Doing What You Can't Do

Dear friends,

On Tuesday I attended my first meeting of Cherokee Presbytery in one year. I cannot tell you how good it was to be reunited with this particular part of the Body of Christ -- the part that touches Northwest Georgia and from this base the rest of the world. Normally when I preach, I avoid looking at the faces in the congregation. Sometimes I look over their heads and sometimes I do not focus my vision, not because I do not want to see my friends and colleagues but because I do not want to lose focus. Tuesday was a different matter altogether. I drank in every face and offered constant "thanks to God," and so in the pleasure of our being together. It was a supremely happy moment because you are part of the family that has brought about my healing in so many ways. This is to say thank you -- and thank God for you!

When the sermon was over, I was pretty tired. As we moved through the rest of the service I had to stand several times, but never failed because "standing before God" in worship is such a deeply rooted part of my being. So, if it looks as though I am struggling to get out of my chair, I am. It would be much easier to remain seated, but if there is even a slight possibility of standing, I will stand. If I fall down -- so be it, but I will not sit down before God unless there is no other option!

At the time of the blessing, I experienced something truly wonderful. I don't know how many of you noticed that I was able to raise my hand above my shoulder and open my palm. Until fairly recently, I could not do this -- my hand and arm simply were too heavy for me to lift. I suppose I was having an Exodus 17 experience wherein the elders lifted my hands because I was too weak to lift them for myself. Of course, lifting my hands is no sign that I am blessing anything. Traditionally, when the priest/pastor raises his/her hand in blessing it is always the blessing of God that is operative.

At first I assumed that I would give the blessing with my hand in my lap. After the charge, as the "good words" were forming in my mind, I realized the need to raise my hand. As my hand went up, I almost caught myself looking at it as though it was the most beautiful source of wonder and amazement in the world. In fact, it was the only time of the day that I thought I might cry.

It reminds me of the funeral ritual in the Russian Orthodox tradition. During most of the service, the priest's back is to the mourners, preparing the deceased for heaven as an intermediary between God and humanity. The mourners stand quietly while this important business is taking place, and then the priest turns and faces the grieving family, his hand raised in blessing, and the tears begin to roll. As the blessing is pronounced, those who have suffered profound loss hear the blessed words, "It is OK -- everything is ready -- God is absolutely in control -- Grace, Mercy, and Peace, from the Holy Trinity are yours." Then, there is emotional release!

Our faith in God, our confidence in God's Word, and our commitment to God's mission in the world to be a blessing is enough to make us cry. It is also enough to make us want to do things that we cannot do in our own power. Preaching the gospel is always a demanding task. Yesterday, it took almost everything I had -- almost!

After the worship service Moderator Julia Wiley installed Elder Jim Bussart of the Eastminster church as our new Moderator for 2005. As Jim moved us through the rest of our Presbytery business -- the worship of God being our first and most important item of business -- we came to where the Stated Clerk would present a Memorial to the Rev. Raynard Arehart. Since I am the Stated Clerk and I prepared the Memorial it was only logical that I should present it to the Presbytery.

At first I thought I would simply read the Memorial from the clerk's table. As I got myself to my feet I realized that this would never do. I was getting ready to memorialize a brother and colleague who had lived almost 99 years, served as a missionary in Brazil for 30 of those years and baptized four of his nine great-great-grandchildren in his 98th year. This was hardly a mere "item of business."

Logic and theology said that the pulpit was the place, and that I should stand tall, and present the Memorial like one who believes in God's all sufficient power to sustain the weak. You see, our theology does matter!

After working my way up the three steps to the platform, I made the unexpected discovery, that there was one more step to get behind the pulpit. "Oh well," I thought, "I've come this far, there is no turning back now." When I arrived at the pulpit, I made the second unexpected discovery that I did not have the stool I used for my sermon. Once again, I was in a place where I had to do something that I could not do, and once again God's power strengthened my legs and steadied my voice. On later reflection I realized that this could not have happened otherwise because our mission was to honor and remember a colleague in ministry. It was not at all surprising that God would give strength to and preserve the resources of this "clay vessel."

