Giving This Christmas Away

Matthew West and Amy Grant have a song out (yes, it's taken me four years to "discover" it), called "Give This Christmas Away."  The song was written for VeggieTales' video, "The Story of St. Nicholas," which I would recommend for kids of ALL ages, but the song itself is worth the price and the time.  You can hear it on YouTube or any number of sites.

Giving Christmas away is important to me this year as our West End emphasis focuses on our membership vows. We are in the season of Presence.  The play on words is lovely this time of year, as the best present of all is that of our presence.  I've had my share of the "Me Club," as in "What's in it for me, or what am I getting and how do I ask for it?"  This year, as close as I will come will be to ask that my life be changed by what I give away.

There are lots of ways to do that.  If you have a family, I suggest you call a Family Night and discuss how you can give Christmas away.  If you don't, get together with a small group or your Sunday School class or study group, and brainstorm.  Or if you are creative on your own, make a list of things you can give away--items you may have in abundance, a gift of time, a phone call, an act of forgiveness, a kindness done in secret, writing a love letter.  There are hundreds of ways to give Christmas away, and how delightful to come up with the give-away list to check twice!  And as a matter of fact, it works best with the less money you have, or choose to spend.  Trust me.  It's an age-old fact.

Here are the lyrics to "Give This Christmas Away."  I hope you enjoy them, and give a wink and a nod to Matthew West and Amy Grant if you see them on the street this season!

What if I told you, you have the power
to give someone hope far beyond their wildest dreams.
What if I told you, it's right there in your hands, in your hands.
It's hard to imagine how something so small
Could make all the difference, tear down the tallest wall.
What if December looked different this year?

What if we all just give this Christmas away
If there's love in your heart, don't let it stay there.
Give this Christmas away
And your life will be changed by the give you receive
when you give this Christmas away.

It's feeding the hungry, serving the poor,
It's telling the orphan, You're not forgotten anymore.
It's doing what love does even when no one's watching you.
For God so loved the world that He gave us all His Son,
so we could be his hands, his feet, his love . . . his love.

What if we all just give this Christmas away
if there's love in your heart, don't let it stay there.
Give this Christmas away
and your life will be changed by the gift you receive
when we give this Christmas away. 

That's the view from my desk, at any rate.  Pardon me, I have a phone call to give.

Grace and joy,
Julie

A 1st Corinthian Christmas

I CORINTHIANS 13~
CHRISTMAS STYLE

If I decorate my house perfectly with lovely plaid bows,
strands of twinkling lights, and shiny glass balls, but do
not show love to my family – I’m just another decorator.

If I work at the soup kitchen, carol at the nursing home, and give
all that I have to charity, but do not show love to my
family – it profits me nothing.

If I trim the spruce with shimmering angels and crocheted
snowflakes, attend a myriad of holiday parties, and sing in the
Choir’s cantata but do not focus on Christ, I have missed the
point.

Love stops the cooking to hug the child.

Love sets aside the decorating to kiss the husband.

Love is kind, though harried and tired.

Love doesn’t envy another home that has coordinated
Christmas china and table lines.

Love doesn’t yell at the kids to get out of the way.

Love doesn’t give only to those who are able to give in return,
but rejoices in giving to those who can’t.

Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all
things, and endures all things.

Love never fails. Video games will break; pearl necklaces will
be lost; golf clubs will rust. But giving the gift of love
will endure.

Something to think about...shared with love from the newsletter from FUMC Sulphur Springs.

Grace and joy,
Julie

Charge Conference Love Letter

When I walked through the magic doors back in May 2008, it was love at first sight. I loved West End United Methodist Church, and love her even more today.

I love the grandeur of the architecture—the solid foundations and walls, the beauty of the cobalt blue stained glass windows and the way the light playfully shines through with the diverse colors reflected on the stone walls. Add to that the way the organ makes the sanctuary an instrument unto its own, plus the choirs and quality of worship—well, it is a breathtaking reflection of our transcendent God, who fills up spaces with sacredness.

I love the value West End places on spiritual education. The congregation had great foresight and intention by building its education wing with utmost priority, choosing to work on the sanctuary secondarily, at great personal sacrifice in the midst of economically dark days.

I love the value of mission, and the vast resources we invest in people, through our gifts of time and money to organizations, the dental clinic, Bethlehem Center, Habitat builds, Room in the Inn, our work with the prison and its families. The list is as long as our heart. Where there’s a need, we will step up to the plate.

