A New Year Reflection: A Chapel Talk for Grace St. Luke's Episcopal School

I feel overwhelmed with joy to be here this Friday to celebrate the New Year with my fellow Lukers. It is an honor and privilege to be able to share with you this morning some reflections on celebrating the New Year and the new life that comes with 2009.

Ms. Prewitt told me that you all enjoy participating in chapel and challenged me to find a way to get you all involved. So we are going to play a little game. I would like you to raise your hand if you have ever played a sport: basketball, baseball, tennis, or even ballet. Now keep your hand up if you have ever made a mistake in that game. Keep your hand up if you have ever turned the ball over, hit the ball out of bounds, fumbled the football. Now look around.
Raise your hand if you have ever played a musical instrument. Now keep your hand raised if you have ever missed a note or made a mistake when playing in front of people.

Raise your hand if you have ever received a bad grade on a project or a test, or even a paper. (Teachers, that includes you).
Now raise your exam if you have ever failed at anything that you can think of that you have tried in life.

Now I want to share with you a little about my life after I left Grace St. Luke’s as a rising High School student, the change many of you will make in just a few months, and some of the failures that I have struggled with in my life.

The first failure took place when I was in the eighth Grade and a student in Mr. Philip’s Algebra I class. Mr. Phil believed that I was a gifted Algebra student and one day he asked me to represent GSL at a state wide competition at Rhodes College. Three of us were asked to compete, all of us believing we were gifted math students. I failed horribly. I felt I didn’t even get a third of the questions right. And after passing his class and getting an A for the year, I took the placement exam at CBHS and was forced to take Algebra I in the summer. I failed and was asked to take Algebra I again as a freshman. I felt like I had wasted an entire year, and this was a horrible crush to my ego when all of my other friends at other schools were taking Geometry.

The second failure took place about five years later. As you will soon find out, I ended up being a pretty good math and science student so I went to Purdue University, a great school for engineering and the sciences and begin studying Electrical and Computer Engineering. No raise your hand if you know what Linear Circuit Analysis is? After a semester taking that class I am not sure I could answer that question. I failed and also dropped my advance C programming class. For the first time in my life I got a big fat F on my report card. My parents were horrified, upset, and very frustrated. I was no longer an Engineer. I had failed.

Today is the first chapel of the New Year! Now raise your hand if you made a New Year’s resolution. Don’t worry, it is not too late in my book if you leave today and make one. A New Year brings new life and new opportunity. In my opinion the most famous Prime Minster in England’s History is Sir Winston Churchill. He ruled England during World War II and afterwards in the 50’s. Prime Minister Churchill once failed a grade in school. Or he failed as we would see it. But he believed he was given a second opportunity to do an even better job and that he had an advantage over everyone else. He was a little bit above the game. Churchill said several great things about failure. First: “Success is not final, failure is not fatal, it is the courage to continue that counts.” And “Courage is going from failure to failure without losing enthusiasm.” Winston Churchill had the right idea.
I took Algebra I again as a CBHS freshman and my teacher signed me up for that same statewide Algebra I test that I failed before. After three hours of problem solving at Rhodes College, I turned in the highest score in West Tennessee, and the third highest in the whole state. And I was still able to take AP Calculus my senior year.

In college, I found a subject, International Relations and Political Science that I was passionate about, began to work much harder, brought my grades up and even managed to finish school in four and a half years. I even managed to finish with a moderately respectable grade point average.

I am excited to be here with you to bring in the New Year. This is the 2009th year of our Lord, a gift from God. And as I am sure you have heard Father Ron say many times, “And Now my friends, I invite you to,” I invite you to think about all last year and all the missed musical notes and layups, the slip ups on the tests, or the times you were mean to your sisters and brothers, and know that we are always given a second, third, and sometimes even seventy seventh chance and to have what Churchill calls, courage. This year is a gift from God to have courage. Welcome in the New Year and remember, “Success is not final, failure is not fatal; it is the courage to continue that counts.”

I am thankful for

Today I am thankful for cold weather that reminds me of the seasons of life and makes me remember how much I hated the heat of a Memphis summer. And especially getting in to a black car with leather seats in the dead of summer.

I am thankful for the opportunity to work with young people who continue to teach me about the world out there and the person inside, much more than I ever imagined possible when I answered my call to be at Holy Communion.

Tomorrow I will be thankful it is the weekend. And I can spend some time with my dad.

I am thankful for my father who yesterday turned 56 and can still put on an orange bandanna around his head and through up peace signs. I am thankful for my father who can forgive me and be understanding that sometimes I have meetings until 10pm and that the 30 minutes we spent last night from 10:15 to 10:45 was special to me.

I am thankful for my friend Logan who is unconsciously so brutally honest it can be hurtful from time to time, but because his honesty comes from love, keeps me in check and helps me to be honest with myself.

I am thankful for my friend Kat. She has really yummy Cupcakes. Her grandmother’s nickname was Muddy.


I am thankful for the Clergy at Holy Communion, for their guidance and for their support both in my work life and my personal life and all that they do to support my ministry and me as a person.

This thanksgiving Holiday I am thankful that my parents will give up their plans to go out of town so that I may spend thanksgiving with them.

I am thankful for my roommate Large. I am thankful that we often disagree on many issues but have learned how to respectfully listen and be in conversation with each other so that we can encourage our own growth.

I am thankful for my sister Ann who I can struggle to get along with and be in relationship with more than anyone I know, yet can support me and be loving through all that we endure.

I am thankful for the parents at Holy Communion who go out of their way to do all that they can to support the youth program from driving vans to cooking meals.

I am thankful for the many girls of St. Mary’s who smile and say hi and make my day better and better each time they do.

I am thankful for the Gospel according to Beuford and his often prophetic voice and his words of comfort and support each morning as I walk into my work space.

I am thankful for today, because I believe it is a gift from God.

I am thankful for music not only the music I get to create but the music I listen to that helps me express how I feel and know that others feel that way too.

I am thankful for my cat Meriwether also known as Flannery O' Cat. She also suffers from FRAP (frantic random activity periods). And she is a brat but I still am thankful for her.

