It's official. It's the Memorial Day weekend, which for many marks the beginning of the summer season. School lets out, people graduate, and others think of vacations and summer tasks. This year I wonder how many will stay closer to home, or venture to journey out at all, given the price of gasoline. I have noticed around our neighborhood a few gatherings at home which fill the streets with parked cars. Perhaps people ARE staying closer to home.
On television, many of the networks are trotting out old war movies. "Memorial Day Movie Marathon," advertises one channel. In honor of Memorial Day, AMC was pleased to present a couple of the Chuck Norris "Missing in Action" movies. Someone help me- what is remotely memorable or honoring about these tired flicks? These movies have as many roots in reality as does professional wresting.
Moving beyond movie tributes, Memorial Day is set to remind us of those who gave their lives defending this great nation and keeping it free. I read today in church that there are now over 23 million veterans alive. Over 1800 are dying every day. Military cemeteries are extremely busy and new ones are being built.
All to honor those who have served our country in uniform.
A few weeks ago, after attending a preaching conference in Washington, D.C. I had the privilege of visiting Arlington National Cemetery. One of the most impressive things there is seeing the "Tomb of the Unknown Soldier" and observing the changing of the guard. Very impressive. The tomb is a very reverent site. Onlookers kept silence as they watched the guard, with military precision, go through his paces guarding the tomb then change places with a new guard and later place wreaths that schoolchildren had brought at the tomb.
The branch of the government charged with handling the burials of veterans, The National Cemetery Administration, has consistently received the highest customer satisfaction ratings of any federal government or private sector. They handle the burial of veterans with dignity, honor, and proper care. Our veterans deserve all the honor and respect we citizens and our government can possibly give them.
It's good to know that at least one sector of the U.S. government is getting something right.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Transitions
It's that time of year.
It's transition time. Today, we recognized graduating seniors from Sulphur High School. We also acknowledged the accomplishments of graduating students from college. I was impressed with their scholarship and achievements as they were noted and proceeded to take their place in a special pew this morning. I was also delighted to enjoy a wonderful meal with them courtesy of our church. It doesn't get much better than that.
Today also I have prayed for a friend who is preaching a trial sermon "in view of a call" as pastor of a church. More transitions.
Tonight, I had supper with a couple who is trying to retire and move back home to Georgia. Another transition. A few weeks ago, another couple told me they were moving back to Texas to care for some soon arriving grandchildren. Triplets!
In a couple of weeks two minister friends of mine (Methodist) are moving to new ministry settings. Another pastor friend has already left the area to become pastor of a church in Alabama.
Guess it's that time of year.
Last night, I took a boat ride with a couple and went clear up into the big lake that skirts the western edge of the city of Lake Charles.
My host, "Captain Pat" was full of facts about the houses dotting the lake and other bits of trivia about the area and about boating. I got a wonderful education while my young son delighted in playing captain of the boat. It was an uncharacteristically cool evening, so I was glad to be out of the wind when our trip ended.
"Captain Pat" showed me where a new coke plant (coal, not the soft drink) would be constructed. He said it would be the largest construction project ever in our area, would begin next year, and proceed for another three years.
Another transition. As he was telling me about the project, I imagined the construction workers and their families coming in to work on the plant. I wondered where they would go to church. I thought of how we could reach out to them as a church.
I was also reminded that they would be here only temporarily. They would be off soon enough on another project.
More transitions.
More than any place I have ever lived in, this area sees its share of people moving in and out. Our church has said hello and goodbye to enough people to start another strong church. Why does it seem that so many good, active and committed members must move away?
I take comfort in the fact that while they are here, we are able to serve God with them, minister to them, and utilize their talents. Then they are gone.
But I rejoice they came our way. I pray for them as they leave.
And I welcome the new ones as they come. Aren't we all in some sort of transition anyway?
It's transition time. Today, we recognized graduating seniors from Sulphur High School. We also acknowledged the accomplishments of graduating students from college. I was impressed with their scholarship and achievements as they were noted and proceeded to take their place in a special pew this morning. I was also delighted to enjoy a wonderful meal with them courtesy of our church. It doesn't get much better than that.
Today also I have prayed for a friend who is preaching a trial sermon "in view of a call" as pastor of a church. More transitions.
Tonight, I had supper with a couple who is trying to retire and move back home to Georgia. Another transition. A few weeks ago, another couple told me they were moving back to Texas to care for some soon arriving grandchildren. Triplets!
In a couple of weeks two minister friends of mine (Methodist) are moving to new ministry settings. Another pastor friend has already left the area to become pastor of a church in Alabama.
Guess it's that time of year.
Last night, I took a boat ride with a couple and went clear up into the big lake that skirts the western edge of the city of Lake Charles.
My host, "Captain Pat" was full of facts about the houses dotting the lake and other bits of trivia about the area and about boating. I got a wonderful education while my young son delighted in playing captain of the boat. It was an uncharacteristically cool evening, so I was glad to be out of the wind when our trip ended.
