The final chapter. Read part one and part two.

The man looked at me for a moment or two. He spun his chair around, grabbed a cup, and poured himself some coffee from a Mr. Coffee machine on the credenza behind him.

“Cup of coffee?” he asked without turning around.

“Oh, no. Thanks though.”

He spun back around and opened a desk drawer. He took out a small, flask-shaped bottle of whiskey and poured a shot into his coffee. He looked at me and raised the bottle

Jeanene has some new jewelry at Gracefull Things. Everything is one-of-a-kind, so if you want to pick something up for Christmas, you better grab it before it's gone.

My apologies, but this thing has now turned into three parts. I hope not four. Final part (hopefully) is coming soon.

The man pulled the sheet off of Doug, leaving him completely naked on the metal table. He glanced over, noticed me wincing, and got a cloth to cover Doug’s midsection.

“That’s better,” I said.

He put on some latex gloves and selected a scalpel from a tray full of shiny instruments. He placed the blade near the top of Doug’s shoulder, then looked at me and said, “There won’t be any blood when

I got the news that a minister friend had died in Waco. He dropped dead right on the sidewalk. There was no warning. A witness said he looked surprised for a moment, and then fell in a heap. I hadn’t heard from Doug in years, so I was surprised to find that my name was in his wallet, listed as the person to contact in an emergency. He had a wife, but she left him years ago. I heard he was working at a church in Waco. I wondered why they didn’t call someone in the congregation.

The police told me I needed to go to Waco to identify the body. I had never done that before, so I was a little nervous. But what choice did I have? Doug was a friend, even if we hadn’t seen each other recently. He needed this last thing done for him, and apparently I was

When A Banjara Indian woman named Mary came to our church to talk to us, nine-year-old Chloe was there. Chloe had to be there. We could not let Chloe miss a chance to meet a Banjara woman, because Chloe had been praying for the Banjara for four years.

The Banjara of India are one of three major Gypsy groups in the world. As a very low-caste people, millions of Banjara live without running water or electricity. Mary told us it takes about $450 to support a Banjara pastor and family for one year and that amount allows the family to live well and within the expectations of their culture. That is also enough money to support a microbusiness that

What is a "Friend of RLP?"

A rlpdv dramatized scripture story.

Read part one here.

Part Two:

Jesus sat on an elevated platform near the court of the Gentiles, surrounded by a crowd of about 75 people. There were both tradesmen and laborers present along with women and a number of children. Some of the children were listening to Jesus. Others were sitting on the ground drawing in the dirt with sticks. Jesus was in the middle of one of his famous stories, and the crowd was completely engrossed in the tale. Near the back of the crowd were a couple of temple guards who had wandered over to listen.

As Jesus spoke, his eyes lifted and he looked

Part one:

Saul was dressed in an expensive, imported robe. He was obviously a wealthy man. His hair gleamed and was heavy with Persian oil. His beard was trimmed short in a manner that was trendy among local Romans. He wore expensive jewelry, including a number of rings. One of them bore the mark of King Herod Antipas, for Saul was an official in his court. He stood with several other Herodians outside of Antipas’ palace in Jerusalem.

A group of Pharisees wearing simply adorned but elegant robes came down the street. They were huddled closely together and avoided contact with anyone walking near them. Their heads were wrapped with leather bands holding phylactery boxes on their foreheads. Their beards were

My Christmas books are now available at Jeanene's jewelry website. She's handling the shipping on the books this year, so you can buy them there.

She also has some really nice items now. Jeanene is making her own jewelry parts now, hammering them from

Jeanene and I are still in Fort Worth. We fly home at 1:45 pm.

It was a fascinating thing for me to preach in the Broadway pulpit. Broadway Baptist Church is probably the closest thing to a cathedral you'll find among Texas Baptists. I'm used to preaching behind a battered black music stand that a local high school band teacher gave me. The nearest person is about 10 feet away. It's a more casual setting. Suddenly I was on this big stage behind a

My Christmas book, audio books, and mp3 downloads are now available at Jeanene's jewelry and prayer bead site. Check it out.

So you think you want to try Christianity, huh? You’ve been casting about for some system of belief for years. You have what we might call a spiritual itch, and you’d like to try and scratch it. Only there are a few problems.

First, you aren’t sure if you believe in God. It’s an intellectual problem, really. You just aren’t sure if there IS a God. And if there is, you’re not sure you would trust the Bible to teach you anything about that God.

Second, you don’t know anything about the practice of Christianity, and you don’t

When Jeanene and I went to seminary in Fort Worth, we joined Broadway Baptist church. The worship was formal and smart for Baptists. The pastor, Cecil Sherman, was the same. Formal and smart. Broadway was about as "high church" as either of us had ever experienced. We loved it and remember those days fondly.

So I'm rather thrilled to get a chance to preach at Broadway this Sunday night. Service begins with dinner at 6:00. Worship kicks off around 7:00. If you're in the area and want to stop by and say hello, that would be fun.

This is kind of funny: I had planned on preaching from Matthew 22:15-22. And I JUST saw on their website that their interim pastor, Charlie Johnson, preached from that text a couple of weeks ago. Of course he did. They use the Lectionary. I keep forgetting there are other Baptists that do. So okay, I need to figure out something else to do. You'd think I would be worried about this. I'm not. It was nice to have everything set in my mind, but in my experience, little things like this often lead you to good places. They often lead you to the place you need to be.

rlp

And to any girl who needs a blessing.

