instrument of incarnation

During this season of Advent, I have had a heightened sense of anticipation about the arrival of the newborn King. As I have had the privilege of being involved in worship planning for our Advent services at Immanuel, as I have listened intently to my pastor's thought-provoking sermons, as I have read Scripture aloud in worship, as I have listened to choirs sing, as I have sat quietly alone in a beautifully decorated sanctuary during my morning devotions, the story of Christ's birth has fallen freshly upon my ears. With childlike wonder I have been struck by the vibrancy of the story. As Mary contemplated all the events surrounding the birth of her precious son, Luke tells us that she "treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart" (Luke 2:19). Like Mary, I have been doing a lot of pondering these days.

One morning this week I came across these words in Calvin Miller's The Christ of Christmas: Readings for Advent: "How much convincing does it really take to share with someone the blessings of Christmas? The world rarely responds to our profound arguments. It is rarely moved by our wise perspectives, even when we present them well. It is more often won by our thoughtfulness than our theology. It is more often drawn to God by His presence in our lives than by our persuasion. It is our Christ, not our creed, which captures people's hearts." In his concluding prayer, Miller wrote: "Lord, make me an instrument of your incarnation. Live in me until my life is so submerged in Yours that I am invisible. Wherever I go, whatever I do, may I hear those around me breathe the word Immanuel, suggesting that I am nothing and You are everything."

What does it look like to be an instrument of incarnation? That's what I'm pondering today.

career choices

This evening when I was on a quest to find a particular memento in my childhood scrapbook, I discovered the "Career Planning Report" I received in the ninth grade after taking a differential aptitude test. According to this informative report, my first choice of career goals was in the "Literary and Legal" group. "The occupational group which you name fits well with the school subjects and activities that you like," the report stated. "It also matches your educational plans and your tested aptitudes. On the basis of these facts, it looks like an occupational field which is a good match for your abilities and interests."

With great interest, I flipped the report over to learn which careers fell within the "Literary and Legal" group. Five choices were offered: book critic, librarian, editor, lawyer, and reporter. While I did aspire to be a reporter for a stretch during my childhood - when I was in the sixth grade I briefly published a newspaper that featured my own reporting on major league baseball games, with a strong emphasis on the Cincinnati Reds - I never considered any of the other four options.

Curious, I began to read through the groups of jobs and occupations listed on the back of the report to see which category "pastor" fell into, and I was surprised to discover that no ministerial career options were included at all. The closest thing I could find was the "Education and Human Welfare" category, which included: school teacher, college professor, guidance counselor, social worker, and clinical psychologist. I never considered any of those options either, despite the influence of my mother (school teacher) and my father (college professor).

I found the following instructive words in the report's fine print: "Remember that this report tells you how things look at the present time, and that your interests and goals may change." Indeed. I imagine that the percentage of high school freshmen who accurately predict their career path is fairly low. Not only may their interests and goals change over time, but they may discover career options that have never been on their radar screens - or their career planning reports. Thanks be to God, who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us (Eph. 3:20).

The Christ of Christmas

In my devotions during Advent, I am using The Christ of Christmas: Readings for Advent by Dr. Calvin Miller. I had Dr. Miller for five classes at Beeson Divinity School - three preaching classes, one on church leadership, and a memorable course called "The Writing Minister." At the beginning of today's devotion on Luke 1:28-30, Dr. Miller writes: "A God big enough to make you afraid is powerful enough to accomplish all He is about to ask of you."

Do not be afraid, the Lord insists. That's easier said than done, I respond. The prayer that accompanies today's devotion speaks to anyone who has wrestled with feelings of inadequacy in the wake of God's call: "Lord, may I quit trying to figure out the mathematics of grace. You have chosen me because it is Your nature to use the bewildered. And that is enough for me. What would you have me to do?"

The Griever's Holiday Bill of Rights

Tonight I attended a very helpful and meaningful program at Alive Hospice about "Grief and the Holidays." During the program, grief counselor John Baker shared "The Griever's Holiday Bill of Rights":

1. You have the right to say "TIME OUT!" any time you need to.

2. You have a right to TELL IT LIKE IT IS.

3. You have a right to SOME "BAH HUMBUG" DAYS.

4. You have a right to DO THINGS DIFFERENTLY.

5. You have a right to BE WHERE YOU WANT TO BE.

6. You have a right to SOME FUN!

7. You have a right to CHANGE DIRECTION IN MID-STREAM.

8. You have a right to DO THINGS AT DIFFERENT TIMES.

9. You have a right to REST, PEACE, and SOLITUDE.

10. You have the right to DO IT ALL DIFFERENTLY AGAIN NEXT YEAR.

Boulevard Bolt

Last week I had my first experience with the Boulevard Bolt. This Nashville Thanksgiving Day tradition got its start in 1994, when a core group of folks from Immanuel Baptist Church, St. George's Episcopal Church, and The Temple Congregation Ohabai Sholom decided to collaborate to sponsor a race to raise money for Nashville's homeless community. This 5-mile race initially attracted 2,500 participants; this year 8,025 men, women, and children registered for the race - the largest number in the event's history. Through the years the Boulevard Bolt has donated over $1.2 million in grants to community agencies that assist the homeless, including Safe Haven Family Shelter, an organization my family has supported for many years.

As I worked at the registration table in Immanuel's Fellowship Hall four days last week, I had the opportunity to interact with an extraordinary assembly of volunteers from these three Belle Meade congregations. As I gave participants their race numbers, I learned that the Bolt has become a tradition for many families - an event they look forward to throughout the year. I registered several extended families, including one with 15 members. The "I came the longest distance to run" award goes to a young woman named Rachel, a Nashville native who now serves as a missionary in Guatemala.

On Thanksgiving morning, Paul, Chaney, and I reported for duty at the chip distribution tent at 5:30 a.m. As we pulled away from Belle Meade Boulevard several hours later, I marveled at the army of volunteers who had given of their time sacrificially to make this event possible. Without a doubt, the Bolt was the best part of my Thanksgiving weekend.

I confess that now I'm hooked. What an extraordinary event! I am grateful to the individuals from Immanuel, St. George's, and The Temple who took the initiative and chose to work together years ago to establish a race to help the homeless. Next year I look forward to volunteering to work the Boulevard Bolt once again - and this time I plan on walking it, too.

the Tambi heritage tour

Last Thursday afternoon I headed west - not very far though, just a two-hour drive to my birthplace: Jackson, Tennessee. My ultimate destination on Friday morning was Memphis, where I had arranged to spend some time gleaning wisdom from my friend Carol, who has been serving as the associate pastor of First Baptist Memphis for nine years. I planned to stay overnight in Jackson, so that I could visit with my son's lovely girlfriend at Union University and spend time with relatives who still call Jackson home.

While in Jackson, I embarked upon a brief, memory-laden tour of the city of my birth. I drove past our former homes on Grandview, Highland, and Hollywood. I cruised by the three elementary schools I attended: Andrew Jackson, Highland Park, Alexander. (Why I attended three schools in five years is another story.) I sought out the site of my birth, Jackson-Madison County General Hospital, as well as the old campus of Union University, where I spent the first months of my infancy living in Ellis Hall, the men's dorm where Mom and Dad served as dorm parents. I passed by my maternal grandparents' home on Skyline Drive, where for one stretch of time in the late 60s my family of five - with #6 on the way - lived in obviously cramped quarters with my grandparents and uncle. I returned to the former downtown location of First Baptist Church: the site of my parents' wedding, the church I attended for the first eleven years of my life; the place where I made a public confession of my faith in Jesus Christ and was baptized in the winter of 1974.

