Your Sphere of Consideration...

How considerate are you? Have you ever thought about that? This week at St. Paul's, as we continue our "Relate" series during Lent, we are looking at the phrase, "Love is Considerate."

What does it mean to be considerate? The dictionary says, "Careful not to cause inconvenience or hurt to others." But just how big is your sphere of consideration? Are you considerate only to someone within your family circle? Your partner or your spouse? A lot of bad parenting happens when a parent seeks to correct or discipline a child without being considerate toward them, doling out  a buck and a half of punishment for a two-bit crime, as they say. Or punishing another for some small inconsideration they manifest toward you by taking away or damaging something they hold most dear. Another bad move is believing that something you do to harm someone else is just a small offense--a minor act of being inconsiderate--when to them, it is a major infraction. If love IS considerate, does being inconsiderate send a message of non-love, waning love, or hatred? In considering "considerate," these are some of the questions we must ask.

Of course, rarely does the Bible address just our most intimate or family relationships. Given that a big part of the message of Jesus and the Gospel is about learning how to "get along" with God and others, and building genuine, compassionate community, we can deduce that the statement "love is considerate" most likely goes well beyond just our most immediate sphere of influence.

Many people err by believing that their closest friends will overlook their inconsiderations: "They know I love them!" Maybe not. Or maybe not forever. The terminally inconsiderate among us will too soon be looking up how the dictionary defines "loneliness." Even best friends expect some respect and consideration. Have you known people who seem always to be in the "hazing" mode? If they really think this is a "hoot," they may soon find themselves the only ones "hooting," while the rest of the "flock" is flying away.

Does your sphere of consideration stretch to the people around you when you are walking in public staring down at your smart phone, bumping into strangers, or just causing them to eye-roll as you boisterously blab over it to some faceless other? (I have never seen as many eye-rolls as I saw in the Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam a few years ago as an American paraded around the waiting area of our gate almost screaming into his phone, carrying on the most banal, one-sided conversation in the presence of the most uninterested audience I have ever witnessed. His sphere of consideration didn't extend beyond his nostrils.)

Does your sphere of consideration extend to the other drivers in front of or behind you? I live in Adams Ridge, a development of over 800 homes, with one road in and one road out, and a single traffic light emptying us onto Route 228, a road that will live in infamy. In the morning, when all 800 cars are trying to get out, it amazes me how many of the "front runners" don't begin to move until the light has been green long enough to cause retinal burns, and when the pace car finally DOES begin to move, several others make sure there is a safe 100-yard buffer before following suit. These people may be on their phones or psychotropic medications, but the end result is a total lack of consideration for the 795 who don't make it through the light. And at that time in the morning, the next green light happens only if it is a blood moon rising.

Being considerate is not rocket science, as they say. We're not talking a David Brainerd prayer marathon, or even an act of martyrdom here. Being considerate is just that being considerate of those around you, or those you suddenly find yourself in the midst of--"careful not to cause inconvenience or harm" to them. It's such an easy way to earn their respect, win friends, and influence people. In our time of "screw you" people skills, a considerate person may look like Mother Teresa, by comparison. Why, if the next President looks at a TV camera, smiles and says, "How are you doing tonight, America?", we'll probably begin erecting the a shiny new marble monument to her on the mall in D.C.

Jesus (you probably figured I'd get around to Jesus, didn't you?) was a considerate character. He stopped for the ill, the handicapped, the hungry, and the demon-possessed, like the guy on the phone at Schiphol. He noticed everyone around him, including the hemorrhaging woman who just flicked the fold on his tunic, and the only ones he ever said "screw you" to were the rule-keepers and the religious leaders who were about as inconsiderate as they came, in that day. He even liked tax collectors, and that is way more consideration than I could probably muster.

All sarcasm aside, the world would be a much nicer place if we took some time to examine our sphere of consideration, and then by a shear act of will, be considerate to the people in it. Being considerate does not demand a "Kumbaya" moment of any of us, just a moment of not raining on someone's parade or causing them even the simplest of harm. And if you ask yourself the religious question, "What would Jesus do?", I can pretty much guarantee that he would never flip anyone off.

Do no harm, Yinz. Peace.

Losing Faith...

