it reminds me that I am a Christian.

KID:     (you know how they do) What’s a Christian? And why do you have to be reminded?

ME:      A Christian is someone who follows – or I should say, tries their best to follow – Jesus and do the things he said we should do. And honestly, I need to be reminded because I regularly get confused about who I am supposed to follow. 

KID:     You mean “follow” like on Instagram?

ME:      No. Not really. More like “follow” when you are hiking through a forest, and you need to follow someone who knows where they are going. THAT kind of “follow.”

KID:     So, if Jesus knows where he is going, why would you forget to follow him? That seems pretty dumb. 

ME:      Hang on there, sport. Be careful who you’re calling dumb. I’m old enough to be your grandfather! But yes, when you put it that way, you are absolutely right. It really is pretty dumb to follow someone who is NOT“… the way, the truth, and the life.” (John 14:6, NRSV) like Jesus is. Except you know what? I do it all the time. And so do lots of other people my age who should really know better.

KID:     OK. I see. But why is it in that shape? That thing just looks like two sticks put together.

ME:      Has anyone ever told you you’re very observant? That shape – which is called a cross… you know, kind of like a crossroad – is the shape of something in his time that was very BAD that Jesus turned into something very GOOD. That shape reminds me that if I am a Christian, that is what I am supposed to do, too. It also reminds me I can’t do that – the “changing something bad into something good” thing – on my own. I need Jesus to help me with that.

KID:     Well, OK then. I guess you really do need to wear that cross, don’t you. 

ME:      Yes, I really do. 

KID:     Good talk, gramps. So glad I asked the question. Now… can we please get back to the game? 

I think the reason this conversation stuck with me is because of what it called to mind. It helped me remember the need to articulate my faith in the simplest terms possible. Some of us (using myself as a prime example) can get all twisted up into elaborate Boy Scout knots with our theology and apologetics as we try to come up with new and different ways of explaining who Jesus is and why we have decided to follow him. 

But when it comes right down to it, shouldn’t our faith be simple enough for a baseball-focused eight-year-old to understand?

I think so.

Abundant blessings;

08
Apr
23

Defining Success

What does success look like to you?

If you are a parent, success might look like seeing your children grow into contented, confident adults.

If you are a musician, success might look like performing a piece with passion and without errors.

If you own a business, success might look like seeing your business grow and flourish.

And so, on this holy Easter Saturday I am led to ponder this question; in the whole “saving the world from the deadly grip of sin” enterprise, what did success look like for God?

As I ask this question, I do so with the understanding that orthodox Christian theology says that success – for God – looked exactly like what happened in the Gospel accounts of Christ’s persecution, passion, death, and ultimately, resurrection. The script, they say, played out precisely as God intended for it to, without a single muffed line or misstep. 

But did it? Really?

To answer this question accurately requires that we look at Good Friday and Holy Saturday with zero awareness of the miracle of Easter Sunday… an impossibility for anyone with even a thimbleful of Christian upbringing. 

As difficult as that might be, let’s give it a try, shall we?

We know that after watching his anointed and appointed prophets and spokespersons come, speak God’s truth, achieve a degree of success, and finally be ignored, killed, or both, God did not get frustrated and throw in the towel like I might have. 

God instead looked down at the obduracy of humanity and said, “Hey! I’ve got a better idea!” That “better idea” was known as THE INCARNATION. That is, God decided to slip on a skin suit, teleport down to earth, and become one of us!

God came to earth in the person of Jesus of Nazareth. God walked among us. God ate and drank with us. God partied with us. God loved us… unconditionally. God healed us. God preached to us and encouraged us. God fed and clothed us. 

God also publicly denounced the greed, pride, and hypocrisy of that day… particularly among the religious elite. [For a vivid example of Jesus’ blistering invective against those first century religious leaders, go read Matthew 23:13-29. This page is so hot, it will burn your hands!]

So, what did God say the point of his incarnation mission was? At the beginning of this mission, God – in the person of Jesus – laid out his agenda clearly and simply. He said, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent and believe in the good news.” (Mark 1:14-15, NRSV). 

At this point, I would take God at his word and believe that for Him, success looked like people repenting (that is, turning their lives around 180 degrees) and believing in the good news. 

But they didn’t. I mean, some did. Actually, MANY did. They saw, they heard, they believed, and they turned their lives around… COMPLETELY!