I was struck by the odd collection of memories that came flooding back during my far-too-brief heritage tour: hanging upside down from the branch of a dogwood tree in my grandparents' front yard; my New Year's Day stroll to a market with my best friend Jean to spend the silver dollar my great-grandmother gave me for Christmas on a "book" of Lifesavers; the soft bonnet hair dryer I was using as a kindergartner on the day when the earthquake shook my bedroom; my sister's ballerina necklace that I hurled onto a window ledge; the grilled cheese sandwiches my mother used to buy me on our post-kindergarten lunch dates at Woolworth's; the pleasurable walks with my Dad from his office on Union's campus to the public library.

Soren Kierkegaard observed, "Life must be lived forward, but can only be understood backwards." I have been doing a lot of looking backwards in the past few months, and the understanding I have gleaned propels me forward. I am grateful to God for my past and eagerly anticipating the future.

delicious autumn

A few days before my mother died, while I was seeking to pass the time while waiting and watching at my parents' house, I grew antsy. I felt the need to do something, to accomplish a task, even if it was insignificant. And so I began to sort through a wooden filing box that my mother kept in the kitchen near the phone. In this box I found a variety of items - an assortment of photos of her grandchildren, expired coupons, take out menus, recipes, my son's 7th grade awards day program, and a card from the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library & Museum.

The thing that caught my eye as I sorted through this random collection, though, was a page that my Mom had ripped from a magazine. The page featured the words of novelist George Eliot superimposed over a spectacular fall photo: "Delicious autumn. My very soul is wedded to it. And if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns." I immediately stopped my sorting and emailed this memorable quotation to my son, who - like his mother - prefers autumn over any other season.

Yesterday Chaney posted his newest creative project on his website - a short video that features an array of photographs that he had taken over the past few weeks in East Tennessee in an attempt to capture God's autumnal artistry. When I watched it, I smiled as George Eliot's words appeared on my MacBook, superimposed over my son's photographs of fall foliage. Delicious autumn, indeed.

Welsh melody

When I accompanied the Class of 2009 from First Baptist Nashville on their mission trip to Wales in July, our team visited the village of Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch on the island of Anglesey. This memorable name means "St. Mary's Church in the hollow of the white hazel near a rapid whirlpool and the Church of St. Tysilio of the red cave" and is officially the longest recognized place name in the United Kingdom. During our obligatory stop at James Pringle Weavers Visitor Centre, I recognized a tune being played by the harpist who was situated near the snack bar. This was a hymn tune, one that I knew I could find in The Baptist Hymnal, but for the life of me I couldn't recall the title of the hymn. On the drive back to our holiday homes in Pwhelli, the other sponsors and I repeatedly hummed the tune and tried to conjure up the words to the hymn, but only fragments came to mind.

This morning when I awoke, I realized that I was once again humming this tune. Why was it lodged in my mind, I wondered? Then I suddenly remembered: As Paul and I walked down the aisle to join Immanuel Baptist Church last Sunday, this was the very hymn that the congregation was singing. Hymn #497 in the 1991 edition of the The Baptist Hymnal is "The Master Hath Come"- Words: Sarah Doudney (1841-1926); Tune: ASH GROVE; Music: Welsh Melody.

I particularly love the second stanza of this hymn:

"The Master hath called us; the road may be dreary,

And dangers and sorrows are strewn on the track;

But God's Holy Spirit shall comfort the weary;

We follow the Savior and cannot turn back;

The Master hath called us: tho' doubt and temptation

May compass our journey, we cheerfully sing:

'Press onward, look upward,' thro' much tribulation;

The children of Zion must follow their King."

Pressing onward, looking upward, I follow my King.

my vocation

“A vocation found at the end of a long and twisting and surprising journey is no less a vocation than a vocation hoped for and dreamed of and lived for a lifetime.” Robert Benson in The Echo Within: Finding Your True Calling

On October 1, the Personnel/Search Committee of Immanuel Baptist Church in Nashville sent a letter to the congregation announcing that they were unanimously recommending me to serve as their Associate Pastor. I will preach next Sunday morning, October 11, and will share my faith story on Wednesday evening, October 14. The following Wednesday evening, members will vote on the recommendation to call me during the business meeting. My responsibilities will include providing leadership for young adults (with an emphasis on young families and their children), working closely with the Missions Committee to create opportunities for intergenerational ministry in the community, offering spiritual formation in small group settings, and participating in worship leadership and worship planning. Mine has indeed been a twisting and surprising journey, and I am inexpressibly grateful to God for providing me with this opportunity to use my gifts to build up the body of Christ at Immanuel Baptist Church. I look forward to sharing the details of my story with you face-to-face in the days to come. Many of you have been praying for me during the past year as I have sought to discern how God was leading me to serve Him in a new season of my life. God has very clearly led me down this path, and I deeply appreciate your intercessions on my behalf.

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight." Proverbs 3:5-6

the art of perception

This month's issue of Smithsonian magazine features a fascinating article written by Neal Hirschfeld titled "Teaching Cops to See," which describes how art historian Amy Herman helps police officers refine their observational skills. In her course "The Art of Perception," Herman challenges officers to interpret the scenes depicted in various works of art without allowing them to read the associated labels. She also forbids them from using the words "obviously" or "clearly" as they describe what they see, since what one person thinks is obvious may not be clear to someone else. The goal of the course is to help officers fine-tune their attention to detail, a critical skill in the crime-prevention/solving business.

At one of her classes at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Herman showed a group of NYPD captains a painting by Caravaggio (see above). Noting the coins on the table and the men's gestures, the officers assumed that a crime had taken place and the guilty party was being fingered. After their discussion, Herman revealed the truth: the painting was titled The Calling of St. Matthew. The young man hunched over the coins is Matthew, the tax collector, and the finger-pointing man in the shadows is Jesus Christ: "As Jesus went on from there, He saw a man named Matthew sitting at the tax collector's booth. 'Follow me,' he told him, and Matthew got up and followed him" (Matthew 9:9).

Reflecting on what he had learned in Herman's class, one officer commented, "Amy taught us that to be successful, you have to think outside the box. Don't just look at a picture and see a picture. See what's happening."

After reading the article, I thought about my own powers of observation. How often do I allow preconceived ideas to influence how I read a given situation? What details am I overlooking? What context is missing? Where is God in the midst of the scene and how is He calling me to respond? It's time for me to learn to think outside the box.

patience

"Don't pray for patience," some folks warn, "or you'll get it!" Somehow I don't think that a prayer for patience is a trigger for God to orchestrate a difficult set of circumstances in order to allow us to get on-the-job experience in the field of patience development. Instead, I believe that when we pray for patience, the Holy Spirit convicts us of our pre-existing impatient tendencies, prompting us to examine ourselves to uncover the reasons why waiting gets us so riled up.

During the past two days, I have had ample opportunities to reflect on whether or not I am making patient progress. On Monday I sat for nearly three hours with my parents in an uncomfortable oncologist's office waiting to get a report on my mother's recent scans. On Tuesday I sat in a hospital room for six hours with a friend while her husband underwent surgery. In both cases, I had expected a lesser wait. But in both cases, I kept frustration (and worry) at bay by refocusing my attention. Where was God in the midst of these situations? What good could I find in these extended periods of waiting?

“Patience is not an additive we take to withstand the perils of life, but rather an opening up and breathing in trust as we hope that God is indeed with us as we wait,” Bill Kees wrote. Waiting is never easy, even when you're anticipating that something wonderful is about to happen, but God is indeed with us as we wait.

"Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience" (Colossians 3:12).

praying the Psalms

I have recently returned to the practice of using Robert Benson's book Venite during my times of prayer. The book grew out of Benson's personal attempt to find a way to participate in the ancient prayer. I love the rhythms of the daily Offices, and even as I offer these prayers alone, I am aware that countless others are observing the same practice, praying the same words privately and corporately in faith communities around the world. The pattern of praise, confession, hearing the Word, and going forth is profoundly meaningful. I particularly love praying through the psalms in a 31-day cycle, and the timelessness of the psalmist's words never ceases to amaze me.

When I awoke this morning, I was mindful of the date - September 11. My mind drifted back to the events of 2001, and I prayed for those whose grief is heightened by this anniversary. Then I opened Venite and began to observe the Morning Office. The first of the three psalms to be read for the morning of the eleventh day of the month is Psalm 56: "Have mercy on us, for our enemy is hounding us. All day long the enemy assaults us and oppresses us. But whenever we are afraid, we shall put our trust in You. In You, Whose Word we praise, in You we trust and will not be afraid. You have noted our lamentations, and collected our tears in Your bottle. Are they not recorded in Your book?"

How those words must have resonated in the hearts and minds of those who uttered the ancient prayer on that morning eight years ago! Once again, God's Word strikes a deep chord. "In You, whose Word we praise, in You we trust and will not be afraid." Good words for the day. God's Word for the day.

walking on a leash

On my morning walk at Radnor Lake, I encountered a young woman who was trying to walk a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel on a leash. I emphasize the word "trying" because the woman was heading up the hill while the puppy was attempting to travel in the opposite direction. When the woman saw me watching her struggle, she explained with a smile, "We're still trying to learn how to walk on a leash."

As I watched the dog straining to distance himself from his master, a stanza from Robert Robinson's classic hymn "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing" popped into my mind:

"O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above."

Like the spaniel, I'm still learning how to walk on a leash. Like the spaniel, I am prone to wander. Like the spaniel, I need to be bound to my Master.

transition

The word "transition" came up yet again in a discussion over the weekend. Verily, my cup has runneth over with transitions during the past 18 months. These transitions didn't have the decency to space themselves out; instead, I have been forced to deal with multiple transitions simultaneously. Yet, I have determined that transition is not a dirty word.

In the transition discussion this weekend, a wise woman who has been experiencing her own cavalcade of change observed that she has come to view each transition as an opportunity. I concur. Often, transitional periods are times marked by grief, but they can also be times of great growth. I have learned to look for the new thing God is trying to teach me in each transition, and I try to trace His activity in my life as I recall how He has prepared me to face a given change. Transitions are clearly teachable moments, and I know from firsthand experience "that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope" (Romans 5:3-4).

Baptist women in ministry

Yesterday I was in a meeting that featured a lively discussion about Baptist women in ministry. These folks were all enthusiastic supporters of Baptist women in ministry, so we spent a fair amount of time considering all the reasons that women - from young women fresh out of seminary to more "mature" women who have been called to ministry later in life - have difficulty finding positions on church staffs, particularly pastorates.

Two fathers among the group spoke eloquently about their desire for their daughters to understand that God can indeed call them to serve as pastors. A college professor noted that fathers of female collegiate athletes provided much of the impetus for achieving parity among men's and women's sports when they began to speak out about the inequities they had observed.

The best story, however, came from a minister who serves in East Tennessee. She recalled the time when her church was searching for a pastor, and some folks made the argument that the congregation shouldn't consider a female candidate since the church's other two staff members were women. One member actually had the audacity to say, "We can't hire a woman as pastor because then we would have an all-female staff!" Imagine that - a single gender staff in a Baptist church. Who has ever seen the likes of such a thing?

walk and pray

The single biggest challenge I have faced in the two weeks that have elapsed since Paul and I moved Chaney into his dorm room at the University of Tennessee has been rhythmic in nature. After spending nearly 19 years building my life around my son's schedule, I suddenly had the opportunity to develop a new rhythm of daily life. In recent days I have relished the opportunity to renew my commitment to walk regularly at Radnor Lake, a practice I had abandoned in the summer due to three student ministry trips and a family vacation.

Radnor Lake is my sanctuary - the place where I sense God's presence most acutely. As I have walked down Otter Creek Road along the lake's southern shoreline recently, my mind has drifted back to the countless prayers I have uttered in this park in years past. I remember when I began to pray regularly for the Class of 2009 at my church - back when these students were still in middle school - and I recall many of the specific requests that I lifted up day after day on their behalf. As these students begin their freshman year of college, I am overwhelmed with gratitude to God for the myriad of ways He answered all those prayers.

"Call to me and I will answer you and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know" (Jeremiah 33:3). I have so much more to learn. Confident that God hears my prayers, I will continue to walk and pray.

Ode to AT&T Park

I have attended major league baseball games in 21 ballparks, including two facilities that have since been demolished (Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium and the old Busch Stadium in St. Louis) and one that is no longer used for baseball (Houston Astrodome). Therefore, I believe I have the breadth of personal experience necessary to proclaim that AT&T Park in San Francisco is the best ballpark in Major League Baseball. Here are ten reasons why I became so enamored with this ballpark when I visited it for the first time on July 30, 2009:

1. Location, location, location - The view of San Francisco Bay is memorable. Coors Field in Denver comes close with its beautiful vistas, but I think AT&T Park has it beat.

2. Female PA Announcer - I had never thought about the fact that every other PA announcer at every other sporting event I have ever attended was a man. What a pleasant surprise to hear a woman's voice for a change!

3. Weather - I realize that the majority of folks think that San Francisco's weather is a drawback rather than an attraction, but I loved the chilly night air and the ever-shifting mist.

4. Giant Coca-Cola bottle - I have a Coca-Cola kitchen, so I obviously loved the giant Coke bottle that loomed over the left field wall. (Of course, I love the giant Coke bottle at Turner Field in Atlanta, too.)

5. Concessions - I always take note of the unusual culinary fare sold at various ballparks. AT&T Park offers garlic fries at the concession sessions plus roving vendors selling churros and hot chocolate. Yum!

6. Willie McCovey - Nicknamed "Stretch," this Hall of Famer made his debut for the San Francisco Giants exactly 50 years ago on July 30, 1959. When the PA announcer noted his presence at tonight's game and he waved to the crowd from his box seat, the Giants fans gave him a standing ovation. Over the course of 22 years, McCovey hit 521 home runs, and he is one of only three players to hit home runs in four different decades (along with Ted Williams and Rickey Henderson).

7. McCovey Cove - No other ballpark provides kayakers with the opportunity to catch a home run ball. Lacking the steroid-induced firepower of Barry Bonds, there are no longer hoards of kayakers circling just outside of the right field wall in hopes of snagging a souvenir, but there were two kayaks present tonight, and one lucky lady did fish a home run ball out of the water.

8. Ferry service - I loved watching people arrive at the game via ferry. It reminded me of the Vol Navy - the folks who arrive at Neyland Stadium via boat and "sailgate" prior to UT football games.

9. Evacuation Announcement - I had never been in a ballpark before where instructions were given about how to evacuate. Clearly, this is a necessary precaution in San Francisco because of the ever-present threat of earthquakes, and I found the instructions reassuring rather than frightening.

10. Seagulls - As soon as the game was over and the crowd began to disperse, a flock of seagulls descended upon the park to scavenge for scraps of concessions. Hitchcock would have loved it!