"Captain Pat" showed me where a new coke plant (coal, not the soft drink) would be constructed. He said it would be the largest construction project ever in our area, would begin next year, and proceed for another three years.
Another transition. As he was telling me about the project, I imagined the construction workers and their families coming in to work on the plant. I wondered where they would go to church. I thought of how we could reach out to them as a church.
I was also reminded that they would be here only temporarily. They would be off soon enough on another project.
More transitions.
More than any place I have ever lived in, this area sees its share of people moving in and out. Our church has said hello and goodbye to enough people to start another strong church. Why does it seem that so many good, active and committed members must move away?
I take comfort in the fact that while they are here, we are able to serve God with them, minister to them, and utilize their talents. Then they are gone.
But I rejoice they came our way. I pray for them as they leave.
And I welcome the new ones as they come. Aren't we all in some sort of transition anyway?
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
The Unfinished Life
If you'll check out my George W. Truett quote blog, which is linked on this page, you'll find a quote about life being unfinished. This thought resonates with me, for I returned recently from going through my parent's things in preparation for an estate sale.
First, I can say that the loss of my parents and the fairly recent loss of my mother is still very tender to me. Since I've been back, my mind returns to thought of my mother and father- with tenderness, humor, and sometimes bewilderment. I honestly thought these feelings were behind me, but surprise- they have reemerged.
Second, I note how much stuff they left behind. Mother loved crafts, antiques, gardening, reading, and collecting garage sale materials. The yard, storerooms and house is full of examples. Who wants to keep old chunks of concrete from some long forgotten remodeling project? I found some of my father's cuff links and service pins from his job. He had perfect attendance for many years. I even found some slides sent from the developer in 1953 when he was in the service. It was apparently of some trip to the beach. Who is that women with the short shorts? It doesn't look like Mom! Maybe this is why they stayed in the drawer.
But they left it all. They no longer need it, and I have no room for it. So it must go. So many of us spend so much time gathering stuff only to leave it for someone after us to throw away, sell, or otherwise dispose of it.
Funny how it feels so odd to go through other people's stuff- even when it is your own parent's stuff. I feel that I am nosing around where I don't belong. I told my brother as went through a forbidden drawer in my father's chest, "This is the first time I'll be in this drawer and Dad won't know it." His drawer was fascinating to me as a child. It held all sort of interesting items- knives, jewelry, pens, and other odds and ends. But no matter how careful I was to set each item back in its place, Dad always knew someone had been in his drawer. I still hear his voice saying, "Now, who's been in my drawer!" It was wasn't a question. It was a demand. Dad always knew.
The leftover items from my parent's life reminds me of Truett's thought. The tragedy of life is not that it is ended, but rather that it is unfinished. I pray that I might be like King David in the Bible- to live out God's purpose for my life and then die.
May all of us finish well!
First, I can say that the loss of my parents and the fairly recent loss of my mother is still very tender to me. Since I've been back, my mind returns to thought of my mother and father- with tenderness, humor, and sometimes bewilderment. I honestly thought these feelings were behind me, but surprise- they have reemerged.
Second, I note how much stuff they left behind. Mother loved crafts, antiques, gardening, reading, and collecting garage sale materials. The yard, storerooms and house is full of examples. Who wants to keep old chunks of concrete from some long forgotten remodeling project? I found some of my father's cuff links and service pins from his job. He had perfect attendance for many years. I even found some slides sent from the developer in 1953 when he was in the service. It was apparently of some trip to the beach. Who is that women with the short shorts? It doesn't look like Mom! Maybe this is why they stayed in the drawer.
But they left it all. They no longer need it, and I have no room for it. So it must go. So many of us spend so much time gathering stuff only to leave it for someone after us to throw away, sell, or otherwise dispose of it.
Funny how it feels so odd to go through other people's stuff- even when it is your own parent's stuff. I feel that I am nosing around where I don't belong. I told my brother as went through a forbidden drawer in my father's chest, "This is the first time I'll be in this drawer and Dad won't know it." His drawer was fascinating to me as a child. It held all sort of interesting items- knives, jewelry, pens, and other odds and ends. But no matter how careful I was to set each item back in its place, Dad always knew someone had been in his drawer. I still hear his voice saying, "Now, who's been in my drawer!" It was wasn't a question. It was a demand. Dad always knew.
The leftover items from my parent's life reminds me of Truett's thought. The tragedy of life is not that it is ended, but rather that it is unfinished. I pray that I might be like King David in the Bible- to live out God's purpose for my life and then die.
May all of us finish well!
Friday, May 9, 2008
Two Phils And A Stephan
Of the many reasons I have not blogged lately is the fact that my next youngest brother died, my sister is now diagnosed with colon cancer, I was trying to finish a fence project I started a month ago, and my church has had a number of crises emerge. None of this leaves much free time.
