The End of the Journey--Christmas !

It is Christmas Eve. And I am thinking of Ukraine. On this night of nights many of them wrap up in the cold will put on as much as they can walk in. They hold their children’s hands. The old with their canes and make-shift wheelchairs are there to. Slowly they make their way through their battered streets. The pot holes are everywhere. There  is no electricity.

They find their way to what is left of their church. It’s cold there too. Two of the stained glass window have been shattered. Dust covers most of the seats. The benches are hard and cold. The church  is lit by candlelight. 

And they keep coming. The old. The grievers. Those still bearing their scars. And up front there is the Priest in his tattered robes. There is even a make shift choir.

And so the old drama begins yet again. Why do they come on this cold Christmas Eve? The old story they’ve heard before—many times. They know the Scriptures almost by heart. They sing from memory or what is left of tattered hymn books. 

Why do they come. Because in their desperation they hope there will be something in this scarred battered place that they can hold on to. They come knowing there is no other place to go. There are lumps in their throats. There are tears everywhere. But never mind this old story of stars and pregnant women and shepherds barely eking out a living. They understand that cold barn.There is a makeshift feeding trough that holds a child. They hear that once upon a time an angel came—maybe a chorus of angels singing their hearts out. 

And they will soon turn and leave. For a brief moment they forgot the hunger and their makeshift rooms and the terrible dark and cold. And they will remember the words of the priest. The old story and look around at their brothers and sisters tied together by fear ands pain and injustice. And somehow they know as hard as this Christmas is they will make it. They hear “the people in darkness have seen a great light…”and that other word they pray for daily: peace a strange peace that passes all understanding.

And we come too, don’t we. Dressed in our finery we bring with us our scars and wounds. We come maybe just to see the drama and the huge lighted Chrismon tree and the Advent wreath. The squirming children will come and some wag will look around and stare at a snubbing child. And the room is crowded to hear story we know be heart. Someone might sing O Holy Night.”And we will stand and sing “Silent Night.”

 
We will leave and drive back to beautiful trees and turkey and dressing and the presents. They are everywhere. But as it ends and we slip into bed we just might remember that what those scruffy shepherds found. Words we will tell tell our children and grand children over and over year after year. Knowing the light shines in our fearful darkness and the darkness, however strong, can never, ever put it out.

Maybe this is why they and we come.

--Roger Lovette / roogerlovette.blogspot.com

Still Not There Yet?

Advent 4—No, Not There Yet.

“It is it always is, however much we say it was.”

—Thomas Mann

Years ago the kids kept beating on my car seat. “Daddy, are we there yet?”“No—not yet.” And they moaned: “Will we ever get there?” And these days we ask it too, don’t we?

Did Mary and Joseph also asked it ? Those five long hard days as they traveled from their hometown in Nazareth-to Bethlehem where Joseph was to pay taxes. In the last days of her pregnancy Mary must have thought it again and again.  How much longer. Joseph leaving behind the gossip and scandal he must have faced at home. But on that journey he must have asked it too. Will we ever get there?

How much longer is this rocky road with it’s nausea and weariness and fear too—how much longer will it last? Will our baby be all right? They must have said why couldn’t we just stay in Nazareth. But no—duty called.

And duty calls us too. To say goodbye to those we have loved. To those we almost forgot until that Christmas Card came. Recovering from this cursed virus. We thought it was all behind us. Hearing that terrible news of people— who left us a year or more year ago. And we have just heard.

Will we ever quit worrying about our children, our health, old age, the world. That lab report. That lump. The MRI. Is this road never ending?

What a gloomy word for Christmas. But the child is not quite here yet. And the streets in Bethlehem are crowded with so many. And lodging? It will be hard to find a place for Mary especially who desperately needs a rest. 

I am thinking today about all those moving through deserts and snakes and scorpions and bandits and that cold, cold river. And the wall—that cursed wall. 

And as I don my nice duds on Christmas Eve I can’t get those thousands that desperately look for a room out of my mind. Where their children will be warm and all five of them will feel safe. And their fragile hope will flicker. They must have asked it too: Are we there yet.