I am thankful for JK Rowling. Because by reading her books I can live out my childhood dream of being a wizard and doing magic.

I am thankful for my mother who always has enough time to listen to everything I have to say.

I am thankful for the cafeteria downstairs. It really is a wonderful convenience to work at a school and have access to lunch every day during the school year well except for the days they serve breakfast for lunch. Not a fan, and I know I'm not the only one.

I am thankful for all of the volunteers who put a few thousand hours a year into working with the young people of this parish. And make youth ministry successful here.

I am thankful for the staff of Holy Communion. They have to put up with me and it is probably not always easy. From the messes that our groups make, the spills on the carpets, paint on the walls, and food in nearly every corner of this building. Sorry staff.

I am thankful for basketball and the opportunity to coach and share with 5th graders from my grade school something that I really love.

I am thankful that we lost our basketball game last night. And I am proud of the boys they way the handled the loss. You learn a lot more about your character when you fail then when you succeed.

I am thankful for St. Mary's and especially your new middle school. Now I have a really sweet office. Thanks.

I am thankful for the many opportunities I have to serve others here by being present in a faith community.

I am thankful for my dear friend Debra who really seems to know how this world works and is willing to share her advice with me.

I am thankful for my friend Jules, who always calls me at the worst time possible. And forgiving me for not always calling me him back.

I am thankful because today I have a job. I am thankful for the roof over the head and that I have a warm place to sleep. I am thankful for rain, for the sun, for espn, for my seersuck suit, for bowties, for my all of my friends, and so so much more.

I am thankful for this opportunity to write this, because by writing this reflection, I have realized how much I really have to be Thankful for.

What are you thankful for?

Heaven vs. Hell

Hell

I heard a story, an old wives tale about Hell a long time ago and then it showed up in a book I read a few weeks back. Hell was this beautiful dinner gathering full of people sitting around a table. The table was round and filled with really really hungry people. In this place each person has this unbearable hunger in their stomachs. The kind that leaves the space and noise around filled with a low grumble. It is the kind of hunger that causes food to smell better than it has ever tasted before and allows you to taste new subtle little flavors that you never knew were really there.

In the middle of this round table is a big cast iron cauldron filled to the brim of what smells like a meal for the gods. The cauldron is heated, and the stew is simmering with a small low boil. The aroma fills the room causing pain in everyone’s stomachs as they crave nothing more in the world but a taste of this heavenly stew.

Each person at the table has a special spoon crafted to their own hand. This spoon allows each individual to get the perfect amount of soup to quench their hunger and is exactly two inches too long to get into their own mouth. Everyone is seated around the table and they are trying their very best to feed themselves, but each time they take a spoonful of soup to their mouths, they miss and spill the soup all over themselves.

Hell

Heaven

In this story, heaven is the exact same place. Really really hungry people, with an unbearable hunger are sitting around the best meal you could ever imagine. Hunger rumbles in the bellies of each person at the table. And each person has a spoon crafted to their own hand, a spoon just a little bit too long to feed themselves. But instead everyone is feeding the person next to them and all are well fed.

Imagine that, heaven and hell, the same place. The only difference is how we treat one another.

A few years ago, I participated in an experience called the Global Village at the Heifer Camp in Perryville Arkansas. I was with a group of people and we drew straws that sent us to different sites that represented regions of the world. Some people ended up in Guatemala and had a rabbit, electricity, and even running water. The four people here had beds to sleep in and a house to keep warm. Another group ended up in Zambia and had access to firewood, a few vegetables, and some cornmeal. Zambia wasn’t quite as wealthy but still had some valuable resources. I was in the largest group which drew the slums. We ended up sleeping on a dirt floor tin shack in a storm that night and the only food we were given was a little bit of rice for all six of us in the slums. The idea of the project was to do a simulation to understand how resources are distributed in the world and to gain a better understanding of world poverty. We were told to use what we had and barter with the other groups to try and get something to eat. Water and firewood rights could even be bartered. I didn’t think it was fair and thought for sure I would go hungry just as so many of those who live in similar situations around the world do every day.

Something miraculous happened that night. Everyone shared all of their food and made one big stew. It wasn’t the best tasting, kind of bland but everyone was invited to attend and all ate and all were well fed. Our guide from Heifer was amazed, and had never witnessed this before. There was a good chance this happened because we were such a small group and realized that we could feed each other, but usually groups hoard the resources because they feel there is not enough to go around.

A friend of mine participated in this same simulation a year later. He was with a group that was a much larger group and he was placed in the refugee camp. He went hungry that night and didn’t even have access to safe drinking water. Guatemala had an unlimited amount of water, and he went thirsty. The experience for him was very transforming and painted a much more accurate picture of how the world really works.

Heaven vs. Hell

I love the image of the dinner table to help me understand how to help bring the Kingdom of Heaven to earth. This story is very real. We are all hungry and there is food right there in front of us. All we have to do is help feed the person at the next seat. We all have resources that we can share with each other and by reaching out in the world, recognizing that we are blessed and freely giving of the blessings we have, we can bring heaven to others.

Pilgrimage to Santiago

It was a damp and chilly Tuesday morning as our group of twenty youth and their leaders from Church of the Holy Communion gathered on the Camino de Santiago in the town of Sarria in Northern Spain. With a few unexpected difficulties changing our US currency, we were taking much longer than expected to begin our journey to Santiago de Compostela. We were to hike between fourteen and sixteen miles a day and arrive in Santiago on Saturday afternoon. We had been preparing on Saturdays by hiking at Shelby Farms and our spirits were high and enthusiasm strong. Although we were hiking to Santiago Cathedral, the reliquary of the body of the Apostle St. James, we were also hiking to grow closer together as a community, to find the many ways that the Spirit is present in our lives, and to learn more about our own selves and our relationship with Christ through the struggle of being in a foreign environment, uncomfortable, and physically in pain. We were walking in the footsteps of thousands of others all on a spiritual quest trusting in the path that others had walked before us.

