Monday Manna
Every Monday Pastor Loren starts the week with a brief devotion entitled Monday Manna. You can read them here or email us to be on our mailing list!
Pastor Appreciation Month
Since October is Pastor Appreciation Month, I thought I would spend just a few moments in gratitude, reflecting on a few of the ministers who have greatly influenced my life. God could not have given me better ministers to shepherd me through adolescence than the ones I grew up with at Bedford Presbyterian Church.
Joseph Gaston was our Pastor/Head of Staff. Joseph calls himself the “farm boy pastor” and that fits him just about perfectly. With his South Carolina drawl he taught me from an early age the importance of humor and laughter from the pulpit and in ministry. He also taught me the vital role of presence in difficult moments. He and his wife Karen woke up and drove to Roanoke in the middle of the night to sit with my family after my parents’ car accident. A lot of that night is a blur, but their solid strength remains crystal clear.
Bill Buchanan was our Associate Pastor, and he oversaw our youth ministry program. Bill taught me that you’re never too young to use your gifts to serve the Lord. He had an incredible way of recognizing each person’s gifts and finding a way for them to use it at church. He baptized me, introduced me to Montreat, and trusted me with his children. He taught me that the way you walk in your daily life is your witness to Jesus. And ministry is just about loving people and meeting them where they are.
Bill’s wife Aimee was…well…incredible. That word doesn’t even do her justice. She invited me to a girl’s teen bible study in her home (which they opened often to us) and the personal note is what made me feel welcome. Aimee sought justice for all people, and she wasn’t afraid to be in the trenches with them. In church, she and Bill encouraged creativity and gave us space to lead worship. Even when she wasn’t on staff at our church, she was often in various leadership roles. And she wasn’t afraid to be in the pulpit with a Bible in one hand, and one of her children on her hip. Illuminating that it is in fact possible to be both pastor and mother.
Kevin Brunk came to BPC after Bill and Aimee moved to Asheville, he was the Associate Pastor while I was in college. Kevin had a very unique youth group which at its core was all boys with maybe one or two girls (who held their own with the best of them). I remember a lock-in where I served as a chaperone, and he stayed up half the night playing video games with them. Kevin was humble and loving in every encounter. He could be silly and turn serious on a dime, which is what those boys needed. This served me well when I was involved in youth ministry in Richmond. I never understood when I was young and Kevin told me after Sunday worship he went home and crashed, he was just so drained after Sunday worship. Now, I get it. Sorry, I doubted you, Kevin!
And I must tell you about Brenda Halbrooks. Brenda was the pastor at Three Chopt Presbyterian in Richmond where I served during seminary. Brenda was the first pastor I had watched preaching in a church setting without a manuscript. What on earth!? She would write little sermon points on her fingers. Brenda also led with humor, and once called my office in Appomattox shortly after I arrived pretending to be asking for outrageous financial assistance. Unfortunately for her, I knew the number on the caller ID. Brenda was a steady voice of guidance to the church in those years. I don’t remember ever seeing her feathers ruffled. She was always calm and not afraid to say, ‘let’s revisit this later.’ Brenda was the same pastor whether she was participating in the Women’s Bible Study, moderating a session meeting, or chaperoning teenagers on a retreat. She loved us well.
I would be remiss not to mention my father-in-law Bass Mitchell in this list. Michael likes to remind me how thankful he is that his dad now has someone with whom he can share his craft. The most important thing I’ve learned from “Papa Bass” is the power of simple, authentic delivery—whether that be in sermons or pastoral interactions. People don’t need flowery words, and they don’t need perfection, they just need to see your honesty and your integrity. The Bass that might hold your hand as you take your last breath is the same Bass that gives kids high fives as he walks down the aisle before church. The same Bass who now teaches inmates classes to get their GED in his “retirement.”