St. Paul's UMC--and the rest of the world, for that matter--has lost a true saint in Faith Geer. After a year-long battle--and it was a battle--Faith succumbed to melanoma. Her children have written a beautiful obituary, which you can find on line at Neely's Funeral Home, or in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. Better yet, they have written a wonderful testimony to Faith with their lives. She could have been no more proud of Kelly, Nathan, and Natalie and their lives, loves, and careers than she was of them. Ron Hoellein, St. Paul's Pastor Emeritus, gave a great eulogy at her Service of Death and Resurrection on Sunday, March 3. Pastor Karen Slusser and I were honored to share in that service, and our music ministry played and sang their hearts out in tribute to her. If you wish to view it, go to our website at stpaulsumc.com.

Faith had a whole team of loving caregivers who loved her and tended to her every need over the past year, and they were seated together at the service. The sight of them together, alone, was enough to start the tears. There are so, so many good people in God's world, and Faith Geer had a way, even in illness, to assemble them together and give them a common vision. She has done this for a large number of churches and organizations as well. She had several very close friends, and they were vital to her joy, her journey, and her struggle, and I know she reciprocated in many ways.

Faith Geer leaves a great legacy--her "DNA"--at St. Paul's and in the other groups she charged with her presence, faith, creativity, and flip-charts. One of her passions was working for full inclusion of LGBTQIA+ persons in the life of The United Methodist Church. Here at St. Paul's, we proudly proclaim a Welcome Statement that says that we will do just that. Faith Geer died on the very day that the 2019 special session of the United Methodist General Conference voted to accept a plan that continues excluding LGBTQIA+ persons from full inclusion in our church. St. Paul's has pledged to do what we do best--be St. Paul's--and do our best to live fully into the motto so many U.M. churches post: "Open Hearts, Open Minds, Open Doors." If you open our doors, you will be welcomed, to the best of our ability, and with all of our hearts. This is what Faith taught us: love, hospitality, welcome, inclusion, vision, and planning!

Faith had a funny idea of Jesus. She saw him not as a lawgiver or a rule-keeper, but a Savior in the fullest of the Wesleyan tradition. Her Jesus wasn't just out to "save souls," but PEOPLE. Her version of Jesus was just as concerned about a person’s stomach, or how she was respected and affirmed, or whether he would be paid a fair wage for a day's work as he was about "eternal salvation." In fact, Jesus seemed to make quick work of eternal salvation, proclaiming it as a given for anyone who said  "yes" to God's YES to all.  Faith's Jesus would go out of his way to find those who were marginalized and disenfranchised by the establishment or the institution, and then hang out with them, eating with them, and even calling them as disciples. Faith's Jesus cared every bit as equally for women and children as he did men, for the poor, possibly even more than for the rich, and seemed to chafe only at those who put law over life, rules over reconciliation. Her version of Jesus lives on at St. Paul's. If you want to get saved here, you had better be prepared for a whole lot else beyond eternal fire insurance. We have a job for you!

If you really knew Faith Geer, you knew that beyond that smiling, inviting face, perfectly coiffed hair, and nattily-dressed exterior, burned the heart of an activist and a serious "do-gooder." Her world was not right unless it was right for all. She could be so idealistic about this that she refused to accept anyone's idea of "reason" unless it included a plan to begin fixing the world--and the church. If you wanted to see the fire, just call refer to God as "He" a half-dozen times, or state that you believed "homosexuality is incompatible with Christian teachings" and then get your marshmallows and sticks ready. This high sense of justice didn't abide fools, either. Her intellect was as sharp as anyone's I have ever known. If you wanted to argue with her, you better bring your "A" game, and have more ready than just your opinion, or you were sticking your tongue into a live light socket. But when the sparks were done flying, you would have made a new friend, and would part with a hug.

So, you see why we at St. Paul's are struggling in the aftermath of her passing? What she did as our Administrative Director is irreplaceable. Who she was as a child of God was unique. The vacuum she has left here is palpable. And I know our experience is shared by others in our Annual Conference, in the Reconciling Ministries Network, in Nyadire, and who knows where else, as she was never one to brag about stuff like that. To paraphrase the apostle, "We have lost Faith, but we will not lose heart." And we will never. Never. Never. Settle for a wimpy Jesus, as we remember Faith.