I have no answers to this enormously complicated problem. Seems like nobody does. But this I do know these are our brothers and sisters. And somehow amid the wonder of our celebrations we must pause and remember. The tiny child we worship would one day say:“As you do it to the last of these —you do it unto me.”

No, children, we are not there yet. And may that fragile hope we all carry make room for all. Somewhere I read about a kindergarten play. Gary was the innkeeper. And little Joseph knocked on the door of the inn. And Gary decided to be inventive. When Joseph asked if there was room in the inn, he answered, “You are so lucky.  We’ve just had a cancellation.”

And may all of us—whoever we are—be able to say the door is open and we have a cancellation. And we will answer our own question: Yes, we will all get there.

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

 

Christmas--Not There Yet

 

Now we are moving closer to Christmas. But we are not there yet. The decorations are all up, most of the presents are bought and outside houses glow with lights and beauty. But with all of this—we are not there yet. The little boy asked his grandmother: “Will there ever be another Christmas ?” And we’ve asked it too. For along this Christmas road we look back at the too-muchness of it all. Hatred and divisions. Refugees wondering, wondering. Putin with all his cruelty and pain. People still sleeping in old papers boxes. And tears far into the night. Yet this is not all. The children bring us wonder again. The old Biblical story tells us where we are and where we will be is not the end of the story.

We have been here before. For when the curtain comes up we see on the stage a man and a donkey and a woman-girl heavy with child. We are told they are on a journey. Forced by the Roman government they go back home to pay taxes—even thought they have little. They carry their bundles on that donkey. And the young man leads the donkey and carries part of what they will need. Maybe water. Maybe handfuls of meat and bread carefully wrapped along with a pan or two. 

It was seventy miles from Nazareth to Bethlehem. Seventy miles. The journey usually took four days but with a woman who had to rest and way-stops along the way—they would be on the road at least five days. And she asks softly : “Will we ever get there?” And Joseph wondered too but said nothing.

We don’t talk or preach much about that winding rocky road from here to there. We forget the wind that blew. How cold the nights must have been. And the rain—the cursed rain that kept coming. They did not know what the road ahead might bring. They took the longer route hoping there would be less bandits along their journey. So they traveled five long days. 

We cannot cosmetize the story with blinking lights and even the gorgeous music of this season. Because, like them we are not there yet. And we wonder like Mary and Joseph if we will ever get there. For if we dare look back at our own treks we had rocks, boulders too in our road, and ups and downs and downs and ups. We lost this year. That loved one with memory loss. The funerals—God, will they never end. And the storms like our own Caesar Augustus and Herods and so many others. We are not there yet. 

So we light a third candle on Sundays—flickering though it may be. But we are not there yet. For our journey too, is long and fraught with danger. The story says they kept going day after day. And so do we despite our divorces and Stage Fours and depression and doubts. And it just piles up around us. Will we ever get there?

This is not the end of the account then or now. For though we must remember that old story that we keep telling as if for the first time—still surrounded with all this too-muchness. And there is hope trudging along on that donkey not knowing exactly what will happen but hoping though we are not there yet—hoping we will light another candle and we will remember once again.

                                       --Roger Lovette  / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Let Advent Come

This stained glass piece rests over our kitchen sink. Leaving Niagara Falls, moving toward Niagara-by-the-Lake in Canada my wife and I saw a tiny village and we stopped there. We saw a shop that said, “Stained Glass Here.” Going inside we met an old man, the shopkeeper. He was surrounded by small beautiful pieces made of stained glass. “Tell us about these glass pieces.” And he said after the Second World War he was able to buy stained glass figures from bombed-out churches. He took those broken pieces and framed them with stained glass. We bought this window and it has hung at different places in our houses since that time.

Over our sink, washing dishes, scraping plates—doing the most mundane of things—we see Mary and beside her an angel that brings her an impossible news. “You shall have a son and his name will be Jesus.” To the most unlikely of people, in the most unlikely of places this angel came whispering, “Do not be afraid." 

And so Advent comes. No 40-piece orchestra. No people standing around clapping and cheering. No message in the sky. Just a pregant woman and her cousin, too. And a puzzled Joseph and scruffy shepherds and three kings. And at the centerpiece a manger filled with straw holding a tiny child surrounded by sheep and goats and steaming dung. 