Without these individuals (and many others) I would not be where I am today. I wouldn’t have this same appreciation for intergenerational or rural ministry. I wouldn’t know the power of self-deprecating humor to the same extent. I might not have witnessed pastors striving to create healthy patterns and sabbath. It might not have occurred to me to let kids be kids in the pews or allow teenagers to have a voice in all aspects of church life. I may not have recognized that the church isn’t the walls, it’s the people. I wouldn’t have believed “church” can look like serving popsicles to the homeless on hot days and playing board games with veterans. And I probably wouldn’t have been brave enough to write skits for Youth Sunday sermons or read my poetry on the Montreat auditorium stage in front of a thousand peers. It is quite possible that I would never have considered ministry at all. God is, indeed, good.
Let Love Be Genuine
“Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good; love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honor. Do not lag in zeal, be ardent in spirit, serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope, be patient in suffering, persevere in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers.”
—Romans 12:9-13
We had a bit of a wild day at NP yesterday, did we not? As I look back over our time together as a congregation on Sunday what stands out to me is our deep commitment to one another and the gospel message. I was so excited to have my friends visiting from London. They wanted to come worship with us, and I was delighted because I knew that you all would be so warm and welcoming of them. So many folks were able to chat with them after the service and show them around the church. You extended hospitality to strangers, and I know that was not just because they were my friends, but because you genuinely strive to be a people of love. Thank you for simply being you.
I can’t tell you how special it is to have our youngest disciples feel safe enough to run to me (or any of us) when they first arrive at church for conversations and hugs. Over the last few weeks I have recognized your patience and encouragement of our children as they help us begin worship by setting the table, bible, and baptismal font. It is in no way a perfect, polished moment in the service, but that’s what makes it special, because it is genuine—and imperfect—just like us.
As I sit “up front” I often glimpse little moments among the congregation that other folks can’t see. The choir members understand this best I am sure, as they get a great view of the pews. I witnessed a great moment yesterday that reminded me of the “it takes a village” saying. A few kids were being a little bit mischievous in the pews and I witnessed Linda Jean’s principal face in action telling them to behave. Those kids got “the look” and straightened right up! It gave me quite the chuckle.
And at the end of service, when one of our littles had been injured upstairs, all the parents rushed into action, calling the paramedics immediately (just in case) and lending quiet support to each other, and comforting all the children who were shaken up by the incident. Meanwhile, other folks stuck around waiting to find out what happened and be a loving and reassuring presence. I am pleased to say all is well and our little gal is just fine! But it is in these times that we remember well just how genuinely and deeply we are bound together by the Spirit. For all the ways NP shows compassion, generosity, humility, and mutual affection, I am so grateful. I know you are too.
Forged In Fire
Little did they know
When in desert pillar blazed
They’d be forged in fire.
Little did they know
When flames danced overhead
They’d be forged in fire.
Little did they know
As brick foundations baked
They’d be forged in fire.
Little did we know
The landscape would change.
And we’d be forged in fire.
Little did we know
Churches would be on the pyre
And we’d be forged in fire.
Stir the embers
Fan the flame
We remain.
LTM 9/22/24
The Lord went in front of them in a pillar of cloud by day, to lead them along the way, and in a pillar of fire by night, to give them light, so that they might travel by day and by night. -Exodus 13:21
When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them.—Acts 2:1-3
In this you rejoice, even if now for a little while you have had to suffer various trials, so that the genuineness of your faith—being more precious than gold that, though perishable, is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.-1 Peter 1:6-9
The Bench
The front porch is my spot. From April through October if the weather is fair that is where you will find me. While I enjoy watching the seasons changing, I am saddened when the weather turns cold, and I must pack away my cushions until Spring.
My bench on the porch is particularly special to me. I asked my dad to fashion it for me out of the head and foot boards of my grandparent’s bedframe. For the seat he used old pews that were being discarded from my home church. The shelf beneath the seat holds all manner of sticks and stones. I often sit and pray our child who is often climbing the dogwoods or flying down the hill on his bike won’t break any bones. I have to wonder how many prayers my grandmother lift did when she laid her head down at night. And how many prayers were spoken and liturgy recited from the very pew where I sit.