By four in the afternoon we began arriving at the town of Portomarin. A few of our group were really beginning to struggle. One even believed at that point that he would not even be able to finish the first day of hiking. I have to admit, I was very surprised with the high degree of difficulty of our walk and had little faith that our whole group would be able to complete our journey.

Wednesday’s hike led us through Hospital da Cruz which owes its name to an old pilgrims’ hospital that existed until the late 18^th century. We hiked, still in high spirits today as our pilgrims sang songs and recited prayers to pass the time as we hiked to Palas de Rei. Those that struggled the day before during the hike had made peace with their pain and pushed on today, at a slower pace, but none-the-less moving forward one step at a time.

On Thursday we began hiking to Arzua, passing through ancient yet hospitable villages such as Furelos where we visited the Parish Church of San Juan which dates back to the 12^th century. Thursday brought different spirits within the group. People began to really spread out and hike at different paces, and pilgrims who had previously been the pace setters began to settle in at the back of the group. There were moments of joy and wonder when our group lifted each other up through songs and words of praise and our weaknesses were exposed. By this point in our pilgrimage, most everyone had some sort of physical problem. The only young person who didn’t have problems with his feet, caught a stomach bug.

Yet through the blisters, bloody feet, sore knees, ankles, calves, hips, and Achilles tendons, we marched into Santiago de Compostela on Saturday afternoon, silently reflecting how five days and seventy five miles of hiking had changed our lives. We stood in awe before the massive Santiago Cathedral only to stand next to another pilgrim from Memphis who had been hiking for six weeks to get to this point. He was one of only three pilgrims from the United States we had met but helped us to understand how connected we had become to the whole world.

Our pilgrimage to Santiago, this Journey to Adulthood pilgrimage, was beautiful and challenging, painful yet full of joy, causing us to trust in those that had gone before us marking the road with yellow arrows and leading our way to God. The five days on the Camino helped us to better understand the earthly pilgrimage we are on, trusting in those who go before us to lead us and keep us on the path to God, through pain and joy, and through beauty and hardships. It caused us to rely on the support of our friends who came back to walk with us and help pull us through the stretches of walking that we were unable to do on our own. And by that support of those friends and fellow pilgrims, helped to show us the presence of Christ in our lives.

Arzua to A Rua

We left early and farther behind the other pilgrims today which gave us the feeling of being crowded on the way to Santiago. As we hiked through Arzua, many pilgrims were stumbling sleepily on the Camino and we begin to see that many more than we had crossed over the past three days were making their way to Santiago. We also began to recognize faces and names which helped to create a bond with the other pilgrims, at least the ones who valued us a real and legitimate pilgrims.
It only took a good half hour for my body to begin to feel all of the pain from the many hours of hiking over the last three days. And our group was beginning to look like pilgrims. No longer did everyone sing and dance along the way. We walked by puting one foot painfully in front of the other in silence and in prayer. I began to pray the prayer our group has been using all week to help get me through. The prayer goes as so:

Bless to us, O God, the earth beneath our feet.
Bless to us, O God, the path whereon we go.
Bless to us, O God, the people whom we meet. Amen.

I have been saying this prayer for hours of the last few days but today, it feels new and different. I begin to be able to say other prayers over this prayer and more and more beauty and meaning comes alive. The first time our pilgrims prayed this together, I had no clue how it would work, but now the prayer has become alive and organic and helps me become one with the way. As I pray for the earth I submit to the whole world in the way I live that I open up being compassionate to all that God has created. As I pray for the path whereon we go, I pray for myself, the journey that I am on, and where God is leading me, today, tomorrow, and the rest of my life. And as I pray for the people whom we meet, I pray for all whom I have been blessed to meet in my short life.

I am learning how to pray in silence and in pain as I work on making this journey to Santiago. The road has become far more challenging and difficult but every step and every breathe of this prayer helps me recognize that this journey is just another day in my life and this prayer is all that I need forever. Help me to take care of God´s creation. Help me to take care of myself. And help me to take care of others.
Amen.

And now as I have just walked into A Rui, my feet are badly blistered, but I will walk into Santiago tomorrow in less than twenty four hours hours and tears will probably fill my eyes. And my journey will continue.

Palas de Rei to Arzua

I wonder what really makes someone a pilgrim? Is it leaving home in search of something greater? Is it journeying to a sacred place in which you find great value. As seven of us stormed up a hill with many hot spots, all with sore feet and probably 26km down on this beautiful Thursday, an Italian family looked at us and screamed, "No mochilos, no mochilos, no es pilgrims, no camino!" We have vehicle help and do not carry all of our luggage.

I understand that there are many people on this trail and on this journey who believe that only real pilgrims carry their own packs and sleep in Albergues. But why? As the Italians began cursing me, although I am sure they were in a way joking with us, with lots of truth behind what they were saying, how could it be in the pilgrim spirit to judge others? What makes one person´s journey better or more justified than someone else´s journey?

All of us were still in good spirits. Even a bunch of high school students understand that people only say things such as that to make themselves better, but I wish I hadn´t heard it none the less. Apparently a German pilgrim had told a few others in our group they weren´t real pilgrims. By the end of the day we had hiked 70 kilometers in three days and I was beginning to feel as a pilgrim. Many songs, jokes, and improve raps had kept our spirits high and the pilgrim bond between our group was beginning to pull each other through. I honestly believe at the end of the first day that several pilgrims in our group wouldn´t make it, but by the end of the day, I am sure, baring no major catastrophes, that our group will finish in Santiago by Saturday afternoon.

Portomarin - Palas de Rei

I had the opportunity to be the lead hiker today. The whole experience is radically different. The Camino is well marked with yellow arrows on buildings and the ground and scallop shell markers yet I still find myself doubting the markers from time to time and wondering if I have stumbled off the beaten path. I am one of those who often questions if I really have my wallet or I wonder if I have left the stove on. I question my own judgment all of the time, yet usually I use very good judgment. In fact, I have a great sense of direction and rarely get lost. I suspect things would be different if I had been hiking from the border of France for a month. My ability to trust the markers and the path of others would be greater but with each step and with each new marker I grow.