After finishing the Memorial, I barely had the strength to get from the pulpit and into a chair on the platform where I sat throughout the voting on the Amendments. I tried to get up once or twice but did not have the strength. At last, I mustered the strength toward the end of the morning session to get out and greet many of you before Carole took me home at one o'clock.

Listen to me, friends! Do you hear what I am saying? Do you not see a great lesson here for your ministry and for our ministry as a presbytery? God calls us to do what we cannot do and then gives us the power to do it.

I need to say one last word about the Presbytery meeting and that has to do with our voting on the Amendments to the Constitution that were sent to us by the 216th General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church USA. This can often be a plodding, uneventful process unless, that is, there is something about sex. This year there was no such stimulus and the process was fairly tame. As we moved along, we came back to one of the amendments that have been pulled out for discussion/debate. The Elder who had asked that the amendment be removed said something like this: "I am really not sure how I want to vote, so I would like to hear what some of the rest of you think on this subject."

Sisters and brothers, this was one of the most "Presbyterian" statements of the day. The very idea of men and women of vastly different viewpoints coming together to listen and to learn from one another before making an important decision is an absolutely revolutionary idea. Forgive me for what might seem like a broad generalization, but I hardly ever see this kind of listening and learning these days.

I am talking here are about the long-lost practice of civility and exemplary behavior -- especially in the Church. When I look at the exploding population growth in Northwest Georgia, I am dismayed at the dismal membership statistics in many of our churches. I am sure there are many reasons for this and I do not want to be simplistic. It does make me wonder, however, how things might be different if congregations and sessions began doing things that, humanly speaking, they cannot do. It makes me wonder if things might be different if we really believe that God would support us if we gave ourselves away without complaining and without anticipating the risk.

What if our congregational behavior led to an explosion of outreach to the poor, to people who speak other languages, to those whose lives have been shattered, and to those without a friend in the world? What if reconciliation took the place of criticism and became an everyday occurrence in every church family in Cherokee Presbytery? What if our churches became known as places of reason and dialogue on life's toughest issues in a context of mutual subjection to the Scriptures, the Confessions, and a variety of places on the journey of each member? I suspect there would be a revolution that we could not contain!

As a model for this kind of activity, J.B. Phillips paraphrases Romans 12: 9ff:

Let us have no imitation Christian love. Let's have a genuine break with evil and a real devotion to good. Let us have real warm affection for one another as between brothers, and a willingness to let the other one have the credit. Let us not allow slackness to spoil our work and let us keep the fires of the spirit burning, as we do our work for the Lord. Base your happiness on your hope in Christ. When trials come endure them patiently; steadfastly maintain the habit of prayer.

This could mark the beginning of doing what you can't do!

The peace of Christ be with you,
Jim

The Joy of Straining Every Muscle

This week I have been getting ready for the Presbytery meeting on Tuesday, February 22 at the Ray Thomas Memorial Church in Marietta. This meeting will be my first since February 2004. That's right! It has been 10 months since a freak accident damaged my spinal cord but it has been one year since I participated in the governing body and spiritual home that is mine in Cherokee Presbytery. Over these past 10 months I have used these weekly e-mail messages to reflect on my recovery and also to offer you, my dear friends in Christ, my joys, failures, accomplishments, and funny moments.

I must admit that this process has been much harder that I could ever have imagined. From my first day back at work in early January, I have found almost everything to be very slow and difficult. Just sitting at my desk 12 hours per week is quite demanding. Very often, just the process of getting up out of my chair strains every muscle. Now that I am preparing for the Presbytery meeting, I am amazed at how much I have forgotten -- not just content, but even process.

I have agreed to preach for the opening worship service on Tuesday. Although I always love to preach, I am nervous about this opportunity. It is still hard for me to handle books and even to find the time for study and reflection because my daily maintenance and exercise program takes up so much time -- not to mention the difficulty of mustering the physical stamina necessary for proper delivery. If it sounds like I am complaining, maybe I am just a little bit. After all, I have had to let go of my former way of life to a large extent and to aim my energies toward a future that is not at all clear.

