YOUTH SUNDAY

The second Sunday of Easter is one that I am intimately familiar with because when I served as a ministerial intern and an Associate Pastor, I got to preach that Sunday to give the Head of Staff a homiletical break.  It is a day in the lectionary that puts the story of Doubting Thomas in front of God's people, a story that is so real and so mysterious, one that makes the Christian faith all the more accessible in many ways.  I am quite the fan of Thomas because I think that a really honest faith in God, a faith that is mature and vibrant and lasting, has the moments of honest doubt where through wondering, questioning, and pondering we plumb greater depths and the roots of our belief grow deeper and wider.  The story of Thomas is a wonderful story for Youth Sunday, and I am so proud of the way our young people handled themselves on Sunday.

It is hard for me to believe that our Will is a 7th grader and old enough to participate in Youth Sunday.  He offered the prayer of dedication and did quite a nice job.  In many ways I see a bit of myself in him, but the difference is that he is so much more together as a 7th grader than I was--certainly a better student and more mature in his faith for his age.  I love that he likes to wear bow ties, and it was such a special time for me as a dad to help him get dressed.  I remember how my own father taught me how to tie a neck tie years ago and how he instilled in me that a gentlemen takes pride in how he looks, keeps his shoes clean, makes sure his shirt is pressed, and always carries things such as a handkerchief and a pocket knife, just in case.  My dad wasn't a fan of bow ties, mainly because he had a 19.5 inch neck!  The tie would get lost somewhere under the chin, but Will and I enjoy them.  I had to wear my red one with golfers on them, a fitting choice for Youth Sunday because Libby Wallin picked it out back when I was the Associate Pastor of 4th Presbyterian.  The Wallins are one of those families whose children hold a very special place in my ministry and in my heart.  On those long days where life is frustrating and discipleship is draining, I remember those Wallins and find my spirits renewed.

Some people like to think that the youth represent the future of the church, and I certainly affirm the truth of those words.  I truly believe, however, that the youth of the church represent the present. From the moment of baptism, young people (and all people, really) are beloved children of God, servants whose lives can bear powerful witness to the grace of Almighty God.  Grace was offered up in hearty doses yesterday, from the music to the stories, from the love and affirmation of the congregation, to the feeling of the Spirit's presence as I sat with Sarah and Aubrey from the vantage point of the pew.

We had much for which to be thankful when we offered up prayers at the end of day.  We are certainly grateful for our own children and for all the children of the church.  We give thanks for our Youth Director, Forrest Foxworth, and for his wife Ginny and their children.  Our lives are richer because of the love and nurture of the congregation, and when it comes to doubting and wondering how mysterious divine things are to be lived out in our fast-paced, technology laden lives of 2014, the grace of Youth Sunday slows us down a bit and inspires us to relish the goodness of God that is right in front of us.

TRACK PRIDE

Well the middle school Pirates had a short but pretty sweet season, taking 2nd place at the county finals in Callahan, FL.  Callahan is quite the colorful spot.  We passed by a wonderful local BBQ hut whose name is one for the record books: "Callahan Pork Butt Hut."  Got to eat there one day.

It was about as good a day in the spring as you could get: the weather was warm with a light breeze.  It was sunny but a cloud or two would roll by and give a little shade.  My task was to provide a cooler of Gatorade for the athletes and some water.  Check.  After I rolled the icy drinks over to the Pirates' assigned spot on the grass, I watched a bunch of boys wrestle with an 8 lb shot put ball, trying to hurl it as far as possible.  Don't think they'll be ready for the 2016 Olympics, but maybe by 2020.

I had such fun watching the young people compete.  It was clear that there were many people trying the sports of track and field as a new thing, and I just loved to see their determination and all the effort they showed.  Even though the competition was pretty fierce and close at times, nearly all of the students cheered each other on, clapping for even the slowest kids at the event.  There was such good sportsmanship.

I was a mighty proud dad of Will who has never done anything like this before.  He loves sports, but he is not the quickest runner.  His event was the mile, and when it was his turn there were about 24 kids on the track.  When the race started, he stayed at the back of the pack and established a slow and steady stride.  He looked good, even though by his third lap he got lapped by the leader, an older young fellow who ran like a gazelle and was running each leg in about one minute.  Will's splits were right around 2 minutes, and by lap 4 he had passed two competitors!  He finished in 22nd place and posted a 7:40 time.  He was hoping for a little better than that, but I didn't care at all about the time.  I was so proud of him to do it. No way I would have done that as a 7th grader.

As Will ran, I kept finding myself thinking of the passages of scripture that speak of the race we have to run as Christians and how God invites us to run that race with perseverance and trust.  Will's courage and character certainly inspired me at the meet, and it made me yet again very grateful that he is ours and that he is willing to do things to challenge himself in life.  I have long hoped that he would come to love the game of golf, and he does.  Never thought our son would do track, but life is full of surprises and this one has been a real treat.  Keep running, Will, and you will always be our champ!