Beloved daughter, we have arrived at the time of life where I cannot give you everything you want and need. We have come to the time where you must learn to walk alone. That is hard for me, but it is right and good. It is the way things should be.

Listen to me now, for there are things I want to tell you as you stand, trembling, on the edge of womanhood.

I know that boys have become fascinating and mysterious to you. They live in a strange world of their own, the world of young men. It is a world of new muscles and deepening voices. It is a world of astonishing energy and

Maybe you noticed I was gone for a few days.
I had some pretty important stuff going on, and I just didn’t have any energy to
write. I’m going to tell you what happened to us. I could have written this
without so much detail, but I think the details might be important for someone
who is in the same situation.
Four days ago Jeanene and I were looking at the
real possibility of our entire family being medically uninsured. No insurance of
any kind for us or our children.
Jeanene quit her job, as I’ve mentioned. After
20 years of chaplaincy, 20 years of being on-call for emergencies, she was
through. I could see it in her eyes. Some essential part of Jeanene  was gone.
Used up. And our children, particularly our middle daughter, really need a
parent at home right now.
She had to stop. An opportunity for me to do
some blogging work with The Christian Century and The High Calling gave us a
chance to let her retire from being a chaplain. We're taking a
significant pay cut, so it's risky. And there is no guarantee the blog networks
I work with will continue. This was an important decision for us and we agonized
over it. But sometimes in life you take a leap of faith. The faith we have is
not a faith that God will rescue us physically and make sure that everything is
okay. The Creator of the Universe has obviously made peace with the idea of
mostly letting things unfold here according to our choices and the natural
movement of the planet.
The faith we have comes with believing that it
was the right thing for her to leave. The right thing for her health and our
family. We felt peace about it. So we held hands and jumped.
---
About 6 years ago, when Jeanene was laid off
for a period of two years, we called Blue Cross Blue Shield and had health
insurance for our entire family in a matter of days. We thought we’d be able to
do that again.
We were wrong.
Our middle daughter has had some emotional
traumas in the last couple of years. She’s told me that I could write about our
journey through all of that, but it hasn’t felt right yet so I haven’t. With a
lot of help and with two serious medications, she’s doing well. She’s been doing
very well since the Spring.
Unfortunately, those two drugs and something
she went through in January make her untouchable. There isn’t an insurance
company in America that will take her. Even if we release the insurance company
from all mental health benefit obligations. Even if, like Blue Cross Blue
Shield, they don’t cover any mental health benefits anyway. Even so, no one
will take her. She’s tainted because of something that happened to her. It’s
strictly an emotional thing. She has no physical problems.
As it turns out, no one will take me either.
Why? Because I’ve been taking Wellbutrin for 2 years. It works beautifully.
It’s given me back my life. If you read my pieces on
depression you know how much I HATED to admit that I needed help
with a drug. But I obviously did.
But that’s it for me. I was turned down by Blue
Cross Blue Shield even though they don’t pay for any mental heath issues anyway.
I was even turned down by the insurance provider for Texas Baptist ministers who
serve small churches without benefits. I thought they would listen and give us a
chance. Nope.
I’m a bad risk now. That’s the thing. Good
heart. No cancer. No high blood pressure. Low cholesterol. I’ve never even had
surgery. I don’t smoke. I’ve only missed two Sundays in 17 years as a pastor for
illness. I’m a healthy guy, and I’m used to being treated like a healthy guy.
But I take Wellbutrin, so there must be
something wrong with me, right?
Actually, it’s not quite as personal as someone
looking you in the eye and saying, “You're a bad risk.” The health insurance
industry is too big for that. They have computer-generated statistics that tell
them people who take drugs for mental health reasons are bad risks - period. I
am a clear exception to that rule, but that’s the rule.
Congress passed a law called COBRA in 1986 that
requires employers to allow you to keep your insurance if you leave their
company. They don't have to help you pay for it anymore, but they have to carry
you - at your own expense - for at least 18 months. We went online and
discovered that it was going to cost us $1600 a month to keep our insurance. And
of course, that's only for 18 months. 18 Months from now we would be in the same
position.
We can’t afford that, so it’s really no option
for us. Please! That’s more than our house payment. Technically the hospital has
fulfilled the obligation of the law, but I don’t know too many families who can
afford $1600 a month for health insurance.
Texas has a state-subsidized health insurance
pool for people who can’t get health insurance. Shelby and I could go into the
state pool, leaving Jeanene and the other two girls to get their insurance in a
more traditional way. But now COBRA really comes back to bite you. The State
insurance pool won’t take you if you have any other options. Even if your only
option isn’t really an option because you don’t have $1600 a month.
We were falling into a crack in the system. We
can’t afford what the insurance company grudgingly offers ex-employees at an
insane price. And we don’t quality for the State insurance pool because they did
offer us something.
By Tuesday we had admitted defeat.
---
I’m going to tell you right now that this story
has a happy ending. But it could have gone the other way. Very easily could have
gone the other way.
We found a man in town who is a kind of
independent health insurance broker. He knows the system, and he can figure out
ways for you to get insurance. It’s not always great insurance, but he can find
something. He’s really good at what he does. I wouldn’t assume that many people
can find someone like him.
What if we hadn’t found out about him? Or what
if we lived in some other city and couldn't find someone like this? I keep
thinking about that. What if?
But we did find him. He came to our house on
Wednesday and got right to work. He pulled Shelby out of our family, as far as
insurance is concerned. Jeanene’s company has to cover her for 18 months because
of the COBRA law. If it is just her, the cost of COBRA drops to $300 a month. In
18 months that benefit will run out and she can go into the Texas pool for the
uninsured. Even this specialist admits that no one will ever cover Shelby for
anything as long as she is on the medication that is making her well and
keeping her from harming herself. Ironic, huh?
He knew of an insurance company - a good one -
that will take someone like me, someone who takes Wellbutrin or some other drug
for depression. They won’t cover me for mental health benefits - that’s over for
me - but they will at least cover me for regular medical coverage. And it’s
affordable.
You put the whole thing together and it comes
out to about $900 a month. That figure includes my medication, which I will have
to pay for myself from now on. That’s double what we were paying through
Jeanene’s work, but we can swing that. It’s going to be hard but we can do it.
So the story has a happy ending. Or at least a tolerable one.
So why am I telling you all of this? Because
this is what people are going through in our country. Jeanene and I work hard.
We’ve never been unemployed. In fact, for the last decade, we’ve had three jobs
between us. We don’t smoke and we don’t take risks. We’ve never had a single
major medical incident. You’d think a company would want to insure us.
No. And we came just that close to being
uninsured.
For many people this is never an issue because
they work for companies with insurance plans. If our church were large enough to
have a plan, we could have moved from Jeanene’s plan to my church’s plan. With
group insurance they have to take you if you currently have coverage.
That’s great for families with that option. But
what about families that only have one person working for a company with
insurance? If that person loses their job or can no longer work for any reason,
you have to get individual coverage. And with individual coverage, they can turn
you down for any reason they want.
You want to know something else? If you apply for
insurance and get turned down two or three times, that goes on your record.
Every time you get denied, other companies become even more unwilling to
consider you. With two or three rejections in your history (for any reason), you
can become uninsurable pretty quickly.
What I’m saying to you is, hard-working people
who are physically healthy sometimes can’t get health insurance. It almost
happened to us. If we hadn’t found this man and our insurance had lapsed for
more than 60 days, then we would really have been in trouble. Because being
uninsured is yet another big mark against you in the system.
People - it’s time we admit that the system
isn’t working. We are going to have to have some kind of a national health care
program. It won’t be perfect, but it will be better than what we have now. We
need it, and we need it quickly.