On the other hand, you need not worry about me one bit. My life is in God's hands -- and so is the life of every church in Cherokee Presbytery. Discerning God's will and doing God's work is extremely difficult and demanding -- it strains every muscle and sometimes makes us quite weary. You need to hear this from me again and again -- I will never give up because God has not given up on me! However, it appears that God is offering me the opportunity for something new, and at the moment I do not know what the new thing will be. So, what is left for me to do -- and for us to do? God calls us to train hard and strain every muscle for the sake of God's mission in Northwest Georgia and beyond.

This is getting a little heavy. I think it is time for a couple of great stories.

A couple of years ago Carole and I were in Connecticut on a vacation trip to see my family. The highlight of our visit was a Fourth of July cookout in honor of my aunt's 90th birthday. On the way to my cousin's house Carole and I stopped to take in a little of the Fourth of July parade. This was not your average Fourth of July parade -- this was the PT Barnum Festival Parade, a longtime Bridgeport, Connecticut tradition. Many years ago, I marched in this parade on several occasions.

Earlier in the day, the Brazilians had just won the World Cup soccer title. It was great to see Brazilian flags flying in the north end of Bridgeport. Likewise, it was fun to walk down the side street towards Main Street and to come upon a pickup truck backed into the intersection. As we looked into the bed of the pickup truck we could see that there was a large plastic liner and that it was filled up with water. A family sat in the water on this blazing hot Fourth of July and enjoyed the parade. What could be better!

What came next was truly marvelous. A snappy drum and bugle corps came by full of blare and brass. The group stopped in front of us, at which time I noticed there was a man at the front of the group carrying a pair of the largest cymbals I have ever seen. As he held the handles, the tops of the cymbals say that fit well into his armpits. They were absolutely huge, and they must have weighed a ton. As the music began to move towards a grand climax, this brave musical gladiator began to wind himself up for what promised to be a great finish. He pulled the cymbals out from under his armpits and leaned his body way back at a frightening angle. He appeared to strain every muscle as he arched his back and tried to rouse the energy get those cymbals into position.

At this point it seemed clear to me that one of two things would happen: either we would hear the most inspiring cymbal crash in history or we would see a man drop dead of a heart attack right there on Main Street! And so he continued his agonizing and frightening ritual until he got those cymbals out at close to a 90° angle on either side. Then, as if by magic the cymbals began to pick up speed until they crashed together and he held them up over his head in an instant. The crash was tremendous -- but that was only the beginning. He did it over and over again!

This man took an incredible risk -- and those of us who watched cheered and cheered! Without a doubt, he was our hero! Sometimes I wonder what ever happened to that fellow. He certainly was not afraid of stretching and straining every muscle -- and taking such great risks. His willingness to "give his all" was an inspiration to me. How could I possibly know that this story would come back to challenge me at a time when I must take great risks every day?

The next story comes from an e-mail message from Clara Olivas, the daughter of Raynard Arehart about a week after her father's death. Reverend Arehart died last week at the age of 98. He and his wife had been missionaries in Brazil for many years. Among my many duties this week will be to write a memorial for this wonderful servant to be read at the Presbytery meeting on Tuesday. The more I read about this man the more I wish I had served alongside -- especially in Brazil! Here is what she shared with me. It gives me great hope.

I had adrenalin necessary for Dad's hospitalization and the family gathering, the memorial service. And it carried on through the weekend scheduled dance showcase. I danced the "Amazing Grace" waltz played on Davy Crockett's fiddle - and it seemed so timely. Was awarded 5 firsts and 1 second in competition and a trophy for performances - and was literally held up by the friendships in neighborhood, church and dance studio. Now I need to look and see what all the practical details are that need tying up.

I just love that -- "all the practical details are that need tying up." Clara sent an additional quote that helps me even more: "Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we are here we might as well dance." (source unknown) The practical details in my life and yours are what it is all about. It is the stretching and straining of every muscle that helps us carry off those tasks with real "class." What I am trying to say is that you can get through life grumbling and complaining, or you can give yourself fully to God's greater purposes.

I am sure that it was something like this for the Apostle Paul in the New Testament. In the third chapter of Philippians, he has just finished recounting his impeccable credentials and his past achievements on behalf of the Hebrews. He put away all his past associations so that he might identify himself with the suffering Christ who conquered death through the resurrection from the dead. Now, he expresses both the pleasure of the goal and the pain of the journey in Philippians 3: 12-15.