I love to lounge there like a cat soaking in the sun. Often, Sirius Black joins me in the late afternoon, and we nap together lulled by the breeze. We often have hummingbirds buzzing by and butterflies landing at our feet. We watch the flowers bloom and leaves change while the deer pick their way across the yard. Books get read, poems get written, homework gets done, all on my sweet little bench.
Do you have a spot like mine? Why is it special to you? What kinds of memories do you make there?
Helping people
When our son Kemper was three or four years old, we went to the beach with Michael’s parents and got to spend time with the extended family living in the area. One day we went out on a boat with a whole passel of cousins spanning several generations. The young cousins were talking about what they wanted to be when they grow up with typical answers such as, “a popstar, an actress, and a billionaire with lots of big trucks.” Then they posed the question to Kemper, who said, “I want to help people.” As you can imagine, my momma’s heart was full to bursting to hear my baby respond with something so innocent and kind. Clearly the episodes of Paw Patrol & Daniel Tiger were doing their jobs!As he has aged, Kemper’s response to the question has changed several times to include a scientist, and even a pastor (because, according to him, it looks easy). But I believe that thread of doing something that helps other people is still in his heart. Sometimes we believe to ‘help people’ we have to do something extravagant or widescale. This type of thinking limits us as we become overwhelmed by the thought of meeting the dire needs of our world.As we move into fall and then roll into the holiday season, we will have multiple opportunities at NP to be God’s instruments in helping people in meaningful ways. We’ll collect items for Kingsway & Valley Mission. We’ll fill shoeboxes for Operation Christmas Child. We’ll deliver gifts to our shut-ins and have our kids mail cards to the troops. I want to remind us that these small gestures can make a big impact in our community. So can mailing a card or making a phone call to let folks know you are praying for them. Dropping off a meal for someone who’s going through a tough time when you have leftovers counts as well. So does picking up trash on your morning walk. So, this is just a small reminder that you are in fact helping each other in a hundred little ways already, and these efforts are what strengthens the community and reflects the light of Christ. Let’s all consider it our jobs to ‘help people.’
Untitled
She was the best of us
Pure as a freshwater pearl.
She was the clasp
That held our strand together.
I hear her laugh echo
On the beat of a butterfly’s wings.
Sometimes I come up here
To be alone.
Hay bales hang like a necklace
On the hillside.
Silent graves remind me
Not to waste away while I’m alive.
LTM
8/18/24
Change
I’ve been thinking a lot the last few weeks about change. Change is hard. We are creatures of habit and comfort. Change, while inevitable, is daunting. The unknown is like walking into a cloud of mist seeking the horizon. As an adult I’ve had to train myself to ‘go with the flow’ more, it is not my first instinct.
My son’s best friend is moving. On his first day of fifth grade, they will pull out of town with a U-Haul headed for Texas. As you can imagine, this has been incredibly difficult for him to accept and lots of tears have been shed. As a pastor we are taught to anticipate that we will move several times throughout our ministry. This was one of the hardest things for me to accept when I felt called because I didn’t ever want to put my family through the hardship of moving. I’ve been the family that had to move away and leave all my friends behind and start over…and I’ve been the heartbroken congregant when a beloved pastor was called elsewhere. I have considered how hard it may be for my child to be the one to move. However, it’s a new sensation to watch my child be the one who feels left behind, abandoned, and alone. Add this to the list of things that no one writes about in pregnancy and parenting books!
It took years for me to admit to my parents that moving from the town where my mother grew up to Bedford when I began middle school was the best thing they could have done for me. They knew it was the right thing to do, but I resented it. Now, I can’t imagine my life any other way. The opportunities I had and the people I met guided me to where I am today. But it’s hard to hold the hands of a ten-year-old and make them believe that it will all be OK. That the broken heart will mend, that life will still be full. I can point to the picture of my best friend and me at 7 years old next to the one of us at 35 years old and say, “See. We are still close.” But that doesn’t make him feel any better about walking into fifth grade without his best friend on the first day of school. Just as I desired for myself at that age, I wish I could enclose him in a bubble and stop time so that everything remained the same and nothing was hard, and nothing hurt.
