Our Friends Under the Bridge
“Do they belong to us?” It sounds like an odd question, but not to a three year old trying to make sense of why the folks living under the bridge have no where to go. My youngest daughter, Emma Leigh, and I had taken a day trip to New Orleans, some 85 miles from where we were living at the time. It was a couple of years after Hurricane Katrina had ravaged the city. And, although many groups had made life a little more bearable for the masses of homeless who call New Orleans home, the underpasses of Interstate 10 are still filled with those who have no other place to go. One part, in particular, is prolific with those living in such conditions. It is the Canal Street exit, and as soon as you turn off of the interstate you stop at a traffic light and one either side, behind and in front of you are those living in a makeshift tent city.
I noticed the people and was surprised by the number. Emma Leigh saw them, too. Emma Leigh was three years old at the time and though she was still a baby in so many ways, she had the vocabulary of a child so much older, largely due to older sisters who included her in almost every make believe world they created. I adjusted my rear view mirror to watch her eyes. That is when she asked, “Daddy, who are they?” I explained that the men and women under the bridge didn’t have homes and that they were living the best way they knew. It was then that Emma Leigh stunned me. “Why don’t their mommies and daddies come get them?” she asked. In her little world, everyone has mommies and daddies who take care of their children. I wondered how many of them had wished the same thing.
I explained to Emma Leigh that many of them didn’t have family any more or that they couldn’t get in touch with their family or that their family was mad at them or them at their families. I could tell in her eyes that this did not make sense. All she knew was a family who loved her very much and who would go anywhere to take care of her and make sure that she was okay. In fact, only a few weeks prior to that trip, she had called me at the office and had been tired and upset. “Can you come get me, Daddy” she said. “Of course, I can” I replied. When she needed her daddy, he showed up. That is what daddies, and mommies, and families do. Of course, she had a whole host of folks who would respond. If, for some reason, she couldn’t have gotten me, she would have gotten her grandmothers or aunt.
But, to have no one did not compute and I could tell that she did not know what to do with it. After a few minutes, she replied. “That’s okay,” she said. “They can go live with their friends”. Once again, in her world, friends took care of each other. And, then, as though she was ready for what my answer might be there, she replied, “or call their church.” Now, it was getting personal, and painful, and I knew that at some point, this three year old would make too much sense even for this situation.
Again, I tried to explain, that their situations were difficult and that they may not have friends who could or would help. That didn’t seem to settle well with her either. She sat there for a second. I kept wondering why the traffic light was taking so long. Finally, I, feeling the need to say something, blurted out, “They just don’t belong to anyone, sweetheart.”
It was at that moment that my three-year-old daughter got the best of me. She was only three, but it was enough. Jesus’ direction to his disciples that they should approach the Father as a child, meant something in that moment, and I, for one, confronted it first hand.
“Don’t they belong to us, Daddy?” she finally responded. This was my 3 year old daughter's way of asking, aren’t we their friends? She didn’t say anything else. She didn’t need to. Her point hit home and reminded me that what unites us is so much deeper than what we allow to divide us… Allow being the key word.
And, my three year old, reminded me that all of us are yoked together by the sheer essence of being the children of God. It didn’t matter what our skin color was, where we were born, how much we had attended Church, or how much we knew about our Bibles. We are all yoked together, first, by the fact that we are all God’s children, and, second, by the fact that God’s children don’t get to pick their brothers and sisters.
Be Salt and Light… You Matter…
Shane
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
We Always Have A Choice, Part II
Last week, I shared with you an excerpt that talked about choices—choices learned from conversations with my grandfather at our “special place” overlooking a golf course. One of those conversations set in motion how I assimilated some of the most difficult news of my life and how I committed myself to living everyday to make a difference for Christ.
This week’s excerpt picks up where last week’s left off, except this time some twenty-give years later overlooking a different setting, but, also, with long term consequences for my life. This setting was Saddleback Community Church when I, at the invitation of Rick and Kay Warren, shared my story about those early choices.
____________________
Excerpt from “A Positive Life” by Shane Stanford. Prologue, Section: “A Different Stage”
Nearly twenty years after that moment with my grandfather, I shared my story at the Saddleback Global AIDS Summit, founded by Kay and Rick Warren. My grandfather had been right. The story itself made a difference for people, even when it was not particularly welcome and when people did not know what to do with it.