But during his time here, God (as Jesus) rubbed too many powerful people the wrong way. His preaching and teaching seemed to be a threat to both the religious and the political leaders of first century Israel. 

And so, they huddled and agreed. 

Jesus had to be silenced. 

He was silenced LONG before his mission reached every person. He was silenced while still largely unknown outside of his Galilean circle. 

He was silenced by a betrayal from his inner circle, a midnight arrest, a quickie sham trial, and a horrifically painful public execution. 

And so, at this point (I ask again), does this look like a successful mission?

Of course, we know how the mission ultimately turned out. We know about the Sunday morning empty tomb. We know about the multiple appearances of the resurrected Christ to the disciples and AT LEAST 500 other eyewitnesses. We know about the tsunami of Holy Spirit on the day of Pentecost 50 days later. We know all about the Great Commission given on top of the mountain in Galilee. 

All of that aside, here is the thing I want to try and zero in on today, Holy Saturday. I want to use this day to focus on my need (quite possibly yours too) to resist the urge to declare defeat too soon. I want to let this day prompt me to remember; it is ultimately not ME who defines what successful living looks like. 

The day in the tomb is the day that reminds us that sometimes we hit a moment when all seems lost… when we’ve hit a brick wall… when the odds seem to be hopelessly stacked against us. This moment of distress is the moment when we are most apt to fall into the trap of believing that OUR definition of success is the ultimate definition, and that no other definition is possible. 

But BEHOLD! says the story of Easter. Your definition of success is partial and incomplete. Your definition of success begins and ends with YOU! Your definition doesn’t count on the part GOD wants to play in your story. 

I don’t know this for a fact, but I am sure Jesus’ first followers had definitions of success that did NOT include blood, a crown of thorns, a cross and a tomb. Indeed, Jesus’ failure to deliver on those temporal definitions of success is what many scholars say led Judas to betray him.

But as the angel at the tomb said to Mary on that first Easter morning, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen.” (Luke 24:5, NRSV).

Happy Easter!

Abundant blessings;

27
Mar
23

New Old People

Isn’t life amazing?

This morning I read an article in the Washington Post about an A.I. bot that came up with a detailed promotional strategy (including artwork for a logo, in-depth social media posts, shooting script for a video, and ad copy) for a brand-new product in 30 MINUTES!

30 MINUTES! 

Back in my day an assignment like that would have taken a team of real flesh-and-blood people an entire week to complete.

And that story is just a small sample of the daily parade of amazingness we each can bear witness to. From space telescopes revealing new, heretofore unseen parts of the universe, to groundbreaking micro-surgery techniques, to hypersonic weapons of war, to miraculous devices that convert ocean waves into energy. We are literally swimming in an ocean of awesomeness here in A.D. 2023.

But do you know what really fascinates me as I glance around my world today? Today I find I am most astonished at the magical transformation of OLD PEOPLE!

I am not sure how or when this happened. But the facts are undeniable. 

Back when I was a young sprout, old people were just… OLD! For starters, they smelled funny. They doddered along with weak, shuffling gaits. They were hard of hearing (“What’s that you say, sonny?? You’ll have to speak up!”). They certainly weren’t “hip” to anything new and cutting edge. They held rigid, outdated views on virtually EVERY topic from politics to religion to morality to professional sports to education to child-rearing.

Back then it seemed that old people (and I am sure I defined “old” as anyone over the age of 35) seemed to stand FOR everything I stood AGAINST

Here of late, however, old people have undergone some kind of mystical transformation.

I know this because of the volunteer work I do with an organization here in Fort Collins called SAINT. SAINT is an acronym that stands for Senior Adults INeed of Transportation.

The way it works is very simple. I slap a SAINT magnet on the side of my car and go pick up Gladys and take her to her sewing class, or Roscoe to the Senior Center, or Katherine to the grocery store, and then later, bring them each back home. 

All free of charge. 

Along the way (While listening to driving instructions from my kindly GPS lady) we talk. 

And would you believe it? These old people are REALLY INTERESTING! They are SHARP! They are UP TO DATE on issues and events in the world. They have FASCINATING life stories. They are FUNNY! They are KIND (well, except for that one guy who did not stop moaning and complaining from the moment I picked him up to the moment I dropped him off. But that was one guy in – by now – hundreds of SAINT clients I’ve driven).

These old people are ANALYTICAL. They are CREATIVE PROBLEM-SOLVERS! They are GENEROUS. They are fun to be around!

