Gathering Wool: Tales of a Black Sheep Living in
Post-Christian America

What do you do when the news comes to you?

2008-05-19T21:20:00.004-04:00

I spent last week in the Caribbean with my wife and another couple. Normally, the first day back from vacation is spent going through 900-plus e-mails, getting caught up on problems and accomplishments from the past week, and generally just getting your feet on the ground. That's what I did from 9 a.m. until 3 p.m. today.

But then, things changed.

We came out of the daily news budget meeting today to hear the scanner report a fire at the back of The Daily Times.

About a half-dozen news staffers headed down the back stairwell to check things out. I grabbed a fire extinguisher along the way.

I half-expected to see a smoldering fire beneath the pallets that were stacked on a loading dock, but was shocked to see flames climbing up the side of the building, melting away the siding and sending black smoke billowing into the sky.

I pulled the pin out of the fire extinguisher, aimed and fired a blast of fire retardant at the base of the pallets. Comptroller Danny Williamson was standing at the loading dock above me, doing the same. His extinguisher ran out and I handed mine up to him, believing that he had a better angle; however, the extinguishers were no match for the fire, which was growing by the second. Fortunately, Maryville Fire Department trucks were now arriving on the scene.

Fire Chief Ed Mitchell and crew did an outstanding job controlling the blaze and saving our press. It was a testament to their professionalism, and we owe them a debt of gratitude.

Waiting on Pentecost

2008-05-05T22:02:00.002-04:00

Pentecost is one of my favorite seasons of the Christian year. This will be the first Pentecost Sunday that I have missed in worship since I can remember. Out of habit, I went to the General Board of Discipleship's Web site.

If you are creating Pentecost worship experiences, check out Safiyah Fosua's "Pentecost Fire."

Grace and peace ...

Finding my way on "The Road to Daybreak"

2008-04-23T07:48:00.003-04:00

Those around me have occasionally heard the name Henri Nouwen escape from my lips. Nouwen died in 1996, but I am certain his writings have continued to inspire others in the same manner in which they inspire me.

Over the past two years, I have written many times about walking through a spiritual desert. I recently picked up my copy of "The Road to Daybreak: A Spiritual Journey" and have been reading it as a devotional. It was recommended to me by my first assigned mentor, the Rev. Jim Bailes, in 2000. I was preparing for a short-term mission trip to Antigua, Guatemala. God used Nouwen's journal as a way to prepare me for many things, not just that singular experience.

I believe God is once again using Nouwen in my life.

Grace and peace ...

Still get the occasional Hep C e-mail ...

2008-03-27T23:03:00.005-04:00

I still get the occasional e-mail from someone who is beginning the combo tratement of PEG-Intron and Ribavirin. It's hard to believe it was three years ago that I was in that boat.

When I was first diagnosed, you had to do two Interferon shots a week and the success rate stunk for Genotype 1's, which was the genotype I had. I waited five years for something better to come along, and a year after pegylated interferon hit (PEG-Intron and Pegasys), I decided it wasn't going to get any better for a while. So, I took the plunge. It was a long journey, but I would likely do it again.

So, if you stumble upon this blog looking for Hep C information, let me be an encourager. I know not everyone had the same positive outcome, and I pray often for a cure, but it was worth the journey for me.

You can track my journey, beginning with these posts:

The Pre-Journey Column
The Friday Before Beginning Treatment on Sunday
The Treatment Begins ...

And from there, it goes on.

Grace and peace ...

P.S.

Remembering Larry the Lamb

2008-02-26T20:07:00.011-05:00

Larry was kind enough to sign this CD cover from "Only Visiting This Planet."

NOTE: I penned this column in The (Maryville, TN) Daily Times a few years ago. (I think it was in 2004.) With Larry the Lamb now in the arms of the Great Shepherd of the Sheep, I thought it was timely to put it on the blog. The line drawing is a self-portrait by Larry.

It was an interesting plea on Larry Norman’s Web site:

“Could you look around your city and find the names and phone numbers of Christian bookstores and the churches which sell music inside their building? We’d like to contact them and see if they’re interested in Larry’s music. Thank you so much.”

So, I thought I would call one of the area Christian bookstores to get their response.

One store representative said something like, “Who? Never heard of him.”

The next one was a little more diplomatic, saying she never had anyone request his music, pretty much attributing it to a lack of airplay. “They (customers) usually come in asking about songs they’ve heard on the radio,” she explained, noting that stores don’t have time to individually deal with “just any artist.”

Pardon me for taking offense, but my response was along the lines of, “He’s pretty much the reason those folks (Christian music groups) are in your store to begin with.”

I neglected to mention the fact that Larry Norman’s breaking of fallow ground has yielded a great crop of green for Christian music retailers.

OK, Norman would admit that it wasn’t his work alone, but this really gripes my butter.

Granted, most of you readers have never heard of Larry Norman, particularly if are not Contemporary Christian Music (CCM) fans.

But for more than 30 years Norman has been referred to as the “father of Christian rock.” Nowadays, with the exploding CCM industry arguably entering a second and possibly even a third generation, he should probably be referred to as the “grandfather” of CCM. (Sorry, Larry.)