rlp
 

The first pastor of our church left rather
suddenly in 1992, five years after the church was formed. I was 31 years old,
and when the church asked if I would take his place I was happy to do so, though
I did not anticipate the troubles that would come with that transition. It's
always hard when a beloved pastor leaves a church. There is the grief that comes
from the loss of that relationship. And everyone knows that things will likely
change with a new minister. It’s a hard time for a church, a time of
uncertainty.
When our first
pastor left, a number of families left with him. I think we lost about a third
of our church in a matter of weeks. That was not a good sign, and I knew it. It
was a sign that we had been too dependent on his personality for our identity. I
tried not to take the people leaving personally, but I was young and took
everything personally. I wondered if their departure might be a sign that they
were uncertain about me. I was worried and for good reason. New churches are
fragile things. If a new church begins a downward spiral, things can fall apart
rather quickly. Some new churches don’t survive because they couldn’t weather
their first major crisis. I became anxious and found myself trying hard to keep
the remaining families happy so they wouldn’t leave as well.
In truth we were
in a difficult spot, but giving in to that kind of anxiety is always a bad move
for a minister. However, I was young and doing the best that I could at the
time.
All of this
happened about the same time that I met rabbi Jonah and his friend Robert in a
computer store. I overheard Jonah talking about some kind of Hebrew program. I
was interested and asked some questions about it myself. Before I knew it the
three of us were having coffee together.
Jonah and Robert
were both bound to wheelchairs, Jonah because of polio and Robert because of
muscular dystrophy. For the next year or so, I would go to visit them, load them
into their van – which was equipped with a wheelchair lift – and drive them
around town. We talked about theology, the scriptures, and the relationship
between our respective faith traditions. I liked them. Jonah could be a bit
overbearing at times, and he was certainly manipulative. I was aware of how he
always managed to talk me into doing things for them even as I was letting him
get away with it. I had never had friends in wheelchairs before, and I was
rather over-anxious to please them and be nice. And, as I said before, I was
young and fairly naïve about a number of things.
That Spring I thought it would be nice for our
church to have a Passover Seder together. The Passover meal is strictly a Jewish
observance, but many Christian churches - recognizing our obvious historical and
theological dependency on Judaism - will sometimes have a Seder meal as a kind
of religious education exercise.
And, I thought, who better to lead us in this
sacred meal than my own rabbi friend, Jonah? When I asked him, Jonah was
obviously pleased and readily agreed. At the time Jonah was not serving a
congregation, so I thought this would be nice for him. And I thought our church
would benefit from the cultural and spiritual exchange. I admit that I was also
hoping something like this would help solidify our sense of community as we
continued to adjust to the loss of our pastor and the families who left with
him. It was all good in my mind. There were no downsides that I could see.
As the time for
the Seder grew close, Jonah provided us with a list of supplies and detailed
recipes for the various dishes involved in the ceremony. A number of women in
our church took the recipes and prepared the food according to his instructions.
We had about 30 people planning to attend, which was roughly half of our church
at the time. The afternoon before the meal, we setup tables in a church member’s
home and made ready for Jonah and Robert’s arrival.
When I got to
their house, Jonah and Robert were dressed in their finest clothes and were both
wearing ceremonial yarmulkes. We chatted excitedly on the way, and when we
arrived everyone crowded around them both, making them feel welcome. The people
of our church sort of felt like they knew Jonah because I had mentioned him and
the things he had taught me about Judaism in several sermons.
The meal began and
Jonah carefully explained the meaning behind all of the symbols and dishes. The
Passover Seder is an allegorical meal that commemorates God leading the children
of Israel out of slavery in Egypt. Each dish has a specific meaning. The whole
thing was fascinating for about 45 minutes. Then the food was gone and Jonah
began speaking on a variety of topics, apparently whatever was coming to his
mind. Things began to drag a bit. Jonah kept talking. He got lost in what he was
saying and wasn’t paying attention to what was happening around him. I noticed
people reaching the limits of their attention spans and disconnecting. Children
were getting fussy and fidgety. People began to rest their heads in their hands
and look around the room. Being ultimately responsible for what happens at
church events like this, I began to be very uncomfortable about the
deterioration of interest in the room.
Jonah, on the
other hand, seemed to have no awareness whatsoever of the feedback their body
language was giving him. He was lost in the beauty of his tradition and spoke on
and on, his eyes partially closed and his voice a grinding monotone. Twenty