I mean, sure, several of them still shuffle painfully along with the aid of walkers. On more than one occasion I have had to accommodate an oxygen bottle in my car or help them load and unload groceries. And yes, aches, pains, and ailments are always a popular topic of in-car conversation.

The point is, I am fascinated by the exponential rate of transformation that has happened to old people over the last, say, thirty years. Of course, it might be that Fort Collins Colorado has an unusually high-quality crop of senior citizens. But somehow, I just don’t think that is the case.

How did that happen?

Isn’t life amazing?

Abundant blessings;

01
Mar
23

Busted Truster

Who do you trust?

Stop for a minute and really mull that question over.

Because trust is the glue that holds our world together. 

For example, I trust that the funny-looking green piece of paper in my wallet can be exchanged for food, gasoline, grass seed, or a movie ticket. I trust that the driver there to my left will apply his brakes when his traffic light turns from green to yellow to red. I trust that the water coming out of my tap is clean and germ-free. I trust that the people flying the plane I just boarded are thoroughly trained and capable of getting me safely from Denver to Kansas City…

… or wherever.

And most of the time, I trust the integrity of the people around me. Sure, there is the occasional scoundrel who takes advantage of my trust. And when I meet that rare scoundrel, I reprimand myself, make note of the lessons to be learned, and move ahead… trusting people once again.

Leaders fall into a slightly different category, trustwise. Skepticism is the toll to be paid for the privilege of standing in front of others, pointing toward the horizon, and beckoning them to follow you. Followership is built on trust and that trust must be earned. 

Trust is a funny thing. Most often it is built on past experience. “It happened that way yesterday, so it will probably happen that way again today.” When trust is extended, however, it is always in reference to something in the FUTURE. Trust is the thing helps us make the next right decision or take the next right step.

As you can see, trust has been on my mind a lot lately. One reason is because trust seems to be a commodity that is in increasingly short supply these days. We are blessed (cursed?) to find ourselves living in “interesting” times… times that leave us scrambling to find precedents for the events and experiences we’re encountering.

Institutions keep letting us down. Whether it is the political institutions, the economic, the educational, or the cultural institutions… including the institutional church. Trust in their ability to protect and guide us is at an all-time low.

Leaders keep letting us down. I am not sure this point needs much additional elaboration, but just as a little thought experiment, stop a moment and complete this sentence: “The leader I really trust today is: ___________________.”  

Is it any wonder that record numbers of people are succumbing to the “diseases of despair” as they are called: drug addiction and suicide? 

Is it any wonder that many of us are drawn magnetically to endless, mind-numbing forms of entertainment? We seem to reach out desperately for anything that will help us avoid thinking too long or too deeply about the state of the world around us.

I know what my answer – as a self-described man of faith – is supposed to be right now. I know that I am called to invite you to trust God. To lean on God’s eternal promises. To point out God’s spotless history of redeeming and rescuing everyone who has leaned on God for help. I am called to quote AT LEAST Joshua 1:5 to you, “As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will not fail you or forsake you,” followed perhaps by a quick shot of Proverbs 3:5-6, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not rely on your own insight. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.”

And yes, I believe everything I wrote in that last paragraph – with my whole heart. I trust God and God’s promises. I have seen the reliability of them in my own life, in the lives of others, as well as in the witness of history and scripture. 

My struggle today is how to effectively encourage others toward that same trust. When people struggle to put their trust in what they HAVE seen, how will they decide to trust a God they CAN’T see? Even though we live in an age of skepticism, I believe most people desperately want to find a reliable, trustworthy anchor to tie their lifeboat to. They want to believe there is a foundation that stands firm when everything around it is shaking, cracking, and crumbling. I firmly believe there resides in every human heart a hunger to connect with a Source that loves them, will always be there for them, and will always speak truth to them.

 Sadly, for a lot of people, their “truster” has been damaged one time too many and they aren’t going to risk trusting anyone (or anything) ever again. 

To even the most downhearted, untrusting, cynical ones among us I want to say, “Trust God completely.” Grip the words of Psalm 30:5 tightly with both hands and remind yourself; “Weeping may linger for the night, but joy comes with the morning.”

Abundant blessings;

05
Jan
23

The Gift of Candles

They say… you know, the all-knowing, all-seeing THEY… that timing is everything. 