I was scheduled to speak in the first session in between remarks by Rick and Kay. I shared how HIV/AIDS had dominated my life, shaped my worldview, informed my faith, and redesigned my view of others. My story taught me valuable lessons for life. My illness is not a part of me, but rather it is me in so many positive ways—my marriage, my family, my vocation, my faith—and has taught me simple things about living, about how to love more and better, and about how to serve beyond my own interests. It has carved away my prejudices and fears and shaped my view of God and God’s people—the latter, unfortunately, often in a negative light. HIV/AIDS is my common story and my moral voice—the deepest place where God works his presence in me.
From the doctor’s room where, as a sixteen-year-old kid, I learned my HIV status, to the conference room of the church that would not accept me as their pastor; and from the grieving rooms where I said goodbye to friends, to the hospital rooms where my wife buried her head in my chest and cried, HIV/AIDS has been my means of grace as much as my wound of sorrow.
I feel more familiar with the disease now than angry. As much as the disease has pushed and torn at me, I know myself, the world, and God’s heart better because of it. Sure, I would prefer to be healthy and disease free, but I have become content with the struggle—maybe even, at times, not wishing to trade it away. Illness has refined my soul, and life, people, and goals mean different things because of its presence.
As Rick finished his opening remarks, I remember my heart was about to pound out of my chest. He concluded his remarks by saying, “And, now I would like to introduce you to a pastor who gets… please welcome Shane Stanford.” I walked to the podium. Rick hugged me and said, “Thanks for being here. You are a blessing.” But the real blessing was being anywhere, anytime at all. I couldn’t help but thinking that my grandfather would like this moment. Of course, I couldn’t help but remember those who along the way had meant so much and, for one reason or another, could not be there. This had not just been my fight or my battle. I looked to my right and saw Pokey sitting in the audience. She smiled such a huge smile and I could see her wink at me. And looking forward, I saw the media, cameras and over two thousand Summit participants who had their own stories and war wounds.
Standing at that podium in front of the world, I realized that, like so many others in that room, I had met the enemy over many years, and I had been fortunate enough to prosper. Yes, the disease attacked my body, but because of the disease, I attacked life with an understanding of the brokenness through which we, like Paul, can declare God’s grace to be sufficient. No, it wasn’t easy. There are still times I want to take off running or lay down and give up. Did all go as planned? I am afraid not. But the story showed that we had at least made the choice for something better and had, to our best, lived it faithfully, even when we would get it horribly wrong. Regardless, the story was real, and it was mine. With that, I began to speak and shared my story. The following is what I said…
Speech, Global AIDS Summit, 2006
As a person living with HIV and AIDS, my entire life has been a race. A race against illness and disease, against fear and uncertainty, against discrimination and prejudice. A race against time.
Sure, the race has been difficult with many twists and turns—from growing up a Hemophiliac to discovering my HIV status at sixteen to watching how the secrecy of my HIV status affected the emotional life of our family and relationships.
It is a journey with spiritual struggles and tension—from watching my denomination’s struggle over whether to ordain me to being rejected by the first church to which I was appointed as pastor.
And certainly, it is a race with great loss and disillusionment—from the loss of dear friends to the disease to the loss of others for the fear surrounding it.
No, it has not been easy, pushing me to trust beyond what I can see and understand even, at times, pressing the limits of my faith, not necessarily as much for God as for God’s people.
Certainly, this is not a path that I would have chosen. But oddly enough, so many miles into it now, I would also not trade it with anyone.
You see, HIV has also afforded me an incredible glimpse into the best of what God offers in this world and the best for what God’s people can become. This journey informs me in God’s call for each of us to respond faithfully as God’s children and teaches all of us who call ourselves “Christian” important lessons that, potentially, can change our world.
Lessons about time: Because of my illness I am reminded each day that time is a privilege given to us by God, a luxury afforded to us with the possibility that each of us can make a difference in this world.
Lessons about relationships: I am blessed with a beautiful wife, three wonderful daughters and countless family and friends who remind me that the most important things we do in this world are not done alone.
Lessons about simplicity: More, bigger, nicer, pale in comparison to simple things like sunsets with those you love and the laughter of children at play.
And most importantly, lessons about real faith: Personally, HIV reminds me every day that, with God’s grace, what I need I have, and what I have is sufficient. Sufficient to confront the struggles of my health and the uncertainties of tomorrow. Sufficient to meet the needs of others if we, the Body of Christ, might agree to meet them together. For still, more than anything I have ever known, the Body of Christ (when we truly live like it) with all of its imperfections, holds as the hope of the world, bearing witness to this amazing Gospel that says God passionately loves the unlovable, the marginalized and the forgotten.
No, HIV is not easy for any of us. But it is a journey with real lessons for real life, and if we listen carefully it can teach us much about loving God and each other.