Some days as I wash the plate after munching on my breakfast I look up at my stained glass. Most days it is just another decorative piece. And some days I remember the story of good news and a great joy that has come to all. 

Nobody is left out. No body. And some days I think maybe, just maybe his coming means that in my old age with a hurting back and too many doctors he comes to me. Let Advent come. Even with all the sadness out there. Even coming to all the broken people and broken things. Let Advent come with this slip of a girl and that angel that even speaks to Ukraine and Hershel and Warnock and Biden and a world in disarray.

God, let Advent come to me and mine and everyone. And may we find some great news and maybe joy, too. It seems unlikely. As unlikely as that poor Mother and husband shivering by that tacky manger. The angel said, “Do not be afraid.” And that too is unlikely. And yet if we turn off the TV  and the fear out there so strong that you could cut it with a knife—Advent may just come. And so in the back room far from the Christmas tree we might find that he comes to cancer and Alzheimer's and enormous grief. But isn't this always the setting of Christmas?

Why do we do this year after year and decade after decade? Because despite it all we need an Advent that comes even just a sliver. Bringing this stubborn word called Hope that might just keep us going.

“O holy child of Bethlehem,

how still we see the lie!

Above thy deep and dreamless sleep

the silent stars go by

Yet in the dark streets shineth

the everlasting lasting light;

and hope and fears

of all the years

are met in thee tonight."

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Despite the Whatevers--Advent Still Comes

Growing up I don’t think I ever heard the word Advent. Baptists came to this liturgical season late. In reaction to Catholics we had no crosses in our churches. We had no candles on the table up front. We wore no robes—choir and certainly no Preacher. Processionals—well, no. There was no candlelight communion. We were busy wrapping presents at home.

But somewhere along my road I discovered Advent. It meant getting ready. It meant arrival on the day of days—Christmas. It meant opening your eyes and seeing. It meant reading the story of the wise and foolish virgins and the admonition: Watch. Unlike the Catholics and Episcopalians we began singing Christmas carols on the first Sunday of Advent. In time Advent became one of my favorite seasons. I love the music, the color, the bathrobe dramas. Everything. 

THEN

So in my first church off the main highway in Western, Kentucky I thought it was time to introduce Advent to our little church. When they finally realized this word did not belong to the Catholics they began to settle down. They tolerated their young preacher and some of his new ways. Our rural church was drab. And down front was the Warm Morning Heater that kept us too hot or shivering. So that first Christmas I decided to deal with some of the drabness by introducing our first Advent Christmas wreath. I put five candles in place and decorated it a little with greenery. I instructed the all-male Deacons on the meaning of the wreath and the five candles. And I chose one of our Deacons to light that first candle on Sunday. We began that service with Miss Jenny playing the Hammond organ. The designated Deacon came forward took out his cigarette lighter and lighted not one but all five of the candles! Five.

Despite my mortification Christmas came. Maybe we celebrated Jesus’ coming not one day but five special Sundays. The candles did not deter my parishioners. They came every Advent Sunday and sat in their chosen seats and stared at the pretty candles. On Sundays there were a trickle of divorcees, an unmarried pregnant girl, and old couple dealing with the ravages of old age. And here and there were the ones who had lost somebody.  And farmers worried about the weather and their tobacco crops in the spring. And there were the squirming children who just couldn’t wait for Christmas morning. I learned a powerful message that season. The baby comes despite our screwups and all our human frailties. 

NOW

And this year I watch that first candle being lighted by a little girl whose Daddy held her shoulder high. For Jesus has come a zillion times to me and people inside and outside churches the world over. Those who never darkened the church door. The drunks and the whores and those crippled with drugs. The homeless sleeping in card board boxes.This Jesus reaches across the enormous political divides.  And the grievers are not left out. Or the refugees and the power-mad politicians. But more—those sitting in our pews last Sunday well-dressed need what we all need. A message as old as time. Jesus comes. And so next Sunday we light the second candle and we will remember. No wonder we call it Advent.