As is usually the case, they have indulged in a wee bit of literary hyperbole to make a point. The point that TIMING is a really, really important thing.

Comedians, trapeze artists, and base stealers in baseball will each readily endorse the truth of their words. 

But as I have found out on more than one occasion, KNOWING a thing and ACTING on that knowledge are vastly different things.  I am that guy who, just the other day, ran out to our curb with a big armload of cardboard, only to find out that I had JUST MISSED the recycling truck. I am also the guy who remembers to text his spouse that we are out of eggs immediately AFTER she has left the grocery store. 

For a long time, I also clung to the story that God’s timing of my call to the ministry was WAAAY off target. It seemed to me that the Almighty really blew a chance to catch me at the peak of my powers. I wondered… why didn’t God tap me on the shoulder back when I was super-charged with health and vitality? Back when I would have eagerly worked like a draft horse to help spread the Good News?

And so today, in addition to these musings about TIMING, I am also thinking about my dad. Today would have been his 96th birthday. He died six years ago, just two days past his 90th birthday. I relate these two subjects in my mind because I have often wondered if I inherited my “timing challenges” from dad.  

With a birth year of 1928, dad wasn’t quite old enough to actively fight in World War II. So, while all my buddies were sitting around swapping stories about how their dads fought at this battle in France, or that skirmish in the Pacific, I had to just sit quietly and listen. Dad did serve in the Army in Okinawa in ’46 and ’47, but strictly as part of the post-war occupying American force.

I also thought his timing of hearing his own call to the ministry was pretty off-target, too. You see, he graduated from seminary one year prior to my graduation from high school. And because of that timing, our family ended up moving from Columbus, Ohio to his first church in the suburbs of Seattle the summer before my senior year. 

Oh, the TRAUMA! Oh, the INJUSTICE! Oh, the HEARTBREAK!

[Then again, as the father of five children, I have to admit that dad’s timing in some things wasn’t too bad!]

Today, however, I find I am able to sit here and thank God for the gift of perspective that comes with my multiple fistfuls of birthday candles. Because of those candles, I am able to see and give thanks that my father did NOT have to face live bullets in the war. 

Those candles also help me now be grateful for the new friends, new experiences, and new outlooks that came as a result of my family’s cross-country relocation.  

And as far as the timing of my own call to the ministry, I can now say that God’s timing turned out to be absolutely PERFECT! I realize now that God allowed me to simmer and percolate and accumulate a whole quiver full of life experience that – I hope – enriched my ministry in ways that wouldn’t have been possible with the younger Russell.  

Like 100% of the rest of us, dad was flawed. He struggled with his temper. He could be a little heavy-handed with his discipline sometimes. He was a bit sartorially challenged. In his later years, he was drawn in by far too many of those, “As Seen on TV” miracle products. 

But the gift of perspective has finally helped me see past all of that to the kind, generous, compassionate, wise, and God-fearing man dad truly was. After I entered the ministry, he became a priceless mentor to me during some of the low points and aggravations that often come with the job.  

I hope my timing is not TOO far off here, but please forgive me, dad, for failing to appreciate all the different ways you blessed and encouraged me while you were here. My grandest aspiration is to become even HALF the blessing to my family and to the world that you were to us.

I love you.

Abundant blessings;

08
Nov
22

Practicing Peace

[Trigger warning: today’s blog post deals with death. You might want to give it a pass if that topic unsettles you. No judgment here.]

I do some volunteer work here in Fort Collins, Colorado with the local hospice organization. (Did you know, in fact, that November is national hospice and palliative care month? It’s true!)

The organization I volunteer with is called Pathways. They offer hospice care, palliative care, and grief and loss counseling to families facing end of life or serious illness. 

Pathways’ work takes place in several facilities scattered around northern Colorado. However, in the last month, they opened the doors on an amazing new 12-bed hospice facility of their very own. More about that later. Here is a link to their website if you want to find out more about Pathways.

You might be wondering; of all the truly worthwhile places to volunteer – from the Food Bank to the League of Women Voters, to the Zoo, to the Society for the Protection of Feral Cats – why would anyone voluntarily choose to be around people who are DYING? You might ask, isn’t that kind of sad and depressing?

And I would have to answer you by saying, “Yes. Sometimes it is.”

But as I found during my time in professional ministry, the space around a person’s death can also be one of the holiest spaces you will ever encounter. 