Isn’t that why the disciples shut themselves away behind locked doors and windows after Jesus’ death? It wasn’t just because they feared for their lives (surely, they did). But also, they were grieving this life-altering change. They had left homes, jobs, families…to follow someone who was now gone. No amount of explanation or assurance from Jesus before his death could truly prepare them for what was ahead of them. Everything they thought they knew was shattered. What were they supposed to do without their mentor to guide them? How were they supposed to go on without their friend? At least, if they were all in one place together, with the shape-shifting world outside the locked windows, they could maintain their bubble of comfort with one another. And if they couldn’t do that, well they could just go back to the familiar ways of life—like when they went fishing and Jesus met them on the shore. To see the resurrected Jesus would have brought joy to their hearts, but short-lived jubilation, because he couldn’t stay. Things still had to change. They still had to walk a different path without him physically beside them. They were required to split up and go their separate ways to spread the gospel message. Exciting, yes…but also intimidating and heartbreaking.
All of this is to say, we know that things are always changing, whether we like it or not. Whatever seismic or miniscule shifts you are experiencing, I will pray for the peace of Christ to mend your broken heart. I will hope that the grief, fear, or anger you might be feeling will dissipate over time, so that you can be open to the hope that comes with the dawn each morning. That you will be able to look back and reflect on the Holy Spirit’s movement in these moments and trust that God’s hand is at work, even now, because God is good and always working for our good, too. I will pray these things for you, and ask that you pray these things for us, too.
The Waters
On our way home from Bedford last Friday, Kemper and I parked the car and hiked down to a little water fall off the Blue Ridge Parkway. We sat on some rocks at the top of the falls, where the water was just starting to cascade from the plateau above us. Kemper enjoyed finding brightly colored leaves to drop in the stream and watch them travel down past us and over the falls. Each time a leaf would dance and spin down the currents only to be pressed beneath the water and under a rock ledge. After a few seconds of this however, the leaf would pop back up and spin back into the current and on its way.
Today, I am thinking that is a pretty good metaphor for life. How often do we find ourselves skipping happily along only to find ourselves suddenly overwhelmed by something that seems to crush us, force us into darkness in a blinding rush. An illness, a profound loss, an unexpected obstacle or cost. Like that bright red leaf, we fear we might be lost under the weight forever.
But the beauty of God’s promise to us is that we will always be carried on a current that floats us back to the top. God controls the stream and its flow. God wants us to dance, to spin, to thrive, carried by his love.
Isaiah 43:1-3, 4
But now thus says the Lord,
he who created you, O Jacob,
he who formed you, O Israel:
Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
I have called you by name, you are mine.
2 When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
and the flame shall not consume you.
Because you are precious in my sight,
and honored, and I love you…
Ricochet
Ricochet of bullets
Reverberations far and wide
Resentments overtakes us
Reason seems to hide
Recoil makes rivulets
Reversing as the tide
Revisiting humanity curates
Reconciliation over pride
LTM 7/14/24
Romans 5:9-11
Much more surely then, now that we have been justified by his blood, will we be saved through him from the wrath of God. For if while we were enemies, we were reconciled to God through the death of his Son, much more surely, having been reconciled, will we be saved by his life. But more than that, we even boast in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation.
What are the odds?
Have you ever seen the television show, Young Sheldon? It is a spin-off from the widely popular show The Big Bang Theory. Young Sheldon follows the childhood of the character Sheldon Cooper, a theoretical physicist. Sheldon lives with his family in a middle-class Texan neighborhood in the 80s. He has an older brother and a twin sister. His father is the local football coach, and his mother is a devoted Christian woman. Sheldon’s Mee-maw (played by the amazing Annie Potts) lives across the street. Sheldon is a genius, extremely smart but socially awkward with any number of phobias to choose from, particularly germs, dirt, and dogs. At the beginning of the series, he is only 9 years old and entering high school where it is hoped that he will be more intellectually challenged. Hilarity often ensures. I’m watching the show with my son who is of the same age as Sheldon, and I am delighted to be watching a family friendly sitcom we can both enjoy…they don’t make those much anymore. We are only in season two (so no spoilers) but I hope it remains appropriate so we can enjoy it together.