 

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.logspot.com

Let's Not Call Thanksgiving Off

Let’s not call Thanksgiving off. Knee-deep in masks and funerals and sickness and grief piled on top of grief—we did not cancel Thanksgiving. We’ve all got a lot on our plates. And looking back on my own journey Thanksgiving came whether I was depressed or had the blahs or diverted myself with a book, TV, or Netflix or the ball game. And Thanksgiving came anyway. Some times I totally missed it.

I picked up a little book years ago. Interesting title I thought. 365 Thank Yous by someone I had never heard of, John Kralik. He opens up his own heart and tells a powerful story. A lawyer with a passel of clients that just did not pay. He had run out of money. He was struggling through a painful second divorce. Distant from his kids. Living in a tiny apartment cold in winter and hot in summer. He was 40 pounds overweight and his new girlfriend had just ditched him. His dearest life dreams seemed to have slipped away. 

Trudging alone on a mountains trail he suddenly thought of the thank you note his ex-girlfriend had sent him thanking him for his Christmas gift. It made his day.  So still on that path he thought what if I wrote a couple of thank you notes to people who have made a difference to me along the way.

So he started to write two or three thank you notes. He mused: What if I wrote a note every day to somebody out there who helped him along? After he started he decided to try to write a thank you note every day of the year. He said it took him longer than a year to write 365 notes—but finally he finished. Guess what? Thanksgiving began to come into this man in all his desperation. Thinking and thanking more people than he imagined had changed his life. Thanksgiving came and he wrote this book. 

He said he just wrote simple notes not too long. He wrote to people he had not thought about in years. And gratitude changed his life. Not all happy endings for all his troubles but he was turned inside out. And Thanksgiving came.

I love the Neil Young song when he sings:

“One of these days, I’m going to sit

down and write a long letter

To all the good friends I’ve known

I’m going to try and thank them all for

the good times together

Though so apart we’ve grown…

One of these days, one of these days

One of these days it won’t be 

long, it won’t be long.”

Turn off the TV. Give yourself a time out. Maybe not Thanksgiving Day but maybe the next day or the next. But some time to sit and remember them and how empty the days might have been without them. Let’s not call Thanksgiving off. Who knows what it just might do to us all?

--RogerLovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com 

Happy Birthday, Natalie

 

Happy Birthday Granddaughter

Maybe Manna is What We need Most Today

--photo courtesy of Matthew Lovette

I am sure you are sitting on the edge of your seats when you read the sermon title: Manna. Manna? Yeah, What Is It? Maybe it is not as strange as you thought.

The Promise

The story of this Manna comes out the book of Exodus. You know that story. This was the journey that moved God’s people from slavery to freedom. It was a winding road that led from Egypt and slavery across the Red Sea to what they thought would be the Promised Land. But there was a catch. The stragglers  looked out at sand and desert and heat and cold and wondered: Did God really say this was the Promised Land? Not yet. But they would find their journey through the desert until they made it finally to the Promised Land—but. It took them 40 years to travel the distance of 400 miles. Some wonderful stories come out of that journey. And somenot so good. 

After they traveled quite a ways—they began to murmur. What food they had was running out and there was little water in that desert. Gasoline was so high, the economy had tanked, groceries were out go sight and they were spitting and gouging at one another.

And so a great cry arose: Has God brought us here to starve in this wilderness? Sound familiar. Well, God heard their cries and sent manna from heaven. 

Manna

Manna, they said, What is that? Manna? And Moses said, “It is the bread which the Lord has given us to eat.”Little by little the manna would come and finally, finally they came to the Promised Land. We are not at all sure what that manna was but there were enough nutriments that kept them going.

Day by day the manna would come. And they went out and gathered what they needed for that day. But Moses had warned: Do not take more than you need. You can’t save it up. They didn’t listen to the preacher. But they said if we save this stuff up we will have a lot more time to sleep late and not worry about our dumb sheep. 

Horders

Exodus said they took their sacks and hoarded up the manna. Filled them full. But a strange thing occurred. When they opened their sacks the next day they  discovered this manna was molded and had little worms in it. And the stink. It stunk to high heaven. 

But they learned a powerful message: there are some things that cannot be saved or pickled or frozen for another day. Uh-huh. The manna had to be collected every morning. They looked up at God and said: “Every morning?” And God said: "Every...single...morning."