The title of this entry refers to two "Phils" I know. One is my youngest brother and one is a pastor who was preaching revival services at our church when I got the call that my brother, Stephan, died.
Stay with me. It all comes together in the end.
Stephan was autistic. He never spoke a word in his life. He lived in a world largely his own but would occasionally pause to interact with the rest of the world. He would spend hours popping plastic bags. My dad observed that he could get more pops out of plastic than anyone else. He communicated, mostly with Mother, by a series of gestures and noises. She always seemed to know what he was talking about. Once she reassured him of something like, "We'll go to the grocery store tomorrow," he'd smile big and run off. He knew that when Mother went to the grocery store, she'd bring him a magazine, something else he loved to snap and pop. He knew it was grocery day (Fridays) when he noticed the Thursday paper being thicker with all the grocery ads. He was very intelligent.
Until later in adult life, I never fully understood or appreciated the dimensions or dynamics that Steve brought to our family. Because of his habit of emitting loud noises, my parents didn't take him out very often. They simply didn't want to deal with the stares of people observing their special child. Therefore, someone had to stay home with him. My parents, thus, never went to church together- at least until Steve went to live in a State home.
We did little as a family beyond "going for a ride to the post office" on Sunday afternoon, or making a twice yearly trip to Grandmother's in Mississippi. My parents didn't have much of a social life and it was largely limited to church attendance. Perhaps because of or special situation, there was also a bit of emotional detachment from one another. Our family was different. That dynamic affected, and still does, our own families.
Anyway, back to Phils and Steves.
When I got the word that Steve had died Tuesday a week ago, our church was having revival meetings. Things were going very well. I hated to leave. I had looked forward to our revival. But our Preacher, Phil, graciously agreed to handle everything and I and my youngest son left for the funeral.
That's where the other Phil comes in. My youngest brother is named Phil and he, too, is a pastor. I left a revival with Phil to be with Phil when Stephen died. It sounds like a story out of the book of Acts.
Philip, in the book of Acts, left a revival meeting to witness to the Ethiopian eunuch. We wanted the memorial service for my brother to give honor to Christ, even though Stephan had never understood moral evil and good and salvation in order to make a personal profession of faith.
Stephan, in the New Testament, was the first martyr. His death by stoning influenced Paul, then Saul, of the power and truth of the gospel message. I pray that our Stephan's life and message does likewise.
So last week, it was a story of Two Phils and a Stephan. It's almost biblical!
The title of this entry refers to two "Phils" I know. One is my youngest brother and one is a pastor who was preaching revival services at our church when I got the call that my brother, Stephan, died.
Stay with me. It all comes together in the end.
Stephan was autistic. He never spoke a word in his life. He lived in a world largely his own but would occasionally pause to interact with the rest of the world. He would spend hours popping plastic bags. My dad observed that he could get more pops out of plastic than anyone else. He communicated, mostly with Mother, by a series of gestures and noises. She always seemed to know what he was talking about. Once she reassured him of something like, "We'll go to the grocery store tomorrow," he'd smile big and run off. He knew that when Mother went to the grocery store, she'd bring him a magazine, something else he loved to snap and pop. He knew it was grocery day (Fridays) when he noticed the Thursday paper being thicker with all the grocery ads. He was very intelligent.
Until later in adult life, I never fully understood or appreciated the dimensions or dynamics that Steve brought to our family. Because of his habit of emitting loud noises, my parents didn't take him out very often. They simply didn't want to deal with the stares of people observing their special child. Therefore, someone had to stay home with him. My parents, thus, never went to church together- at least until Steve went to live in a State home.
We did little as a family beyond "going for a ride to the post office" on Sunday afternoon, or making a twice yearly trip to Grandmother's in Mississippi. My parents didn't have much of a social life and it was largely limited to church attendance. Perhaps because of or special situation, there was also a bit of emotional detachment from one another. Our family was different. That dynamic affected, and still does, our own families.
Anyway, back to Phils and Steves.
When I got the word that Steve had died Tuesday a week ago, our church was having revival meetings. Things were going very well. I hated to leave. I had looked forward to our revival. But our Preacher, Phil, graciously agreed to handle everything and I and my youngest son left for the funeral.
That's where the other Phil comes in. My youngest brother is named Phil and he, too, is a pastor. I left a revival with Phil to be with Phil when Stephen died. It sounds like a story out of the book of Acts.
Philip, in the book of Acts, left a revival meeting to witness to the Ethiopian eunuch. We wanted the memorial service for my brother to give honor to Christ, even though Stephan had never understood moral evil and good and salvation in order to make a personal profession of faith.
Stephan, in the New Testament, was the first martyr. His death by stoning influenced Paul, then Saul, of the power and truth of the gospel message. I pray that our Stephan's life and message does likewise.
So last week, it was a story of Two Phils and a Stephan. It's almost biblical!
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