It reminds me very much of the sense of holiness and the involuntary rush of awe I experienced at the birth of each of my children. 

Entering a room with someone on the last stages of their journey, you are suddenly in a place where the air is charged with a pulsing kind of electricity. Where your senses all come alive. Where you tiptoe. Where every word, every glance, every breath overflows with meaning. Where you listen a lot and speak very little. Where God is palpably present.

To be honest, the death bed can also be a place where you see some weird and truly cringe-worthy family dynamics. Grieving spouses colliding with angry or sullen offspring… uncomfortable cousins fulfilling an obligation… bored grandchildren fiddling with the TV remote… you know.

And then, seamlessly weaving their way through the middle of it all are the professionals… the nurses, doctors, social workers, aides, and chaplains. I have yet to meet one of these people who don’t regard their work as more of a CALLING than a job. They are invariably gentle, kind, quiet, and efficient as they come, do their work, and go.

Sometimes I sit and visit folks on my own. Sometimes I bring Patrick the dog with me. Patrick has been trained and certified as a therapy dog by the Alliance of Therapy Dogs.

At first, Patrick was a little intimidated by all the wheelchairs, IV poles, beeping machinery, and plastic tubing. But I have to say… he has now acclimated very well and is perfectly at home with all manner of medical gear. 

All of which brings me to the real point of today’s post. That point is: IN SPITE of the fact that I am seriously ensconced in Old Age… IN SPITE of the fact that I regularly hear about friends, family members, and strangers dying… IN SPITE of the fact that my brain knows that life is 100% terminal… IN SPITE of the fact that new and different parts of my body seem to break down every week… IN SPITE of all of this tidal wave of evidence to the contrary, I somehow continue to believe I am immortal. That death will visit everybody EXCEPT me. 

Frankly, visiting folks in hospice is an attempt at a self-induced reality check. It is my effort (one of them, at least), to remind myself of the truth of Felix Adler’s words. In his book, Life and Destiny, Adler said, “Let us learn from the lips of death the lessons of life.” I could also – I suppose – choose to heed the voice of the psalmist, who cheerfully reminded us, “The life of mortals is like grass, they flourish like a flower of the field; the wind blows over it and it is gone, and its place remembers it no more.” (Psalm 103:15-16, NRSVU). 

Both writers speak the truth. 

As do those I visit there in the hospice beds. Some of them are confused. Some of them are frightened and lonely. Some are entirely unresponsive. 

Some, however, are perfectly at peace. They know the end is near and they aren’t fighting it. They politely poo-poo the advice of Dylan Thomas, electing instead to; YESABSOLUTELY! I plan to go gentle into that good night.”

I suspect they are at peace because they have been practicing. They’ve likely spent years reminding themselves that every moment, every relationship, every joy, every frustration, every tear, every giggle, and every new breath they take is a pure gift.

And THAT, I say to myself, is who I want to be when I grow up.  

Abundant blessings;

31
Oct
22

Part I: What I Actually Asked the Imam

Mine, our guide, on the right, in pink.

Earlier this month, Joan and I were on a tour. We were in Turkey with a group of 24 other travelers spending 14 days touring that amazing place with the Rick Steves organization. Our incredible guide was the Istanbul born-and-raised Mine (pronounced ME-nay) who, when her tour-guiding days are over, professed a desire to go to law school and advocate for women in her native land. 

By the way, I cannot recommend this tour strongly enough. It is a riveting historic, artistic, natural, and cultural encounter that will send you running to your thesaurus in search of new superlatives.

On Day 7 of the tour, we stopped in the village of Güzelyurt. In many ways Güzelyurt is an unremarkable town… small, rural, and hilly with sheep freely wandering around its streets. 

The point of stopping there, however, was to meet with a local Imam for Q&A time. An Imam – in case you are not aware – is the religious head of a mosque. He (and Imams are almost always male) is the Muslim equivalent of a Protestant pastor, or a Roman Catholic priest. 

At the risk of sounding like a paid Rick Steves shill, this stop was yet another example of the “value added” aspect of touring with that organization. Kind of like the vulcanologist we picked up by the side of the road in Sicily who told us everything he had learned in 25 years of studying Mount Aetna.  

Anyway, back to the story…

At this point, I feel the need to add a word here about the wonders and the dangers of the art of translation. Following our time with Imam Ramadan, I came to realize that in any translated conversation, there are at least THREE hurdles any thought must clear between Person #1 and Person #2. Hurdle One is the hurdle between MY brain and MY mouth. An idea bubbles up in my head which must then be formed into the words of my question.