Friends, we have a race to run. This world cannot afford to run it alone.
__________________
As the speech finished I made my way back to my seat and took a deep breath. I was glad it was over. But, I couldn’t help but think of my grandfather. It was a long way from our golf hillside to the hills of Orange County, California and the world’s most prominent church stage. But, the journey seemed almost expected, prophesied in part by a very proud, but worried grandfather whose belief in his God (though not by much he would later admit) was still enough to outpace his fear of the world.
Somewhere, I knew my grandfather was smiling at that moment, whispering between his lips, “Good choice, Sport… Good choice, indeed.”
Be Salt and Light… You Matter…
Shane
Last week, I shared with you an excerpt that talked about choices—choices learned from conversations with my grandfather at our “special place” overlooking a golf course. One of those conversations set in motion how I assimilated some of the most difficult news of my life and how I committed myself to living everyday to make a difference for Christ.
This week’s excerpt picks up where last week’s left off, except this time some twenty-give years later overlooking a different setting, but, also, with long term consequences for my life. This setting was Saddleback Community Church when I, at the invitation of Rick and Kay Warren, shared my story about those early choices.
____________________
Excerpt from “A Positive Life” by Shane Stanford. Prologue, Section: “A Different Stage”
Nearly twenty years after that moment with my grandfather, I shared my story at the Saddleback Global AIDS Summit, founded by Kay and Rick Warren. My grandfather had been right. The story itself made a difference for people, even when it was not particularly welcome and when people did not know what to do with it.
I was scheduled to speak in the first session in between remarks by Rick and Kay. I shared how HIV/AIDS had dominated my life, shaped my worldview, informed my faith, and redesigned my view of others. My story taught me valuable lessons for life. My illness is not a part of me, but rather it is me in so many positive ways—my marriage, my family, my vocation, my faith—and has taught me simple things about living, about how to love more and better, and about how to serve beyond my own interests. It has carved away my prejudices and fears and shaped my view of God and God’s people—the latter, unfortunately, often in a negative light. HIV/AIDS is my common story and my moral voice—the deepest place where God works his presence in me.
From the doctor’s room where, as a sixteen-year-old kid, I learned my HIV status, to the conference room of the church that would not accept me as their pastor; and from the grieving rooms where I said goodbye to friends, to the hospital rooms where my wife buried her head in my chest and cried, HIV/AIDS has been my means of grace as much as my wound of sorrow.
I feel more familiar with the disease now than angry. As much as the disease has pushed and torn at me, I know myself, the world, and God’s heart better because of it. Sure, I would prefer to be healthy and disease free, but I have become content with the struggle—maybe even, at times, not wishing to trade it away. Illness has refined my soul, and life, people, and goals mean different things because of its presence.
As Rick finished his opening remarks, I remember my heart was about to pound out of my chest. He concluded his remarks by saying, “And, now I would like to introduce you to a pastor who gets… please welcome Shane Stanford.” I walked to the podium. Rick hugged me and said, “Thanks for being here. You are a blessing.” But the real blessing was being anywhere, anytime at all. I couldn’t help but thinking that my grandfather would like this moment. Of course, I couldn’t help but remember those who along the way had meant so much and, for one reason or another, could not be there. This had not just been my fight or my battle. I looked to my right and saw Pokey sitting in the audience. She smiled such a huge smile and I could see her wink at me. And looking forward, I saw the media, cameras and over two thousand Summit participants who had their own stories and war wounds.
Standing at that podium in front of the world, I realized that, like so many others in that room, I had met the enemy over many years, and I had been fortunate enough to prosper. Yes, the disease attacked my body, but because of the disease, I attacked life with an understanding of the brokenness through which we, like Paul, can declare God’s grace to be sufficient. No, it wasn’t easy. There are still times I want to take off running or lay down and give up. Did all go as planned? I am afraid not. But the story showed that we had at least made the choice for something better and had, to our best, lived it faithfully, even when we would get it horribly wrong. Regardless, the story was real, and it was mine. With that, I began to speak and shared my story. The following is what I said…
Speech, Global AIDS Summit, 2006
As a person living with HIV and AIDS, my entire life has been a race. A race against illness and disease, against fear and uncertainty, against discrimination and prejudice. A race against time.
Sure, the race has been difficult with many twists and turns—from growing up a Hemophiliac to discovering my HIV status at sixteen to watching how the secrecy of my HIV status affected the emotional life of our family and relationships.
It is a journey with spiritual struggles and tension—from watching my denomination’s struggle over whether to ordain me to being rejected by the first church to which I was appointed as pastor.