When I leave my home, I will probably continue to worry about the oven and the lights, but I hope that I am learning something more important than just about hiking. I am hoping that I am learning the importance of those who come before me to mark the trail and the path which I am on. It is not by myself that I have made it to this spot, but because of the help of others.

And even though we left a good hour and a half earlier today, we are still not making it to the end until 4pm. Our guide Debbie told us that their is a good chance we will all cry when we get to Santiago. My legs are beginning to really hurt. Could she be right? Our whole group of twenty moved much slower but everyone of made it the full 25.06km and the two who really struggled yesterday began to work unbelievably hard and rally together. I could not have been happier to make it all the Palas de Rei and although the church with the Frescos was closed by the time we arrived, everyone of us was two tired to be disappointed. Tomorrow will be our longest day and the rest is needed.

Sarria to Portomarin

I am in pretty good shape. I workout several times a week, recently ran a marathon, and have been expecting twenty to thirty kilometers a day to be pretty easy. We started out quite a bit later than we expected having a little bank trouble and finally hit the road by 10:15am.
About noon we came across a truly beautiful 12th century church, te Church of Barbadelo. Pilgrims at this point who we had seen on the path had gotten out to a late start and all bypassed this church, so we walked in, and were completely alone. Our feet were yet to begin hurting and everyone felt drawn to the peace, quiet, and beauty of this wonderful church. Yet we knew we were behind and needed to keep a stride to make it to Portomarin by four in the afternoon.

Most everyone in our group was able to keep a good pace but by two in the afternoon, we had a few who were moving at a much slower speed than I wanted to keep. By this time our group had spread out. I decided to keep the group together by staying the back and found myself walking much slower than I wanted. I keep reminding myself to be loving and sympathetic but I was becoming frustrated. I know deep down that it is not about my pace, and this is not my time to enjoy being alone, yet I have to keep myself going with this mantra: "Jesus, help me love others!" It sounds simple, but it so easy for me to forget to lend a helping hand when others struggle. Is today about helping me slow down? Am I learning that my time is not always God´s time and helping others is for more important that helping myself? By 4pm we finally arrive in Portomarin almost an hour behind the others and cross the scenic bridge into the old town. Those who have been struggling seem happier than ever to have arrived at our hotel 22.75km later and more satisfied than myself, which in a way is a true blessing and gift. At the end of the day, hearing the sense of accomplishment of everyone is teaching me that pace is not imporant but the way we help others is.

A Scallop Shell

I arrived with nineteen others to Spain yesterday. We are here to hike the last one hundred fifteen Km from Sarria to Santiago de Compostela, a famous pilgrimage hiked by tens of thousands every summer on the way to see the bones of St. James and follow in the footsteps of millions of others who are all on a journey for some personal reason, many of which are spiritual. I have been struggling to figure out myself why I am here and why I feel called to this walk. I hope I have a better idea in five days time but know that it could be revealed to me much later if ever.

We pilgrims hike with scallop shells around our necks. The scallop shell is the symbol of the pilgrims on the way to Santiago and we are beginning to see the shells. I knew the shells were used to drink water for thirsty pilgrims but what I didn't know was the greater metaphor of the shell. A scallop shell has many lines that all lead to the same center just as many roads and many pilgrims travel from all over, all on the way to Santiago. Some come from their homes in Norway or Italy and hike from their doorsteps. Some hike along the route in Portugal. More start in France and many take different paths yet they all end in the same place. Am I to learn this pilgrimage that my way is not the only way? Am I to become more sympathetic, compassionate and understanding of the different ways and paths in life?

A Thin Place

As soon as I walked into the sanctuary of Christ Church in Bay St. Louis, Mississippi, I felt I was in a “thin place.” A “thin place” comes from Celtic spirituality and is a place where you are closest to God. The idea of a thin place is that the veil between this world and the other world is thin. The structure of Christ Church was destroyed and all that is left today of the physical plant is the original bell tower. In place of the old church stands an air-conditioned Quonset hut and the original concrete floor. The inside of the church reminds me of a down comforter. One of the original stain glass windows rests upon the only window in the hut. Besides that, there is very little to decorate the church. Instead of pews, there are fold up metal chairs and instead of an organ, there is a PA system and an electronic keyboard.

Yet as soon as walked into this church, I felt I was in one of my own “thin places.” Goosebumps came over me and I started to tear up as I sat down in the church. Almost every spiritual home I have stepped foot in before has been in some way or another very elaborate. So I was surprised to feel this way in an air-conditioned Quonset hut.

I wonder sometimes if I fail to be connected with God in a world filled with accessories. My experience traveling to Christ Church continues to reaffirm that my God doesn’t need all of the lavish and ornate decorations, the old buildings, and fancy pews. When we strip off all of the decorations in life, and are left with nothing but what is underneath, raw, uncovered, we have God. I have spent the majority of my adult life acquiring things, goods, status, and of course money. Yet I am reminded today as I reflect on my time in Mississippi, that it is underneath all of this that I connect with Christ. Do I really need the big screen TV, the art, the Wii, the Vineyard Vines bow ties, or could I do without?

An Attack on Spirituality

I was reading a blog yesterday about one hundred simple ways to improve your life. There were two points out of one hundred which touched upon spirituality.

26) Go to church: Make new friends and get in touch with your spiritual side at church or temple.

31) Consider religion: If you’re not a spiritual person, consider becoming more involved with religion to improve your emotional well-being.

Being what I call a professional Christian, I couldn’t agree more with the writers point. These two points out of one hundred are just tips on how to possibly improve your life. I continued to read after the blog at all of the comments people had posted. Over one half of the comments were targeted at these two suggestions. One reader even commented that he or she was so offended that they would never read another post by the writer. This person obviously feels very passionately about religion and my guess Christianity.

In a blog about improving our lives, why does the suggestion of finding faith anger so many people? What is it about the Christian message that upsets so many others? If being a Christian is about loving others as we love ourselves, seeking peace instead of violence, and treating all people with dignity, could this really be that bad? I mean would our lives not be improved if we could do just this?