According to The Gospel Music Hall of Fame’s biography of Norman, his recording ministry began in 1966. His band People! opened for groups such as The Grateful Dead, The Doors, Janis Jolin and The Byrds. People! had a pop song entitled “I Love You!” that topped the secular charts and is among the more than 300 covers done by variety of non-gospel artists.

Rock artists ranging from Bob Dylan, to John Mellencamp, U2 and Van Morrison are said to be fans. The most telling statement of his originality and creativity in the rock arena: “Pete Townshend (of The Who) credited Larry’s own rock-opera, ‘The Epic,’ for inspiring the rock-opera ‘Tommy.’”

Unfortunately, it was all of those accolades from secular sources that caused suspicion in Christian quarters.

By 1969, Norman had recorded three albums for Capitol Records, the last of which was “Upon This Rock,” that included the original “left-behind” song, “I Wish We’d All Been Ready.” As “evangelical” a song as it was, becoming an anthem for the Jesus Movement, the album “Upon This Rock” was banned by Christian bookstores for about two years.

There is far more to the Larry Norman story than can be told here, but the question remains: Why does Larry have such a hard time getting into Christian bookstores? Truthfully, in 1999, a CD project of various artists covering his songs, entitled “One Way: The Songs of Larry Norman,” made it to the shelf. However, Larry’s classic albums — “Upon This Rock,” “Only Visiting This Planet,” “Stranded in Babylon,” and others — never seem to see the light of day in U.S. stores. Truth be known, Norman’s music does well in Europe, where retailers appear not to have any problem dealing with smaller labels, such as Solid Rock or Phydeaux.

Perhaps it’s not a retailer or airplay problem at all. Perhaps the issue has its roots in the attitudes of the church.

True, the lyrics are probing, even risqué at times — so much so, they are a bit uncomfortable, even though evangelical. Take, for example, “Why Don’t You Look Into Jesus,” from “Only Visiting This Planet”:

Drinking whiskey from a paper cup, you drown your sorrows til you can’t stand up.

Take a look at what you’ve done to yourself, why don’t you put the bottle back on the shelf.

Yellow fingers from your cigarettes, your hands are shakin’ while your body sweats.

Why don’t you look into Jesus, he’s got the answers.

If you’re going to affect society, sometimes you have to face it squarely on its own turf.

Again, given the sameness of much of CCM today, Norman’s approach may be part of what makes the industry — and the church — uncomfortable.

In one interview, cited by Donald Hughes’ in a column headlined, “Being Larry Norman,” Norman minced few words:

“Christian music barely affects society anymore. It’s really become a microcosmic subculture without much power to change lives. It’s like a soda fountain for Christians where they can go to taste different flavors. The best Christian music comes from the artists who work outside the industry and consider themselves ministers of the message, not purveyors and panderers.”

Norman told an interviewer for CCM magazine, “Christian music isn’t supposed to be polite. It’s supposed to be relevant.”

In a way, Larry kisses the culture; however, you could never say he beds down with it the way some CCM artists do.

Outside of his ministry struggles, Norman has faced other problems:

There was a 1978 airplane accident resulted in partial brain damage that took years to overcome.
In 1992, he suffered a severe heart attack, and like so many people has had to deal with issues of what insurers will and won’t cover in terms of costly treatments.

When he was inducted into the Gospel Music Hall of Fame in 2001, his son Michael flew to Nashville to accept the honor
and deliver a speech to the attendees.

Last fall, he performed what is likely to be his last concert.

As one who has benefited from Norman’s artistry, and the fields he plowed and seeded for others to harvest, this less than benign neglect on the part of the church — and the money-making machines associated with the church — pains me.

I’ve e-mailed the names of Christian retailers to Solid Rock with hopes that the stores will see fit to stock Norman’s records. I guarantee they’ll sell at least as well as some — if not better than most — of the artists they stock. ...

The Official Larry Norman Web site: www.larrynorman.com

‘Jesus Music’ Web site: www.one-way.org

Larry Norman's gone home ...

2008-02-26T12:23:00.003-05:00

God has a way of keeping me humble as a journalist: He usually lets my wife find out about the big stories before I do. Now it seems he's taken to using others: Richard Richter, a real mentor to me, called me today and some time into our conversation he said, "Man, I saw on the news ticker that Larry Norman died and I thought of you."

"What? Larry Norman died?"

I hadn't been on the wire today, so I missed the news.

Sure enough, Larry has gone home. you can read the news on LarryNorman.com.

My kids tease me about how most of my favorite artists have left this world. I now have to add Larry the Lamb to that list.

I'll post more thoughts later.

Grace ... and peace to his brother, Charles, and the rest of the family.

Inspired, but unsettled ...

2008-01-26T23:42:00.001-05:00

Daughter Elizabeth interviews Shane Claiborne at Divine Rhythm.

It’s after 11 p.m. Saturday night and I really should be in bed, but I feel a need to get some of my emotions on paper (OK, in bits and bytes) before going to bed.

The past 24-plus hours of word and worship at Divine Rhythm have been inspiring, unsettling, and even filled with hope.

Joining with hundreds of others in worship led by the Michael Gungor worship team renewed my spirit. They were authentic worshippers leading others who sought to engage the Spirit through authentic worship. It was inspiring and filling.