In one episode the family receives word that a young teenager in the community has been killed in a car accident. This shakes the faith of his devout southern Baptist mother to the core. She confesses to her mother that she cannot wrap her mind around the patent, pithy saying that “its all in God’s plan.” Furthermore, she says, “how could it be that their daughter is ‘in a better place,’ what could be better than living her life at home with her family?” I’ve felt those same feelings a lot since last summer and the loss of my dear friend. How could any place be better than at home raising her two daughters?
At the end of the episode, Sheldon approaches his mom on the porch; expressing that he is scared because his mother isn’t acting like herself. He looks up at the sky and the following conversation ensues:
Sheldon: Did you know that if gravity were slightly more powerful the universe would collapse into a ball?
Mom: I did not.
Sheldon: Also, if gravity were slightly less powerful, the universe would fly apart and there would be no stars or planets?
Mom: Where are you going with this, Sheldon?
Sheldon: It’s just that gravity is precisely as strong as it needs to be. And if the ratio of the electromagnetic force to the strong force wasn’t one percent, life wouldn’t exist. What are the odds that would happen all by itself?
Mom: Why are you trying to convince me to believe in God? You don’t believe in God.
Sheldon: I don’t. But the precision of the universe at least makes it logical to conclude there is a Creator.
Mom: Baby, I appreciate what you’re trying to do but logic is here (points to her mind) and my problem is in here (points to her heart).
Sheldon: Well, there are five billion people on this planet and you’re the perfect mom for me. What are the odds of that?
At that she hugs Sheldon and says, “Thank you Lord for this little boy.” To which Sheldon replies, “I knew I could fix it.”
I don’t know how the universe was created for certain. And I don’t know a lick about the science behind most things. We often say that we need only look to creation to believe that God exists, and Sheldon points that out to his mom too. But the real sign of the Creator’s existence for Mary is in the people around her. I wonder if we shouldn’t be taking more time to pay attention and seek God in each other. For there to be billions of people on the planet and our lives intersect with certain people in specific places and times, molding and shaping our lives and faith. What are the odds of that?
“The Holiness of No”
“As my grandmother would say, ‘put some greens on that plate.’ Move your body. Drink some water. Learn the holiness of ‘no.’”-Dr. Thelma Bryant
The above directives from Dr. Thelma Bryant are extremely valuable as we navigate life. When exploring the narrative of Jesus calming the storm, we considered in our worship all the things that weigh heavily on us. We talked about how Jesus didn’t say, “there is nothing to be afraid of,” but rather that we cannot escape the wind and waves of life and so we must trust in the God who is present to us and powerful in the face of life’s storms.
I was thinking about how even though we must rely on God, we are not expected to be entirely passive. And taking care of these vessels that God has given us to carry our Spirit is vital. So, in the days and weeks to come I challenge us to be mindful of what we put into our bodies. I’m a sucker for sweets but I do also strive to put something green on my plate these days! Move your body, which is quickly followed by stay hydrated! In these extremely hot days pay attention to what your body is telling you. You don’t have to be a knot on a log, but don’t drive yourself to heat stroke either!
And finally, learn the holiness of ‘no.’ The biggest lesson of surviving this life, and perhaps the hardest achievement unlocked is that of setting boundaries. To learn when to say no when you mean it, because a no here is a yes somewhere else. Determine what you can live with so that you can live well. These determinations can build our strength physically, mentally, and emotionally so that when the wind and waves do come—while we are trusting the Lord to calm the storm around us, we can be better prepared to center ourselves.
Sharing “Shadows”
Another moment of Zen, this one brought to you from our Thursday June 20 concert by David LaMotte. Enjoy!