The Road to Santiago de Compostela - 4 Months Away

There is a road that leads to the mortal remains of the apostle St. James. He was buried in a field where a shepherd had seen a bright star. Legend says that not only did St. James, but the Virgin Mary travel here shortly after the death of Christ. This place known as Compostela, Spanish for the star field, has been one of three major pilgrimages for Christians for over 1000 years. This summer I will travel the last 115 kilometers of the road to Santiago de Compostela with twenty youth and their leaders from the church I work at in Memphis.

Something is stirring inside of me that draws me to this place. Every summer thousands of people walk this path with scallop shells around their neck all on their way to the Cathedral in Santiago. As I have been preparing for this journey, I wonder even now what it will feel like as I gather for the pilgrims mass with others who have taken this sacred walk. Destination is what I am concerned about four months before I get on a plane and fly to Madrid.

Yet, would I feel the same way about Santiago and being in the Cathedral if I didn’t take the walk? Would the pilgrim's mass be as important if I was invited to attend it without first taking the walk? Sometimes in my life, I focus so much on the destination that I forget about the beautiful journey that leads me there.

I have become I cycler over the last year and half and even bike the six and half miles to work sometimes. Moving so much slower than before, I begin to notice the wonderful sights that I take for granted each day as I stare straight ahead on my way to work. I miss the beautiful houses along Tuckahoe, or the students quickly crossing the street to get to their classes on time at the University of Memphis. And then I find myself lost in memories of my college days at Purdue and rushing to class across Northwestern Avenue. I see people working in yards and the care and love it takes to have a beautiful yard, and the enjoyment I get from someone else’s hard work.

All of this I miss when I drive to work. The journey is beautiful, and when I finally get to work I am ready to embrace the day and once again fall in love with my work. As I prepare for my little hike along the Camino de Santiago, I am trying to pay more attention to the journey that I am already making, because without a journey, arriving at a destination is not nearly as meaningful.

Life as a Musician

I think of myself as a musician. I love playing music. I have been playing piano for almost twenty years, guitar for fifteen years, and I attempt to play every other instrument my hands touch.

So I was watching this sermon by Rob Bell a few weeks ago called Rhythm. In the video, a symphony is playing in the background and he starts to talk about how he believes God to be like the music of the world and that it is our job to listen, hear the song, and play in harmony so that we can grow into the person that God has in store for us. As a musician this rang true and I have been thinking about this metaphor ever since.

But something has been bothering me for these few weeks as I think about this metaphor and as I try to better articulate my understanding of God. I believe I have been making the same mistake in my spiritual life that I have been making with music. Since I started playing piano and guitar, I have been focusing on getting faster, learning more complicated rifts, and learning fancier scales. When I played in bands in college, often I found myself playing too many notes and trying to do too much. I only listened to music that was theoretically complicated and never would have caught myself listening to simple songs such as I enjoy listening to now.

Something has shifted in the way that I hear music and my hope is I find that same shift in my spiritual life. I am listening a lot to a band called Iron & Wine which their early stuff is played on guitar alone and is very simple. To me their music is absolutely beautiful. What I am beginning to realize is that there is nothing wrong with sitting down at the piano and practicing for hours and hours, and for many years, until I can play complicated jazz or classical music. In fact until I do that, I won’t be able to. But the point is even at my own skill level which is closer to the level that Iron & Wine plays, I can make beautiful music. I can play in tune with the songs and in rhythm and do things that other people find more beautiful than any fancy jazz tune I might be able to play down the road.

This gives me much hope. Let us go back to Rob Bell’s image of music. God is playing a song and it is our job as musicians, or more importantly as humans, to stop and to listen to the song and to play in harmony. For any of us who have played any instrument at all even if it is the recorder in your third grade music class, we know that we are not always going to play in perfect harmony. But at this moment, wherever we are on our spiritual journey, we have all the gifts and skills to play a beautiful masterpiece. There is nothing wrong with wanting to get better at this thing called life, to practice and practice and maybe one day we will do something extraordinary, but it doesn’t mean that right now we can’t change the world. It doesn’t mean that a single and simple random act of kindness towards someone won’t be a beautiful masterpiece that changes their life.

For me this image has transformed the whole way that I embrace ministry. I don’t worry anymore about building some big, super youth program at the church I work. And it’s not that I don’t try to learn more and get better at my job, but I have embraced that sometimes less notes on a scale sounds wonderful. When I meet someone new, that single encounter might be more important than anything I could ever say in a sermon at a church or school or to my youth group. Sometimes the simplest actions we produce can lead to making a beautiful masterpiece and if we are aware of this, we can be better prepared when it happens.

A Lesson from New Orleans

I have always been a collector of things. When I started 5^th grade I was in the midst of building a Lego empire. I loved legos and had an extensive collection that now, 16 years later, I am devastated I sold at garage sale. At the time, I was building an empire of lego castles and spaceships with every new set helping spur my creative energy and convincing my parents from an early age that I should be an architect. I had amassed quite a collection of little lego treasures by the time I entered the sixth grade.

As I entered sixth grade, Shaquille O’Neal was entering the NBA. And I fell in love with professional basketball. Shaq was my hero although, even in sixth grade, I was acutely aware that I would never be seven foot one or wear size 26 shoes. I started collecting basketball cards and tried my very best to acquire every Shaq rookie card I could, each card become a real treasure in my collection of NBA unknowns and no names.

In seventh and eighth grade, I began to play golf. My Aunt Brenda moved to a golf course in Florida and mailed my family some of her old clubs. We went to visit her one summer and my little sister and I spent our afternoons hunting for old golf balls around the course. We noticed that some of the golf balls had advertisements and logos printed on the sides of the balls. And always being in direct competition with my sister, we spent the entirety of our summer vacation building our collection of specialized golf balls. Several shoe boxes of golf ball resided in my room for years, never once being used by me in a game of golf.