But I was also unsettled in that Shane Claiborne’s words reminded me of my own life of spiritual contradictions (of course, it was not the first time). The contradictions did not fill me with guilt, but with hope in that I continue to recognize them for what they are: The struggle to live like Jesus while walking in the world.

And therein lies the hope, for as long as there is a struggle, there is hope.

Grace and peace ...

We are God-dust ...

2008-01-26T23:27:00.000-05:00

One of my favorite songs from 1969 was written by Joni Mitchell, but it was really made famous by Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young.

If you are a baby boomer, you likely know the song and the festival it memorializes: “Woodstock.”

The chorus goes:

“We are stardust, we are golden; We are billion-year-old carbon; and we got to get ourselves back to the garden.”

The song personified the baby boom generation — a generation of which I was on the cusp, having been born in 1956. I was only 13 when “Woodstock” took place, but within a year or two I began to embrace the countercultural persona. The last photo taken before I left for Navy boot camp shows me in a Wrangler jacket, hair flowing to the shoulders, and a copy of Abbie Hoffman’s “Revolution for the Hell of It” in my hands.

The hair didn’t last long and I have no idea what happened to the book. (If you doubt the hair, thinking I’ve always been this bald, go to http://www.buzztrexler.com/.)

“Woodstock” has run through my head for nearly four decades, but I only recently discovered the second line of the chorus: “We are billion-year-old carbon.” I always mumbled my way through that second line, because I didn’t have the lyrics — they didn’t come with 8-tracks.

What’s more fascinating is that in the last refrain that second line is replaced with these words: “We are caught in the devil’s bargain.”

Are we merely “billion-year-old carbon?”

Are we hopelessly “caught in the devil’s bargain?”

After the 13-year Human Genome Project completed the human DNA sequence — the molecular stuff of life — it didn’t take took long for companies to find a way to make a profit off of everyday consumers through such a discovery.

The New York Times reported that companies are creating services to help consumers interpret information contained in their genomes. The prices range from $985 to $2,500, depending upon the level of services.

Embryo-screening technology has been around for several years, allowing parents to identify embryos that carry serious genetic diseases. The technology is also being used to select children of the desired sex.

What characteristics might we want to propagate? What characteristics might we want to weed out of the gene pool? What about people of certain hair color, height, weight, or intelligence? What if there were a “gay gene?”

Why not make such choices, after all ...

“We are stardust, we are golden; We are billion-year-old carbon ..."

The Associated Press recently reported that scientists in California produced embryos that are clones of two men. The cloning approach involves inserting DNA from a person into an egg, and then growing the egg into an embryo about five days old before extracting the stem cells — thereby destroying the embryos.

After all …

“We are stardust, we are golden; We are billion-year-old carbon ..."

Stop.

We are not merely billion-year-old carbon.

In a sermon that recently led me to think about this “ethical quagmire,” contemporary theologian and author Leonard Sweet suggests “it’s time for Christians to call humans what the Bible calls us: ‘God-dust.’”

In a previous generation, I would say, “Right on!”

We are God-Dust! We are golden! We are far more than merely billion-year-old carbon. And we’ve got to get ourselves back to the Garden!

Certainly, there are monumental benefits that have been gained — and can be gained in the future — from genetic technology, but let us not be “caught in the devil’s bargain” of playing God by cloning humans and manipulating genes to determine an unborn child’s gender.

Let’s find our way back to the garden.

Grace and peace ...

"The Final Post"

2008-01-08T12:30:00.000-05:00

Major Andrew Olmsted was serving in Iraq and maintained a blog on The Rocky Mountain News. He was cut down by a sniper Thursday, Jan. 4.

I didn't know the soldier, but judging from the blog and others' comments, he appeared to be a remarkable man.

Grace and peace to his family and friends ...

"The most profound things in life are often the simplest"

2007-12-23T19:09:00.000-05:00

I received this from Tony Jones of Emergent and consider it well worth sharing in this season:

The most profound things in life are often the simplest.

The birth of a child. The birth of THE child. So simple, yet so profound that theologians have wrestled with it for 2,000 years. And, often, their prose has failed them. Instead, they've resorted to poetry.

"One of the first to wrestle the nativity into words was the author of the Fourth Gospel. "In the beginning," he wrote, "was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it."

In the year 380, in the first recorded Christmas sermon, Bishop Gregory Nazianzen preached, "Christ is Born, glorify ye Him. Christ from heaven, go ye out to meet Him. Christ on earth; be ye exalted. Sing unto the Lord all the whole earth; and that I may join both in one word, Let the heavens rejoice, and let the earth be glad, for Him Who is of heaven and then of earth. Christ in the flesh, rejoice with trembling and with joy; with trembling because of your sins, with joy because of your hope. Christ of a Virgin; O ye Matrons live as Virgins, that ye may be Mothers of Christ. Who doth not worship Him That is from the beginning? Who doth not glorify Him That is the Last?"

Fifteen centuries later, Charles Spurgeon preached of the incarnation: "Everything here is simple; everything is sublime. Here is that simple gospel, by which the most ignorant may be saved. Here are profundities, in which the best-instructed may find themselves beyond their depth. Here are those everlasting hills of divine truth which man cannot climb; yet here is that plain path in which the wayfaring man, though a fool, need not err, nor lose his way."