PRNDL...

DISCLAIMER: This post will be about my denomination's upcoming "special session" of the General Conference, being held in St. Louis, MO, beginning this Saturday. The issue at hand is what we will do with our practices concerning LGBTQIA+ individuals. If you don't want to read yet more thoughts on this topic, go to Facebook and click on a cat video.


With electric cars and luxury vehicles today, the old fashioned "gearshift" is disappearing, but most of us over 25 remember the letters PRNDL on the dash or steering stalk which stood for Park, Reverse, Neutral, Drive, and Low. Since the United Methodist Council of Bishops initiated a commission in 2016 to study and make recommendations about how our denomination would relate to LGBTQIA+ persons, and how we would "define" our understanding of human sexuality, naming the commission the "Way Forward Commission," I thought these transmission labels might be a good way to examine what could happen at the upcoming special General Conference.

The central issue is that some in the church want to hold to a mode of biblical interpretation and "doctrine" that believes only heterosexuality is acceptable to God, and that marriage must only be between a man and a woman. Others believe this question has been removed as one of biblical authority by virtue of an understanding that "normal" human sexuality is--like we are finding out about so many other things--on a "spectrum" that is more broad than binary. This understanding comes to us via the scientific, medical, and psychological fields, as well as by numerous studies of persons who identify somewhere along the LGBTQIA+ continuum, and who clearly testify that they never "chose" their sexual orientation, but as they grew and developed, it just emerged, like their molars or their pubic hair. So, the $64,000 question is, how will the church resolve this, theologically? Here are my skewed thoughts, with no apologies:

PARK: This is where we have been in Methodism since 1972, when a late night "compromise" statement got voted into the "Book of Discipline" that said: "homosexuality is incompatible with Christian teachings." (An earlier version of the statement said "Christian doctrine," but that was considered too harsh, as this "place-holding" statement was meant merely to placate that Conference so it could adjourn and go home, fully expecting the issue would be better dealt with four years later.) We've basically been in PARK, ever since, with efforts made every four years to either remove or soften that statement, or to harden and codify it. This simple phrase has denied "homosexuals" (we haven't even had the balls to fix this to read LGBTQ) candidacy, licensing for ministry, or ordination in the United Methodist Church, and has, depending on the whims of a given pastor, even denied membership or leadership roles in local churches to them.

REVERSE: If the special session of the General Conference passes either the Traditional Plan or the "new and improved" Modified Traditional Plan, our church will be put into REVERSE. As civil rights are being enacted and recognized for LGBTQIA+ persons, these plans would send us in the opposite direction, denying them legitimacy, spiritual community and affirmation in a denomination that has historically been "big tent," and one of the first to welcome other marginalized groups into the fold. Not only is adopting one of these retrograde plans bad for our denomination, it is dangerous, as proponents of them are backing up without a decent rearview mirror. Excluding children of God for any reason is not biblical, nor is it anything Jesus endorsed. The few "anti-gay" Bible passages are locked into ancient contexts and history, and like some of the near superstitious Hebrew law codes of Leviticus, have been superseded by knowledge gained through human social evolution and a deeper theological and informed view of biblical interpretation.

NEUTRAL: If the General Conference does NOTHING, we will basically be in NEUTRAL, and powerless to move forward. How sad this would be for a denomination that has invested so much time and resources into an endeavor labeled the "Way Forward."

DRIVE: If the General Conference really gets caught up in the Spirit and adopts the Simple Plan, we would be shifted into DRIVE, and truly could move forward as an inclusive and diverse church. The Simple Plan would simply remove all prohibitions to LGBTQIA+ individuals being fully recognized by the church. They could answer calls to ministry, serve as pastors, leaders, and bishops, and could even be married to their partners in the churches where they are nurtured in the Christian faith. This truly WOULD be "a way forward."