In this Exodus story we find one the hardest lessons any of us to learn. We have to keep coming back and reaching out our hands because the needs of our lives are every single day. 

It doesn’t matter how young or old you are—there are some things you have to give attention to every day. It’s like going to Sunday dinner to eat and we would say: "We’ll eat a lot today and we want have to worry the rest of the week. Nah. It does not work that way. We pig ourselves out at lunch . On the table there is fried chicken and macaroni cheese and a broccoli casserole and real live biscuits and we top it off with banana pudding. Just stuffed, we say. But about  8:00 we say: “You know what I’m a little hungry Honey—how about you.” 

There are some lessons here we all have to think about every single day. And we need to be reminded. The first lesson is this: We have to depend on God first. And the second lesson is: We have to depend on one another.

Jesus is Lord?

Jesus really is Lord. Jesus. Not politics. Not money. Not winning. But about Jesus. So—it isn’t about hammers or sleeping with somebody else’s wife or spitting on those that disagree with us or lying through our teeth or even winning. Folks, Jesus is Lord. And the Ten Commandments are not out of date. No exceptions.

So we may not be all that different than those on that long journey. In the wilderness they learned there were some scary things out there. You could die in that wilderness. For there was sand and oppressive  heat and always they’re looking for water. Not to speak of the scorpions and snakes and disease and enemies just over the next hill. Not to speak of the rebellion in their ranks. And out of necessity they were forced to rely on God and one another. Not just Democrats and not just Republicans—but everybody on that journey. They were not so self-reliant after all. No one is left behind.

Jesus told us: “Pray like this. Give us today our daily bread. It is the reckoning that we live our lives by the hand of God. Give us what we need to keep us going today. Daily Bread. Our daily ration. But it is enough to make it through operations and kids leaving home and life changes and family disruptions and all the whole things we find in our desert. 

Tony Campolo used to tell this funny story. There was this old guy in the backwoods of Kentucky that everybody knew was mean. To everybody. Especially to his family. But about once a year the church would have a revival. And an Evangelist would come and preach and then he would give an altar call. And this old mean man who didn’t come to church much would come down the aisle and kneel and say: “Fill me…Lord fill me.” And when the next revival came around the next year he’d walk down that aisle and say: “Fill me…fill me.” And a few days later he always would slip back into his old habits cursing everybody and drinking a lot. But guess what? The next year when the revival came he would do the same thing. Kneel at the front and say: “Fill me…fill me.”

Everybody would look round and think: “Well there he goes again.”An old woman from the back had enough. She yelled” “Don’t do it Lord. Don’t fill him: he leaks.” Manna must come every single day.

We Depend on Each Other

And out of this the second lesson is: We are to depend on one another. When one of my granddaughters was young she was having a hard time tying her shoes, And I would come over and say.”I can help you!” But she would push me away saying, “I can do this myself.” And it wouldn’t be long before she would come over to me and say, “Help me Grandpa, I just can’t tie my shoes.” What do you think I told her: “No. I helped you yesterday. No. My heart would melt every time and I would say: “Sit in my lap we’ll tie your shoes and put a band aid on your arm.”

We just had  All Saints Day. Who would be a saint to you? Who tied your shoes? Who said: “It’s gonna be alright.” Who said, “The sky is not falling even though you have been diagnosed with cancer or something else.” All of us have somebody that lifted us up and carried us along.  

Hope

I have a friend that went through a terrible divorce. His wife left him with a house full of kids. He had a job that demanded a lot of time and he was just stretched and it was a hard, hard . And so every week I would clip out one of those weird Far Side cartoons and send them to him. I remember one when one deer said to the other one:  “Don’t forget to eat the roses!” My friend never said much about those cartoons—but he made it. But he met this wonderful woman and they have a great marriage.

But that is not the end of the story. A year or two after I sent him all those cartoons I was having a real hard time. And I could not see any way out. And there came in the mail one day this brown envelope. I opened it and guess what? There spilled out of that envelope all those Far Side cartoons I had sent to him. A whole bunch. And he paid me back in mown hard time.