For the record, the Giants defeated the Phillies 7-2. Go Giants!

a salute to Galen Clark

Often when I walk on the trails around Radnor Lake, I silently give thanks to God for the people who worked diligently to preserve this gem of a park from development. On Tuesday afternoon when I got my first glimpse of Yosemite Valley from Glacier Point, I wanted to shout with joy to thank God for Galen Clark, the man who is not only responsible for preserving the Yosemite area – including Yosemite Valley and the Mariposa Grove of giant sequoias – but also for launching the nationwide preservation movement that resulted in the establishment of America's National Park System. I learned about Galen Clark from Ranger Phaedra Stefankas, who enlightened the crowd that had gathered at Glacier Point for sunset about Yosemite’s history. Thanks to Clark’s efforts, the breathtaking Yosemite Valley and the awe-inspiring Mariposa Grove of giant sequoias initially became the heart of a state park, an action that became official when President Abraham Lincoln, in the midst of the Civil War, signed the papers to approve the grant. A San Francisco newspaper began spreading the word about the wonders of Yosemite, and soon other visionaries, like John Muir, joined the effort to preserve areas of unique natural beauty across America.

This fall Ken Burns and Dayton Duncan will release their latest documentary project – a film about America’s national parks. It is fitting that footage of Yosemite Falls will be featured in the opening sequence of the film. In the latest issue of National Geographic’s Adventure magazine, Burns observes that our national parks aren’t simply places that our nation has preserved; they are “also something we’ve accomplished: one of America’s best ideas.” I wholeheartedly agree. And gauged by the number of international visitors who joined my family at Glacier Point last night to watch the sun set on Half Dome, I would say the world agrees that the establishment of America’s National Park System was indeed a grand idea.

“I will praise you, O Lord, with all my heart; I will tell of all your wonders.” Psalm 9:1

The Nixon-vacation connection

I have long associated Richard Nixon with summer vacations, so it was fitting that we visited the Richard Nixon Presidential Library and Museum on the first full day of our California vacation. Let me explain.

On August 9, 1974, as my family pulled out of the parking lot at the Absaroka Mountain Lodge just east of Yellowstone National Park, my father flipped on the radio and we heard the news that Richard Nixon was resigning as the 37th president of the United States. Although I hadn't yet celebrated my tenth birthday, I was already fascinated with politics, due in part to the fact that my father had just run an unsuccessful campaign for Congress. But my particular interest in Nixon's fate had been stoked the previous summer when I spent countless hours at my maternal grandmother's house watching the Watergate hearings. Let me add that I did not initially watch these hearings because I was a young political junkie - rather, their broadcast preempted the game shows I usually watched while I tooled around in my grandparents' den.

So it was with great interest this morning that I paid a visit to President Nixon's library in Yorba Linda, California. Before we began exploring the library, we watched a 28-minute movie about Nixon's career titled "Never Give Up: Richard Nixon in the Arena." The movie was produced before Nixon's death, and it featured his personal commentary about various events. My favorite quotation came near the end of the movie when Nixon, reflecting on his life, quoted Sophocles: "One must wait until the evening to see how splendid the day has been."

The library is well worth a visit if you're in the area. The special exhibit "Man on the Moon: The 40th Anniversary of Apollo 11" brought back a lot of other childhood memories. The "World Leaders" and "Structures of Peace" exhibits reminded me of Nixon's significant achievements in foreign affairs. Because my grandmother was a florist, I was particularly taken with the First Lady's Garden, which was filled with aromatic roses. I was also fascinated with the display of Time Magazine covers featuring Nixon. Did you know he appeared on the cover 54 times - more than anyone else in history? I grinned when I saw the "Keep it Green" t-shirts for sale in the bookstore, a nod to Nixon's creation of the Environmental Protection Agency in 1970.

I have now had the privilege of visiting four of our nation's twelve presidential libraries - including the Harry S. Truman Library in Independence, Missouri; the Jimmy Carter Library in Atlanta; and the John F. Kennedy Library in Boston - and I hope to cross the other eight off my bucket list eventually. In the meantime, tonight I will get to check something else off my bucket list as we attend the Anaheim Angels-Cleveland Indians game at Angel Stadium. (Out of principal, I refuse to call them the Los Angeles Angels at Anaheim. Ridiculous name.) The Swiney family has been on a quest to visit all of the major league baseball parks, and this will be the first of five games that we will attend during our California vacation. Play ball!

how many states

One of the latest chain notes that is winding its way through the pages of Facebook is titled "How many states have you been to?" If you follow the instructions, you are supposed to place an "X" beside the states that you have visited and an "O" beside those where you have lived. You are then supposed to tag the same number of friends as the number of states you've been to so that they can join in the fun.

I'll admit that I was a party-pooper the first time I got tagged in one of these notes. Instead of following the instructions, I commented on the note and simply said, "I've been to all 50 states." (Sorry, Bill.) At least I spared 50 of my friends from being tagged.

My parents believed that travel was an integral part of their children's education. The Brown family took our first cross-country vacation in the summer of 1973, when the six of us loaded up our station wagon and drove from Jackson, Tennessee, to San Francisco. In the years that followed, almost every summer we took a 2-week driving vacation, usually built around the location of State Higher Education Executive Officers annual meeting. By the time I left home for college, I had been to 46 states, missing only Oregon, Washington, Hawaii, and Alaska. The University of Tennessee at Knoxville picked up the tab for me to travel to Oregon and Washington when I served as a student representative on the National Orientation Directors Association's Board of Directors. In 1988, my father took my entire family - including my husband and my grandmother - to Hawaii, so then I only lacked Alaska.

With Chaney's birth in 1990, I began the state count again. The three of us took our first cross-country vacation in 1996, a dinosaur-themed vacation that included stops at 19 dinosaur-related sites in 13 states in 16 days. Five summers later, all three of us were able to mark state #50 off our individual lists when we made a July visit to Alaska.

On Sunday we leave on yet another family vacation. California is our destination, but this year there will be no cross-country drive (although I would have loved it). We will visit San Francisco, among other places, and I will relive fond vacation memories. My education continues.

faith begat faith

One of the most memorable moments of our recent mission trip to Wales occurred one afternoon at a neighborhood park in Pwllheli. I had been taking photographs of our students as they interacted with the neighborhood children on the field and the playground, when suddenly I heard a cheer erupt from a group of children standing behind me at the skatepark. When I turned around, I realized I had missed a stunt - a teenage daredevil on bicycle had just jumped over a child lying on the top of the ramp. With the crowd egging him on, the teenager prepared to make a second approach, and several other children joined the brave soul on the ramp. Once again, the teen easily cleared the ramp, and the children hopped up and applauded.

Soon the neighborhood children began urging the American onlookers to join the fun and lie down on the ramp with them. "We trust him!" insisted one child. "He once jumped fourteen kids!" (Did he try to jump fifteen kids once and fail, I wondered?) Several brave souls from our mission team decided to trust this complete stranger, and soon they were lying on top of the ramp as the daredevil sped toward them. I simultaneously held my breath, snapped photos, and wondered what my students' parents would think if we brought a member of our group home wounded. Fortunately, the daredevil once again cleared the pile, and our students rose to their feet unscathed.

Why did some of our students take a risk and allow a complete stranger to jump over them on a bicycle? Why did I stand by watching and resist the urge to intervene? Because the neighborhood children trusted the teenage stunt biker, and the biker himself exuded supreme confidence. The children who chose to lie down on the ramp had faith that biker would easily clear them, and the biker clearly had faith that his stunt would succeed. Our students were willing to exercise faith because they saw others exercising faith. Faith begat faith.

from Mission Friends to the mission field

When my family joined First Baptist Nashville in the summer of 1994, one of the first leadership roles I assumed was that of a Mission Friends teacher. (Mission Friends is the WMU* missions education organization for preschoolers.) I have taught preschoolers, children, teenagers, and adults in various settings in churches through the years, but being a Mission Friends teacher for five years was one of my all-time favorite church experiences. I loved introducing the preschoolers to different cultures, telling them stories about how missionaries were sharing the love of Christ with people around the world, and helping them to see how they could likewise help others in Jesus' name.