LOW: Passing the One Church Plan would turn the wheels, but slow the forward progress of the journey toward full inclusion, in effect putting us in LOW gear. Churches, Conferences, and Pastors could still choose to reject LGBTQIA+ persons just for who they are. It would remove the "incompatible with Christian teachings" parking pall, but the resulting slow speed ahead would require LGBTQIA+ persons to painstakingly and cautiously "shop" for a church that was inclusive, and even if they were successful in finding one in their geography, God help them if they sense a call to ministry, as that particular Annual Conference may be one that chooses NOT to offer them candidacy, licensing, or ordination as  options. Still, the One Church Plan is being advanced as a possibly acceptable "compromise" the church could accept, and which could move us "forward." I've been promoting it as such, but I have to say that doing so makes it a bit harder to make full eye contact with my LGBTQIA+ friends.

Why, as we approach the special General Conference, do I feel like we do so with the EMERGENCY BRAKE stuck on? Maybe it's the short three days the Conference has to weigh the plan options and supportive legislation, or maybe its that the Wesleyan Covenant Association has done such an effective job of aligning the conservative minds--and votes--something we liberals have never been able to do well (get three liberals in a room and you'll get six opinions--maybe that comes from understanding that things are on a continuum or a spectrum, and not just binary?).

AND, in a final effort to stretch this contrived metaphor just a bit farther: We are living in the days of Tesla cars and plug-in hybrids where you just hit a little button that says "go," and yet our church is still shifting gears and depressing clutches. Maybe this is one reason so many "Millennials" view us as irrelevant? All of us are praying for the special General Conference, but we're not all praying for the same thing. My colleague in ministry suggests we should just be praying for "God's will," and while I know she is right, I fear that strong human forces (from either pole) could just win a late-night vote and CALL it "God's will." I, for one, cannot endorse any decision that tells a group of God's children, "Sorry, until you change to be like us, you are not welcome." So I'll pray the way I will pray, and I'm sure you will do the same. I just wish we could find a resolution that might create genuine unity, but since we haven't had that--ever--in Christendom, why should I believe it might happen now? If we were honest at this special General Conference, the first thing we would do is remove the "United" from our name, for we are not. Maybe we should go by the acronym, COM--"Confederation of Methodists."

Oh, I haven't even mentioned the Connectional Conference Plan, have I? Why? Because (to keep the driving metaphor alive) we can't build an engine powerful enough to tow the fuel tank necessary to keep it running. And, if ANYONE on the outside of a denomination organized in the manner of that plan actually CHOSE to join it, would we want to have someone like that as a member? (With apologies to Groucho Marx...)

By the time I write my next blog entry, the special General Conference will be over. I'm praying I will still be a Methodist. Stay thirsty, my friends...

State of the Union...

The annual State of the Union, a speech given by the President of the United States to a joint session of the Congress, was this past Tuesday night, two nights after the Super Bowl. Depending on whom you ask, the Super Bowl was either a great defensive battle between two scrappy, well-coached teams, or a total bust, overshadowed by the commercials. Pretty much the same goes for the State of the Union, although there were no commercials. The live audiences of both events, as captured by the roving eye of the TV cameras, were similarly either bored to tears or enthusiastically cheering, depending on whom you were rooting for. Some of the audience was all dressed out in their team colors. The same was true of the Super Bowl crowd. Aging heroes were featured in the vignettes and tributes given by the president during the speech, and that was true at the Super Bowl, too, as 42-year-old Tom Brady, New England's quarterback, was older than the Los Angeles Rams' coach.

Both "quarterbacks" (Trump and Brady) are either loved or despised. There seems to be little middle-ground. Brady is good at calling plays; Trump is singled out for his "tweeting" and use of social media. Trump was flanked by Vice President Pence, while Brady had Julian Edelman. I think Edelman had the better game than Pence, who seemed to be more the benchwarmer during Trump's playmaking. The president held the stage for almost an hour and a half, which seemed like a long time, even if you liked what he had to say. The Super Bowl's first half was an hour and a half, and that seemed like an eternity, with the score at 3-0, Patriots. Even Trump racked up more points than that, especially when he highlighted the number of new women in the House of Representatives. Of course, some say he's the reason most of them are there.