minutes turned into thirty minutes and then to forty-five. I kept looking for an
opening so that I could break in and draw this thing to a close, but there were
no pauses and I couldn’t catch Jonah’s eye.
Finally, just when
I thought the people in the room couldn’t stand it any longer, Jonah paused and
took a deep breath. Apparently he had reached the end of his long discourse.
When everyone sensed he was coming to a close, they reconnected with him. There
was no ill will in the group. After all, he was rather elderly and our guest.
But still, I could tell that everyone was happy this was finally coming to an
end. And so was I.
Jonah looked
around the room very deliberately, as if taking measure of the people. Then -
and I will never forget this moment if I live to be a hundred - he carefully
pressed the fingertips of his two hands together in front of him, and said, “Now,
let me explain to you why it is simply not possible that Jesus could be the
messiah.”
Having relaxed a
bit as he seemed to be coming to a close, these words hit me like a
sledgehammer. I felt a rush of panic. I looked around the room to see mouths
dropping open. Children were looking curiously at their parents. “Mommy, what’s
that man saying about Jesus?” One or two people looked a little angry. A man
named Steve, one of our few new members, crossed his arms and looked like
someone had suggested to him that our church take up communism and maybe devil
worship while we were at it.
If this happened
now, I would have stopped him. I would have simply stood up and said, “Jonah,
thank you for coming. Time is late and we’d better bring this to a close. Blah
blah blah.” No problem. But I was young and nice and anxious, and I had not
imagined myself in this position. So Jonah spoke for five or six minutes and
explained to us all the reasons why a central truth of Christianity simply could
not be true.
I really don’t
remember anything that he said. I was too busy looking at the faces of the
people and wondering how many of them might not come back. It was one of the
most awkward and uncomfortable things I’ve ever sat through. When Jonah finished
his diatribe, the evening was over. I felt absolutely miserable. I was the new
pastor of this small, still-grieving church, supposedly a gatekeeper of the
content of our worship, and I had set this whole thing up. I wondered if there
might be an emergency business meeting later that night which would result in me
being asked to leave.
I loaded the two of them into their van in the
darkness. I didn’t know what to say. I was hurt and angry that he would put me
in such an awkward position. I stared straight ahead as I pulled the lever that
lifted their chairs up into the van. As I pulled out of the driveway, Jonah
said, “Well, I think that went pretty well, don’t you?” I said nothing. I just
drove them home.
Apparently it never occurred to Jonah that it
might be somewhat offensive to show up as a guest at a Christian church, be
given a platform, then say such difficult and frightening things in a group of
families with children. I really don't think he had any idea that what he had
said was painful for the group. He was lost in the beauty of his tradition and
blundered clumsily through ours without thinking much about it.
As it turned out, almost everyone thought it
was rather funny. Some saw how bad I felt about the whole thing and felt badly
for me. Nothing came of it. Well, Steve and his family left the church, but they
were probably going to leave anyway. And honestly, I really didn't mind seeing
them go. Steve was a pretty angry guy. Something or other would have eventually
pissed him off anyway.
Nothing like that ever happened again with
Jonah. He and Robert and I remained friends. I never said anything to him about
the event. Maybe I should have, but I don't know what that conversation would
have done for anyone.
And maybe it was a good thing for us to have
experienced after all. Because Christianity is the dominant religious expression
in our culture, Christians are usually on the other side of these situations. We
are often the ones who pray at gatherings of Christians, Jews, and others and
use the name of Jesus in ways that must make our friends uncomfortable. At every
turn, the words and symbols of Christianity blare out of radios and shout from
the street corners. Secular people and those of other faiths are often left to
stand in silence while our words of faith swirl uncomfortably around them.
Having once been on the painful side of a
collision between religious traditions, my suggestion is for all of us is to
cultivate a healthy sense of humor and a deliberate tolerance in mixed
companies. Our philosophies, theologies, and religious practices are bound to
collide sometimes. It's going to happen. And sometimes when it happens, no one
meant any harm. Most of us are guilty of mental lapses now and then. Our
continued good will and the cultivating of cooperation between religions is far
more important than any theological point you might want to make.
And if perchance someone from another tradition
says something that rubs you the wrong way, remember that they have no power
over you and your faith. Let the event be something that we learn from and not
something that tears us apart.

rlp
Note: I first wrote about
Jonah and Robert in this story.
Later I wrote this.
When Jonah died, I wrote about that too.
Passover Seder
 