Imam Ramadan of Guzelyurt, Turkey

The second hurdle is the TRANSLATION hurdle. How does the translator hear my question and then reshapeit from my language into Person #2’s language?

And then finally, is the RESPONSE hurdle.  How does Person #2 hear the question? How do they frame their response, and then how is that response then translated back to Person #1?

All that to say, there are a lot of pitfalls along the path from what I THOUGHT I wanted to ask the Imam, what was ACTUALLY asked, and then how he replied. 

So… with that exhausting prelude out of the way, here is what I asked Imam Ramadan. As an avowed practitioner of the Christian faith, I am regularly aware of a GAP or a TENSION. That tension is between what my faith ASKS of me and how I actually LIVE on a day-to-day or moment-to-moment basis. 

As one example, the words of the prophet Micah come to mind. “He has told you, O mortal, what is good, and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice and to love kindness and to walk humbly with your God?” (Micah 6:8, NRSVU). 

Or there are also the words of Jesus when replying to the rich young man’s question: “Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?” He said to him, “‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’  This is the greatest and first commandment.  And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’” (Matthew 22:36-39, NRSVU).

Again, as a practitioner of the Christian faith, I am regularly conscious of the tension between what my faith asks of me and my daily practice.

And so, as I thought about the rigid requirements of Islam – including praying five times a day while facing Mecca, or the requirement to fast for a month – I wanted to know if this gap or tension was something Imam Ramadan ever encountered. And if so, how does he – as a faith leader – deal with that tension?

This is the point, then, where the wonders and dangers of the art of translation became manifest. The way I finally asked my question was, “Imam Ramadan… do you ever experience a tension between the SPIRIT of your faith and the PRACTICE of your faith?”

I thought to myself, “Hmmm. Not exactly the way I wanted it to come out. Translation Hurdle #1 stumbled over.”

 After asking the imam my question, Mine turned to me and said, “I asked him if he is ever conflicted about what he WANTS to do and what Islam REQUIRES him to do.”

OK. Not exactly my question, but let’s see what happens. Translation Hurdle #2 not exactly cleared.

After pondering his answer, the imam spoke to Mine. Not surprisingly, his answer – translated back to me – was, “No. Not at all. The more I practice my faith, the more I want to practice my faith.”

Well, there you go. 

And there in a brief, four-minute nutshell I began to get the teeniest inkling of the infinite minefield involved in international diplomacy.

So, I will conclude this exercise by asking YOU the same question… hopefully as clearly as I can. Do you ever experience a tension between your faith (or the values you espouse), and your daily practice? 

And if you do, how do you deal with that tension?

Abundant blessings;

24
Mar
22

Happy Anniversary, Sweetie

Earlier this week, we celebrated an anniversary.

It was the third anniversary of Joan joyfully and triumphantly ringing the brass bell that marked the end of her chemotherapy and the beginning of her remission from cancer.

It has been a remarkable three years indeed.

During that time, we have uprooted and moved our home 600 miles to the west, traveled the world, endured a global pandemic, remodeled a home, mourned a parent’s death, hiked, laughed, wept, and occasionally even acted like goofballs.

In the moment of Joan’s diagnosis… and in the immediate aftermath… our focus was on what cancer took from us. As we held each other and sobbed, we grieved the fact that;

  • Cancer took our composure. 
  • Cancer took our faith in the power of healthy habits to ward off disease.
  • Cancer took our peace.
  • For a time, cancer stole our sleep.
  • Cancer (well, chemo, actually) took Joan’s lovely auburn hair.
  • Cancer took our cherished visions for the future.
  • Cancer took just about every other topic of conversation.

But here, today, three years into Joan’s remission, we have been able to refocus. God has helped train our eyes to see the things cancer could never take. 

We now know, for example, that cancer could never take;

  • Our love for each other
  • The love and support of family and friends
  • Our gratitude for the gift of every new day
  • Our faith in the God who promised us – just as he promised Joshua – that, “… As I was with Moses, so I will be with you; I will not fail you or forsake you.” (Joshua 1:5, NRSV)
  • The beauty of this amazing world
  • The joy of simple pleasures like a good cup of coffee, a romp with the doggies, a stimulating book, a glimpse of snow-capped mountains, a FaceTime chat with grandkids, the warmth of a cozy blanket, a quiet moment of prayer, a freshly baked loaf of banana bread, or a sassy new pair of shoes.