One big difference between the two games was the announcers. Super Bowl fans were limited to one network and Jim Nance and Tony Romo. They did a good job, but Romo is becoming the shining star "color" announcer, as his playing experience often allows him to know what the team with the ball is going to do next, and people seem to like this. State of the Union viewers had their choice of channels and media upon which to watch the speech, and one could choose between the "home" announcers (Fox) or the "Away" team (MSNBC). Since my TV overheats if I tune it to Fox, I watched MSNBC, as I find Chris Matthews entertaining. Like Romo, he seems to know what's coming next, and is capable of comparing every political play to his days with Tip O'Neil. I like Chris and his candidness, but he reminds me a bit of football announcer John Madden, who was around so long that most of the people in his flashbacks are dead. Kind of like Tip O'Neil and Ronald Reagan, 'ey, Chris? Oh, and while the pundits used a few instant replays of the speech, these are no where near as stirring as the slo-mo's employed by the sports people, excluding the entire first half of the Super Bowl, which itself seemed to be in slow motion.

There will be talk among the football owners about how to punch up the Super Bowl, as its viewership slipped "bigly" this year. I wonder how we could punch up the State of the Union? How about this: every fifteen minutes, ring a bell, and everybody has to change seats, and it can't be with someone sitting on either side of you. That might be good. It was a little more fun this year seeing all of the female representatives sitting together and wearing white, while the more conservative males all sat together and were...were just white. That wasn't so much fun. During the Super Bowl, a crazy fan ran onto the field, and the game was delayed while they rounded him up. This might be a good caper during the State of the Union--a streaker, maybe? Talk about punching things up...

My favorite commercial during the Super Bowl was the 100th year of the NFL one with 55 different current and former great football stars featured, including our own Franco Harris snagging a deflected Terry Bradshaw pass from atop his wingtips. "Stillers fans" went wild from Westview to "Sliberty." That's what the State of the Union needs next year--a highlight reel of some of the great speech-makers in the presidency and from the floors of the Congress! That could be the lead-up to the Sergeant at Arms of the House of Representatives' yelling, "Mr. Speaker, the PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES!"

Finally, some eschewed the Super Bowl for the Puppy Bowl, while others blew off the State of the Union for the Democratic Response, given by Stacey Abrams, citizen. I was jazzed up by her opening line wherein she said her parents were both United Methodist ministers. Talk about full disclosure! She kept her speech short, with no fumbles and no trick plays. And she is only a couple of years older than Tom Brady. I'll bet she'll play longer, though.

So, I can't wait for next year's dynamic pairing of the State of the Union and the Super Bowl, can you? Join us here for coverage. And now a word from our sponsor...

Icebox...

Well, first of all, you have to be old enough to know what an "icebox" is, don't you? I'll try not to make today's blog be about getting older, but I'm getting older, and a lot of stuff just keeps reminding me of that, like using the term, "icebox." Political "dirty trickster" Roger Stone was indicted this week, and came to the front of the news queue. As part of that coverage, it was reported--and backed up by photographs--that he has a portrait of late President Richard M. Nixon tattooed on his back. Two younger types this week asked me who Richard Nixon was. Older, I'm telling you, older! Or maybe just old?

"When I was your age, I used to walk three miles to school in the most frigid weather carrying a gym bag, a trumpet case, and my books!" We old people say things like that to younger types. I might make two comments about this statement: 1. the younger types ask, "What's a gym bag?" and 2. every part of this statement is true for Yours Truly. I grew up in Oil City, PA, and attended my7th grade year (which was "Junior High" in that day) at South Side Junior High School. The building was actually condemned--also true! It was unsafe, and the third floor was blocked off with what sufficed as a police line in 1967. When we had assemblies in the auditorium, we had to take an umbrella in case it rained, because the roof leaked like a screen door on a submarine. The only redeeming thing about South Side was that it was just a few short blocks and a reasonable walk from my home, because I lived--you guessed it--on the South Side of town. However, commencing with the 8th grade, we were moved to the "new" Junior High, which was the old Senior High, as they had now moved into a beautiful new building in Hasson Heights, near where most of the richer people lived. The "new" Junior High was built into a hill that was on the North side of town, so not only did we have to walk much farther, but we had to climb "heartbreak hill" to get there. I can remember arriving at school huffing and puffing, wheezing, and dragging, only to then climb several flights of stairs to get to my homeroom. And when you were sucking serious air at 8:00AM, that "old smell" of the building--probably an amalgamation of asbestos, machine oil, cheap floor wax, and termite sawdust--just coated the inside of your lungs. Oh, and just before reaching "Heartbreak Hill," we had to cross railroad tracks bifurcated the town, and a train came by at about 7:50AM on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. SO, if we didn't beat the train, we had to stand there with all our hardware and freeze in the Winter, get drenched in the rain in the Spring, and baked in the sun as Summer approached. There were two saving graces to this whole exercise: we used to put stuff on the train tracks to get flattened by the locomotive; and the school building, itself, was in Ripley's "Believe it or Not" for being the only building that you could enter all five floors from the ground because it was built into the side of a mountain. Other than that, when that "Junior High" (they never came up with a modifier) was leveled by the wrecking ball a few decades ago, not many of us even got moist peepers.