So we've all been hearing about Web 2.0. It's sort of like the word
postmodern. People say it - you even say it - but the meaning behind it is
slippery.
I've had an intuitive "feel" for Web 2.0 for a
long time. That's what brought me to blogging, strangely enough. I wanted to
write and "felt" that this was a good way to do it. I'm rather stuck between
traditional media and social media. I did write a book, but it didn't sell that
well, and I don't care enough to try to do anything about that. I do write for a
magazine, but I send them traffic with my blog. Where do I fit in all this?
Once traditional media sources were the
gatekeepers, the lords of information. And we needed these experts. We still
need them, but we need them in different ways. In the new world of information,
millions of people write and tag information either formally with tagging
systems, or informally by linking to something they like. Good, reliable
information rises to the top through a fascinating system of trust and
reputation. Break that trust and you'll find your links disappearing quickly and
your traffic dwindling.
We need experts to help tag information and
create the links and the networks. You won't be as much of a star as a columnist or
anchor-person, but you will be in the game. You probably won't be in the game if
you can't let go of traditional media ideas.
Write well. Write about true things. Write
responsibly and use the best information you can gather. People will read you and tag you and link
to you. Good information has a way of rising to the top. Not all good
information rises to the top, but that's always been the case. Not every good
writer was published in the old system either. Occasionally some junk gets
through, but that's always been the case as well. Trust me on this: if you are a
writer, you have a
better chance in this new world. More good writers will be read in our new world
of networked information.
If these changes threaten or anger you, join in
the conversation. But PLEASE resist the juvenile urge to find some single perceived flaw
with the Internet and trumpet it loudly and with glee. e.g. the

Wikipedia critics who keep telling us that bad
information could get in. GASP! REALLY? I'll keep that in mind as I weigh the
benefits of this massive and constantly updating information network against my
2001 Encyclopedia Britannica.
This developing information system isn't perfect.
No system is. Would you like us to list the flaws inherent in newspapers and
television news? Do you really want to compare the amount and quality of
information that a motivated person could gather 25 years ago with the information an experienced internet
veteran can gather in 20 minutes today?
Check out this video. It tells the story pretty
well.
Hat tip to
TGIS.

rlp
 

sup ya'll.
this is rlp's homie g.
first star on the belt.
word.
no thoughts going on in this tank.
go see martian child.
kissies! <3

Yesterday was Jeanene's last day at the
hospital. The last two months have been very difficult for both of us. Leaving
her 20-year career as a hospital chaplain is, well, the largest vocation-related
decision of her life. And I, having begun working with two organizations in
forming blog networks and traveling for an unusual number of speaking
engagements, have really let my writing suffer. I don't feel badly about that.
There was no option. But I do miss writing. I miss it like you miss a child who
is away from home for too long.
Next week I will talk to you about the two blog
networks I am working with, inviting you to join in if you like. And next week I
intend to begin a number of long overdue stories and essays. For one thing, I'm
going back to the early days with another story about Jonah and Robert, my
Jewish friends from two
early
essays. I'm going to tell you the story of
the rosaries I keep making and how I keep losing them. And I think our friend
Foy is due a little attention, as is our friend Jesus who needs another RLPDV
just because it is time.
So here I am on Friday, needing the rest of the
day for my sermon. Drinking coffee and dreaming of the new life Jeanene and I
are beginning.
see ya next week. I can't wait.
rlp

What if you and I could sit across the table
from each other tonight, under the stars? What would you say to me? Some people
say, “I’ve read a lot of your writing, you know?”
“Yeah?” I say.
There’s not much to say after that. “Thanks”
doesn’t seem to work. “That’s cool” sounds arrogant, like it’s somehow cool to
have read things that I wrote. Mostly I just hold still until the moment passes.
“Is that weird?” people sometimes ask. “Is it
weird to suddenly find out that some stranger knows a lot of personal stuff
about you, and you don’t know anything about them?”
This really does happen to me. It happened to
me last week, as a matter of fact. A guy named Gary at a coffee shop. Really
great guy. English accent. We ended up talking for about two hours.
“No,” I say. “It’s not weird because I don’t
think about it. It’s like it’s not happening.”
That’s the truth. It’s as if someone said, “I
saw you naked two weeks ago.” Yeah? Well, you’re not seeing me naked now, so I
guess it doesn’t bother me too much unless we keep talking about it.
Now if I could ask you something – anything – I
would say, “Do you believe in things that we might want to be true, but for
which there isn’t a lot of hard evidence, maybe no hard evidence at all?”
I’d be trying to ask if you are a faith person.
Any kind of faith person. Maybe you believe in Buddha, or Jesus, or God, or
Allah, or any number of other ideas about an eternal being or beings. And if it
turned out you were a faith person, I’d like a follow-up question.
What kind of faith do you have?
Is it frightened faith? You need the comfort of
believing in the stuff your parents taught you about God, and you’re scared
shitless that someone is going to talk you out of it? That’s okay. I've been
there myself. I’m just trying to figure you out.
Or is yours that kind of arrogant faith that
says, “Everyone else must be a complete idiot not to have faith and believe what
I believe.” I hope not, because you seem so nice. Plus, I probably don't believe
what you believe, so now I'm stupid and how are we going to have a decent
conversation once that's established?
Is it desperate faith? Are you trying to hold
onto meaning in a world in which meaning is increasingly hard to find? Yeah, I
get that. I feel you.
Is it stubborn faith, like mine? Are you just
ornery enough to stare down an empty universe and say, “I DEMAND that
there be meaning in these skies.” And then you stare real hard and angry right
into the Milky Way. Then you laugh because of how small and silly you are. You
laugh at yourself, but you keep staring. You ARE going to stare down the
universe.
You know, I’d just kind of like to know what
kind of faith is keeping you in the game these days.
Or.
If you’re really not a faith person – at least
not so much in the obvious and traditional ways – then I’d be REALLY fascinated
and want to know the whole story.
Are you the sort who has always seen the
default human position as NOT believing in magic or gods or any of that stuff?
In your mind the evidence would have to be pretty strong to push you away from
your default position of unbelief. Maybe you’ve never been able to understand
why so many see it the opposite way. Like believing in God is the default, and
you’d better have a damn good reason for not believing.
See I would get that. I would so get that about
you. Because I seem to see just about everything in ways that are the exact
opposite of most people. I know what that’s like.
Are you a kind of arrogant, angry, “only idiots
believe in God” sort of person? I hope not. Because if you are, then I’m stupid,
and how are we going to have a conversation now that my stupidity is out on the
table for everyone to see.
Ooh, are you one of those dreamy and courageous
scientist types, who has such a rigorous epistemology that you just can’t
violate it for mythic reality, no matter how beautiful the myth and no matter
how old it is?
Yeah, see I find that to be romantic. I was
almost you. Just…almost. Sometimes I fantasize about being you.
So when the conversation dies down and we are
both left looking at the stars, wouldn’t it seem like there would be no way we
could remain unchanged? For one thing it would be just the two of us sitting at
our little table beneath an infinite dome of starry mystery. We’d be talking
about all the possibilities of what might be. It seems like there would be no
way we could avoid feeling like brothers or brother and sister, right? Two
humans, pitting their minds, hearts, and souls against the sky and against the
unfolding drama of knowledge and mystery?
It would be sad when we had to part ways, and I
would probably say, “But we can still be friends, right?"