Not that I have already obtained this or have already reached the goal; but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus had made me his own. Beloved, I do not consider that I have made it my own; but this one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.

Paul was giving everything he had -- stretching and straining every muscle -- for the sake of a new and challenging goal. Reaching out towards the risen Christ was difficult enough. Letting go of the old familiar Hebrew props was even harder.

I can assure you that God's future will probably not be the same as what you might imagine. I can assure you that it will be full of surprises, strange twists and unfair turns. I can assure you that it will demand all your resources, material and spiritual, to get you through it. I can assure you that it is a wonderful, difficult, frightening, life-giving experience. Go for it!

The peace of God be with you,
Jim

The Grace of Falling on Your Face

It is always exciting when I can share a new physical accomplishment with the people I love. It is even more exciting when physical accomplishment touches a deep spiritual nerve as we begin the season of Lent. During Lent we Christians the world over offer ourselves to God through acts of self-sacrifice, practices of renunciation, and a profound sense of sorrow, both for our own sins and for the sins of the world. In a sense, we walk where Jesus walked, and we open ourselves to the Father even as Jesus opened himself to his Father's will, which for him led to the cross -- a sign both of Divine love and human depravity.

By coincidence, last week I began a new practice in my physical therapy. Up until now I have been unable to lie in bed on my stomach. Mostly I sleep either on my back or on my side, propped up with pillows. One reason for this is that I have not been strong enough to turn myself all the way over. As I have mentioned before, until about two months ago I have been unable to lift even 1 pound weights. The other reason is that I have not been flexible enough to pull my arms next to my head. When I was at the Shepherd Center, I looked with envy at my fellow patients who spent 20-30 minutes of their therapy sessions "prostrate." Even though they were doing an exercise called "the terrible 3's," it still looked pretty good to me.

Last week, I decided to give it a try -- and over I went -- flat on my face! What really amazed me was that I was able to use my elbows to hold my head and shoulders off the bed. This newfound capacity enabled me to get my hands flat on the bed and over my head. This may not sound like much to you, but trust me, it is absolutely awesome -- and it feels great! To make matters even better, I can get on and off my back without any assistance. I just thought you would be interested in sharing this wonderful accomplishment.

Yesterday morning, as I lay prostrate I remembered that it was Ash Wednesday. If there is ever a day for Christians to prostrate themselves before God it is Ash Wednesday. As I lay there, I recalled some years ago worshiping God in St. Michael's Church in St. Petersburg, Russia. Traditionally, Orthodox churches do not have pews. If Orthodox Christians sit in church at all it is only for preaching -- after all, this is only human speech. More appropriately, in God's presence worshipers ought to stand, kneel, or even prostrate themselves. On that Sunday in St. Petersburg, I saw a good many elderly women flat on their faces with their arms spread to their side. (Sometimes I lament our Protestant preoccupation with judging worship services on the basis of what the pastor says and how he/she says it.)

As I thought about how I would observe Lent this year, I thought it might be a good idea to learn a little more about prostrating oneself, since I could now do it! Naturally, being a man of the 21st century I opened my web browser and "Googled" the word "prostrate."

As I said, I am a man of the 21st century -- therefore, I was not completely surprised when the first line of the search returned this statement: "You may have been searching for ' prostate'." Relax; I am not planning to go far with this image. However, for a 58 1/2 year-old man this is not exactly an irrelevant subject. I will leave it at that. I had to click through several search pages before I got away from "prostate."

To my surprise, the first non-prostate hit was this one:

Darwinia glaucophylla (a prostrate shrub) - Prostrate knotweed is an annual, common along sidewalks in turf or wherever turf is stressed and less vigorous. It thrives in dry, compacted soils or wherever there is excessive foot traffic. The plant forms a tough, wiry mat of stems and leaves.... Pre-emergent herbicides can be effective if applied in late fall/winter (knotweed can germinate in Feb or March). Post-emergent herbicides are mostly ineffective after plants become larger. 2,4-D and 2,4-D combinations will give fair control when applied to younger plants.

The next one led me to the NYPD Blue web site and a review of the episode, Prostrate before the Law. Although this was very interesting, it was hardly helpful for Lenten discipline.