Merry Christmas, friends. May you make room in your hearts, lives, and families for the babe in the manger. And may your mouth be filled with poetry!

Thanksgivings ...

2007-11-22T17:13:00.000-05:00

There's lots to be thankful for on this day.

I'm thankful for being able to share this meal with family. Donna was up early to take the turkey off the smoker. (I stayed up late to put it on.) My son David, daughter Elizabeth, and daughter-in-law Elizabeth gathered with us today for our meal. We had it a bit early to enable David and his wife Elizabeth to share a meal with her mother. Herb also drove in from Greeneville.

I'm thankful for health. It was only a couple of years ago that I was in the midst of Hep C treatment and wondering each day where I would be at the end of that treatment.

I'm thankful that I have a job, particularly during a time when many others are suffering from unemployment. Not only that, but my wife has a job, too.

I'm thankful that God has given me the privilege of serving him through pastoral vocation. I feel so ill-equipped to do so, and yet Green Meadow is so gracious to me.

I'm thankful God rescued me from the mire more than 22 years ago. For if it had not been for God ...

Grace and peace ...

If this one holds true ...

2007-11-02T10:03:00.001-04:00

... it's an outstanding development for Hep C patients:

Roche announced that new investigational drug for hepatitis C, R1626, has shown promising antiviral efficacy when given in combination with PEGASYS and COPEGUS. After 4 weeks of treatment with the triple combination, the hepatitis C virus could no longer be detected in up to 81% of the hepatitis C-infected patients. The new data were presented at the American Association for the Study of the Liver (AASLD) meeting held in Boston, November 2-6.

Grace and peace ...

Hepatitis C News

2007-11-02T08:50:00.000-04:00

When I arrived at work today, there was a release from Roche in my e-mailbox:

PEGASYS/COPEGUS Treatment Gives Hope to Hepatitis C Patients Failing to Respond to PegIntron
Roche announced that treatment with once-weekly PEGASYS and daily COPEGUS can achieve viral clearance in a number of patients who did not respond to initial treatment with PegIntron, another drug commonly used to treat hepatitis C. The study, called REPEAT, revealed that a patient's response to treatment at 12 weeks is a powerful predictor of the eventual outcome: the majority of patients with undetectable virus levels at 12 weeks went on to achieve a sustained virological response (SVR), indicating treatment success. Few patients with detectable virus at 12 weeks achieved SVR. Data from this international study were presented at the 58th Annual Meeting of the American Association for the Study of Liver Diseases (AASLD) held in Boston on Nov. 2-6, 2007.

I went in search of Ron Metcalfe's blog and sent him an e-mail. I wasn't able to find the community group that he helped start. I may have the link at home.

I pray I never have to go through that again, but this could be good news for non-responders.

Grace and peace ...

Finishing up with Geek school ...

2007-10-13T16:01:00.001-04:00

I just finished a couple of days at Kevin Slimp/UT/TPA's Institute of Newspaper Technology.

I'm beat.

We did time with DreamWeaver (oh, whattta dream!), Photoshop CS3 Extended, and Soundslides. I loved it all, but I need more time with the stuff.

It was all pretty interesting, but it seems like I'm doing an awful lot of "school" these days: Saxotech/Publicus, INT, not to mention Course of Study for my pastoral vocation.

All in all, it sometimes seems as if I'm spread too thin.

Do ya think?

I think I'll go watch a movie.

Grace and peace ...

We need 'Fresh Rain!'

2007-10-11T22:26:00.000-04:00

"Let us acknowledge the LORD; let us press on to acknowledge him. As surely as the sun rises, he will appear; he will come to us like the winter rains, like the spring rains that water the earth." Hosea 6:3

It’s really been dry.

It’s been so dry that it’s becoming an Internet joke

Last Tuesday, my mother sent me this e-mail:

“Please pray for rain:

"It's so dry in Tennessee that the Baptists are starting to baptize by sprinkling;
the Methodists are using wet-wipes;

"the Presbyterians are giving out rain-checks;

"and the Catholics are praying for the wine to turn back into water.

Now, that’s dry!”

The lack of rainfall has made normally green yards look like the Mohave Desert.

What’s worse is that when you walk through subdivisions, the normal ffft-ffft-fft-fft sounds of sprinkler systems are no more; they are silent as towns put water-usage restrictions in place.

The heat and lack of water has everyone on edge — farmers who may not have enough winter hay for their cattle, mayors who don’t have enough water for their towns; and then there are the snakes …

Say what?

That’s right: Snakes.

Back in June, the Decatur (Ala.) Daily News had the Page 1 headline of “Snake alert in the Valley.” The drought has brought out the snakes in search of food and moisture, leading them to the dog’s water bowl, drain pipes and crawl spaces.

There is good news, though: The drought could be helpful in depleting the snake supply as rats and mice die from starvation.

Folks, despite the fact that we got a little bit last Thursday night, we’re still in need of heap more fresh rain.

Fresh rain.

In the Christian tradition, the thought of Fresh Rain has been associated with an outpouring of God.

As an elemental picture, water, and thus rain, has been associated with the pouring out of God’s Holy Spirit.

It is a pouring out of God’s grace.