Jewels of the sky
One of my favorite things about spring turning to summer is the arrival of ruby-throated hummingbirds! I have loved these creatures since I was a little girl and one of the first poems I ever wrote was about them. When I was a teenager, we had four hummingbirds that zoomed around our deck and I named them Lucy, Ricky, Fred, and Ethel. I think perhaps from a young age I felt a kinship with these birds. They are just tiny torpedoes of energy. I too zoom around, fiercely protect what is mine, and have an affinity for sugar water.
Isn’t it amazing that God created these little jewels of the sky? So much attention given to something so small, and honestly so fast that we rarely get a good, long look at them. It reminds me that if God would give so much care to the smallest bird, how much more interest does God take in us? God gave hummingbirds exactly what they need, how much more does God do for us? How fortunate we are to have such an ingenious, artistic, loving Creator!
Its A Small World
The Presbyterian world is tiny…which I just love. Yesterday I had the pleasure of participating in an installation service for my friend Rev. Crystal Varner Parker at Providence Forge Presbyterian Church. Our New Testament professor from Union Presbyterian Seminary, the Rev. Dr. Frances Taylor Gench delivered the sermon at the service. I adore Frances. She was a wonderful teacher; always available to us not only in the classroom but also in supporting our personal lives. As a professor, Frances invited me into the gospels as a female scholar and highlighted angles of Jesus’ ministry I had not yet considered. As a preacher, Frances embodies a beautiful balance of powerful presence and deep humility. She is at once witty and wise, kind and convicted.
Yesterday, Frances and I discovered a wonderful connection. Frances was an intern here at New Providence under Rev. Tom Biggs in 1980. She spoke so warmly of her time here and how much she loved the people of New Providence. She has over the years kept the church on her radar and has celebrated your triumphs and grieved your obstacles. She told me that after the long search for an installed minister, she was so glad to know that I was serving here. You could have knocked me over with a feather.
I want you to know that you had a significant impact on the ministry of a young, aspiring female seminary student who became a professor of biblical interpretation and authored six books! This church helped to form the life of a woman who would forge the way for my generation of women in biblical scholarship and pastoral ministry, a woman that so many of us look up to with great admiration! And now I am here, serving in a pulpit where she stood, and learned and felt supported feeling blessed and supported as I continue to grow and serve. What a gift you are, New Providence!
Helpless
There are days when being a parent is the most helpless feeling in the world. When my baby is sick, I wish nothing more than to take his discomfort into my own body to save him from it all. While simultaneously praying I do not also succumb to illness while taking care of him. In the middle of tearful trips to the bathroom and fever-muddled dreams, I prayed for the Lord just to break the fever, soothe his stomach, allow him rest. If Jesus can spit in dirt and bring sight to a blind man, surely my cool compresses and fluid ministrations could heal with the Spirit’s power. Alas, we are still in the throws of this god-forsaken virus today.
There are days when being a pastor is the most helpless feeling in the world. I send cards and deliver meals just like everyone else because I literally have no idea what else to do when some shocking tragedy, loss, or need for medical attention arises. While Holy Spirit fell upon all people, ordination did not grant me special dispensation to answer all of the painful questions of the world. I don’t know why so many people do not walk this earth well into old age. I don’t know why there is still no cure for cancer. I don’t know why all of the horrible “-isms” still exist in this century. I admittedly often throw up my hands and say, “Come, Lord Jesus! Emmanuel, return to walk among us and turn the tides.”
We often liken God to a parent. God is called Father. God is compared to a Mother Hen protecting her brood by Jesus in Matthew at Luke. God came into the world in human form to experience the same suffering as the aching creation. Through Jesus, God deeply understands our pain and suffering, and grieves it with us. I wonder if God felt helpless under the assurance of free will when he expelled Adam and Eve from the garden. Or when the Israelites continued to fall short of true worship. Or when Jesus cried out to him in the garden for the cup to be taken from him. Or upon the final cries, “God why have you forsaken me?”