And I love the grace that radiates from our congregation through her core values, particularly that God’s love is unconditional, and that all does indeed mean ALL here at West End.

So here’s the rub. I loved West End with such a passion that I excluded all else from my life. I believed that was a grand and noble thing to do. When I arrived from Texas, I threw my all into this position. Every waking moment was spent thinking about Christian Formation at West End. When I wasn’t in the church building, I was at home on the computer working. Looking back, I think West End was glad for all my care and nurturing, because they were tired, having come off of some rocky, emotionally draining times when I arrived, and were more than happy to let me do the work. That’s not the healthiest of balances, however. I was too busy to see the bigger picture—making sure the Solid Rock Café was lively with lots of program offerings for Wednesday nights, shoring up a waivering Disciple Bible Study ministry, collecting resources and figuring out ways to strengthen the adult Sunday School classes. I’m proud of those accomplishments, because the hard work has

1) Re-established a strong Disciple ministry, where students are not only learning about the Bible, but teachers are pushing them to apply the information in transformative ways. Today, I’m extremely proud of the classes we have—the epitome of the power of safe places for vulnerabilities to be shared and where true growth in discipleship can happen.

2) Developed a way for Sunday morning class leaders to share resources and class offerings with each other through a weekly e-Notes correspondence, that includes curriculum ideas, teacher helps, missional opportunities, inspirations, and a weekly prayer.

3) Developed an Adult Resource Center on the third floor filled with study books, video series and other materials from which to draw.

4) Started two new Sunday morning classes, saved at least two more from imminent death, and with the growing young adult classes, we are seeing close to 239 adults in a class on a given Sunday morning compared to the 160 number back in 2008—which is a hefty increase of what I think is close to 50% per cent in four year’s time.

5) This past year we held a women’s prayer retreat, and at least two lives were changed in a dramatic way during that weekend, one being called into ministry.

6) We also had a short, but powerful and touching Blessing of the Animals service in October, which brought out many tears and lots of doggy kisses!

7) And last but certainly not least, seeds were planted for a ministry that will also transform lives in powerful ways, that being the development of the pilot program for Covenant Discipleship groups. 35 people studied under the tutelage of Dr. David Lowes Watson, and it looks like come December 5^th, with the continued help of our intern Jonathan Carle and our new affiliate, Steve Manskar (who heads the ministry at the Board of Discipleship!), we will have three solid covenant groups, all of whom will dedicate their lives to acts of compassion, justice, mercy and worship. I can’t begin to tell you what the fruit of that kind of depth of Christian living will bear out, but it is most exciting.

I share all of this good news to let you know how very blessed I have been to do ministry here at West End. If I had it to do over again, I would have shared the hard work—it has taken its toll on me, and that came as a great surprise when I found myself fairly exhausted, which was not healthy for me or for the church in the long run. That’s been a hard lesson learned.

Wise persons say if you love something enough, you will love it enough to let it go. When Michael and the chair of the Staff Parish Relations Committee came to me in early August to let me know that my salary was needed to help restructure the staff for the stronger, you can imagine my grief. One doesn’t love something so passionately to give it up easily, but I have come to realize that if I love West End enough, and if I trust God will take care of us both, then of course I can let her go. You see, in my passion for West End, I had forgotten that as a pastor, I am just a midwife, not the mother of the baby—and West End is not my baby. There are necessary endings, and this is one. As Thomas Merton once said, now, since all things have their season, there is a time to be unborn.

I am not sure where God will send me at the moment—or the United Methodist Church, for that matter. But I trust God, and I know you will too, as you are a faithful congregation. I will always love you and give thanks for you.

Let’s bow our heads:

Today we give thanks for it all,
Though we do not understand much of what we see,
We surrender anyway....
We trust in the Goodness of Life,
We open to the One that breathes us,

To the One who has given us one more day
To feel so alive and free.

Grace and joy,

Julie

Ministry Vows

I confess.  I am a recovering perfectionist. 

You know what the definition of a perfectionist is? 

A perfectionist is a person who takes great pains, and gives them to others.

I laugh at that line a lot when I point out the perfectionistic streaks in others.  When I realized my blindness in my own giving of perfectionistic pains to others, it wasn't so amusing as embarrassing.  If I have inflicted the pains of high and unreasonable expectations toward you, I deeply apologize, and ask your forgiveness.

I am learning to embrace my mistakes as growing steps.  But some mistakes, I firmly believe, are gifts, simple and pure.