In the agrarian age, when farmers depended on the land for living, rain was most often seen as a blessing of God … though, at the wrong time, it could also mean disaster.

A lack of rain is seen as abandonment by God; certainly as a lack of favor.
In Jeremiah we read, “The ground is cracked because there is no rain in the land; the farmers are dismayed and cover their heads.” (Jeremiah 14:4)

It is a picture of a dry and thirsty land where there is no water.

Throughout the story of God and his people Israel, there is this back-and-forth visual of abundant fresh rain interspersed with periods of dryness.

Hosea was an 8th century BCE prophet. You might remember him: He married Gomer, a prostitute, as a living parable concerning Israel. Hosea represented God. He creates humanity; he brings Israel out of Egypt in the Exodus; Israel rejects him. Israel is God’s chosen, just as Hosea chose Gomer as his wife, and yet they do God a disservice. Gomer betrayed her husband; Israel had broken the covenant.

In Hosea’s language, Israel lacked hesed; Israel lacked mercy; Israel lacked steadfast love; Israel lacked goodness; Israel lacked loyalty.

Instead, Hosea proclaims, “Israel’s covenant faithfulness was like a transient morning cloud, or like the dew that evaporates quickly. (Hosea 6:4)

Hosea’s prophetic painted a picture of divine judgment, yet there was this promise of restoration and renewal. Because of Yahweh’s love for the people, he saw a fresh rain coming on a dry and thirsty land.

“Let us acknowledge the LORD; let us press on to acknowledge him,” Hosea proclaims. “As surely as the sun rises, he will appear; he will come to us like the winter rains, like the spring rains that water the earth.”

Israel was in need of a fresh rain.

As I was researching this idea of fresh rain, I ran into the story of Evan Roberts, who had been a committed Christian from his early teenage years. He was a regular churchgoer and even taught Sunday school.

The story goes that one spring night in 1904, Roberts was awakened from sleep and went into "deep communion with God for hours." It was an experience that continued for the next few months until he went away to school in preparation for seminary. Two weeks after arriving at the school, he received what he termed a fresh “Baptism of the Spirit” as he responded to the prayer, “Bend me, O Lord.”

It was then that Evan Roberts the Sunday School teacher, the young man preparing for seminary, became a revivalist with a message for Wales.

Evan came home to Moriah Calvinistic Methodist Church at Loughor within a month, and he brought this message to an astonished church:

Confess all known sin.

Deal with and get rid of anything ‘doubtful’ in your life.

Be ready to obey the Holy Spirit instantly.

Confess Christ publicly.

By the end of the end of the first week, more than 60 responded to the call.

By the end of the second week, Evan began a whirlwind tour of South Wales. Within a year or so, more than 100,000 were said to have come to Christ. (Thanks to Welsh Revival Homepage for this great story of an outpouring of the fresh rain of the Holy Spirit.)

Wales had received a fresh rain.

Oh, and by the way: It all started in what was known as young people’s meetings.

Sisters and brothers, I don’t know about you, but I’m in need of a fresh rain …

Fresh rain — a soothing rain that washes away the stress, the anger, the resentment, that leads me to open my mouth before I have engaged my heart and my spirit.

Fresh rain — a divine deluge that washes away my self-centered motives that diminishes the call of Christ on my life …

Fresh rain — a cleansing rain that washes me clean of all things that call me away from God, that gets my priorities all screwed up.

Fresh rain — a gully-washer of a storm, that rinses clean the cluttered gutters of mind.

Do you ever feel as if you need a fresh rain, a cleansing rain -- or, am I all alone?

Grace and peace ...

A shift in the wind ...

2007-10-02T23:42:00.000-04:00

When I first began exploring alternative worship movements in the mid-1990s, I picked up on what the Spirit was doing elsewhere through reading various writers. Some of it was cheesy stuff, while other writings were quite thought-provoking.

In 1999, I picked up the second edition of "Worship Evangelism: Inviting Unbelievers into the Presence of God," by Sally Morgenthaler. Some of what she was saying was not new to me, but it would have been new in 1995 ... the year before we started an alternative service at Middlebrook Pike. Most of what I read seemed right on target for the time.

I still do a fair amount of exploring in the world of alternative worship, even finding time every so often to create a different experience at "The Meadow." However, much of what do there is not what most would call a "contemporary" setting. There is no band and no team of praise singers. You will hear songs from the old Cokesbury hymnal, blended with tunes from the United Methodist Church Hymnal, Hymns for the Family of God, as well as Chris Tomlin, Matt Redman and others in the pop praise and worship arena. I use digital imagery, still and video, on most Sundays. Some folks might find some of the other stuff I've done downright strange -- but that's OK, my flock is quite flexible.

My flock is also quite missional. I think they understand that we are called to something beyond ourselves, and beyond our Sunday worship experience. I guess that's why they put up with what I do on Sunday: They know that's not all there is to the walk.

I tell you all of that to encourage you to read this piece from Sally Morgenthaler.

Sally put words to what I sometimes feel when I find time to attend a contemporary worship service. Something is unsettling in my spirit when I engage in that experience, and I have not been able to put my finger on it. I think Sally has ... and I think there's been a shift in the wind.

If you are open-minded and have some time, read her words; if not, that's OK.