Back to the "icebox." I will never forget the icy mornings making that trek. Did I say that we also had to walk across a three-span, steel bridge with open grate walkways to GET to the aforementioned train tracks? It is called the State Street Bridge, it crosses the mighty Allegheny River, and the wind whipped across that sucker like a tornado, pulled out straight like you'd stretch a Slinky. Even to this day, when I walk in an icy cold wind--like what is coming upon us this week--I have visual flashbacks of that bridge in Winter. It was so cold that if someone threw a snowball at you it felt like an oven-fresh bun, by comparison. And with my big ears, my head kept turning into the wind, and I got the full force of it. Meanwhile, my friends would crouch behind my trumpet case and my gym bag.

"But why didn't your parents take you to school?" Nobody's parents took them to school. Nobody's. If you didn't live far enough out to ride the bus (I think you had to be considered "rural"), you walked. Most families owned one car, if they were lucky, and the working parent--usually the dad--had to be at work by 7:00AM, or even earlier if he was doing shift work. That's why they built the new Senior High School on "the Heights"--the wealthy families' kids had a short walk, and it just crossed the "rural" barrier for us South Siders, so we DID get to ride a bus up there for Senior High. Of course, we stood in the middle of a busy intersection waiting for the bus, and in Winter, we had to wait at least 45 minutes for a late bus before our tardiness would be excused. These were the worst of times, these were the worst of times.

With temperatures and wind chills being forecast at State Street Bridge levels this week, we at St. Paul's already cancelled Wednesday activities, and our local schools have declared an "icebox" day. Thanks to the progress of human evolution, we make these decisions in 2019. Our kids will be healthier, safer, and better for it. They never cancelled school in 1968 for a "Polar Vortex," even if they HAD known what one was. And not a day goes by that I don't think about assessing the damage this caused to our psyches, and how many points we dropped on the I.Q. scale because of frozen brain cells. It's weeks like this that make me break out in a seriously threatening and diabolical laugh anytime someone dares mention "the good old days." Stay safe, stay warm, stay IN, Beloved. Spring is out there...

Snow Job...

Time to update the blog...what shall I write about? Trump? Nope--tired of it. Government shutdown? Nope--ditto. The United Methodist Church and The Way Forward? Nope--ditto, ditto, ditto, and the modified PLAN ditto! I could write some nice, comforting faith-based piece? Nope--just got done writing a sermon; am spent on faith-based stuff. So, let's talk about snow...

Since the National Weather Service and the NOAA are either not getting paid, or are working with skeleton crews, I think they are funnin' with us about the forecasts for "Stormzilla" this weekend. Here in the North Hills of Pittsburgh, they are saying we can get between 3 and 18 inches of snow--that's one big "between." Forecasts always look so prescient when you give yourself such latitude. I stopped to buy milk at Giant Eagle last night--because we need milk, not because of the storm forecast--but the "stormers" beat me to it. I got one of the last half-gallons in the place. I didn't go near the bread or the toilet paper. We're packing meals for the "End Hunger" program on Saturday, and people are already calling to see if we're cancelling. No, people are still hungry. We may have less "packers" for the assembly line, but we'll get our 24,000 meals packed. We did decide to begin an hour early, as the bulk of the snow is not supposed to come until later in the afternoon--3 to 18 inches. At 3 inches, Pittsburgh is paralyzed. At 18, it's the apocalypse, and we're just waiting for the Pale Rider.