A man I much admire, Bo Thomas, recently confessed a mistake in calling our Membership Vow emphasis here at West End UMC our “ministry” vow emphasis.  He apologized profusely at our Ministry Table meeting in November, for his haste in repeatedly making that “mistake.”  I like to think it is a gift, rather than a mistaken misnomer.

Membership vows are indeed what we profess when we join the church.  But membership, as American Express proclaims, comes with privileges.  Membership implies we’ve made the cut, we officially belong in the circle, not outsiders any more.  It’s similar to entitlement—our rights and privileges attained when we give the correct answers.

Perhaps it’s simply a matter of semantics, but I much prefer Bo’s “mistaken misnomer.”  What would it mean if we stood before the Body of Christ and professed our Ministry Vows? 

I vow to give my life to the ministry of prayers, presence, gifts, service and witness.

Can you hear a difference?  Membership typically refers to me, and what I can get—Ministry is an outward act, asking what can I do for others.

I’m so glad we’re taking this year to study and reflect on our Membership Vows.  My prayer is that we hear Ministry Vows, and act accordingly.  It seems to me that those of us with ears to hear might just get up and do.  And celebrate the varied and abundant ministries amongst our membership!

Grace and joy,

Julie

Stop-Change-Start

It's no secret I love books.  It's natural I would have favorite authors within those books, too.  My tastes are very eclectic--but within a theological realm, which gives me fodder for thought and conversation, within a limited, but important realm.

I'm sure eyebrows raise on many fronts when I claim my favorite authors as Anne Lamott, C.S. Lewis, Brennan Manning, Frederick Buechner, Bill Moyers, Tim Hansel, Fred Craddock, Robert Benson, William Bausch, William J. Abraham, David Lowes Watson, Ann Weems--and John Westfall.  And that doesn't count children's authors.

Confessionally, when I haven't seen a new book come out in a while by one of my favorite living authors, I check up on them on Amazon.  I've done that for years with John Westfall.  Years have gone by, and my hunger for his delightfully non-academic but theologically solid writing grew to concern.  Couldn't find him anywhere, until early last week.  Of course, I clicked the 1-click 2nd day delivery purchase button, and in God's great serendipitous way, it was just the book I needed, just the time I needed it, and confirmed my suspicions.  As Westfall states, sometimes you simply have to Stop-Change-and Start.

I've done more than a fair share of that trio-dance during my lifetime, but the sad part is my past stopping has been just short enough to pray, but to rely more on my own bootstraps for strength.  Sooner or later, one hits a wall that looks like a barrier, but is simply an obstacle.  And while it may just be an obstacle, the strength it takes to look at options and climb one's way over, under, around or through simply isn't there.  I've set a poor example for my family, my friends, my flock.  The damage, however, is mine.

So it's time to stop--really stop--to consider healthy change, to get ready for the next start.  That's what I'll be doing for the next month.  A good part of me can't even imagine what's in store during this sabbatical time, but I know I'm extremely blessed to have the chance to do this.  I'm not sure at all that I'm exaggerating by saying this is going to be a crossroads, healing time for me, one I've needed now for quite a while.  As Westfall also says, "Sometimes we have to set things aside and create room to receive the love and strength to carry us forward."  Inotherwords, I need to make time for God to do some work with me!

My prayer for each of you is that you take seriously God's commandment for sabbath time.  It's not simply a divine suggestion, but a real commandment that I've broken.  I cherish your prayers for healing during this time, and ask for your understanding.  I'll be taking a sabbatical from social media too--yes, taking off the Facebook Queen crown :-) .  But I know with the West End staff and family, you will all be in good hands.

Grace and joy, especially today,
Julie

A Sacrificial Gift

            Late one afternoon, a hospital nurse spotted a tall, uniformed fellow entering the facility’s automatic doors.  We call them ‘the magic doors’ here at West End, but you know what I mean.  She grabbed his sleeve and said “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here.  Your dad has been asking for you, and he’s not doing well at all.”

            Turning on his polished heels, he entered the room, sat down in the bedside chair, took the old man’s hand and leaned over to his ear.  “It’s okay, Dad, I’m here.”  A weak smile, but relaxation at last washed over him like a much anticipated tide, sweeping away the fear and anxiety.  “Would you like me to read you a psalm?”  A nod.  You could touch the peace that passed understanding in that sterile hospital room that afternoon.

            A couple of hours later, the serviceman walked up to the nurses’ station.  “I think your patient has passed away,” he said.

            The nurse reached out for his sleeve again.  “I’m so sorry about your father,” she said with much compassion.