rlp
 

Note: this is rather lengthy and it is an
update about things that are happening in my life. If you are interested in that
sort of thing, read on.
Life doesn't change in gentle curves. What
usually happens is that you move along in one direction, thinking things are
going smoothly, then some event occurs that throws you off-course. Sometimes
these events are things we choose. Sometimes not. There is grief and stress as
you adjust, but soon things smooth out and it feels like your life is "on
track." again.
Jeanene and I have experienced a fair amount of
significant changes in our lives over the last half decade or so. And we're
about to experience another major change. This one is pretty big. It has to do
with that elusive but important thing which all adults must do. We call it,
"Making a living."
A brief history of how we have made our living
so far:
Jeanene and I came to San Antonio in the fall
of 1989, fresh out of seminary. We went to seminary together, both receiving the
standard seminary degree (Master of Divinity) in 1987. We spent about 18 months
doing Clinical Pastoral Education, she at one hospital and me at another. We
came to San Antonio because the Baptist Healthy Care System was hiring a woman
chaplain. They chose Jeanene. I, on the
other hand, had no job at all. Our only daughter was 7 months old, so I was a
stay-at-home daddy for a time. Jeanene worked and made the money. I stayed home,
vacuumed, changed diapers, and took care of Reiley.
It was the hardest job I've ever had. Hands
down, nothing else comes close. Perhaps I'll write about that someday.
After some months, I got a part-time job at
this new and very unusual (and in our minds very attractive) little church.
Covenant Baptist Church was what they were calling it. This was sometime in
1990. Jeanene went to work at 6am and came home at 3pm. I did my work mostly
after 3:00. We did a kind of tag-team thing with Reiley for a time. Another
child came in 1992, and then a third in 1996. We both worked at jobs and at
children. We got by - sometimes barely.
In the early 90s, having sold a G.I. Joe
collection to buy my first computer, I became something of a computer geek. In
1995 I began fooling around on the Internet, which led to designing websites. To
make a long story short, I ended up with a small web design business from 1996
until 2006. During those years I made half of my living from the church and half
doing web design and hosting websites.
Real Live Preacher caught us both by surprise.
I began my blog on a lark, as most of us bloggers do. I did not anticipate how
important writing was going to become to me. Nor could I have possibly
anticipated the popularity of this blog or that it would lead to other writing
opportunities. There was an awkward two or three years where I had three jobs -
minister, web designer, and writer. Of the three, writing did not pay. But I was
unable not to write. I can't explain it beyond that. Once I started writing,
there was no question of stopping.
I somehow managed a complex and difficult
transition away from web designing and into professional writing. That
transition would not have been possible without the help of dear friends. I'm
still working that out, as most of you know. It is VERY hard to make a living as
a writer. Indeed, I haven't yet figured out how to do that. But with a few
people subscribing to Real Live Preacher and with writing relationships with the
Christian Century and The High Calling, I manage.
And it was looking like that was going to be
our lives for some time. Jeanene a chaplain. I a pastor and writer. We were okay
with that life.
But some things have happened. Now everything
is going to change.
Jeanene's hospital was purchased by a for
profit corporation. I have nothing bad at all to say about them, but
administrative requirements began to pile up. Jeanene has been a chaplain for
many years, longer than any other chaplain in the system. She is an amazing
professional, competent, knowledgeable about many facets of health care, and
somehow she has retained a deep compassion for people. Truly, I'm in awe of the
way she continues to walk right into the lives of traumatized people without
fear. Even after 20 years, she cares deeply for them. But in recent years, her
life has begun to look more like the life of a corporate executive and less like
the life of a minister. She has stuck it out and tried heroically to find
meaning in this new world of health care, but doing so has taken a toll on her
soul. I've seen the light go out of her eyes over the last few years, and that
is a terribly sad thing to see.
Around the same time, I began to think about
the idea that a network of branded blogs could be of value to organizations,
particularly organizations that increasingly depend on Internet traffic. I spoke
about this concept to a number of organizations. Christian Century and The High
Calling were both interested and ended up hiring me to oversee this kind of blog
network for their organization.
This new possibility allows Jeanene to do
something that she needs to do. She needs to leave the hospital. She announced
her resignation on November 1st. Her last day is next week.
In the meantime, yours truly is now a
professional blogger. That's fine, but I've been trying to pastor, write, and
setup two networks of blogs. I was doing pretty well until the whole thing with
my book hit. So now I've been a pastor, a writer, a professional blogger, and a
shipping clerk. Did I mention that I'm the one who gets our kids off to school
and gets them home in the afternoon? Well, I do.
It's been an impossible situation, and my
writing has suffered terribly. You can't do everything. I ought to know because
I've tried many times. It doesn't work.
But next week everything changes. Jeanene will
be at home and have primary care responsibilities for the children. Our oldest
is now in college, but the other two are still in school and require all the
things that school children must have. Jeanene is going to resume making her
beautiful prayer beads and take some time to figure out what she will be doing
with the second half of her life. She has worked hard for many years. This
sabbatical time is needed, and she's going to take it slowly, I hope.
And what of me, dear readers? I will be set
free to work. I don't ask much of life - I want to work and I want to write. And
I want ample time to do a good job at both. With my schedule liberated (imagine
a day expanding from 6 productive hours to as many as 12 if needed) I will have
no problem being a pastor, running a couple of blog networks, and writing to my
heart's content.
I doubt I'll get much writing done until next
week. But after that, get out of my way, because rlp is going to explode!

