On the Way to the O.R. - Psalm 121

Last week I had surgery to remove a non-compliant gall bladder. Apparently, in my gene-pool, the gall bladder has much more of a limited warranty than other body parts. Both of my sisters have also had theirs removed. So, it was my turn. The thought of going under anesthesia gave me a few moments of feeling my mortality. Everyone has heard the stories of people who have had trouble coming out of the drug-induced sleep. A former parishioner of mine worked as a surgical nurse in a local hospital, and she talked about having to attend a deposition, because they had "killed" a thirty-two-year-old man while removing his tonsils. He had been given too much anesthetic, apparently. I have noticed a relationship between the telling of such stories and the increased rate at which they are told the closer that one gets to the date of surgery.
So, as I was being wheeled to the operating room, I searched for some scripture to be of some comfort. I had been doing really well about all of this, and even imagined how my family would react if I did not survive the surgery, telling everyone, "You know, he never acted as if he was scared at all." I was, to a degree, more peaceful about the whole thing than I had thought that I might be. But, as I was being wheeled down the hall, I retrieved the words of Psalm 121, "I will lift up my eyes to the hills, from whence comes my help." I was surprised at my choice of passages, as I had not given any thought to what passage I would recite. Why not Psalm 139? Certainly it would have been very comforting to think that the one who had "knit together my innermost parts" was also the one from whom I could find no separation. Why not some good stuff from Matthew, about the lilies of the field, etc? I cannot say. What I do know is mountains have always held an almost supernatural fascination for me. I was raised in the foothills of the Chestnut Ridge of the Allegheny Mountains, so my frame of reference for my very existence has always been tied to mountains. The times in my life when I have been least happy with my living situation have been those where I was surrounded by coastal plain. We lived in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia for several years, and it was an other-worldly, wildly beautiful experience. When I finally visited the city of my birth in Utah, when I was in my forties, I was awestruck by the site of the Wasatch Range. Though the hospital where I was born is long gone, a park sits on the site, with a plaque commemorating the hospital that once stood there. From that vantage point, one has a breathtaking view of the mountains. It occurred to me at that moment that mountains have been the touchstone of my mortal existence; for most of my life, the mountains and I have co-existed in a most peaceable way.
I am very happy that the words of Psalm 121 came to my conscious mind that day, just as I was about to place my living self in the hands of others. For me, the mountains have always been, and will always be, a symbol of God's presence and care in my life. At that moment, lying flat on my back while viewing the blandness of the fluorescent lights overhead, I was given a vision of the mountains that have been there since I took my first breath. My life will have its perfect ending if I am allowed to see them as I take my last breath. Thanks be to God.

Why Is It So Difficult to Say "Not Me?" John 1:6-28

The Gospel of John presents an interesting take on John's appearance. Whereas Matthew and Luke have John baptizing Jesus, which then opens up the whole discussion of why John is doing that instead of Jesus, John does not seem interested in that little detail. Instead, he spends much ink writing about John's testimony of Jesus being the messiah. There is no doubt as to John the Baptizer's identity in John's gospel; John's is the voice crying in the wilderness, he is not the messiah.
I am a casual observer of long-tenure pastors and their congregations. It sometimes appears that the longer a pastor serves a given congregation, the more that congregation takes on the personality traits of the pastor. Some of this in inevitable, since the pastor's teaching and leadership style will affect the congregation's identity. A problem arises when the pastor becomes high and lifted up, and the pulpit may begin to "block out the altar," to quote a divinity school professor of mine. I have known of churches where the pastor insisted on being involved in all decisions. I once filled in for a pastor to perform a wedding. The pastor had already completed most of the pre-marital counseling. However, the pastor offered to sit in on the first part of my first meeting with the couple, and I agreed that such an idea was a good one. It served to break the ice for the couple who had never met me. However, it became apparent quite soon in the interview that I was expected to tow the line and style of the resident pastor, to the letter. I was surprised at the vehemence with which the pastor emphasized this point.
Sometimes we pastors need reminding that many are called, and many prophetic voices may be heard on the journey. There is no doubt among modern scholars that John the Baptizer had his own following, and those poeple might have gladly given him their allegiance over Jesus if it ever came to that. But John would have none of it,at least in John and Matthew's accounts. "I am not the messiah" can provide a corrective for those of us who have been serving a particular place for a long time. Truth is, it's not about us; it's about the one whom we claim to follow. This Advent season, we should be standing on "the tiptoe of expectation", anxiously awaiting the one who called us.

Another Advent

Before I tackle the texts for the second Sunday of Advent(being on a college campus, I had the first Sunday off..Thanksgiving break, ya know!)I wanted to think just for a moment about the season of Advent itself. I have a friend, a pastor, who once confided to me that he never knew what to preach on in Advent, because he did not find it to be a particularly exciting season. I was surprised at that comment, because Advent has always been an exciting time for me. If I could not find another reason to be excited about the season, I would choose to give thanks because the season of Pentecost is finally over! Remember when United Methodists used to call it "Kingdomtide"? Yuk! But I have a larger reason for looking forward to Advent. John Michael and Terry Talbot recorded a song entitled Advent Suite on their joint album, The Painter. The suite contains the phrase "Can you believe in the miracle coming, can you believe it will take you away?" I think these lyrics capture well the excitement of the dawning of the new church year. How do pastors who do not follow the seasons of the church year deal with the Sundays of December? Do they not have the same evil joy that their more liturgically-minded brethren share by denying the free ranging singing of Christmas carols until Christmas Eve? Do they not follow the lectionary and paint a vision of expectation and dreaming that is so tangible in Isaiah's writings? What would this time of year be like if we did not talk about the time in-between, and the tension of waiting while also looking back? So, for those who have not yet figured out where I stand on the matter, I stand on the tiptoe of expectation!