We’re all the same. We stagger out of bed and some times there is a whole lot on our plates.I hope we remember this story about the manna. And during that day I hope we find that manna. Not maybe what we want—but what we need. And we turn around and help somebody else find their manna too.

Manna—what is it? God says: “It is the bread which the Lord has given you to eat.”

 

Thanks be to God.

(This sermon was preached at the Mount Zion Presbyterian Church, Sandy Springs, SC, November 6, 2022.)

--Roger Lovette/ rogeerlovette.blogspot.com

It's All Saints Day--A Time to Remember

"Someone I loved once gave me

a box full of darkness.  

It took me years to understand

that this, too was a gift."

                             --Mary Oliver

photo by Reji / flickr

It's All Saints time. And today I remember William Armstrong's wonderful book, Through Troubled Waters. It is an old book but on this day I want to share a story with you. 

He wrote that one morning his wife had some pain and she went to the Doctor while he took their children to school. Hours later the phone rang. "Your wife is dead," the Doctor said. Out of the dark a hurricane struck his little family and they were all devastated. He had three children to raise by himself. He wondered, again and again, how could he possibly get through this ordeal. He likened his situation to the flood story that old Noah and his family faced in the ark. It rained and rained. The water covered everything. But one day the rain stopped. Bored and desperate Noah sent a dove out to see if somewhere there might be dry land. The dove did not come back. Days later--Noah sent a second dove out and the bird came back with an olive leaf in her beak. For Noah and his family it was a sign that the water had gone down and life would begin again. The writer, Armstrong likened the death of his wife to the flood that came and swept almost everything away.

He felt he could not go on. Weeks, months later--he said little Mary, his four-year-old-daughter

came bearing an olive leaf. He would write, she would be the dove for him. Hugging him and saying in her own little way the message he needed most. Hope. Their water was going down and life would begin again.

On this day the church comes to remember the dove-bringers in all our lives. We all have them.  And All Saints Day provides for us with time to look back and around us and remember the doves that came when we needed them most.

I remember that all-too-typical church that surrounded me and taught me the wonder and magic of faith. Teachers all along the way that nudged me on. High School...College and Seminary. They showed me what I just might do. I still remember many of their names and faces, who held my hand as our first child was being born. All those who believed in me when I did not believe in myself. They opened the doors.

And that starry night when my girl friend said yes. And 61 anniversaries later I know she brought so many doves when I was desperate. She pushed me. She loved me. She believed in me and thank God she stayed when the days were bad and I was sure I could not go on.

My children, Leslie and Matthew have brought hope as they let me be their Daddy. One Sunday morning I stepped up to the pulpit and there was a note in my son's childish handwriting: "Dear Daddy tell everybody out there today that I love you."

I remember Churches, some wild and wooly that brought us casseroles and endured those Sunday night sermons and took care of our kids and loved and accepted them. And those deacons that fought fiercely for those fifteen dollar raises.

My daughter leaves a hard week as a teacher and drives a long drive to check on us, She keeps us going. And the friends that came to my rescue so often. One friend was going through a terrible divorce and week after week I would send him those crazy off-the-wall Far Side cartoons. Like two deer stood talking and one says to the other: "Now don't forget to eat the roses!" A couple of years later I was going through my own hard time and in the mail there fell out all those Far Side cartoons I had sent him.

Back to Armstrong's story. He said little Mary, his four-year-old daughter, would be his dove and help him step out on his own dry land. This says to me we have to keep our eyes open because those dove-bringers that keep us going sometimes come from the unlikely of places.

I could go on and on remembering my own unlikely saints that cheered me on and brought me hope and faith and love. I hope I have not bored you too much. But maybe reading the names that came to me in hope will nudge something deep inside you and on this All Saints Day you will remember and remember and remember.

But as I close I fall back on the words of Paul: "He has comforted us in our afflictions that we might comfort someone else in their hard times." So let us open our bird cages and take out that fragile dove and set her free for all those whose lives we touch.

"And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long,

steals on the ear the distant triumph song,

And hearts are brave again, and arms are strong,

Alleluia!  Alleluia!" 

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Looking for Loopholes

Someone saw W.C. Fields reading the Bible. The man asked him, “Why are you doing that?” And Fields said “I’m looking for loopholes.” Almost everybody I know have read page after page of the Bible searching for loopholes.