The next stop on my cyber search was a Buddhist web site. Once again, this did not exactly meet my needs, but I did find an interesting definition of the word "prostrate:" "means lying face downwards, often as the result of some accident or illness: He was knocked over and lay prostrate for some minutes before getting up."

When I was injured last April, it was the fall on my face that snapped my neck and produced the injury that has changed my life. The term speaks to me of having been thrown to the ground. I can only imagine what it was like for Jesus to be thrown into the wilderness to be tempted by the Evil One. He went into the wilderness to deal with his own faithfulness before God, but also as preparation to give His life for the sins of the world.

This year, I feel as though I have been thrown down face first. It has been a painful and difficult year in many respects, but it has been a year filled with God and with hope. As we begin the Lenten journey together, I hope you will join me on the ground -- on your face. However, that we are on the ground and on our faces is not the basis for our lament. That is simply more of the self absorption that plagues our culture and even our Church. The last thing we need is more people complaining publicly about their sad lot in life.

When we prostrate ourselves before God, let us do so as those who have been driven to the ground, grieving and weeping for the sinful folly of humanity -- including ourselves. Let us learn the grace of falling on your face. As we do so, our lament never shows a hint of hopelessness. Rather, through the darkness of Lent, we can smell the flowers and sense the Victory!

After all my searching, I found some help for my Lenten discipline -- at www.cyberhymnal.org. The words of this hymn were written by Christian F. Richter (1676-1711) (Hier legt mom Sinn sich vor dir nieder) and translated from German to English by John Wesley. I should have known it would be more singing!

My soul before Thee prostrate lies;
To Thee, her Source, my spirit flies;
My wants I mourn, my chains I see;
O let Thy presence set me free.

Jesus, vouchsafe my heart and will
With Thy meek lowliness to fill;
No more her power let nature boast,
But in Thy will may mine be lost.

Already springing hope I feel,
God will destroy the power of hell,
And, from a land of wars and pain,
Lead me where peace and safety reign.

One only care my soul shall know,
Father, all Thy commands to do;
And feel, what endless years shall prove,
That Thou, my Lord, my God, art love.

The peace of Christ be with you,
Jim

An Old Road and a New Vision

Dear friends,

Yesterday we had our first staff meeting since my return to work at the beginning of January. I got through the first part of the meeting without much trouble, because the first part of the meeting involved a devotional and prayer. After we finished a time of prayer, a bit of panic seized me. First, I looked around the table and realized I had an entirely new set of colleagues. With the exception of Betty Cheek, no one was there last April 13 -- my last day in the office. I had to admit that I was not even the same person! Second, I wasn't exactly sure what I was doing there. I felt like something of an outsider. Thankfully, it all came back to me pretty quickly and we had a good meeting.

Speaking of feeling out of place, on Monday I had an appointment with the surgeon who removed the skin cancer from my nose in November. Bert Carmichael picked me up at my home and took me for the visit. Our plan was to leave at 11 a.m., have lunch, and then go to Marietta for the 1 p.m. appointment. Since neither of us had any particular eating places in mind, we agreed to ride down Highway 41 with the idea that we would certainly find someplace good to stop and eat. What we saw however, or at least what I saw, was really quite remarkable. You will remember, I have been out of circulation for a good long time -- that is, I have not been on Highway 41 from Cartersville to Marietta for about 10 months! I saw one new commercial area after another, including several large office complexes as far north as Highway 92.

I remember traveling down that road to be received by Cherokee Presbytery in May 1997 at the Mars Hill church. At that time one could leave Cartersville and drive to the Mars Hill Presbyterian Church without seeing hardly anything but a few cars and a large number of trees. Now, the area around Mars Hill Road is covered up with businesses, subdivisions, and a large amount of auto traffic. The Mars Hill church has even invested in one of those great computerized "message" signs so that people sitting in traffic will have their spirits lifted as they read the sign.

And so, mile after mile we drove down Highway 41 as I marveled at all the new growth and development. It was truly mind blowing. In the midst of all this flurry of commercial activity, I saw something equally interesting by stark contrast. Every mile or two we would come across a small building, a house trailer, or an older business -- perhaps 20-30 years old. These places looked odd, quaint, and even strange by comparison with the glitzy, sparkling, eye-catching new commercial construction. It looked as though these places were left over from a bygone era -- actually, they were!