Grace and peace ...

Getting ready to check out of Pirate City ...

2007-09-19T21:04:00.000-04:00

I flew in to Tampa with Wes Miller on Tuesday afternoon, checking in at the Hampton Inn in Ybor (pronounced e-bore) City, which has some sort of pirate-related history. Nearly everything in this area has a pirate, spanish-Cuban, Italian or other Meditrranean theme. It is really interesting, and the food is fantastic. We ate Greek on Tuesday night and Spanish-Cuban tonight.

After we arrived on Tuesday, Wes and I drove to Sarasota to have dinner with Layla. As we waited for her to get off of work, we strolled on the beach, picking up seashells for Wes to take to his girlfriend.

We had dinner with Layla and her boyfriend, Mike. Wish we could have spent more than an hour and a half, but we had to get some rest before engaging in fairly extenstive training. (The instructor called it "basic" training, but it seemed like Parris Island to me.)

The Publicus programming was a bit difficult for me to grasp. Wes, Dave Wiekel and Letisha Sparkman (our colleagues from Peninsula Daily News) had a bit more previous experience, so they grasped it somewhat quicker.

I'm just a bit more right-brained, I guess. Still, if I was adept at computer programming, I likely would have exited the newsroom some time ago.

We fly out on Thursday after about five more hours of training.

Grace and peace ...

Bloggus interruptus ...

2007-09-13T10:13:00.000-04:00

OK, yesterday I put together a post concerning the Heifer Project and it posted OK. I updated it and now it has disappeared. I'll have to check into that and see what's going on. My apologies.
Grace and peace ...

The World's Biggest Blog Party ...

2007-09-06T08:37:00.001-04:00

It's being billed as "The World's Biggest Blog Party: Bloggers Connecting the Globe for Good."

With as much time as most of us spend on the Net and in front the keyboard, I think it's a fantastic idea. So, I'm signing on ... so to speak.

If you want to read more about it, check out today's story on TheDailyTimes.com, or you can go straight to the Web site at TheWorldsBiggeestBlogParty.com.

I'm compiling a mental list of favs even now. I can probably only register one blog, so I think it will be Gathering Wool rather than The Pastor's Buzz. I may change my mind, though.

Grace and peace ...

Found this on Steve Camp's Web site ...

2007-08-17T22:54:00.000-04:00

Steve Camp was a friend of Keith Green's and another musical influence on my Christian journey. Here is a YouTube video he had linked on his site. It is of Keith singing "Asleep in the Light" at Jesus West Coast 1982, the year he died:

Finding that video made my night!

I am working on Part III of a message on the Means of Grace, this one having to do with fasting. I'm struggling a bit with it, so this was a great break. I had never seen a video clip of Keith singing that song and it was a blessing to me.

You might visit Steve Camp's blog:

http://stevenjcamp.blogspot.com/2007/07/
remembering-friend-25-years-ago-today.html

Grace and peace ...

Keith Green's impact lives on

2007-08-09T22:26:00.000-04:00

It’s difficult to believe it’s been 25 years.

I was working the wire desk at the Johnson City Press-Chronicle when I saw a brief story move from The Associated Press that told of a Christian songwriter being killed in a plane crash with two of his children. His name was Keith Green.

“How sad.” I thought to myself. I wasn’t even a Christian at the time, but I had a little baby boy at home and could not even imagine the loss.

I had no idea how his music would impact my life in years to come.

In April 1985, I became a Christian. About a year later, my next-door neighbor, Dick Pace, introduced me to Keith Green’s music. The songwriter’s honest, hard-hitting words to the Church spoke to me. I often say that Green’s life and lyrics taught me about discipleship, while the words and life of Rich Mullins, who died in accident about 10 years ago, taught me about grace.

Here are some of the ways that Green’s music has touched my life, and even continues to do so:

It was while listening to “Here Am I, Send Me,” one morning that I first surrendered to God’s call on my life to vocational ministry. I had known for some time that God was calling me in some fashion and, quite honestly, it was driving me nuts. We were living in Jackson Hills and I was alone in the bedroom, listening to the song, and found myself sobbing, and it was like, “OK, God. I give up. Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it.”
Green’s “Asleep in the Light” continues to indict me at times when I find myself “playing church,” rather than serving the least, the last and the lost.
The song “Grace By Which I Stand” reminds me not to rely on emotions when it comes to my relationship to God:
“Lord, the feelings are not the same,
I guess I’m older, I guess I’ve changed.
And how I wish it had been explained, that as you’re growing you must remember,
That nothing lasts, except the grace of God, by which I stand, in Jesus.
I know that I would surely fall away, except for grace, by which I’m saved.”

My family and close friends are aware of what Green’s music has meant to my Christian journey. My children gave me “The Ministry Years” collection of his music in 1989, and his biography, “No Compromise,” penned by wife Melody Green, truly impacted my understanding of what it means to be a discipleship of Jesus Christ.

Sure, he was a bit legalistic, but in an age where the Church is filled with practitioners of what German theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer might refer to as “cheap grace,” hard words from musical prophets such as Green can help bring about some balance.

I was reminded of all of this last week when my daughter, Elizabeth, was helping put together the Family & Faith section front at The Daily Times last week and she said, "There's a story here about Keith Green."