We DO live in Western Pennsylvania. Even before climate change began affecting us, we got snow, and sometimes, lots of it. And it gets cold in winter. I'm not sure why we seem to manufacture such panic, annually. Oh, and I'm not going to debate the climate change issue, either. I figure there are two kinds of people, when it comes to climate change--those who believe the science about it, and idiots. Regardless, we get snow. It's Western Pennsylvania. And it gets cold. If you are the entrepreneurial sort, and want to make some fast cash, get a van, load it up with milk, bread, and toilet paper, and go door to door. Tell the residents you'll be around every time they forecast 3 to 18 inches.

The church struggles with weather forecasts and snow. Businesses generally stay open. Libraries stay open. Schools close, mostly for the safety of the students, as those "yellow submarines" they ride are just a big skate on ice and snow. But what about church? If we're talking a church that pretty much hosts weekend worship, a Bible study, and maybe a committee meeting, they're pretty much out of business if they let a snowstorm bring them down. A church like St. Paul's? With preschool, daycare, Kidz Korner, and a raft of other activities, studies, community use of our building, and such, we have a "weather alert" on our website and networks to let folk know when we have to cancel or alter schedules. We also have a parking lot that is so large it's in two townships, so maintaining it in inclement weather is a bear--and rather expensive. But, we are in Western Pennsylvania. We get snow. And it gets cold in Winter. And with a church facility that has been added onto eight times, we have pipes in uninsulated ceilings, drains that have to pump UP hill, and roofs that leak when the gutters freeze and back up. Our head custodian runs around here like Nanook of the North. But we usually stay open, and people come--hearty people...sometimes CRAZY people! Seriously, they are usually people dedicated in their faith, and loyal to their church. But they are a bit crazy. I'm not sure that going out to church in the midst of a whiteout, following the salt truck, and sliding around in our giant parking lot is what Paul meant when he said we are "fools for Christ."

And, if we GET the 18 inches of snow, I'll have my usual thoughts about retiring to a warmer climate--Florida, Arizona, even Arkansas, which one of the senior publications recently cited as the most economical place for us old people to live. Then, I come to my senses: Florida can't even VOTE properly, they're so nuts down there; Arizona has been having 115 degree temperatures, and sandstorms; and Arkansas? ARKANSAS? Have you SEEN their politics? Those of you who know me, know I'd last 45 seconds in Arkansas. My religion is far too "liberal," my politics are far left of that, and I can't abide country music. I don't have a dog, I don't have a pickup truck, and never plan to leave my wife (and hope the reciprocal of that is true, honey?). After all of that "weather reckoning," my lovely wife says "DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT moving where they don't have 'seasons'!" She likes the seasons. Honestly, I do, too--especially Spring and Fall. I've looked, by the way, and there is no place on planet Earth that is always Spring or always Fall. You either have to live with perpetual Summer or perpetual Winter, if you go South or North. So, it's like cable TV service--if you want Spring and Fall, you have to take Summer and Winter, too. And you get your best deal if you bundle them.

So, it's going to snow. Maybe a lot. Things will close, or not. Unless you already are stocked up, you'd better figure out alternatives for bread, milk, and toilet paper. Rest assured, if the roads get bad, it's almost a guarantee that the worst drivers will flood the highways. They'll drive their SUVs, go too fast, secure in having all-wheel drive, not thinking that when it comes to stopping, they're driving something the size of Delaware with only four little patches of tire available to halt their forward progress. And lots of them won't have their lights on, because they don't want you to see them coming--surprise! So, what are we to do? Stay warm and safe, Beloved. And remember: We live in Western Pennsylvania. It snows. It gets cold in Winter. But Spring is only 9 weeks away! Shalom, yinz!

Hugging Jesus...

This photo has been making the rounds of Facebook and the Internet. I believe it is an artist's conception of a person arriving in heaven, and upon encountering Jesus, is embraced by him, or joyously and spontaneously embraces him! The artist captures the joy on the individual's face quite effectively, and for most people of faith who view the painting, an empathetic smile--or even a tear or two--may ensue.