And certainly, it is a race with great loss and disillusionment—from the loss of dear friends to the disease to the loss of others for the fear surrounding it.
No, it has not been easy, pushing me to trust beyond what I can see and understand even, at times, pressing the limits of my faith, not necessarily as much for God as for God’s people.
Certainly, this is not a path that I would have chosen. But oddly enough, so many miles into it now, I would also not trade it with anyone.
You see, HIV has also afforded me an incredible glimpse into the best of what God offers in this world and the best for what God’s people can become. This journey informs me in God’s call for each of us to respond faithfully as God’s children and teaches all of us who call ourselves “Christian” important lessons that, potentially, can change our world.
Lessons about time: Because of my illness I am reminded each day that time is a privilege given to us by God, a luxury afforded to us with the possibility that each of us can make a difference in this world.
Lessons about relationships: I am blessed with a beautiful wife, three wonderful daughters and countless family and friends who remind me that the most important things we do in this world are not done alone.
Lessons about simplicity: More, bigger, nicer, pale in comparison to simple things like sunsets with those you love and the laughter of children at play.
And most importantly, lessons about real faith: Personally, HIV reminds me every day that, with God’s grace, what I need I have, and what I have is sufficient. Sufficient to confront the struggles of my health and the uncertainties of tomorrow. Sufficient to meet the needs of others if we, the Body of Christ, might agree to meet them together. For still, more than anything I have ever known, the Body of Christ (when we truly live like it) with all of its imperfections, holds as the hope of the world, bearing witness to this amazing Gospel that says God passionately loves the unlovable, the marginalized and the forgotten.
No, HIV is not easy for any of us. But it is a journey with real lessons for real life, and if we listen carefully it can teach us much about loving God and each other.
Friends, we have a race to run. This world cannot afford to run it alone.
__________________
As the speech finished I made my way back to my seat and took a deep breath. I was glad it was over. But, I couldn’t help but think of my grandfather. It was a long way from our golf hillside to the hills of Orange County, California and the world’s most prominent church stage. But, the journey seemed almost expected, prophesied in part by a very proud, but worried grandfather whose belief in his God (though not by much he would later admit) was still enough to outpace his fear of the world.
Somewhere, I knew my grandfather was smiling at that moment, whispering between his lips, “Good choice, Sport… Good choice, indeed.”
Be Salt and Light… You Matter…
Shane
Thursday, September 10, 2009
We Always Have A Choice, Part I
My grandfather was my hero. He was also my best friend, until he passed away in 1997.
There was nothing I couldn’t tell him. His quiet spirit and wisdom always knew the right thing to say or the right moment not to say anything at all.
My grandfather shared a special time and place from the time I was a young boy, just after my parents’ divorce. First, we went to an orchard just across the road from the family farm. Later, we went to a hill overlooking a golf course. These were our moments.
The following is an excerpt from A Positive Life, a memoir of my life until now. Over the next two weeks, I talk about choices. The section is taken from the Prologue of the book entitled, “More than the Sum of What We Can Say”. I hope you enjoy it.
_____________________
(Excerpt from A Positive Life, Zondervan 2010, Prologue section: “More than Sum of What We Can Say”)
The first weekend I spent with my grandparents after the diagnosis was awkward. My disease was not discussed. No one wanted to be the first to mention the situation. After Sunday breakfast, my grandfather asked me to take a ride with him. We drove the familiar road to the hill overlooking the golf course and sat together for a few moments in silence.
It was always my grandfather’s habit when we would arrive to say an “open eye” prayer. He liked to say that no one else would want him to say a prayer with your eyes open because “prayer was supposed to be with our eyes closed and our heads bowed”. But sitting here or in the orchard, my grandfather would ask, “How can we pray to God and be thankful for all we have and see and be afraid to look up and actually take it all in?”
It always made sense to me when were sitting there, though I dared not try the open-eye prayer anywhere else. My grandfather also said that looking up meant making the prayer about God more than about ourselves, which so many prayers seemed to be. So we would pray, looking up, around, and at each other. It was always a great moment, filled with some laughter, smiles, and the occasional loving, quiet stare from a grandfather to his grandson.
On this particular day, my grandfather finished the prayer and then took my hand. He had looked over at me several times, and we knew there was more in the air than just the breeze and much more to discuss.
Finally, my grandfather broke the silence: “So, what are you going to do with this thing?” He never used the letters HIV or AIDS and he never talked about sickness or disease. But I knew exactly what he was talking about.
“I don’t know. There’s no cure,” I said, looking down messing with a blade of grass or some loose rock. “There is not much of a choice.”