In truth, I am helpless to much of the world’s turning. And so are you. But I hope we can find ways to trust that God has not, in fact, forsaken us, even in our hardest days. May God strengthen us through the Holy Spirit. May we trust that we do not walk in this life alone. May we hear the words, you are loved, you are loved, you are loved.
“In My Day”
Last night I confessed a victory from the kitchen to my girlfriends about the moment when you sneak a vegetable into the meal and your child does not notice. I added a few of the turnips I picked up from Verdant Acres into the taco meat. Victory is mine! One of my friends has a son who is about a year and a half old. She said this is also her life. He only likes broccoli if it is roasted, any other way and he just throws it at her.
This became a conversation about “in my day…” comparisons. Such as, “in my day you cleaned your plate no matter what” or “in my day I only drank from the water hose.” Our generation’s “I walked up hill to school both ways in the snow.” It is amusing to think how much things have changed over the years…I mean, I see kids carrying water bottles to school as big as their bodies! We never did that in elementary school, nor did we have snack time after kindergarten ( I actually love that they have snack time now)…but these days kids only want Spring Water in their Stanley cups, with Bento lunch boxes carrying fancy lunches. What happened to metal lunch boxes with sandwiches in plastic bags, and a thermos of lukewarm Kool-Aid inside?
I wonder what your “in my day” comparisons are? And if you were to ponder this question considering your faith tradition and your church life, what comes to mind? A lot of times these comparisons are meant to say to someone in the younger generation, “you don’t know how good you have it.” But, when we use this language considering the church it is often in reference to something that seems lost to history, a tradition that has fallen away. Or to shake our heads as we say, “well this is the way we’ve always done it.”
Some examples:
“It used to be 300 people here on Sunday, easily.”
“We used to have live greenery at Christmas, and a tree that reached the ceiling.”
“We couldn’t play softball on Sunday afternoons unless we came to youth group first.”
“You didn’t wiggle in church. You sat quietly in the pew while the preacher talked for 45 minutes.”
“In my day you didn’t wear tennis shoes to church.”
“In my day you wore a hat and gloves, and the men wore a dress coat and tie no matter how hot.”
“The ladies of the church were larger than life!”
“We knew the community loved us.”
I love these things. I love the stories that are told around memories that are both beloved and tinged with awe or humor. And if we are honest, perhaps a note of condescension, as if things today are lacking because they are different. Here are a few things I can say about church that I remember, and some things I hope the future generations will remember when they tell their kids about church.
For me:
“In my day, we had donuts in Sunday School.”
“In my day, we sat in the balcony with our friends (I know some of y’all did too).”
“In my day, we sang Pass It On and lit candles every Christmas Eve.” (And I will never get over the fact that they do not do this anymore in my home church. It was a tradition, and it has changed Christmas Eve forever, it is like blasphemy. This is a hill I will die on.)
“In my day, my pastors were easy to talk to.”
“In my day we had guitars and sometimes even drums in church.”
“In my day teenagers could lead worship and sit on committees.”
“We knew the community loved us.”
For the children of our church, I hope they look back and say:
“ Sometimes Pastor Loren let us sit behind the pulpit on Sunday mornings.”
“In my day people were not afraid to laugh in worship or clap when the Spirit moved them.”
“My parents say that I used to run around the sanctuary during the sermon.”
“It was okay when we brought our army men and barbies to church to play under the pews.”
“We collected money for people who needed help with brightly colored buckets.”
“We ate our weight in Goldfish, and no one ever complained when we left crumbs on the carpet.”
“We beat each other up with bean bags and chased each other with cookies in our hands.”
“We knew the community loved us.”
Polka-dot memories
Polka-dot memories
Your red dress, sublime.
Seth said he saved it for the girls
To be worn another time.
You always lost your sunglasses
I think whenever I put on mine.
For all the shade in this damn world
It never eclipsed your shine.
I can’t believe it’s been a year
Since you put your trust in trying.
Hoping for the science of medicine
And God to keep you from dying.
Wish I could say I understand
The world still spins but dimmer.
I’d give anything to hear you laugh
Dancing in hot pink shimmer.
LTM
4/20/24