The whole history of the church shows God’s people looking for loopholes. 

Abraham almost sacrificing his son, Isaac. Moses murdering an enemy. Killing millions of people—didn’t the Bible say so? And David committing murder and adultery. His son, Solomon splitting the kingdom over-spending the coffers of the Temple not to speak of all those wives and concubines.

We can search high and wide today hoping to find some loophole in the Holy Bible that will let us off the hook.

There is no loophole about lying. Check the Commandments.

There are no loopholes about the treatments of our enemies.

There are no loopholes about accountability. 

There are no loopholes about immigrants and strangers.

There is no loophole about loving God and neighbor.

There is no loophole about the lust for power.

There is no loophole about disagreement of others.

There is no loop hole about hatred of our enemies.

There is no loophole dealing with the poor. 

'There is no loophole dealing with Blacks and those different than us.

There is no loophole for the church to be silent as the world convulses.

There is no loophole about adultery and lusting after someone else.

There is no loophole that can ignore character.

There’d is no loophole about the treatment of children ours and others.

There is no loophole about the fidelity of marriage.

No loopholes in treating everyone the same—including gays.

There is no loophole about greed and materialism.

There is no loophole for prejudice.

There is no loophole about whittling down the charge to love. 

There are no loopholes for a silent church.

I could go on and on. And you can too. You might want to study some of the loopholes of your own life and the destructive chaos that surrounds us all.  

Jim Wallis said when he saw so many loopholes in Christians and churches today he was appalled. He found over 2,000 verses about taking care of the poor and challenging the inequities of society. So he took scissors and cut out all these verses in Old and New Testaments. When he finished he stepped back in amazement. The holes dealing with peace and justice were everywhere. He would hold up that Bible as he spoke and say, “This is an American Bible today.” But hopefully he said, he had seen many signs

of Christians determined not to leave the Scriptures on the floor. He tried to live and act in ways that would restore the integrity of the Word of God—in our lives, our families, communities, nation and world.  This is the challenge for us and our churches. No loopholes just hard sayings that stretch us more than we cannot even envision. 

—Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Post Birthday Musings

My birthday was this past week. Most of the year I would wake up saying: "I can't believe I am 86!" But not this morning. I opened my eyes and muttered: "I am 87. What happened?" I do not rightly know. 

I think twice this year at funerals I have told the story. It was an NFL Banquet years ago. The speaker said, "If you visit many cemeteries you will see a birth date and a death date and in between a dash. And what matters for all of us is what are we going to do with our dash." Those in-between times. From the day I got here in that little mill house October 15, 1935 my dash began.

My Dash

What happened? A whole lot happened not just to me but to all of us. Growing up across from the mill was Mama and Daddy and my brother and me. It has taken me years and years to reckon with those early shaping beginnings. I never ever dreamed how my journey would take me. I was loved unreservedly by my Mama. It was not quite that way with my Father. Almosy deaf he could not understand me or me him. But I have made peace with that. But he and my Mother were there and worked and worked for a pittance in that cotton mill until they both retired. And that little boy let the growing up years passed--first grade...all grades. High School and there are still momernts that I can still remember. I never did knock the grades out back there but I had a lot of fun. Friends...Church...teachers and friends. And tiny trips and laughter and the dark days.  Churchill called his depressions the black dog. That old dog never really let me go. But his power has lessened. Thank God.

College and a Bigger World

College was wonderland in many ways. Our college was not considered a very good school but I got a great education there. We had teachers who stretched me and were as good as you could find. I looked around and wondered why all our classmates were white. But the friends from those years helped, as much as my teachers. I took mission trips as far away as Utah and Idaho. Toward the end of those college days a group of us spent the summer in New Jersey at a boy's camp. I had never been anywhere and suddenly I discovered New York and plays like My Fair Lady and Inherit the Wind and just the wonder of a great city. 

I had felt the stirrings of my calling. No Damascus Road but just a strong pull toward something bigger than all I knew. So there was Seminary where I worked  with poor kids at the Y for four years. They taught me a lot. I still wonder where they might be. But early in Louisville I met this girl. Music major at U of L. Beautiful and smart and independent and in love with me. Me? Talk about the magic of the dash. We were married toward the tail end of my Seminary days and her college graduation. 