“You always have a choice,” my grandfather said, his voice steady. He was straightforward in his words but not gruff or difficult in his tone. But he wanted me to hear and pay attention.
“What choice do I have?” I asked. There didn’t seem to be many choices on my end. The doctors had not given any and most, if not everyone in my life, were walking around as though resigned to something else … to no choices available. “Sometimes,” I finally added, “I just feel like running as fast as I could. I am not sure where I would go, but just to see if I could outrun this feeling of loneliness and dread in my life.” My grandfather was listening.
“And then there are times, I just want to lay down and let it be over. Some days, it is hard to find the reason to feel joyful again. That scares me more than the disease.”
My grandfather had looked back at the horizon. I could tell he was thinking.
“I know there is a lot to consider over the next weeks. The doctor is telling me a lot about what I need to think about in terms of my treatment. So I am trying to get the right info and make good decisions. But choices?” I asked. “About life … really, about life? I don’t know about that.”
My grandfather and I sat there for a few moments. I was trying to be honest with him about where my heart was in this news and in this whole fight. I had faced a lot in my life, but this was different. The face of this disease was bigger than all of us put together. And the impact was not just about my life, but about so many others in my family. Lest we forget, this was all being done in secret, since most people could not at that point in the disease’s timeline get their brains around the idea of what me being HIV positive would mean for them, our family, or our community.
My grandfather shifted his body language to turn more toward me. He leaned against the ground with his left arm so that he could look me in the eye. “If anybody has a right to get in the corner and have a pity party about this, it’s you. It’s very raw deal, and I can’t tell you that I understand it or have even begun to confront my anger over it. But as bad as this seems—and I know it’s bad—you have a choice to make. You can get in that corner, and if you want me to, I will get in there with you.” My grandfather paused. I had never heard him talk about giving up or giving in to anything. But here he was with tears in his eyes, saying that he would crawl into that pity party hole with me, if that is where I went and he needed to go.
“But I know you, maybe better than anyone, and I know what is in your heart and deep in your soul, and I think you are going to make a choice other than pity, retreat, or surrender. I think you are going to live each day to the fullest with everything you have. I think you are going to take each day, no matter how many you have, and make something of them. No one can ask any more of you.”
He stopped and looked into my eyes. “And son, I think you making that choice will mean something someday.”
____________________
My grandfather understood the power of our choices. I learned their power, too. And, it is not always the “decision” we make as much the process we use that ultimately sets the stage for God’s most profound lessons and displays of grace and wisdom. The ability for the Creation to have “free will” and the ability to make “choices” that define our present and future is the most significant gift the Creator could give us. And, we make use and worth of that gift everyday, in large and small ways alike.
Over the next couple of weeks, I pray you will think diligently about the choices you make and about the prayer, thought and consideration you take in making them. What is God wanting you to learn from your choices? What does the process tell us about how God has already worked a miracle in us before we ever make them?
Next week, I will share another conversation from another vantage point about everyday wisdom and the choices we make. A different “stage” than the hillside from when I was 16 years old and newly diagnosed, but nonetheless the important into whose I would become and for what God would do in and through me across the journey.
Until then… You ALWAYS Have A Choice.
Be Salt and Light… You Matter…
Shane
My grandfather was my hero. He was also my best friend, until he passed away in 1997.
There was nothing I couldn’t tell him. His quiet spirit and wisdom always knew the right thing to say or the right moment not to say anything at all.
My grandfather shared a special time and place from the time I was a young boy, just after my parents’ divorce. First, we went to an orchard just across the road from the family farm. Later, we went to a hill overlooking a golf course. These were our moments.
The following is an excerpt from A Positive Life, a memoir of my life until now. Over the next two weeks, I talk about choices. The section is taken from the Prologue of the book entitled, “More than the Sum of What We Can Say”. I hope you enjoy it.
_____________________
(Excerpt from A Positive Life, Zondervan 2010, Prologue section: “More than Sum of What We Can Say”)
The first weekend I spent with my grandparents after the diagnosis was awkward. My disease was not discussed. No one wanted to be the first to mention the situation. After Sunday breakfast, my grandfather asked me to take a ride with him. We drove the familiar road to the hill overlooking the golf course and sat together for a few moments in silence.
It was always my grandfather’s habit when we would arrive to say an “open eye” prayer. He liked to say that no one else would want him to say a prayer with your eyes open because “prayer was supposed to be with our eyes closed and our heads bowed”. But sitting here or in the orchard, my grandfather would ask, “How can we pray to God and be thankful for all we have and see and be afraid to look up and actually take it all in?”