I collect things. I am still guilty of collecting things but I want to skip a few years from my time in Jr. High School to this past summer. I traveled twice to New Orleans this summer. During my second visit, our group had the opportunity to completely gut a house. After spending a couple of days cleaning brush and debris out of peoples yards and delivering welcome baskets to returning residents, we were all thrilled to have the opportunity to do some different work. Most of the gutting work in the area had been completed, but one resident who lived a block from Lake Pontchartrain finally signed a waiver giving a local ministry permission to go into his home and throw away all of his possessions, his life collection of material treasures. Our fourth afternoon in New Orleans and twelve of us grabbed a water cooler, some dust masks, and headed up towards Lake Pontchartrain. We were given specific instructions:

1) everything is trash

2) No matter what you do, do not open the refrigerator.

We were given duck tape to wrap the fridge, a few shovels, and a wheel barrow. Water sat in this house for two weeks. And then it left. And then everything in that home was damp or completely soaked, and it sat there in the sweltering New Orleans heat for two years. Every single thing this man owned was completely ruined. And everything was in his house.

He was a police officer. Several plaques were nailed up to the wall in the living room. He had been a New Orleans Police Officer of the month in 1984 and 1994. His television and his Playstation 2, complete with several NASCAR racing games, were covered in a thin layer of slime that had slowly grown in place over two years. The closet was full of the officer’s clothes, his partner’s clothes, and several pictures of the two of them from the past few years. Make up, shampoo, and deodorant rested in the bathroom, eager for its rightful owners to return.

Yet we were not the rightful owners. And I completely became aware that I was pilfering through someone else’s private life. I had entered a place they did not mean to leave, a place they had expected to return to on the day they left. Dirty dishes were still in the sink and the pantry was full of old food, paper products, and household cleaners. The closet was home to hundreds of Mardi gras beads, a bowling ball, and a few coats for the month or two in the winter when the weather was a little less miserable. Load after load, old electronics, a broken computer, clothes and personal belongings were piled high into the wheelbarrow and carted into the street. Not only did I feel guilty for throwing away the material possessions that defined a man and his partner’s life, but I began to look at my own life and what I truly hold as important.

The images of this home have been haunting me ever since I returned from New Orleans. I wonder a lot about what is truly important in my life and what are my real treasures. I try my best not to focus and center my life on material possessions.
This memory reminds me of this scripture from Matthew: “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. "

My whole life I have been waiting for “The Great Memphis Earthquake.” Who knows if it will happen in our lifetime, but things happen, whether it is nature, bad luck, or our own negligence, we can easily lose everything we own. Would I be able to walk away from my house? And never return? What about my awesome TV? What about my bike? What about all of the pictures I have collected over the years that tell my story of growing up? What about the music? I still collect things. I have a 10,000 song music collection that even the thought of temporally losing music, terrifies every bone in my body. I collect art. I am slowly building my home one piece of nice furniture at a time. Have I put my treasures in heaven? Do I cherish the friendships that I make every day, or the times when I do something nice for someone else? Honestly, are my greatest treasures my friends, my family, my relationship with God? For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

The Kingdom of Heaven

At first I was a little upset that my parents decided to go out of town for Easter. Easter is one of three major holidays where my parents, my sister and I gather around the table for a wonderful home cooked meal. I assured my mother that my feelings were not hurt, yet harbored a little resentment for their little vacation to Heber Springs. And as positive as I tried to be about Easter, watching families and friends leave for glorious Easter brunches and family lunches after church left me feeling alone and abandoned.

After church, I met with three youth from my church to cook a meal at a local soup kitchen. To be honest, I was glad there were three young people who were willing to come and cook. Most of the active youth in the parish were enjoying family meals and big Easter celebrations, so to have three youth willing to work at a soup kitchen on Easter made the event more special. And only having three, we had to work so hard in the kitchen that I didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself.

The three hours that we spent together flew by and when we were ready to leave, we all walked out together. One of the regulars at the soup kitchen, Lee, approached the three youth and begin asking them questions about their lives, where they went to school, what sports they played, and what they enjoyed doing in their spare time. And to my surprise, all three answered in detail and even began asking Lee questions about his life. In my work in ministry, I have found it very easy to serve the homeless and a lot more difficult to truly treat each person as one of our brothers or sisters. I have come to expect people, regardless of age, to be standoffish and hesitant to engage in real compassionate conversation with those who seem different, especially the homeless. Although I always enjoy working at soup kitchens, if I am walking in downtown or midtown Memphis, I will stray away from homeless people and try to avoid them. This afternoon, I expected answers to be short and abrupt and a feeling of general discomfort to linger in the air.

As I was experiencing something new for Easter, these three youth helped me to see the true meaning of Easter. Easter is the celebration of the resurrection of Christ, and in my eyes that means bringing his kingdom of heaven to earth. I believe that for fifteen minutes, as I stood outside with these three youth and our brother Lee, they showed me a glimpse of the kingdom of heaven, a place where all people eat together at the same table and each person is respected, loved, and embraced. Conversations run free and people would not hesitate to share all they have to offer with each other. And to catch a glimpse of that kingdom of heaven made my Easter more special and meaningful than ever before.

The Power of Unction

From last summer:

I was reassured once again, tonight, that God has a sense of humor. And that sometimes that still small voice disappears and becomes that loud, large roar. I have less than two days left at Kanuga Conference Center in North Carolina. I have been working with ninety-eight youth from all over the country during Kanuga’s annual youth week. Tonight has been the highlight of the week as we concluded with a healing service and the sacrament of unction.

I have a nasty habit of judging people. Sometimes I have the tendency to look for people’s negative qualities well before I look for the Christ-light that resides in everyone. We all are the children of God, yet sometimes I forget that and look for those qualities which bother me and get under my skin. There is someone here at this conference, who I will call Steve, and I often look for those negative qualities in him. Steve is a wonderful person who clearly radiates that Christ-light, yet for some reason I close my eyes and see only what I want to see. Although Steve and I have been working well together this week, I often feel on thin ice when I am around him.