While I was in Wales last week on a mission trip with thirteen students from the Class of 2009 at First Baptist Nashville, I thought back to my Mission Friends days, since that was when I first got to know some of these recent high school graduates. When they were kindergartners, Paul managed to secure a bunch of boxes with handles, so each week in Mission Friends the kids put the new artwork they had created into their respective "suitcases." Each child also had "passport" that year - a little booklet full of blank pages - and every week after we learned about the place where our featured missionaries lived, each child would glue a sticker that I had created to commemorate our "visit" into his/her personal passport.

With those memories in mind, it was moving to watch these same students rolling their bulging suitcases through airports and showing their passports to customs officials. As I observed these teenagers sitting attentively in the presence of missionaries, asking them astute questions about their sense of God's call and probing them for stories about the joys and challenges of serving on the mission field, I recalled the days when they were squirming preschoolers sitting in a semicircle in front of me, listening to missionary stories. I watched with pride as these recent high school graduates made connections with Welsh children in a chapel, in four primary schools and a secondary school, at a castle, and on a neighborhood playground. My Mission Friends had become missionaries themselves. Thanks be to God.

*Woman's Missionary Union

Camp 09

As I was driving home last Friday from Ridgecrest and reflecting on how God's had been at work in the lives of our students (and sponsors) at Camp 09, a passage from one of Paul's letters to the church at Corinth kept coming to mind: "What, after all, is Apollos? And what is Paul? Only servants, through whom you came to believe—as the Lord has assigned to each his task. I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God made it grow. So neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow. The man who plants and the man who waters have one purpose, and each will be rewarded according to his own labor. For we are God's fellow workers; you are God's field, God's building." (1 Corinthians 3:5-9)

This morning at First Baptist Nashville, five students came forward during the invitation to let the congregation know how God had been working in their lives. Three students made public professions of faith, one rededicated her life to Christ, and another announced he felt called to full-time Christian service in missions. I am grateful to God for this spiritual fruit, but I am aware that the seeds for these decisions were planted long ago. Parents, siblings, Sunday School teachers, missions leaders, discipleship teachers, choir leaders, and countless others have invested in these students' spiritual journeys through the years. Some have planted the seeds, others have watered them, and now those of us who were at Camp 09 were privileged to see the seeds bear fruit. God made the seeds grow - we didn't.

As a mom, I extend my deepest thanks to all the people who have planted seeds in my son's life and watered them during the 15 years that my family has been a part of the First Baptist Nashville family. As a student ministry volunteer, I am grateful for all the people who I have had the privilege of serving alongside in God's field. God has been gracious, and I am grateful beyond measure.

The Irresistible Revolution - continued

As I continue to ponder Shane Claiborne's The Irresistible Revolution: Living as an Ordinary Radical, I recognize how God has been whispering to me over the past several months not just through through the words of this book, but also through Barbara Brown Taylor's An Altar in the World: A Geography of Faith, Robert Benson's The Echo Within: Finding Your True Calling, and Mother Teresa: Come Be My Light - The Private Writings of the "Saint of Calcutta." I have also been reading through the Bible this year - I'm now in Nehemiah 7 and Acts 3 - and time and time again the Spirit has prodded me to reconsider what it means to be a follower of Christ.

Early in his book, Claiborne writes about being born again and again and again as a student as he attended an annual summer Christian festival and responded enthusiastically (and repeatedly) to the altar calls. At some point, though, he realized that something was amiss: "I came to realize that preachers were telling me to lay my life at the foot of the cross and weren't giving me anything to pick up. . . . I believed all the right stuff - that Jesus is the Son of God, died and rose again. I had become a 'believer,' but I had no idea what it means to be a follower. People had taught me what Christians believe, but no one had told me how Christians live" (pp. 38-39).

Orthodoxy without orthopraxy. "As the body without the spirit is dead, so faith without deeds is dead" (James 2:26).

The Irresistible Revolution

I just finished reading Shane Claiborne's book, The Irresistible Revolution: Living as an Ordinary Radical. Judging from the number of page corners I turned down, the section that challenged me the most profoundly was Chapter 5: Another Way of Doing Life. In his discussion about the role communities like The Simple Way play in helping people to discern their vocations, Claiborne writes: "Beyond knowing that God has a purpose for our lives, most of us (especially non-Catholics) spend little energy seeking our vocation, especially in light of how the needs and sufferings of our neighbors might inform how we use our gifts for divine purposes. There are plenty of people who are miserable in their jobs, for they have not listened to God's call. And I would add there are many Christians who are not fulfilled in their spiritual lives because they have no sense of their gifts or purpose, and they just run to the mission field to save souls rather than transform lives and communities using their gifts and those of the people they live among. Both lead to emptiness and burnout" (p. 138).

Many times when I read a compelling book, I sense immediately what I ought to do in order to apply what I have learned. I confess that I have no idea what do with Claiborne's challenging words - I just know I must do something. A remark made by one of Claiborne's colleagues keeps bouncing around in my mind: "I gave up Christianity in order to follow Jesus" (p. 71). What does a Christ-follower really look like?

bumper sticker memories

The back of my Toyota RAV4 is covered with bumper stickers, most of which are mementos of vacations past. When I'm stopped at a red light, I often glance into my rearview mirror and see the folks in the car behind me straining toward their windshield in order to get a better look at the stickers. Many times I have been able to read their lips as they try to figure out what the various initials stand for. (JH stands for Jackson Hole.) On more than one occasion, I have come out of store and found someone standing behind my car, snapping a picture of my bumper sticker collection with a cell phone. Sometimes, a passerby will stop and ask me to decipher a specific sticker. The most difficult ones to identify for most folks are usually WP (Walden Pond) and ANP (Acadia National Park).

When I look at these bumper stickers, I recall memorable moments from our various family vacations - like our river hike in Zion National Park, photographing grizzlies at Yellowstone, or the sunrise on Cadillac Mountain in Acadia. I acquire these bumper stickers because I am very goal-oriented - each one symbolizes a successful mission to a particular destination. I made a plan, and we reached the place. The problem with focusing on the destination, though, is that I often am so obsessed with the desired endpoint that I fail to enjoy the journey itself.

This summer is the busiest one in my personal history. I have already completed a five-day Choir Tour/Mission Trip to Williamsburg, Kentucky, with the youth group from my church. A week from Sunday I will accompany the youth to camp, and from that point forward, I will be out of town 27 of the next 40 days. If I'm going to make the most of those days, I need to focus not on my assorted destinations (North Carolina, Wales, California) but on the journey itself. Undoubtedly, God has much to teach me en route.

choir tour/mission trip

Bright and early tomorrow morning a group of 50 teenagers and adults from First Baptist Nashville will head out on a choir tour/mission trip to eastern Kentucky. I am driving the cargo van on this journey, the first of three student ministry trips I will make this summer, meaning I'll spent 23 out of the next 41 days away from home.

In the midst of preparations for the trip, my thoughts drifted back to the one and only choir tour/mission trip that I participated in during my high school years. In 1981, the summer before my senior year, my youth group traveled in three 15-passenger vans to Detroit, driving through the night to get there. (In retrospect, I wonder why that was necessary?) We slept on cots in classrooms in a school, conducted a Vacation Bible School in another school, and performed several concerts (including a sparsely attended one in a city park).

For VBS, I was one of three students assigned to teach a class for sixth graders. On the first day, only two students showed up - Lori (a sixth grader) and Jennie (an eighth grader). We weren't about turn 50% of our potential students away, so we welcomed Jennie with open arms. By the end of the week, Jennie and I had become fast friends. After all, I was only three years older than she was. When we parted, we promised to stay in touch, and in the months to come we corresponded regularly.