EASTER THOUGHTS

Well...another Lenten season and Easter Sunday in the books.  Whew, what a action-packed couple of months.  I happen to love the transition from winter to spring, from my least favorite season to the season that is perhaps my most favorite of the year.  Since coming to Fernandina, one of the new things I have come to love about the season is the church's annual retreat to Camp Montgomery.  The picture above is from that retreat (the weekend of Palm Sunday), and it captures the joy of our family (plus Addie Edwards) just moments before our "Minute to Win It" style "Amazing Race."  What fun!  Looking back on the past number of weeks, I am so grateful for the Lenten journey, in particular our Wednesday noon time worship services and the Bible studies each Wed evening that centered on the Lord's Prayer.  I was reminded this season of how much I enjoy the dialogue, how much I really love teaching, and how much I enjoyed getting to know a number of members of my flock as we spent time together in study.  It was a rich, rewarding experience.

Holy week was exhaustingly rich as well.  We did a unique Maundy Thursday with the Methodist Church where Beth and I led worship and shared communion.  Following the service a very talented guy named Brad Sherrill offered a dramatic presentation of "The Exodus."  It was long but so very powerful and really set the stage for a deeper understanding of all the Jesus accomplishes in the events of Good Friday.  Good Friday was a rainy, nasty kind of day but a time that provided plenty of opportunity to reflect and to rest.  There was not much rest on Saturday that included a HUGE Easter event at the church that we shared with the Methodists, a community Easter celebration with hundreds and hundreds of people in attendance.  There were those inflatable slides and face painting and cotton candy, but I really enjoyed seeing the children interact with our dressed up biblical characters to learn about who they were and what they represented.  I love the cooperation between our church and the Methodists.  So good.

Sunday brought the sunrise service at Ft. Clinch where I got to pick guitar and sing a little with Terry Thrift.  Then we had a pancake breakfast at the church, two worship services, and I had a premarital counseling session in between.  It was a full, full morning.  After some spiral cut honey ham and fixings, I took a fat nap.  Thank God for naps.  It seems like the past few days, I haven't been able to function without one.

As I dive in to this Easter season, I do so with a sense of gratitude for the many, many good things God has done in my life and ministry these past few months.  I also intend on doing some reading of a new book by Bart Erhman, How Jesus Became God, where he offers some thoughts from a historical perspective about how a poor peasant preacher becomes exalted as the son of God.  He claims to have moved in his journey from being a believer of Christ to an agnostic, focusing more on a variety of historical claims that bring into questions many classical claims of Christian theology (such as Joseph of Arimathea's convincing Pilate to allow him to bury Jesus in his own tomb). He abandons most if not all of the claims of classical Christian theology, so  I am eager to read his presentation and to learn more about him, even though at the outset it is quite puzzling to me how one could make such a move.  I would think that extensive study would affirm his faith in Christ rather than dismantle it.

One of my observations from ministry has to do with how some people believe less and less as they age and how others come to believe more and more over the years.  I hope that as I grow in years and in understanding (and in faith) that I will fall into the latter category, growing more and more in my faith, rather than the former.  I think of people such as Shirley Guthrie who certainly encountered plenty of instances of theodicy in life and yet his faith in God and the risen Christ deepened.  Here's to faith deepening, trust in God's mysterious ways enlarging.  Christ is risen!  He's risen indeed!

MASTERS

Will and I were fortuntate to get to make the trek to Augusta, Georgia for a day of golf and fun.  We left after the church activities on Wednesday night and stopped over at a La Quinta in Statesboro, Ga.  Will is 12 and is a very innocent tween. He loves getting IBC creme soda and joking about bodily noises.  He still likes to hang out with his old man, and that is such a gift these days.

We woke up early on Thursday and make the holy pilgrimmage to golf's great mecca.  We stumbled into A-lot parking and were only a few hundred yards from the front gate.  Security was a breeze, and within moments we had the folding chairs up at the 18th green and were well on our way to enjoyng pro-golf in all its glory.  Will still enjoys getting a flag and pursuing autographs.  Amazingly, he was able to get Adam Scott's signature (last year's green jacket winner) early on.  He saw lots of pros, and the leader of the day Bill Hass (from Greenville, SC) was kind to him, and his dad came over and gave him a pat on the back and an autograph.

We walked part of the course, and we ate egg salad sammies and chips and those buttery moist cookies by Christie (Nashville).  We drank lemonade and felt at times like royalty.  The weather was in the low 70s with a slight breeze, not a cloud in the sky, and we joined in that great chorus of golf witnesses who are among the greatest fans of any sport in the world--so patient with those playing slowly, so affirming of every player no matter his nationality or somewhat questionable taste in apparal.