Church and Church and Church

Where would I go? I had no ministerial experience and few connections and I was called to a rural church in Western Kentucky. This city boy and this city girl scared and wondering why God called people to out of the way places like Highway Alternate 54. We were there for over 3 years and our first child was born there. A beautiful red-headed girl. I would travel down that country road every week-day morning and sit in my make-shift office and sometimes used the outdoor toilet. I read and prayed and wrote sermon after sermon. And whispered to God, "God don't let me be boring."  I don't think I taught them much but they were some of the finest teachers I ever had. Not even knowing it then but later those rememberings leave me breathless.

We moved from there to Southside Virginia to a semi-rural church. It was there our second red-head was born. A boy. The froiends we made there and they way they reached out to those two green parents was a blessing. After four years we picked up our belongings, piled them in our little green Volkswagen with two kids and Pooch the dog and made our way to Georgetown, Kentucky where I was Pastor for six years in a small college church. It was small and experimental and sheer fun.

 I discovered the Minister's Summer Institute at Princeton Seminary and spent 30 years everey summer  learning and just having fun with friends. Talk about stretching. Those were rich years and they became my first Camelot. 

After six years Pooch and a cat named Jennifer and us moved to Clemson, South Carolina. My son looked out and said, "They have nailed-down seats!" For 13 years we celebrated the Tigers as they played and tried to minister to the College and the town. This became our second Camelot. And while there our daughter was married there.

Then our next stop was Memphis where I learned so much more than I gave. Looking back I should have stayed there. We mooved to Birmingham to a little church called The Baptist Church of the Covenant. They had come out of the Birmingham racial struggle in the sixties. We had all kinds of folks that came every Sunday. And in the middle of the AIDS crisis gay folk began to join. More than a few. Some members wanted to turn them away. Not many. But we kept saying we open the doors and welcome all who come. These gay men and women shared their stories and helped us see a whole new definition of Church. In the middle of the mean streets in Birmingham we built a church on the postage stamp of a lot and people began to come. As you walked into that new sanctuary you could feel the energy. One Episcopal minister visited one Sunday and whispered to a friend, "There is no way this church can make it." And the church is still known as a place of love and safety and aceptance. kinds of I retired from there in 2000 and they gave us a glorious send off. People came from all six churches I had served.

Retirement--Hah

Where to next? Eight interims all over the South--most a year at a time. They were good years until my wife said: "OK. It is time to close up shop and stay home. I am tired of apartmernts and condos and aging parsonages. And I want to go home to my house." For once I said,"Yes Ma'm." 

Not too many years later we moved back to Clemson where we still had so many friends. I laughed and said we are five minutes from everything. So about 11 years later we are still here.

Still the Dash

Looking back I still ask where did it all go. That dash is filled with so much. Not all good. Some heart-brteaks but the silver tghread of grace running gthrough even thost times I wondered where was good. Highlights: preaching at Princeton Seminary...Preaching to the national audience of Day One. All those places I preached. The books I wrote that so few people read. Articles I wrote for newspapers. Blogs. Family and friends...oh, the friends. I wish I could write all their names. Trips and trips. England as Exchange Preacher...Oxford...Oxford and Italy. The Passion play in Oberammergau and Spain and Portugal and Norway and Sweden. And more. I have already bored you enough--so I will shut up.

Buechner wrote that he opened his own journey hoping someone just might read his words and open up their own stories and their own dashes. Which is my wish too. And if that might happen as you read these words hopefully this will be more than a peculiar brag sheet. 

Mary Oliver prayed: I hope when it is over I will have done more than just visited the world. And I have piled up many visits half-hearing and preoccupied and missing so much. But looking back so many places I moved in and tried to do what could. I don't know how many Octobers I have left. But this I know--looking out the window at the colored leaves-- my, my despite it all it really is a beautiful world.

Sorry to keep writing and writing. But these are some of many things I cannot leave out of my dash. (And if you think this is only a "How Great Thou Art" piece that was my intention I don't think.)

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com