One of the three who make it all worthwhile.
gordon
 

I want to mention a couple of things to you.
First,
Christian Century has published one chapter
from The Shepherds' Story. It's the chapter where the angels show up and scare
the you-know-what out of the shepherds. They were kind enough to run this on the
front page of their website. So if you're curious about the story, there you go. 

[direct link to the story]
Second, Viva Books
is going to have a virtual book signing for me next Thursday, December 7th. I
think it will be from 4-7pm, CST. Some of you may remember back in 2004 when
they did this for my book of essays. The virtual signing is a chatroom with a
webcam of some kind. I'll wear my blue jean clerical shirt, but probably not the
hat this time. If you buy any of the Christmas stories at that time, I'll say
hello in the chatroom and even sign them for you if you want. I hope you'll drop
by and say hello. I had a great time meeting a bunch of you last time.
The whole signing thing is still VERY weird and
embarrassing for me, but what the hell. People seem to like it. It's kind of a
friendly thing.
I'll post details about the location of the
chatroom next week.
Last - I'll be ringing the bells again
this Saturday at Wal-mart. Two rlp readers are going to be there to help. Some
of you noticed we were in short
sleeves last week and marveled at the ferocity of Texas winters.
Yeah, it was in the 80s that day. Well, a cold front blew in today. Saturday
looks to be little bit colder.
I might have to wear a sweater!
rlp
ps - Titles fascinate me. I love clever ones,
but by the time I finish writing something, I abhor trying to come up with a
title. (Hence, "The Shepherds' Story" - ahem)
But
this title ROCKS. The guy that wrote it is
a long-time blog friend. I love it. "Not So Much The Liking Snow Thing."

Bell Ringing:
Saturday I managed to get 7 people to join me in standing in front of a
local Wal-Mart, wearing a Salvation Army Apron, and ringing a bell for two
hours. I had to work a double shift, but that was fine with me. There was a time
when I thought I might be out there for six or even eight hours.
A lot of things go through your mind when you stand in front of
a store ringing a bell. First, the people-watching is amazing. Unless they plan
to drop something in the can, people do not want to make eye contact with the
Salvation Army guy. So you're free to watch and stare as much as you want.
You're invisible.
Second, the bell ringing is trippy. When you
hear the same bell for two hours, your mind starts playing with you. I swear I
think my bell had a sweet spot. If I hit that spot there was a clear ring.
Otherwise it was a different pitch and more of a rattle. I also had about five
or six different rhythms that I fell into. A single ring on the bell or a double
ring, down and back up. I was having a blast, but that's just me; I'm weird that
way.
And last, I must say that the Salvation Army
bell ringer is not a real human being in anyone's mind. There's the pot and the
sound of the bell and you, standing there like a cartoon character. The feeling
of being a part of the scenery was so profound that when my shift was over and I
walked into the Wal-Mart to buy a coke, it felt strange being allowed to walk
among the people.
One Real Live Preacher reader came down from Austin, if you can
believe it. He was a very nice guy, and we had kind of a single-serving
friendship. Doesn't mean I wouldn't like to see him again, but you know how that
goes.
Michael K, you da man. Thanks a bunch. It was
great meeting you. Tell the folks at the Thursday night thingy I said hello. If
I'm ever in town on a Thursday night, maybe I can crash the gate.
The first of the three sisters helped out. She's a senior this
year, about to turn 18. I'm coming to grips with the idea of her being an adult.
And leaving home. That's bad and good, you know? Anyway, thanks Reiley.
Let's see, there was Renee and John and
Jeanene, all from our church. And finally, a friend of mine
who is an Episcopal priest in town joined us. Cristopher is the guy who gave me
the pen that I still use and that inspired
this piece.
C, thanks man. And I'm serious about the
baseball thing, okay? Very serious. Expect to hear from me on that one.
So it was a good day. We raised a lot of money
for our local Salvation Army chapter, one of the few left that is completely run
by volunteers. This money will buy food for hungry people, be set aside for
disaster relief, and will even pay some utility bills when people come up short
at the end of the month. That kind of thing.
I'll be out again next Saturday with a new
bunch of victims volunteers. I have two RLP readers lined up
for next week. One from Austin and one from the other side of town. I still
have slots available....hint, hint.
So What else am I doing?
Well the Christmas story is done. Sales
are okay. Steady. I did take a little flak from one reader who feels my blog has
become all about money now, or as he put it, "The almighty dollar." That one
stung a bit, I'm embarrassed to admit. But the reality of life is that writing
must produce some income for me, so I have nothing to apologize for. It's good,
honest work if you can get it. There's no one out there helping writers make a
living. You have to do it yourself.
And finally, yes, an unapologetic plug for my