During the healing service, as our Chaplain sat alone, I approached Rebecca to ask her to pray for me. I asked to be forgiven and for God to help release those judgmental qualities that I often possess behind the walls of my mind. Rebecca made the sign of the cross on my forehead with oil and as she prayed with me my head went numb. Never in my life have I felt such a strong presence of the Holy Spirit. A few tears appeared as Rebecca finished praying and when I stood up, Steve was right there. Steve was standing right behind me with his arms outstretched to give me a hug. He had no clue what I was praying for but God did. And God made it very clear to me that it was my turn to let my demons go.

A Soup Kitchen Experience

I had the privilege of preparing and serving dinner at a local soup kitchen this weekend with the youth confirmation class from my church. I wouldn’t be surprised if many of the young people had trouble finding anything in common with the people whom they were serving. Honestly, this is probably a fault that I am guilty of many times as well. When I am stopped and asked for money, I often find myself distrusting and reluctant to share the wealth I have because I struggle to see the poor, the homeless, and the less fortunate as equals.

There was a woman at dinner that reminded me of the lady who ran the dry cleaners around the corner from where I grew up. As I was becoming overwhelmed at seeing this lady, who I thought had been so kind to my sister and me growing up, I decided to find out this woman’s story. Although this woman bore a striking resemblance to the woman from my childhood, she had a different story. She had been married to a clergyman before spending the last several years on the street. She has since found a safer and more suitable place to live.

I have been finding this reality slightly haunting, possibly because I work with several clergy men and women and their families, or maybe because I know a little bit about the woman from the soup kitchens story. If a clergyman’s wife could end up homeless, than a youth minister certainly could. I believe as Christians we are called to work with the poor, the homeless, and those who suffer. However, if we place people into categories by labeling them poor, homeless, or suffering, we can become subject to never seeing them as equals. Sunday reminded me that we are all equal regardless of the clothes we wear, the homes we live in, or if we are serving or being served.

An Underdog Story

I have been helping a friend of mine coach a 5^th grade boy’s basketball team this year. One of the fathers told us at the beginning of the year, we would be doing a good job if this team had a winning record. Although our boys improved throughout the year, we finished the season with a very modest record of 11-9 and only a six seed in an eleven team tournament. The boys could have been very satisfied with their winning record.

Although we were the last team to get a bye, we played our first game against the number three seed, a much quicker team, and possibly the best team in the league at putting pressure on the ball. By the beginning of the second quarter, we were losing 17-2. Most eleven and twelve year olds would have lost all hope at this point. But by the end of the half the game was 24-12, still an enormous mountain to climb. Our team didn’t give up and kept playing with all their heart and with eleven seconds left in the game found themselves down by one point. Our star player dribbled the ball down the court and put up a shot from about twelve feet out. He missed! And out of nowhere, one of our players who had been struggling all season to rebound, until the second half of this game, grabbed a monster rebound and kicked it out to our point guard who threw up a prayer. The shot landed on the rim and the buzzer sounded. The ball continued to bounce around the rim before falling right through the net. The team rushed the court to tackle the shooter. The parents rushed the court. The crowd went nuts. The Grace St. Luke’s Saints had upset the three seed and won a playoff game.

Now, the boys could have been content. They had exceeded everyone’s expectations. The next game was against the two seed, and the parents and coaches were so proud of the boys. But when the game started against St. Dominic, our six seed, 12-9 team, played tough and competitive against the well-coached opponent. And every time they scored, our team found a way to get a basket. And when the game went into double overtime, our team finally began to take the game away and we walked out with a four point victory. Now, the Saints could have been content with making it to the championship game.

The championship game was against St. Francis who scored almost fifty points in a game the day before. St. Francis had beaten us twice early in the season, each time by about twenty points. They had only lost one time all season. In the back of my head, I had given up most hope and was already so proud of the team. All I was wishing for was for the team to play good basketball and I was excited that we would at least get a second place trophy. Yet at the end of the half we trailed 6-5 in an awesome defensive battle. Our boys were playing great and they kept playing tough. When we went up by four with about three minutes left, I felt we really might become the champions. They went with a box and one defense on our star player to keep him from getting the ball, but other people stepped up and we walked away with a huge 21-11 upset. What an underdog story!

There is an old Haitian proverb: “Beyond mountains there are mountains.” Although this proverb is about patience and the recognition of how difficult life can be, it also describes this past weekend’s basketball tournament. After each challenge, another challenge appears. The GSL Saints had to climb many mountains this season, especially this tournament. The ability to continue to climb after being down by 15 points at the beginning of the first playoff game will inspire me forever.

Life, and especially for me, being a Christian, is about climbing these mountains. We generally consider most people good because they follow the general rules of life or the Ten Commandments such as not killing people or stealing. But to me, being a Christian is about being that underdog. It is about climbing that mountain, only to find a mountain on the other side and continuing forward. We are called to be radical, to change the world, to struggle, to get our hands dirty. We are called to serve the poor, feed the hungry, to forgive our friends and, even harder, our enemies. We are called to do good to those who hate us, bless those who curse us, and pray for those who abuse us. I struggle to do any of these. Life is about climbing that mountain. And that one time I find it in my heart to forgive someone who wrongs me, there is someone else right there asking the same thing, and it becomes even more difficult.

The story of the Grace St. Luke’s basketball team is important because it gives us hope as an underdog. We can do what is right, even if it is an uphill battle. And just like in the playoffs, a little momentum can go a long way. If we start to be radical, serving the poor, forgiving our enemies and climbing those mountains, we can gain momentum, mountain by mountain, and change the world one person at a time.

Life Lessons from the Super Bowl

Sunday was one of my favorite days of the year. The time when people join together to stuff their faces with junk food and pancho’s cheese dip, grab their football jerseys, and gather around the TV to watch the Super Bowl and of course a bunch of awesome commercials. In the midst of all the popcorn and M&M throwing and flashes of the digital cameras, I actually walked away with what I think are 3 important lessons from this year’s Super Bowl.

Number 1 - There will always be people who doubt you. Forgot about them.

The doubts started when Manning was in college at Tennessee. He never beat Florida, UT’s biggest rival, and the year after he left, the Volunteers won a national championship. In Indianapolis, the doubt continued. When Payton started 0-3 in the playoffs, people wondered if he would ever win a playoff game. When he finally did that, people said he couldn't beat the Patriots. When he did that, the critics argued he still couldn't win the biggest game of them all.