It always made sense to me when were sitting there, though I dared not try the open-eye prayer anywhere else. My grandfather also said that looking up meant making the prayer about God more than about ourselves, which so many prayers seemed to be. So we would pray, looking up, around, and at each other. It was always a great moment, filled with some laughter, smiles, and the occasional loving, quiet stare from a grandfather to his grandson.
On this particular day, my grandfather finished the prayer and then took my hand. He had looked over at me several times, and we knew there was more in the air than just the breeze and much more to discuss.
Finally, my grandfather broke the silence: “So, what are you going to do with this thing?” He never used the letters HIV or AIDS and he never talked about sickness or disease. But I knew exactly what he was talking about.
“I don’t know. There’s no cure,” I said, looking down messing with a blade of grass or some loose rock. “There is not much of a choice.”
“You always have a choice,” my grandfather said, his voice steady. He was straightforward in his words but not gruff or difficult in his tone. But he wanted me to hear and pay attention.
“What choice do I have?” I asked. There didn’t seem to be many choices on my end. The doctors had not given any and most, if not everyone in my life, were walking around as though resigned to something else … to no choices available. “Sometimes,” I finally added, “I just feel like running as fast as I could. I am not sure where I would go, but just to see if I could outrun this feeling of loneliness and dread in my life.” My grandfather was listening.
“And then there are times, I just want to lay down and let it be over. Some days, it is hard to find the reason to feel joyful again. That scares me more than the disease.”
My grandfather had looked back at the horizon. I could tell he was thinking.
“I know there is a lot to consider over the next weeks. The doctor is telling me a lot about what I need to think about in terms of my treatment. So I am trying to get the right info and make good decisions. But choices?” I asked. “About life … really, about life? I don’t know about that.”
My grandfather and I sat there for a few moments. I was trying to be honest with him about where my heart was in this news and in this whole fight. I had faced a lot in my life, but this was different. The face of this disease was bigger than all of us put together. And the impact was not just about my life, but about so many others in my family. Lest we forget, this was all being done in secret, since most people could not at that point in the disease’s timeline get their brains around the idea of what me being HIV positive would mean for them, our family, or our community.
My grandfather shifted his body language to turn more toward me. He leaned against the ground with his left arm so that he could look me in the eye. “If anybody has a right to get in the corner and have a pity party about this, it’s you. It’s very raw deal, and I can’t tell you that I understand it or have even begun to confront my anger over it. But as bad as this seems—and I know it’s bad—you have a choice to make. You can get in that corner, and if you want me to, I will get in there with you.” My grandfather paused. I had never heard him talk about giving up or giving in to anything. But here he was with tears in his eyes, saying that he would crawl into that pity party hole with me, if that is where I went and he needed to go.
“But I know you, maybe better than anyone, and I know what is in your heart and deep in your soul, and I think you are going to make a choice other than pity, retreat, or surrender. I think you are going to live each day to the fullest with everything you have. I think you are going to take each day, no matter how many you have, and make something of them. No one can ask any more of you.”
He stopped and looked into my eyes. “And son, I think you making that choice will mean something someday.”
____________________
My grandfather understood the power of our choices. I learned their power, too. And, it is not always the “decision” we make as much the process we use that ultimately sets the stage for God’s most profound lessons and displays of grace and wisdom. The ability for the Creation to have “free will” and the ability to make “choices” that define our present and future is the most significant gift the Creator could give us. And, we make use and worth of that gift everyday, in large and small ways alike.
Over the next couple of weeks, I pray you will think diligently about the choices you make and about the prayer, thought and consideration you take in making them. What is God wanting you to learn from your choices? What does the process tell us about how God has already worked a miracle in us before we ever make them?
Next week, I will share another conversation from another vantage point about everyday wisdom and the choices we make. A different “stage” than the hillside from when I was 16 years old and newly diagnosed, but nonetheless the important into whose I would become and for what God would do in and through me across the journey.
Until then… You ALWAYS Have A Choice.
Be Salt and Light… You Matter…
Shane
Thursday, September 03, 2009
"Re-Newing Our Minds"
This week, Pokey and I attended a gathering of Senior Pastors and Spouses of the 100 largest United Methodist Churches in the United States according to average worship attendance. GBUMC is ranked 23rd, in case you were wondering.
The meeting was informative, challenging and reassuring as we met new friends, shared with older ones, and learned that we have much in common with those at similar places of similar size.