Fast forward four years. In January 1985, five months before I would graduate from the University of Tennessee, Paul and I got engaged. When I wrote Jennie to share my good news, she responded promptly, pledging to attend the wedding. A trip from Detroit to Knoxville would be her high school graduation present, and I was thrilled to be reunited with her on my special day. Two years later my mother and I made a road trip from Washington, D.C. - where Paul and I were living - to Detroit so we could be with Jennie on her wedding day.

I am grateful for Jennie and a friendship that has spanned nearly three decades. You can never tell what God will do on a mission trip!

10 years ago today

On June 6, 1999, during the invitation time of the Sunday morning worship service at First Baptist Nashville, I stepped out of my pew (third row, piano side) and walked forward to announce to the congregation that I believed God was calling me into ministry. The following January, I began my studies at Beeson Divinity School, unsure of exactly what God was calling me to do but confident that He had a plan. Over the next four and half years, I commuted approximately 100,000 miles in my quest to earn a Master of Divinity degree. In May 2004, with my cap perched precariously on my head, I crossed the stage at the Birmingham Jefferson Convention Complex and received my diploma.

As I reflect on the decade that has elapsed since I made my call to ministry public, I can clearly see how the Lord has directed my path. I am grateful for the opportunities I have been afforded to use my gifts in ministry, yet I long to do more. I don't know what the next decade will hold, but I am confident that He who began a good work in me will be faithful to carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus (Philippians 1:6).

UTK orientation

Paul, Chaney, and I spent Monday and Tuesday on campus at the University of Tennessee at Knoxville for freshman/parent orientation. When I attended UT's orientation as an incoming freshman in the summer of 1982, I was enthralled with the Student Orientation Assistants (SOAs) and aspired to become one myself. When I saw the flyers posted around campus announcing SOA interviews midway through my freshman year, I seized the opportunity. I was absolutely thrilled when I learned that I was one of 22 students - 11 girls and 11 guys - who had been chosen to work during the summer of 1983. I was one of the fortunate few SOAs who was able to be a repeater, serving again in 1984. That summer a young man named Paul Swiney was also chosen to be an SOA. We got engaged the following January and were married in October 1985.

As I observed the current batch of Orientation Leaders (SOAs are now called OLs) at UTK this week, I recalled just how formative my orientation experiences had been. Our orientation director, Debby Shriver, was an exceptional leader who inspired confidence and empowered students to use their gifts and talents. As an SOA, I learned how to plan events, how to convey dry information in a creative way, how to speak in front of adults and teenagers, how to keep a smile on your face even when you are exhausted, how to work with people with widely divergent personalities, and how to be flexible.

During my tenure as an SOA, Debby recruited me to serve as a student representative on the board of directors of the National Orientation Directors Association (NODA). I was able to make trips to Burlington, Vermont, Portland, Oregon, and Baltimore, Maryland, to attend NODA meetings. I also attended Southern Regional Orientation Workshops in Atlanta and St. Louis, and accompanied Debby to The Freshman Year Experience conference in Columbia, South Carolina.

I continue to use the skills I acquired as an SOA on a daily basis. I am grateful to Debby and to the University of Tennessee at Knoxville for giving me the opportunity to develop my leadership skills. I've said it before and I'll say it again: It's great to be a Tennessee Vol!

looking back, looking forward

When I was in high school, a college student named Allyson spent a lot of time working with my youth group. After I moved away from Brentwood - first to Knoxville for college and then on to Washington, D.C. - we lost touch. I knew that she left the Nashville area later as well - first for seminary in Fort Worth and then on to New England, where she continues to minister to students through her work with the Baptist Convention of New England. 

Allyson and I recently reconnected through Facebook, and today we saw each other face-to-face for the first time in over 20 years. Talking with her brought back a lot of memories, and God used our conversation to confirm some stirrings in my heart. She told me that she has remained in contact through the years with a group of girls she began mentoring back in the 80s - girls she taught for three consecutive years in Sunday School beginning in their sophomore year. These "girls" are now 40-year-old women, but they continue to gather annually to nurture the bonds that were forged back in their teenage years. 

I couldn't help but think about my relationships with the girls in the Class of 2009 at my church, girls who I have been teaching in Sunday School for the past three years. I have promised them that I will continue to mentor them after they head off to college this fall, and it's exciting to me to ponder the prospect of us still getting together regularly over two decades from now (not so exciting to think how old I'll be then). Allyson made a long-term investment in "her" girls, I hereby pledge to do the same.

graduation

Last night my son graduated from John Overton Comprehensive High School. Chaney is a 13-year veteran of Metropolitan Nashville Public Schools (MNPS), and he has always attended his zoned school: 5 years at Norman Binkley Elementary School (0.4 miles from our house), 2 years at Rose Park Middle School (6 miles away), 2 years at Croft Middle Design Center (1 mile away), and four years at Overton (2.3 miles). MNPS have taken a lot of flack through the years, and certainly the school system has a lot of room for improvement, but our experiences have been very positive. Chaney has had excellent teachers at each school he has attended, and he would not have become a National Merit Finalist Scholarship winner without their help. 

As we made our way through the crowded lobby after Overton's graduation ceremony last night at Belmont's Curb Event Center, a friend remarked that she felt like she was in the midst of the "It's A Small World Ride" at DisneyWorld because of the ethnic diversity. While such diversity frightens some parents, it's one of the things that I have treasured the most about my son's public education in Nashville. Just among the list of distinguished scholars (students with a cumulative average of 93-100), I found the following surnames: Abdullatif, Al-Jabbary, Boggs, Durani, Elassoulit, Hartzell, Hesen, Juarez, Juru, Le, Lin, Marquina, Martinez, McCann, Mohamed, Msoma, Quach, Sueing, Swiney, Tan, Yosuf, Young.

Chaney has gone to school with students from five of the seven continents. He has been in classes with refugees from Iraq and Kosovo. He's watched as students who started out in the English as a Second Language class in elementary school have become fluent in English and have excelled academically. He's brushed elbows with students from every socio-economic level. He's spent day after day walking the halls with more people who don't look like him than those who do - and that's a great thing, in my opinion. 

In her valedictory speech last night, my friend Adriana made a reference to the One who knew her before she was in her mother's womb. Looking out over the crowd that had assembled to celebrate the accomplishments of the Class of 2009 last night, I thought about how intimately God knew each person in that room, how He made each and every one of us in His own image, and how He loves each one of us passionately. 

My son has been well-educated by Metropolitan Nashville Public School, and I am extraordinarily grateful. And God has been with Chaney every step of the way these past 13 years, teaching him invaluable lessons about the diversity of His creation. Thanks be to God!

Remarks to the Class of 2009

This morning First Baptist Nashville honored the Class of 2009, and I had the opportunity to address the seniors during a special breakfast. Here's what I said:

Years ago I read a book by Norman Cousins called Anatomy of an Illness. One of the many things that intrigued me about this book was the author’s assertion that laughter has healing powers. The writer of Proverbs observed that “a cheerful heart is good medicine” (Prov. 17:22), so I don’t think Mr. Cousins’ thesis was far-fetched. And if laughter indeed is good for you, then I ought to be in great health because the Class of 2009 has made me laugh more through the years than any other group of people I’ve ever known.

The laughter started back in the days of Mission Friends with several of you. From those early experiences, I learned that you couldn’t sit still, you loved to do crafts, and you consumed snacks in great quantities. 

Then there were the Vacation Bible School experiences. I think I worked with your class at least four years in VBS. I remember laughing as I watched you enthusiastically learned the motions to the admit-believe-and-confess song of the year. And you couldn’t sit still, you loved to do crafts, and you consumed snacks in great quantities.