The day brought many memorable moments for me, but a couple rise like creme to the top:  one would be seeing Ben Crenshaw come up #18 and play it well.  What a legend, and just as he finished the hole, he saw Will, and came up and gave him his Srixon ball.  Will got a few more balls that day, but Crenshaw's takes the cake.  The second memory came as we were driving home and as day was turning into night.  Out of the blue, Will said, "Dad, thank you for taking me today.  I really had a great time with you."  <<sigh>>

I remember those moments with my own dad, who didn't feel up to all the walking at the event.  Like life, the Masters has a way of pushing a person to be tempted to explode at his worst (a mishit or a moment of bad fortunre) and yet inspiring a person to dig deeper and think imaginatively and grow, rising above the present challenge or tough lie.

If we all live long enough, we will find ourselves in many tight spots and tough lies.  I hope the next time I find myself there, I'll be able to remember the simple joy and wonder of a 12 year old boy that day, a boy who may never wear a green jacket but will always be my "champ."

COLOR RUN

It certainly wasn't my idea to do a Color Run.  Of course the most colorful one of the family, the one who loves cartwheels and backflips and singing loudly in the shower, the one who adores neon pink and purple and bold colored socks that often don't match: Aubrey June.  She was right.  It was fun.  It was a lot of fun, and the picture only captures a small piece of the fun. We woke up early on a Saturday morning, dressed in as much white clothing as we could muster, and headed out to Everbank Field where the Jaguars play.  We got there early and because it was a little chilly decided to hang out in the car. The atmosphere was pretty electric as people started rolling in.  There were lots of families and groups of people who had an obvious affection for one another.  People were smiling and it was the kind of atmosphere that had a way of raising one's spirits.  We got our numbers and our loot (run shirts and an eco friendly bag and a bag of colored powder for later and some snacks).  

We did the race, and that is where the fun really took off.  Each kilometer we passed through was marked by a different color, but it wasn't just a color it was one of those run through arches manned by droves of cheery volunteers who doused us in colored corn starch.  Blue, pink, orange, yellow--we were literally covered from head to toe by the end of the 5K. 

 

Although our family got separated during the run, we linked back up at the end.  There was a stage and a DJ and dancing Jags cheerleaders.  There were lots of giveaways, and at the appointed time we all gathered together in one big mosh pit of rainbowed optimism and counted down "5---4---3---2---1---!" and then everyone tore open his/her own bags of colored corn starch and threw them wildly in the air.  The colors rained down all over us, and we laughed like little preschooler playing in the yard with a garden hose and water guns on a hot summer's day.  

What an event.  What a race.  As races go, Aubs picked it well.  There were no winners based on time, on finishing first, or on age divisions.  In a sense, all of us were winners and there was more than a small measure of grace in that.  We all felt free to go at the event at our own pace, waiting for the little ones if we needed to, and stopping along the way to tighten a shoe lace, or to sip some water, or to wipe the color blue from one's eyes.   Scripture speaks of faith as running a race (Hebrews 12), and as I think about what that means, I am inclined to conclude (after doing a Color Run) that the Color Run event might be more akin to running the race of faith than, say, a competitive marathon.  Who knows.

What I do know is that the race was a good time.  We left the event feeling very colorful and hungry.  We stopped at a wonderful restaurant, kind of an upscale burger place (Ted's Montana Grill, St. John's Town Center).  They had some of the best home made lemonade out there, and the burgers were really special. They feature bison, and what a treat that was.  The waitress looked at us rather strangely at first and was a Aside from the colors placed on me that day, I have been "covered" in a way by the colors around me, the colors of Sarah, Will, and Aubs whose enthusiasm and joy and love have a way of getting me out on a Saturday morning, turning an ordinary day into an extraordinary memory.  May their colors around me and within me never fade, for they not only inspire me to keep running the race but to smile with every stride.

HOLY MACKEREL

It was a magical day on the water with my good friend, Brett, and my son and daughter.  It was the first time we had gone fishing on the clear and mysterious waters of Ft. Lauderdale.  It was also the first time for me to fish using "goggle eyes" as bait and to use kites to send out the bait and hold them in place, keeping them just inches below the water's surface.  The day was gorgeous: mild temps, sunny, with a light breeze blowing.  By the sheer providence of God, I got to experience the adventure of reeling in a king mackerel (somewhere around 40 pounds).  I felt a little like Jacob wrestling with God through the night as I fought that enormous fish.  Thank God my fight only lasted minutes where Jacob's lasted the whole night long.  There was such joy in catching that fish.  I remember how my heart raced, how the kids chuckled and cheered, and how for a moment I felt like I had harnessed something wild with only a hook and line.  The moment wasn't just memorable; it was holy.  It is holy week, and there is something adventurous going on this week as we remember, once more, God's deep love for the world.  At times I feel as though I am fishing for something joyful this week, hoping to hook something that I have never reeled in before.  At other times I feel as though I am like that large king mackerel, and God is the one who by the dramatic narrative of holy week is drawing me towards the light of possibility.  It is one of those weeks, as is often the case with God's Spirit and will in our lives, we cannot predict what may come, and we certainly will not be the same afterwards.