What emotions, if any, does the picture elicit in you? Many who post or email it, comment about how they hope this will be the scene when they "cross over," or they relate it to a loved one or dear friend who has recently died, and are comforted by the artist's portrayal of how that one is now in the arms of Jesus. I thought about a dear, dear church member in my first appointment--Velma--who passed away many years ago. Velma was the most "connected to Jesus" person I have ever known. Ever. And she was maybe the only person I ever knew who, I believe, really matched the Apostle Paul in "praying without ceasing." Velma prayed every day for each pastor whom had ever served her church. I remember how honored and blessed I was to be a part of that personal litany. Years after leaving that appointment, in a few of my darker moments, I was lifted by remembering that Velma was praying for me. I also remember the grief I felt when I got word she had passed. (Oh, I wasn't sorry for Velma, because she was hugging Jesus! No, my grief was for missing those daily prayers!) This picture could very well be Velma arriving in glory. Believe me, Jesus would have had to pry himself from her, and it might have taken a few days.

I like the picture, for it really got me thinking about a couple of things. First of all, we really can't tell the gender of the individual hugging Jesus. And given that the "rainbow colors" are prominent, it's very possible that this gender ambiguity is intentional by the artist. This Jesus welcomes all, and in this depiction of heaven, "All means all."

My next observation may trouble some of you, OR, you may be strange in the way that I am strange. For, you see, I have no interest in hugging Jesus. At least I don't think I do. The few times I have been in the presence of persons of some great note, I had no compulsion to run up to them and solicit a hearty handshake, or even approach them directly, let alone embrace them. Initially, I stood silently in their presence, not too close, and was quite caught up in awe of the individual, and what they represented to me. (Please know that I am not referencing persons of mere celebrity status such as sports stars or actors, but academicians, authors, theologians, musicians, artists, or elected officials in high office, either political or religious.) I even had this view of my college and seminary professors. I could never call them by their first names, much preferring to use their earned titles. I had no desire to "befriend them," preferring instead to "sit at their feet, take in their teachings, and impress them by how seriously I treated their subject and excelled in their class. I also wanted to honor them by "making good" on what they taught me by integrating it into my life, philosophy, and later, my ministry.

Well, with that in mind, do you see why I don't get jazzed up with the idea of hugging Jesus? This is Jesus--the Son of God, co-creator of the universe, the protagonist in "The Greatest Story Ever Told," God's "star-child" bridge to humanity! This ain't ol' uncle Frank, or even my departed grandmother! In my mind's eye, I can image just standing there, looking at him in unbelief that I have somehow been privileged to be in such close proximity. I think I'll be sizing up his appearance against the database of portrayals of Jesus I remember from my earthly sojourn. I hope I'll won't be too stunned to listen, in case the "still, small voice" I disciplined myself to hear in the silence now actually becomes audible and unmistakably directed at me. In my fondest dreams, I can imagine him saying, "I'm doing an update to the Sermon on the Mount in room 203 in five minutes, won't you sit in?" Or "Hey, have you met Paul yet?" Or even still, "Peter didn't pull that 'May I take your coat?' bit on you when you arrived, did he? That rascal!" I'm really hoping he doesn't say something like "Welcome, my son" or "Enter into the joy of the Lord," for I KNOW I'll just pass out, given that I'll be so wrapped up in awe as to be paralyzed.

Thanks to God's abundant grace, I know I will have nothing more to "prove" to him about myself, any more than I did in this life. Still, I think I will want to "worship" Jesus by continuing to absorb his teaching, accept his acceptance of me gratefully, and go about building new relationships just like I did on earth.

I might eventually get around to singing, and even spouting a few scriptural expressions of praise, but I'm not hugging Jesus. Now, please don't think that I'm suggesting that any of my thoughts about this encounter should be yours. In fact, I hope you have a few, vivid "heaven hopes" of your own! After you do whatever you do in those first moments in the presence of Jesus, don't forget to meet us for class in room 203. And would someone bring at least one lunch to share? I hope he didn't grade my sermons...

Final thought: what if Jesus hugs ME? I'll probably whoop and cry like the person in the painting, for what else would I do when the one who is the source of my greatest blessings, the one who helped me find my earthly partner (whom I've never escaped being in awe of, either), and guided us as we raised our family and spirited our ministry, grabs MY neck and pulls me close? I'd be a hot mess.

Well, that really wasn't my FINAL thought. I hope that one is many, many years off!

Shalom, Yinz!