Once again, I heard a parable for the contemporary Christian community by simply riding down Highway 41. This time the parable reminded me that nothing stays still -- even when the observer is laid up with a catastrophic injury. People keep building new buildings and making plans for more new buildings. Wal-Mart continues buying up acreage for new supercenters and terms like "rural Cobb County" are gone forever from our vocabulary. Like it or not, things keep changing -- that is all there is to it!

This is not the place to deal with the daunting subject of what it means for the Church to live and function in a constantly changing environment. One thing I know for sure is that although "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever," the shape and form of the community that bears his name is constantly changing because the cultural environment in which that church worships and serves is always shifting and moving. On the one hand, the church sufferers from decline and irrelevance when it ignores or resists change. On the other hand, the Church cannot afford the luxury of hoping the world will stand still while it figures out what to do.

If I have learned anything during my time apart these past nine months is that my world has changed remarkably during that time period, and that I must remain strong and flexible if I am to survive -- much less prosper. I have had to learn how to embrace my mission and purpose in life and to adapt the same to a constantly changing mission and environment.

This thought came to mind once again yesterday as the Presbytery staff sat around the table for its meeting. Throughout the meeting I sat facing the wall on which were hung the wonderful banners depicting the "Great Ends of the Church." You will recall that Jo Clark had made those banners just before I was injured and brought them to the Presbytery office. When I was a patient at the Shepherd Center I received one banner each week for my room. As you can imagine, they brought me great joy because they served as a constant reminder of why I needed to work and pray as hard as I could for health and wholeness. I needed to get back to work so that I could live out my purpose in and through the Christian community to do the following:

• The Proclamation of the Gospel for the Salvation of Humankind


• The Sheltered Nurture and Spiritual Fellowship of the Children of God


• The Maintenance of Divine Worship


• The Preservation of the Truth


• The Promotion of Social Righteousness


• The Exhibition of the Kingdom of Heaven to the World

I want to challenge each of you to think of yourself and your church family in these constitutional terms. How does each of these "ends" define your church's mission and purpose? How are you suffering if these "ends" do not define your church's mission and reason for being?

I want to close today with the bringing together of the old and the new. This week I received a notification from the Worldwide Ministries Division of the General Assembly about recent missionary appointments. I want to share two of them with you because they reflect our Church's glorious past and hopeful future.

Todd and Tricia Reinschmidt, members of First Presbyterian Church in Cartersville, GA, have been appointed to serve with Pasos de Fe, one of seven mission projects of the Presbyterian Border Ministries (PBM). PBM is a joint project of the National Presbyterian Church of Mexico and the PC(USA). Pasos de Fe is located in El Paso, Texas, and Juárez, Mexico. The Reinschmidts' responsibilities include hosting, organizing, and facilitating the visits of "mission teams" that come to help in various projects organized by Pasos de Fe.

Walt and Valerie Shepard will serve in Kinshasa, the capital city of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Walt is returning to the country of his youth - he is the son of Caroline and Walter Shepard, who served there (then the Belgian Congo) from 1947 to 1961. He will divide his time between the pastorate of the International Protestant Church of Kinshasa and the Booth Superior Institute of Theology (ISTB). For Valerie also this is a return to the mission field. She is the child of Jim and Elisabeth Elliot, missionaries to Ecuador, whose story was written by her mother in Through Gates of Splendor. After her father was killed, she returned with her mother to Ecuador and lived with the Aucas for five years. Walt Shepard served in Uganda for short terms in 1992 and 1996 and in Sudan in 1996. Prior to the current appointment he was pastor of Harrison Bridge Road Presbyterian Church, Simpsonville, SC.

This is just grand! The Shepards are lifelong missionaries who could not imagine doing anything else. Todd and Tricia, on the other hand were a teacher and stay-at-home mom who went on a church mission trip and became convinced that God called them to go back -- for as long as God needs them! This is what I mean by strength and flexibility in uncertain and changing times.

The peace of God be with you.
Jim