One of our responsibilities at this gathering was to discuss how the 100 largest congregations can assist the denomination as a whole in the next century’s new reality of ministry. According to the data shared by Adam Hamilton, Pastor of Church of the Resurrection UMC (the largest UMC church in the country) and the convener of the meeting, if nothing is done to change the prevailing trends, the United Methodist Church will cease to exist in 44 years.
In the past six years, The United Methodist Church has lost 22% of our membership. During this same period, the number of Professions of Faith has declined by 18%. The number of children in confirmation declined by 21%. Membership in the United Methodist Women across the denomination has declined so rapidly that the organization will lose over 95% of its membership in the next 14 years.
Worship attendance in the United Methodist Church declined by over 70,000 last year alone. That is the same as all of the United Methodists who attend church in the Kansas East and West Annual Conferences combined.
The stats and conversation are difficult to assimilate.
But, as sobering as the data may be, the opportunities and potential discussed for how the local church remains as the "hope of the world" and the center for renewal in our denomination are even more significant.
Adam Hamilton reminded us that John Wesley faced a similar crisis in his own denomination, the Church of England. He would look out and see the empty churches, but even more important, empty spirits, and decided that something must be done. And, the “something” began with him--with his own mindset and thinking. He took to heart several of Paul's sermons where he said that we must become what God needs us to be by, first, "re-newing" our minds. In Wesley’s day, that was more than an intellectual exercise, but it symbolized the "way we saw the world, God, and God in the world."
Wesley took on a life philosophy that is well documented and that became his mantra for how he would conduct his ministry. His philosophy had two principles: 1) No matter how much you love something, if it doesn’t work, throw it out, and 2) No matter how much you hate something, if it works, use it.
Wesley believed that the two primary purposes of the Church were to 1) Save Souls, and 2) Build Up the Body. Wesley, himself, was an intellectual who loved preaching in his staid, safe parish church. But, no matter his personal feelings, he traveled 250,000 miles to preach 40,000 sermons in the countryside because that is where the people were and where God needed him to go. Even though he detested both (travel and open air preaching), he did them because that is where God sent him.
And, Wesley and his brother, Charles, took recognizable tunes from the local taverns, wrote religious words to them, and used those songs for preaching to those who would have been outside the bounds of the church. Many of those songs are considered some of our most sacred hymns today. He never really liked this process, but it worked, and that is what mattered to him, and he believed mattered also to God.
Wesley not only renewed his preaching techniques, his music, and his goals/objectives, but he first had to make new his thinking about why and how he carried out his ministry.
As I thought about the idea of Wesley "Re-Newing His Mind" to become all that Christ intends, I came to four conclusions.
1. Wesley believed we must STOP thinking about OURSELVES. There are numerous Biblical references to this principle. Too numerous, in fact, to mention. The Adversary wants and needs for us to think about ourselves—our wants, needs, desires, and goals—because it turns us away from God. It was the trick he used on Eve in the Garden and it has been successful ever since.
2. He concluded we must START thinking like CHRIST. More than a bracelet, this must be a real effort to take the principles, motives and intentions of Jesus into our hearts and to live them. It is not enough to simply say we Love Jesus… we must Love Like Jesus as well.
3. Wesley understood that we must START thinking about OTHERS. Again, the Biblical principles are too numerous to reference, but the gist is like this. If we want to be first—we must be last. If we want to win--- we must learn to lose. If we want to fulfill the full nature of our own lives and experience wholeness in Christ—we must be willing to give ourselves away for our brothers, in heart, soul, mind and body. Not very complicated but very difficult.
4. Finally, Wesley believed we must START thinking of TOMORROW like it is TODAY. Jesus says we only control what we do right now. So, we can’t wait until tomorrow to make things better in our relationships, to be better at our spiritual walks or to serve more. NO, tomorrow begins today. All that the Bible says we can and must become in Christ is within our grasps now. We must be willing to make it so, no matter how uncomfortable it makes us.
Adam Hamilton said that Wesley’s great contribution to the cause of evangelical Christianity was more practical than theological. I would agree. Certainly, he was a wonderful thinker—and the re-newing of his mind gave birth to a new way of doing church. But, more than anything Wesley reminds us that the best of who we are in Christ is found in our acts of charity, our proclamation of the Good News, and in our strength for justice and righteousness.
As the Scripture states, in giving our lives away in service to Christ…. We find real life, and it makes all the difference.
We love you all.
Be Salt and Light... You matter!
Shane
This week, Pokey and I attended a gathering of Senior Pastors and Spouses of the 100 largest United Methodist Churches in the United States according to average worship attendance. GBUMC is ranked 23rd, in case you were wondering.