I quickly moved to look over her shoulder. It was a story about some unreleased recordings that his widow Melody has that are going to be digitally recovered and released.

I look forward to that because much of Keith's music has been repackaged and resold as the contemporary Christian music machine in Nashville continues to gather gold.

I wonder what Keith would say about all of that.

I think I have a good idea.

Grace and peace ...

A morning prayer ...

2007-07-12T10:35:00.000-04:00

I found this great morning prayer that was part of John Baille's devotions. While I found it elsewhere, there is a book entitled "A Diary of Private Prayer" that apparently can be purchased on Amazon.

"My First Thought"

Eternal Father of my soul, let my first thought today be of You, let my first impulse be to worship You, let my first speech be Your name, let my first action be to kneel before You in prayer.

For Your perfect wisdom and perfect goodness:
For the love with which You love mankind:
For the love with which You love me:
For the great and mysterious opportunity of my life:
For the indwelling of Your Spirit in my heart:
For the sevenfold gifts of Your Spirit:
I praise and worship You, O Lord.

Yet let me not, when this morning prayer is said, think my worship ended and spend the day in forgetfulness of You. Rather from these moments of quietness let light go forth, and joy, and power, that will remain with me through all the hours of the day;

Keeping me chaste in thought:
Keeping me temperate and truthful in speech:
Keeping me faithful and diligent in my work:
Keeping me humble in my estimation of myself:
Keeping me honorable and generous in my dealings with others:
Keeping me loyal to every hallowed memory of the past:
Keeping me mindful of my eternal destiny as a child of Yours.
Through Jesus Christ my Lord. Amen.

Wow. I find that a powerful morning prayer.

Grace and peace ...

Headin' west to get my whole-hog fix ...

2007-07-05T07:43:00.000-04:00

EDITOR"S NOTE: OK, I'm cheating in that this is really a column I wrote about a year ago for The (Maryville, TN) Daily Times ... but don't stop reading. It's timely in that this is the day I head out to my annual whole-hog cookout at the Wood family gathering in West Tennessee. I gotta warn ya: This isn't for the squeamish.

Hello, my name is Buzz, and I'm a hog-aholic.

I've always loved pork barbecue, and have talked up places like Corky's and Rendezvous in Memphis, Calhoun's and Buddy's in Knoxville, and usually speak of my first taste as a kid at Bill's Barbecue in Richmond, Va.

Places like that were the baseline for me -- that is, until my good friends Dr. Lytle and Susan Brown of Knoxville introduced me to whole-hog barbecue in 1998. Now, I'm obsessed with barbecue -- particularly whole-hog barbecue and ribs. Even on vacations, if I see a sign that says, "World Famous BBQ!" I'll try to cajole my wife, Donna, into stopping.

"Hmmm ... Big Dawg's BBQ. Wonder if it's any good?"

We'll drive a few more miles, and then another sign will move toward us: "Big Dawg's BBQ! Best in Georgia. 3 miles. Exit 38"

"Wonder what Georgia-style barbecue tastes like? Think it's minced, or pulled?" I'll hint. "I'm a little hungry, how about you?"

Sooner or later, she gives in, because she knows I have to stop.

I generally issue a challenge to the waitress. "Is this place supposed to have good barbecue?" I do this because I know it'll be a matter of pride for the cook to serve up the choice pieces, and plenty of 'em.

Sometimes I'll line up the proprietor's sauces, tasting each with a cracker, light-bread, or even a spoon, swishing my mouth with water, like some sort of connoisseur passing judgment on a fine wine.

"Mustard sauce, huh? Whatta sin. ... Too much tomato and sugar in that one. ... Oh, yeahhhh. Carolina red. Nice vinegar-based sauce. ... They call that hot? ... Whew!! Makes you wanna smack yo mamma, that one does!"

And then, no matter how impressed I am, I'll allow as how none could match Donna's secret dippin' sauce, nor Joy Wood's West Tennessee special.

After all, it's the truth.

My addiction to whole-hog barbecue started with a simple invitation for my family to join the Browns at the home of Susan's parents, Elston and Joy Wood. They live about five hours west of Knoxville. (You know, near Blue Goose.) Lytle and Susan described it as an annual Fourth of July picnic, where friends and neighbors gathered to celebrate Independence Day.

Just a private little affair ... with about 100-plus people feeding on three whole hogs and countless covered-dish delicacies: cole slaw, potato salad, banana pudding, ice-box pickles, homemade ice cream, stack cakes and other such Southern dishes.

It's been going on for decades.

But the Wood Family Barbecue is not just about the end result, it's more about the process.

Here's what you need ... well, mostly:

WHOLE-HOG BBQ

Preparation

3 live hogs, kept in trailer overnight with running water to keep 'em cool.