And then you entered the youth group. I hadn’t intended to work with youth, but when that first summer camp rolled around I found myself on a bus to Doublehead, ready to spend a week in a cabin with 7th grade girls. I distinctly remember our awkward cabin devotions that year – a bunch of girls sitting in silence under the watchful gaze of the framed picture of the Indian mother who looked like Nancy Brown. It’s hard to believe that there was a time when this bunch of girls didn’t have anything to say!

We found plenty of things to laugh about at each of the five camps we’ve shared together, but we undoubtedly laughed the loudest and longest the two years that Tom Richter was our camp pastor. And I still laugh when I think about the morning at Doublehead at the spirit circle when Bryan, attired in his Powerpuff Girls costume, tackled Josh from behind.

I’ve also laughed with you at five Labor Day Retreats. We’ve laughed in Sunday School classrooms, in Discipleship Training classes, and during the Monday Bible studies in my living room. We’ve laughed on mission trips to Atlanta, New Orleans, and Charleston, at DNow Weekends, at January basketball games, girls’ sleepovers, Super Bowl parties, family cookouts, Christmas cookie decorating parties, on the “Leadership Development Retreat” at Ridgecrest, and at the infamous cooking lesson at my house.

The ability to laugh has helped the Class of 2009 to navigate a difficult year. Many times, laughter has broken the tension. We’ve laughed, even though we haven’t really understood what God was doing – kind of like Sarai laughed when she overheard the Lord telling Abram that she was going to have a baby after all those years. And what did Abram and Sarai name that baby? Isaac – which means laughter.

But the best moments by far have been the ones when we’ve laughed together in sheer joy – and, thankfully, we’ve had an abundance of those moments during your senior year. I have watched you grow closer in your relationships with each other, but – more importantly – I’ve seen evidence that your personal relationships with Christ are ever deepening. Although this past year has been stressful, you’ve been able to take your faith to another level, as you’ve learned how to trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. And I have learned so much from watching your faith journeys unfold. So thanks for teaching me, and thanks for making me laugh.

I assure you there are many more laughs yet to come. We’ve got choir tour, camp, and the mission trip to Wales ahead of us this summer. In fact, missionary John Robinson has already warned us that we need to tone down our laughter while we are in Wales – that’s going to be a challenge for this group.

As you prepare for our adventures this summer and beyond, I hope you’ll remember this verse that we talked about in our Monday Bible study group earlier this spring – Zephaniah 3:17: “The Lord your God is with you, He is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, He will quiet you with His love, He will rejoice over you with singing.”

a little pencil in God's hands

"Very often I feel like a little pencil in God's Hands. He does the writing, He does the thinking, He does the movement, I have only to be the pencil."
Mother Teresa, March 7, 1979

I have just finished reading Mother Teresa: Come Be My Light, a collection of Mother's Teresa's private writings, and "astonishing" is the word that comes to mind. I am astonished by the depths of her passionate love for Christ and her vow to "not refuse Him anything." I am astonished by her sacrifice, her vow of absolute poverty. I am astonished to discover from her own words the depths of her personal spiritual darkness, yet this interior darkness never extinguished the light of Christ that gleamed so brightly through her life in the dark holes of the slums of Calcutta.

A little pencil in God's hands. An astounding image of submission. Am I content to be such a pencil - allowing God to do the writing, the thinking, and the movement? 

bubbles and hymns

I have stored a way a lot of wonderful memories from Chaney's senior year, but few can surpass last night.

I started hosting a Bible study for my son and a few of his friends from church during his sophomore year. This year the group burgeoned to nine regulars with a couple of other seniors who dropped in from time to time as their schedules permitted. Each week we've been studying a different spiritual discipline, so we've covered a range of topics, including: lectio divina, Bible study, meditation, prayer, almsgiving, singing from the heart, forgiveness, spiritual friendship, and discernment. To prepare for the lessons, I have used a great resource from The Upper Room - Soul Tending: Life Forming Practices for Older Youth and Young Adults.

Last week we had our last official Monday Bible study, since AP exams and graduation ceremonies were looming. Last night, Lauryn Moody (a true spiritual friend who teaches Sunday School with me and who has been a regular at our Bible studies) invited the seniors over for a celebratory dinner. Joe Fitzpatrick, our church's new worship and music pastor, was our special guest.

As we sat around Lauryn's dining room table, I asked the seniors to tell Joe about the various spiritual disciplines we had studied over the past few months. One of the students even had her notebook from the Bible study with her (no surprise that she is the valedictorian of John Overton High School), so she let him take a look. As the students shared, it occurred to me that this was a fairly rare sight - a group of high school seniors excitedly discussing spiritual disciplines around the dinner table.

Afterwards, the students opened the festively wrapped graduation gifts that the mom of one of the seniors had sent for them. One student remarked that this seemed like Christmas, so as they tore into their gifts, Lauryn played "White Christmas" on the piano and we all sang along. The girls were thrilled with their bubble machines, but for lack of a screwdriver, it took a half hour for them to get one up and running. But once the bubbles finally took flight, spirits soared even higher. 

The best part of the night, though, was when we all gathered around the piano and sang hymns together with Lauryn serving as our accompanist. Many people argue that teenagers don't like the old hymns of our faith - and many don't - but this group of seniors has a fondness for the Baptist Hymnal. A girl requested that we sing her favorite hymn, "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing," and we sang in four-part harmony with gusto. Chaney then requested "My Lord is Near Me All The Time." We closed out the hymn sing with a rousing rendition of "Wonderful Grace of Jesus."

Bubbles and hymns are hard to beat. Thanks be to God.

advocacy for women in ministry

Last Saturday at the Tennessee Cooperative Baptist Fellowship General Assembly, which was held at Immanuel Baptist Church in Nashville, Dr. Eileen Campbell-Reed received the Betty Galloway Advocacy for Women in MInistry Award. Tennessee CBF presents this award annually to a person, church, or organization that excels in promoting and advocating women in places of ministry. In her gracious acceptance speech, Eileen observed that she is looking forward to the day when this kind of award will no longer need to be given - a day when women will have ample opportunities to use their God-given gifts in ministry. Though that day still sees to me to be on the distant horizon, I pray for its advent. In the meantime, I am grateful to people like Eileen who encourage women to follow God's call courageously.

rest

I have been reading through the Bible this year - I'm in Judges now - and I have been struck by the number of times the Lord instructed His people to rest in the first few books of the Bible. And the more I read about the necessity of resting, the more keenly aware I am of how much I crave true rest. I'm not talking about sleep here - although I certainly need more sleep than I've been getting lately - it's spiritual rest that I need.

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls" (Matthew 11:28-29). I've got a lot yet to learn from Jesus about finding rest for my soul.

spaghetti luncheon

Last Sunday, the seniors at my church hosted a Spaghetti Luncheon to raise awareness about their upcoming mission trip to Wales (Cymru if you speak Welsh). The kitchen prepared enough food for 350 people, and we ran out just as the seniors were serving the last tables in Fellowship Hall. As folks were eating, one of our seniors, Alexia, explained the rationale for our trip - only 5% of the Welsh people attend church regularly and only 1% are Evangelical Christians.

The Spaghetti Luncheon was success on many levels. First of all, we were able to raise awareness about our trip and cultivate a base of prayer warriors and financial supporters who will undergird our work. Second, we were able to remind folks about our church's longstanding tradition of sending the seniors on an international mission trip as the capstone of their experience in the Student Ministry. Third, the seniors had a chance to serve their church family in a very practical way. As one speaker remarked, it's always nice to see teenagers hard at work! Finally, we provided our congregation with an opportunity for intergenerational fellowship, something that many of us have been craving.