The meeting was informative, challenging and reassuring as we met new friends, shared with older ones, and learned that we have much in common with those at similar places of similar size.
One of our responsibilities at this gathering was to discuss how the 100 largest congregations can assist the denomination as a whole in the next century’s new reality of ministry. According to the data shared by Adam Hamilton, Pastor of Church of the Resurrection UMC (the largest UMC church in the country) and the convener of the meeting, if nothing is done to change the prevailing trends, the United Methodist Church will cease to exist in 44 years.
In the past six years, The United Methodist Church has lost 22% of our membership. During this same period, the number of Professions of Faith has declined by 18%. The number of children in confirmation declined by 21%. Membership in the United Methodist Women across the denomination has declined so rapidly that the organization will lose over 95% of its membership in the next 14 years.
Worship attendance in the United Methodist Church declined by over 70,000 last year alone. That is the same as all of the United Methodists who attend church in the Kansas East and West Annual Conferences combined.
The stats and conversation are difficult to assimilate.
But, as sobering as the data may be, the opportunities and potential discussed for how the local church remains as the "hope of the world" and the center for renewal in our denomination are even more significant.
Adam Hamilton reminded us that John Wesley faced a similar crisis in his own denomination, the Church of England. He would look out and see the empty churches, but even more important, empty spirits, and decided that something must be done. And, the “something” began with him--with his own mindset and thinking. He took to heart several of Paul's sermons where he said that we must become what God needs us to be by, first, "re-newing" our minds. In Wesley’s day, that was more than an intellectual exercise, but it symbolized the "way we saw the world, God, and God in the world."
Wesley took on a life philosophy that is well documented and that became his mantra for how he would conduct his ministry. His philosophy had two principles: 1) No matter how much you love something, if it doesn’t work, throw it out, and 2) No matter how much you hate something, if it works, use it.
Wesley believed that the two primary purposes of the Church were to 1) Save Souls, and 2) Build Up the Body. Wesley, himself, was an intellectual who loved preaching in his staid, safe parish church. But, no matter his personal feelings, he traveled 250,000 miles to preach 40,000 sermons in the countryside because that is where the people were and where God needed him to go. Even though he detested both (travel and open air preaching), he did them because that is where God sent him.
And, Wesley and his brother, Charles, took recognizable tunes from the local taverns, wrote religious words to them, and used those songs for preaching to those who would have been outside the bounds of the church. Many of those songs are considered some of our most sacred hymns today. He never really liked this process, but it worked, and that is what mattered to him, and he believed mattered also to God.
Wesley not only renewed his preaching techniques, his music, and his goals/objectives, but he first had to make new his thinking about why and how he carried out his ministry.
As I thought about the idea of Wesley "Re-Newing His Mind" to become all that Christ intends, I came to four conclusions.
1. Wesley believed we must STOP thinking about OURSELVES. There are numerous Biblical references to this principle. Too numerous, in fact, to mention. The Adversary wants and needs for us to think about ourselves—our wants, needs, desires, and goals—because it turns us away from God. It was the trick he used on Eve in the Garden and it has been successful ever since.
2. He concluded we must START thinking like CHRIST. More than a bracelet, this must be a real effort to take the principles, motives and intentions of Jesus into our hearts and to live them. It is not enough to simply say we Love Jesus… we must Love Like Jesus as well.
3. Wesley understood that we must START thinking about OTHERS. Again, the Biblical principles are too numerous to reference, but the gist is like this. If we want to be first—we must be last. If we want to win--- we must learn to lose. If we want to fulfill the full nature of our own lives and experience wholeness in Christ—we must be willing to give ourselves away for our brothers, in heart, soul, mind and body. Not very complicated but very difficult.
4. Finally, Wesley believed we must START thinking of TOMORROW like it is TODAY. Jesus says we only control what we do right now. So, we can’t wait until tomorrow to make things better in our relationships, to be better at our spiritual walks or to serve more. NO, tomorrow begins today. All that the Bible says we can and must become in Christ is within our grasps now. We must be willing to make it so, no matter how uncomfortable it makes us.
Adam Hamilton said that Wesley’s great contribution to the cause of evangelical Christianity was more practical than theological. I would agree. Certainly, he was a wonderful thinker—and the re-newing of his mind gave birth to a new way of doing church. But, more than anything Wesley reminds us that the best of who we are in Christ is found in our acts of charity, our proclamation of the Good News, and in our strength for justice and righteousness.
As the Scripture states, in giving our lives away in service to Christ…. We find real life, and it makes all the difference.
We love you all.
Be Salt and Light... You matter!
Shane
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