Life is full of road blocks. For every good idea and dream that you have, there will be 10 people waiting to tell you why your idea and dreams are stupid. Don’t be discouraged when someone shoots you down. Continue to work hard and persevere though those obstacles. It would be Christmas in Chicago right now if Peyton had listened to his critics.

Number 2 - One game can make all the difference

Payton has started nearly 150 NFL games. For years everyone has talked about how Payton has been one of the greatest quarterbacks to ever play the game, who does not have a championship ring. But after those nine seasons and all the lack of respect that he has received, one game, last night’s Super Bowl victory nearly guarantees him in the Hall of Fame and ensures his legacy forever.

I find this reassuring. It comforts me to know that no matter the mistakes that I make in life, the games that I fall short in life, off the field, that we all have the opportunity to change people’s perception of who we are by making a difference when the big opportunity comes our way. Even if people expect something out of you, that you might fail or disappoint everyone, prove them wrong. It’s possible.

Number 3 - No matter what mistakes we make, we are all given a second chance.

I saw this several times in the game. Sometimes in ways I don’t quite agree with such as man arrested for illegal possession of firearms and drugs being allowed to play in the Super Bowl. Three seconds into the game, the Colts kickoff is returned for a touchdown, basically the culmination of a lot of mistakes by Indianapolis. The Colts get the ball right away, and Payton throws an interception. Huge mistake! Turnover, and it is the Bear’s ball. I suspect by this point most Colts fans are yelling at the TV, their season full of hope is coming crashing down as most of us are trying to find away to hold on to the little bit of hope left, but with all of these mistakes the Colts are making, how are they going to win the game?

We all make mistakes. Some of us make more than others, but life is full of second chances. What is important is to learn from our mistakes, and to instead of letting them hinder us, they help us. So often, when we make a mistake, it sets up a chain reaction for other mistakes and everything around us seems to come tumbling down. Instead we must realize that mistakes are a part of growing and learning and necessary for improvement. The Colts could have given up after the touchdown. They certainly could have given up after the interception, but the game was far from over and the Colts proved they could overcome a few mistakes.

"To let you be my servant too"

One of the privileges of working for the church is the opportunity to find unique ways of carrying out the church’s mission to help serve the world. While I was in college, my sister traveled to Honduras twice on church mission trips to help build a few homes and work on a local school. The experiences she had were life changing for her and her stories left me desiring to have that same sense of fulfillment from serving others. Until a year ago, I had never been to a 3^rd world country and I have been looking for ways to carry out that desire through my church wanting both youth and adults to have that same experience that impacted Ann.

It was these feelings and desires to serve the helped spur my desire to travel as a missionary and ultimately led to the planning of my pilgrimage to India. I met Milind a few years ago when he was visiting Holy Communion. He told me about a trip to India with his parishioners from New York who had fallen in love with India and even helped raise money to build a well in a small village where Christians were not allowed rights to water. The well was built on one condition: that no one be denied the right to water. I asked Milind to lead a group from my church on a trip to India envisioning this trip as a true mission trip serving people of a 3^rd world country and really doing my best to put others first. Our pilgrimage was nothing like this.

We spent our first several days in Pune, not only soaking in the vast culture of India but learning about the work of the Deep Griha society. The Deep Griha Society ran several orphanages which we visited, each one with groups of children greeting us with songs and dances they had spent several hours the week before rehearsing for our visit. At one orphanage out in the country called City of Child, the children insisted on carrying our backpacks around and wearing our Sun Glasses and hats as soon as we entered. And at each place they fed us huge meals that we struggled to finish while it was so obvious that the children and workers of the different centers had not had such a nice meal.

The second leg of our journey or so called “mission trip” brought us deep into the middle of India. After learning about the work of the Diocese of Nagpur and the Church of North India, we were led deep in the jungle hours away from cars, trucks, and city life to visit three small villages. We were running a little late but each village welcomed us with open arms. At each village friends laid flowers around our neck and the people of the village would sing us songs taught to them by the local missionaries. Each village offered us chai tea. When we finally reached the third village at 9pm, where they had been waiting for us for hours, we were welcomed with a huge drum circle, dance, tea, flowers, and a warm dinner served on Teak Leaves. At the third village a man had traveled 25km just to greet us.

As wonderful as being in India was, a place I now hold so dear to my heart, I was feeling horribly guilty. I am a young man with a car, health insurance, an Ipod, a home with a roof that usually keeps out water, and living in the most technologically advanced and wealthy nation of the world. Now, some of this planet’s poorest individuals were placing flowers around my neck, serving our group meal after meal and completely keeping me from doing what I had set out to do, to be a servant.

We are called to be serve the poor, the hungry, and the needy. “Won’t you let me be your servant, let me be as Christ to you, pray that I may have the grace to let you be my servant too.” These are the words of one of my favorite songs, The Servant Song by Richard Gillard. I so often forget that although we are called to be servants, we must also let others serve us. I fill a spiritual need of others when I serve them. When I go to the soup kitchen, or help build a home for Habitat for Humanity, although I am helping to fill the needs of others, I am filling my own needs: the need to feel as if I am making this world a better place by being selfless and putting others first. What I neglected to recognize at first in India, was that these people, especially the new first generation Christians, my brothers and sisters, and equal in everyway regardless of finances and material wealth, all have that same calling to serve others. They desired to welcome strangers into their homes, to serve them with love and kindness just as we would welcome anyone into our home. And what I realized towards the end of the trip was that I was making a difference. I had traveled thousands of miles to affirm what these people were learning and studying and that Christianity was real. There are people from all over the world who may, on the outside, seem nothing alike, but are just the same as us with the same callings to serve and love one other. And by visiting them we were able to share that love with each other.

I encourage you all to go out and serve others. Go on mission trips, serve at a soup kitchen, or volunteer at an after school program. Just pray that you may also have the grace to let others serve you as well. Sometimes that is even more difficult than finding ways to serve.