The seniors have chosen Isaiah 6:8 as their theme verse for the trip: "Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, 'Whom shall I send?  And who will go for us?' And I said, 'Here am I. Send me!'" I am grateful that each of these 15 seniors has responded to God's call to go, and I look forward to seeing what God will do in and through their lives as He sends them to Wales.

10 years

In an ongoing effort to reorganize my filing cabinets, last night I spent a couple of hours going through drawer #3 of filing cabinet #2 - the divinity school drawer. As I looked back over my class notes, papers, sermon manuscripts, sermon evaluations, Greek and Hebrew quizzes, and exams, I thought about the 4 1/2 challenging yet rewarding years that I spent working on my Master of Divinity degree at Beeson. Reading through the comments that my professors wrote on my papers and sermon manuscripts and the observations my peers recorded on sermon evaluation forms was affirming but also a bit unsettling, because they prompted me to consider whether I have been a good steward of my gifts during the five years that have passed since I earned my degree. 

It was startling to realize that it has been a decade - ten years this month, in fact - since I sensed God was calling me into the ministry. How time flies. When I responded to God's call, I had no idea what He had in store for me - I simply recognized that He was asking me to prepare for something. While I was in seminary, I developed a pithy response to the inevitable question, "What are you going to do next?" My standard answer was, "God is dealing with me on a need-to-know basis, and apparently I don't need to know." And now in the spring of 2009, ten years after my call, God continues to deal with me on a need-to-know basis. I find that I am less comfortable with this arrangement today than I was five years ago, but undoubtedly God is still trying to teach me what it means to trust in Him with all my heart and lean not on my understanding. Direct my paths, Lord.

the science of generosity

Last night as I was skimming through the latest issue of Newsweek before I drifted off to sleep, I came across a fascinating article about giving. In "The Science Behind Our Generosity," Princeton bioethics professor Peter Singer explains how psychology affects what we give charities. For instance, people are more willing to help a single individual than many, and they are more willing to help someone if they are the only one around. Noting that 27,000 children die every day from diseases that are easily treatable or preventable, Singer laments that too many people are influenced by the bystander effect - we assume someone else will help those in need. The trouble is, too few people are doing anything at all to address global poverty.

Singer is the author of The Life You Can Save: Acting Now to End World Poverty, and on the book's website, www.thelifeyoucansave.com, he challenges people to take a pledge to give a minimum amount of their income (based on a scale) to an organization that helps people who are living in extreme poverty. In doing so, Singer seeks to "change the public standard of what is involved in living an ethical life in a world that contains both great affluence and extreme poverty." 

Will you take the pledge?

Tokens: Justice Songs

Last night my family (plus Chaney's lovely girlfriend) attended the Tokens program at Lipscomb University. "Justice Songs" was the title of this show - the fifth installment of the Tokens series. Previous Tokens programs include: "The Christmas Revolution" (December 9, 2008), "The Politics of Jesus" (September 9, 2008), "Jubilee: Land, Greed, and Grace in American Folk" (May 27, 2008), and "The Appalachian Longing for Home" (February 19, 2008). Each program was recorded live, and you can listen to excerpts from the four 2008 programs online, and a clip from last night's program will available soon.

Lee Camp, Associate Professor of Theology and Ethics at Lipscomb, was inspired to create Tokens after attending Garrison Keillor's New Year's Eve show in 2006 at the Ryman Auditorium. (Ironically, my family also attended that show, and we have a framed Hatch Show Print hanging on the wall of our den to commemorate the event.) A long-time fan of Keillor's Prairie Home Companion show, Camp wondered what would happen if someone took that format and tethered it to theology. After all, Camp observed, theology is often most succinctly communicated through music.

Since I've been spending a lot of time as of late pondering exactly what it means to "act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly before your God," "Justice Songs" hit the spot theologically for me. The evening featured so many memorable moments: Brother Preacher's meandering sermon that made me laugh until I had tears in my eyes (you've got to hear his line about Jesus' golden sombrero), Odessa Settles's powerful rendition of "Were You There When They Crucified My Lord," the skit by the Tokens Radio Players about the English Only amendment (Would you like to order a baby donkey roll?), a prerecorded interview with Will Campbell about his famous book Brother to a Dragonfly, the music of the Most Oustanding Horeb Mountain Boys, and a prerecorded interview with Brad MacLean about his work with death row inmates. And did I mention that Vince Gill, Sonya Isaacs, and Buddy Greene sang, too? The ensemble's rendition of Bob Dylan's "Blowin' in the Wind" was breathtaking.

You can see Tokens yourself on June 25 at 7:30 p.m. when Camp and company present "Stories We Live By." Go to their website www.tokensshow.com and get on their mailing list so you won't miss another show.

the cowboy way

On Thanksgiving Day last year - which also happened to be my father's birthday - my family gave Dad tickets to accompany us to see Riders in the Sky perform with the Nashville Symphony. Tonight the big night at Nashville's Schermerhorn Symphony Center finally arrived. My family has been fans of Riders in the Sky - Ranger Doug, Woody Paul, Too Slim, and Joey the Cowpolka King - for years and have seen them perform in various venues in the Nashville area, including the Opryland Hotel, the National Guard Armory, and Vanderbilt University. Their music reminds me of the two-week road trips my family used to take each summer, because my Dad had amassed quite a collection of cassette tapes featuring the best in western music. Consequently, I developed a fondness for classics like "Tumbling Tumbleweeds," "Cool Water," "Rawhide," "Don't Fence Me In," "Happy Trails to You," and - my personal favorite - "Ghost Riders in the Sky."

Tonight I happily reminisced about those good old days from my childhood as Riders in the Sky sang several of these classics, and I also fondly recalled a Riders in the Sky-related memory from Chaney's childhood. Nearly every day when Chaney was in kindergarten, as we pulled out of the driveway we would pop a cassette of the Riders' 1991 album "Harmony Ranch" into the player and sing the song of the same name together as we made the drive to Norman Binkley Elementary School. The song is only two minutes and twenty-five seconds long, and the drive only took about two minutes and fifteen seconds, so as we pulled up in front the school, Chaney would belt out the last line or two before hopping out of the car and heading inside to Mrs. Huggins's class. What a sweet memory! Now I'm compelled to go dig out his official Riders in the Sky lasso. Happy trails!

advocacy on Capitol Hill

One of the most surprising things I learned last week on my Advocacy in Action trip was that constituents really can exert powerful influence over their elected officials in Congress - if they take the time to be advocates. Bread for the World - "a collective Christian voice urging our nation's decision makers to end hunger at home and abroad" - encourages citizens to write personal letters and emails to Congress. A study conducted in 2005 by the Congressional Management Foundation found that 96% of the Capitol Hill staffers surveyed reported that if their member of Congress had not reached a firm decision about an issue, individualized letters from constituents influenced the member's position. The study also confirmed that handwritten, mailed letters are the most effective way to communicate with members of Congress.

A Bread for the World staffer related a story that demonstrates how individualized letters yield results. A call came into Bread's offices from a Capitol Hill staffer who wanted to talk about Bread's position on a particular issue. This staffer commented that his office has been "flooded" with letters about the issue and recognized that Bread had been promoting this cause. After explaining Bread's position, the Bread representative asked, "By the way, just what is a flood of letters? How many did you receive?" The answer: 13. Thirteen individualized letters from constituents had been enough to get the attention of a member of Congress. Thirteen letters had spurred a Congressional staffer to make a call to find out more about an issue. Only thirteen letters.

Every year Bread for the World invites churches and groups across the country to take up a nationwide Offering of Letters to Congress on an issue that is important to hungry people. This year Bread is advocating the reform of U.S. foreign assistance programs so that they are more focused on ending hunger and poverty. You can learn more about the Offering of Letters at www.offeringofletters.org.

"And if you spend yourselves in behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday." (Isaiah 58:10)