Without a doubt, on this third anniversary of Joan’s remission we celebrate that cancer did not, could not possibly take from us; namely…

  • The “… peace of God, which surpasses understanding.” (Philippians 4:7). 

Besides cancer, the list is very short of the things that can so profoundly shake your foundations. It is one of those events that draws a big, bold “Before” and “After” line through life. And not just the life of the one who was diagnosed, but through everyone connected to that person. 

When it arrives, breaking down the front door of your life with an axe, like it does, cancer demands a top-to-bottom redefinition of What Matters Most. It smashes every one of the precious mementoes there on your shelf and laughs in your face. 

And suddenly, you find you have not one, but TWO battles on your hands. The first is the medical battle… the one you fight with the help of doctors, nurses, technicians, and researchers. 

But the second battle is the spiritual battle. It is the battle to hold fast to the purpose, meaning, and peace that was hardwired into you by God before you were even born. 

It is the battle for your soul.

I know there are some folks who feel as if we are at one of those “shaking of the foundations” moments in the world today. There is the political animus here at home, the brutal slaughter of the people of Ukraine, the slow degradation of our air and water supplies, the continuing COVID crisis, and the rise of rates of addiction and hopelessness, just to name a few issues off the top of my head. 

When THAT PICTURE is the one we stare at all day long, it is easy to conclude that all is indeed lost. 

But we have a choice. We can choose to focus on another picture. 

We can choose the picture Moses chose to see during his 40 years in the wilderness. We can choose to see the picture Jesus chose during his 40 days of fasting, or on the stormy Sea of Galilee, or in the Garden of Gethsemane.  

We can choose to see the picture of the God of All Creation, seated on the throne of heaven, holding each of us in his loving arms and – in the face of the storms raging all around – clearly speaking the words Jesus spoke to his disciples: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.” (John 14:27, NRSV).

Abundant blessings;

31
Dec
21

Winter Wonderland

It finally snowed here in Fort Collins. 

The falling right now is the first snow this season… and the latest first snow in the town’s history. 

And so naturally, as Patrick the dog and I set out on our morning walk – wet flakes descending rapidly on our heads – I began singing, Walking in a Winter Wonderland. 

You know the song, don’t you? [And no, Christopher… it’s not about you.]

Sleigh bells ring, are you listening?

In the lane, snow is glistening.

A beautiful sight, we’re happy tonight,

Walking in a winter wonderland.

I’m sure in my life, I have sung it over 100 times with no thought at all to what I was singing.

But for some reason today, as I walked along singing, I was suddenly snagged by these words in the second verse:

“To face unafraid, the plans that we made…”

My first thought was, “What a great mindset to have as you make the transition from one year to the next! Maybe this is really more a New Year’s song than a Christmas song.”

But then I stopped to ponder a little further. I asked myself; Is that the way I am approaching 2022? Am I facing my/our plans for this coming year fearlessly… confidently… in a positive, hopeful state of mind? Or am I shaking in my shoes a little bit?

Because, honestly, peering at the road ahead shows me a lot of potholes, hairpin turns, mudslides, and washed-out bridges. Facing that mess “unafraid” (in the words of the song) seems like it might prove to be a daunting task.

As I stand here and gaze down the road, I see that the YUCK has already started. A beloved family member just tested positive for the COVID virus. Thick smoke from the wildfires west of Boulder, Colorado enveloped us as we drove home yesterday from Kansas City. Reports say that over 500 homes have been destroyed. John Madden died last week, and Betty White died today!

Thank God (literally) I am not facing all this alone.

Thank God there is someone who has been there, who has seen the worst of it, and is still there to reach out, take my hand, and say to me, “Do not be afraid.” In fact, that exact phrase is repeated more than 70 times in the Bible… spoken by God to the numerous “feet of clay” heroes scattered throughout its pages. 

Think of it… Abram was afraid. Hagar was afraid. Isaac was afraid. Moses was afraid. The entire nation of Israel was afraid. Joshua, Deborah, Jacob, Gideon, Samson, Ezekiel, Jeremiah, Isaiah, David, and a bushel basket full of other big names in the Bible all had reason to quake in their shoes as they looked at the road ahead of them. 