wife's new jewelry. I think it's beautiful
stuff - inspired even - and again, it's honest work making it.
Finally, I'm working on a number of things
right now, including some new video blogs. Look for those sometime during
December. I've come out of a fairly productive writing period. After I was
FINALLY done with the shepherd story, I kind of gushed for a bit. And now the
first Sunday of Advent is looming. The pastor part of my life needs some
attention. I better get to it.
rlp

Well, believe it or not, I might not have to
spend the entire day Saturday ringing a bell at Walmart. Two rlp readers are driving in
from Austin, and another from the other side of San Antonio. One person is
actually considering flying to San Antonio, ringing a bell outside of Wal-Mart
on Saturday, and then going to our church the next morning. Will wonders never
cease. Whatever happens, I'll take pictures and have some stories to tell.
I think if I get one more person for this
Saturday, I can cover both doors from 10am to 6pm. I'll probably be ringing for
four to six hours, but I've had worse Saturdays.
I mentioned that my wife
Jeanene had been making necklaces and prayer beads in the
Anglican style and had listed a few for
sale at
her website. Six of them sold in a couple
of days, which was a nice surprise. She's put six new ones online. Who knows
where this is going. To be honest, none of us knows where life is leading us.
One day you're doing one thing and the next thing you know you're selling beads.
Go figure.
This guy
is an Episcopal priest here in San Antonio and has become a pretty good friend
since I met him in a coffee shop. He gave me a fountain pen, which I

wrote about once for Christian Century.
We watched the Cowboys beat the Colts together
this weekend, which was wonderful. And we have an idea for the coolest

lectionary study group EVER. Stay tuned for
more on this later.
rlp

We've all seen them, the people standing next
to the Salvation Army kettles around Christmas. They ring a bell; you feel
either guilty or suddenly infused with holiday spirit; you drop some spare
change in the little red bucket thingy. And you feel okay about yourself for
maybe a minute or two.
Let me tell you something about the Salvation Army:
they do the kind of street-level care of hungry and hurting people that most of
us simply cannot fit into our ridiculously busy lives. And many, if not most
churches - mine included - regularly send people to the Salvation Army when our
own resources are tapped or when we are too busy to deal with another situation.
Our local Salvation Army NEVER TURNS ANYONE
AWAY. Not so far in over 15 years. They always find some way to help.
So I met the volunteer director of our local
chapter recently. I was very intimidated by the saint-like nature of his
calling, and I treated him like he was Jesus' best friend. Because, of course,
he is. And I found out an amazing thing. The Salvation Army never asks for
money. They just stand outside ringing a bell and trusting that the basic
generosity of the American people will provide the funds needed to take care of
our own. And so far, it has.
Well this guy got a Wal-Mart dropped in his lap
at the last minute and he desperately needs volunteers to stand outside for a
two hour shift and ring a bell. You don't say anything except "thank you" when
someone drops some money in the pot.
Filled with sappy, sentimental, Jesus feelings,
I impulsively volunteered to be in charge of two Saturdays. Sixteen 2-hour
shifts. This Saturday and next Saturday (11-25 and
12-2). I mentioned it at church, but people are busy and involved in
other very good, charitable things right now. So far it's just Jeanene and I and
one woman named Renee. BUT let me be clear about something. This is NOT a
ministry of our church. This is my deal. My responsibility.
So...yeah, okay, I'm going to spend a fairly
serious amount of time ringing a bell outside a Wal-Mart for a couple of
Saturdays. I'm going to wear my blue-jean priest shirt and bring my camera.
Certainly at least one funny/interesting/tragic/freakish thing will happen. Hey,
at the very least, this is going to be incredible blog fodder, right? Expect to
read more about this debacle, um...adventure.
SO THAT BRINGS ME TO THE BIG QUESTION:
Wanna help? If you live anywhere near San
Antonio and want to join me ringing a bell outside Wal-Mart, send me an email
and I'll sign you up. Two hours is the minimum. Here is what I will do for you.
These are totally not bribes. I'm not into that. But I will feel
such an immediate kinship with you that I'll want to do something nice. So:
1. I'll give you a signed copy of my
Christmas book.
And
2. I'll personally go into the Wal-Mart
and buy you some cookies or something to eat. Maybe even stand outside with you
and eat them while we watch people.
And
3. Take a picture of you for the blog IF
you don't mind.
That's the deal. Send email if you are
interested.

rlp