            “That wasn’t my father,” the serviceman explained.  “But he needed his son at that moment, and I could be that for him.”

            Wow.  I was blown away by that story.  There was a need, and one of God’s beloveds met it.  I wonder about the fella’s sacrifice—where was he originally going?  Would whomever he was supposed to meet understand?  Could I have done the same, or would I feel obligated to explain to the nurse that it wasn’t my father from the get-go?   I’m not sure.  There are lots of what-ifs that could have happened otherwise.

            I am sure that we are given chances to meet the needs of others all the time.  Sometimes it’s not much of a cost to us.  Sometimes it’s just a listening ear.  Sometimes it’s holding a hand, sitting, sometimes it’s just a matter of time.  Literally.

            Some things can wait.  And some things need attention now.  May God grant us the wisdom to know the difference, to make a difference.  For one soul at a time.

Grace and joy,

Julie

           

Freeing Grace

My friend Melissa spent the first half of her life in an attitude of adjustment:  born with severely clubbed feet and legs, she learned to crawl in hip-to-toe plaster casts; she learned to walk in clunky orthopedic shoes—shoes that were attached to one another at the heel with a wide metal bar.  Then she graduated to squeaky metal and leather leg braces.

Melissa hated those leg braces, casts and horrible shoes.  She hated not being like the other kids. She hated the questions, the stares, the looks of sympathy.  She simply hated.  Her parents were determined that the doctor’s rather pitiful prognosis would be proven wrong.  Melissa WILL walk. Melissa WILL run!  Melissa doesn’t remember a time, waking or sleeping, during the first 16 years of her life that her legs were not twisted, strapped or plastered into what the surgeons called “normal.”  Except for one time . . .

It was a nice night, quiet, peaceful.  She was sitting in the front seat of her parents’ car, her four-year-old eyes staring out into the inky blackness as her mother drove along a never-ending bridge.  She and her mother had just finished checking the lobster traps.  She felt the car slow, and looked over at her mother as she pulled the car over to the side.

“Take off your braces, Melissa.”

She was sure it was the stunned look on her own face that brought the smile to her mother’s.  Melissa was positive that her mom had lost her mind.  Her braces NEVER left her legs!

Silently, she watched as her mother removed her own sneakers and socks . . . then dumbfounded Melissa watched as she bent over to unstrap the leather buckles of her braces.  Excited now, she stripped off her own socks and hopped out of the car . . . anticipating . . .she didn’t know . . . anything that permitted brace removal had to be good!

Outside the car, the dark came to greet them, surround them, welcome them.  Hand in hand, they walked through that black night, down unseen steps to the black water.  Seeing—nothing.  Smelling—the salty odor of fish and the fishermen who had long since gone home for the evening.  Feeling—the warmth of her mother’s hand, and the rough wood stairs beneath her bare feet.  Standing on the last dry stair, she could hear the water swirling, slapping gently at the worn wooden dock.

“Let’s sit down, Melissa.  Let’s put our feet in the water.”

“Won’t a crab bite my toes, Mommy?”

A smile . . .

“No, Lissie, crabs like to live on the bottom of the ocean.  We’ll put our feet right here on top . . . see, just like this.”

She hiked up her gown and sat down beside her mother, dangling her toes . . . then her feet in the invisible water.  Warmth . . . calm, gentle, moving warmth.  They sat in this warmth, mother and child.  Four feet in the water.  Two strong and straight, two strong and crooked.

Eyes wide against the darkness, Melissa knew God.  She knew God was with her.  God was in the water that soothed her hurting, crooked feet.

God was in the sky that enveloped her brokenness with wholeness.

God was in the hand of her mother who led her to  a rare moment of freedom.

She didn’t know God’s name . . . but she knew God.

She knew the bigness of God . . . the safety of God.

She knew grace.  Grace that allowed a reprieve from bound legs and feet.

Grace transformed that dock into an altar . . . grace that revealed God’s presence to a small, bent child.  She wanted to remain on that dock forever, smiling into the hugeness of God’s love.  She wanted to sing.  She wanted to have a PARTY!  She wanted to CELEBRATE!  It was a sacred moment, even to a four-year-old.

Such is God’s grace.  It comes, as Carl Jung said once upon a time, bidden or unbidden.  How beautiful.  And how comforting.

I bet you have had sacred moments like that too.  Today’s the day to celebrate them.  And I thank Melissa for sharing this story with me many years ago.  It still brings me great joy.

Grace and joy,

Julie