And to each of them, God said in a loud, strong voice, “For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, ‘Do not fear; I will help you.’” (Isaiah 41:13, NRSV). 

In my mind’s eye, I see each of those biblical “heroes” jotting that phrase down on a piece of papyrus, taping it to their bathroom mirrors (like I did in 2011, during a time of great trepidation), and reading it to themselves every morning. 

And then – much as I did back then – I see them each marching out into the day saying, “OK, world… Bring it on.” 

Looking out my window, I see that the snow is getting deeper. It is a much-needed dose of moisture in a dry, parched land. It quiets things down and creates a uniformly white blanket of silence on everything it touches.

And so when you combine that very “Currier and Ives” visual with the reminder of God’s enduring presence in each of our lives, it truly does look like a Winter Wonderland. 

– Abundant blessings and a Joy-filled 2022 to you and yours.

20
Jul
21

A Way in the Wilderness…

Fifty-two years ago today, an epic adventure took place.

Footprints were placed on a new, unfamiliar landscape. 

Eyes were opened. Discoveries were made… discoveries that were both earth-shaking and life-altering.

Old barriers were broken down and we witnessed the dawn of a sparkly new era, brimming with exciting possibilities. 

And today, July 20, 2021, as if in an homage to that destiny-packed moment in history, the richest man in the world took an 82-year-old woman and a few other folks for a wild ride beyond the edge of the stratosphere.

Yes, of course I am talking about that time in 1969 when I moved – along with mom and dad and my four siblings – from Hilliard, Ohio to Lynnwood, Washington, just north of Seattle.

It was the summer before my senior year of high school. It was the summer when my girlfriend, Terri Finn and I finally declared our undying love to each other. It was also the summer – ironically enough – when the TV program, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers debuted – featuring its catchy theme song that declared, “The bluest skies you’ll ever see are in Seattle. The greenest trees you’ll ever see are in Seattle.”

Well, at least half of that lyric was true. 

A couple of months earlier, my United Methodist pastor father had accepted an appointment to a small church in Lynnwood, Washington. His tenure began on July 1, and so after much weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth (mostly by me), the seven of us packed up the U-Haul truck, the Mercury Colony Park station wagon, and the Coleman pop-up camper and headed west. 

Somewhere along that journey – I like to think it might have been in Kansas City as our little caravan crossed the Missouri/Kansas state line – I had a revelation. 

As much as this whole move seemed like the worst idea in the world… as much as I fought against it and tried to keep it from happening, I realized I had a very clear choice. 

I could decide, A.) to be miserable about it and scowl my way through the coming school year. Or, I could decide, B.) to call this something like “an exciting new adventure” and eagerly anticipate the new sights, sounds, smells, and scenarios that lay ahead.

Somehow, I chose B. And that choice made all the difference in the world.

July 20, 1969 was a Sunday night. So, I asked my parents if we could invite the kids from the church youth group over to our house for a cook-out and to watch the televised account of the Apollo 11 moon landing. 

They said, “Sure! Great idea, Rusty!” and immediately got busy putting plans and menus together. 

I replied, “Gee, thanks a lot! But folks, here is something else. I have also decided that ‘Rusty’ was the name from my old life. From here on, call me Russell. OK?”

It has been said that the only people who like change are babies with wet diapers. 

I get that. But change is something that just comes with the territory of being a human being. 

To live is to be subjected with regular changes. Changes in circumstance, changes in weather, changes in understandings, changes in health, changes in economic status… in short, changes in just about every facet of life. 

Often change feels unwanted, like an assault… like something cruelly imposed by a parent who accepts a pastoral appointment 2,400 miles away from your buddies and girlfriend the summer before your senior year of high school [if I can be a little personal for a moment].

In most cases, we don’t have a choice about the change. But we always DO have a choice about how we will respond to the change. 

Much later on in my faith journey, I discovered – much to my surprise – that God is actually a gigantic fan of change. In fact, you wouldn’t be wrong to call God The Cosmic ChangeMaster.

God created the something of the universe out of the nothing (or out of the chaos) and has never stopped changing or creating since. The prophet Isaiah spoke on God’s behalf and said, “See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” (Isaiah 43:19, NRSV).

So, I pray today that regardless of the change you are facing in life, you might be able to find a way to lean fully into it and come to embrace it as perhaps a “way in the wilderness.”

Abundant blessings;




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