1 .22-caliber rifle

1 box of .22-caliber longs (you should only need three, but don't use .22 shorts as they only bounce off the hog's skull and make him mad)

1 stickin' knife

1 cuttin' knife

3 or 4 scrapin' knives

1 scalding vat with two lengths of chain

1 singletree with a length of chain, connected to the lift pole on a tractor

3 old bedsheets to cover dressed hogs

Gather up about seven men, one of whom has to be a good shot and able to move quickly on his feet, while another has to be a good cutter. Give the shooter a .22-caliber rifle while a helper coaxes one of the trailered hogs into position, so the shooter can get off a shot. The shooter then jumps into the trailer, with stickin' knife in hand, and wrestles the hog awhile before doing the deed. Drag that hog out of the trailer and hook him up to the singletree, then haul him over to the scalding vat. Four men -- two on each side of the vat -- use the chains draped across the vat to lower the hog into the water. Roll him over once or twice, then lift him out. Scrape the hog, then use the tractor and singletree to lift him into dressing position. The cutter then dresses the hog out before putting him on the flatbed trailer, covering him with a sheet and hosing him down for good measure. While the scalding is taking place on the first hog, the shooter and a helper go through the trailer process again. By now, the other two hogs are getting wise and hidin' in corners with their backs to the shooter, which makes the process a little trickier each time around.

Cooking

2 gallons of cookin' sauce

1 box of salt

Cooking pit with three racks

1 long-handled shovel

1 barrel to burn wood, making hickory coals

A full load of hickory

Have someone start a hickory fire in the barrel to make hot coals while the hogs are being prepped,. Lay one dressed hog on each of the three racks. Use the long-handled shovel to place coals under the pigs. Cover and cook 24 hours, adding more coals and turning as you feel led. Tell tall stories so as not to fall asleep and burn hogs.

Of course, I turned 50 years old on July 2 and my memory's not what it used to be, so I might have left something out. But you'll figure it out ...

This addiction has a cost, mind you, and it has a tendency to spread.

For instance, I haven't spent a birthday with my momma since the addiction set in, having been in West Tennessee for the past nine Fourth of July weekends.

And every once in a while the sermon title on Green Meadow UMC's sign is replaced with something like, "Greenway Music and BBQ Festival."

After all, burnt offerings didn't really end with the Old Testament, did they?

Things Dwight introduced me to ...

2007-05-16T00:00:00.000-04:00

Rolling a newspaper so you could throw it. (He convinced a district manager to hire me in my neighborhood, but I didn't keep the job long. Surprise ...)

Hitting a golf ball.

Old Milwaukee beer (Maybe I shouldn't have noted that ...)

Cable TV

Squirrel stew (we actually had it at his family's house in South Boston)

League softball (He could really run the bases)

Country music

Being Weird Al Yankevich before Weird Al made it big. Dwight had this knack for making up lyrics to country songs ... some of which were real doozies.

I'm sure a whole lot more, but those are the ones that come to mind.

Passing of a surrogate brother ...

2007-05-15T23:13:00.000-04:00

My mom called early this evening to tell me that Dwight Holt had died. It wasn't unexpected, as he had been seriously ill for some time.

It's hard to remember a time when Dwight wasn't part of our lives. If memory serves me correctly (I'll have to check), Dwight first worked with Mom at Mailing Services in Richmond, Va., when I was in elementary school.

That was a long time ago -- more than 40 years.

We moved to 2646 Fleet Avenue (Hermitage Manor Apartments) in 1966 about a year after my mom and dad split up. We were living with another divorcee and her kids, Garland and Janet, who were corresponding ages to me and my sister, Sheree. At some point, Dwight and his wife, Marianne, also moved to Hermitage Manor.

But it wasn't until my family's excursion to hell -- that is, the days of rage in Florida with mom's second husband, Jim Nestor --and our subesequent return to Richmond in 1969 that my own connection to Dwight deepend.

That fall, my Uncle Russell (one of the few true saints in our family) helped Mom, Sheree and I get set up at Hilliard Road Apartments, just down the road from Hermitage Manor. I was trying to earn some money selling Christmas cards door to door (one of the few times I tried to earn an honest buck as a kid) and had made my way to Hermitage Manor where I was knocking on door after door. I came to this one apartment, heard some poodles yapping and, lo' and behold, Marianne answered the door. She was as surprised to see me as I was her. I had forgotten they were living in that complex and told her we had moved back from Florida and gave her the address.

In the meantime, my Aunt Ginna (Saint Russell's wife and my mother's sister, Virginia) gave my mother a black cat that was part persian. She said it was a stray. Within a week, Dwight and Marianne showed up for a visit at our Hilliard Road apartment. When Mom answered the door, the cat was standing nearby. Dwight didn't say, "Hello," "How are you?" or anything of the sort. The first words out of his mouth were, "Where'd you get my damn cat?"

It seems the cat was, in fact, the Holts' "PJ."

Who knows where Ginna picked it up.

Dwight and Marianne were kind enough to let us keep him. PJ remained a member of our family until 1979, moving with us several times around the Richmond area, then to Newport News, then to Tennessee (Elizabethton, Johnson City, Ripshin), until becoming ill and dying in 1979.

During my pre-adolescent and adolescent years, Dwight became something of male role model and a surrogate brother to me. At that time, the Holts had no children, but Mom, the Holts and I fished together, camped together, you name it.

Dwight had an incredible work ethic and I think greatly influenced me in that regard. At one time, he was an accountant with Phillip Morris and was also a district manager in circulation for the Richmond Times-Dispatch. I remember Mom, Marianne, Dwight and I leaving whatever fishing or camping expedition we were on to deliver Sunday editions together -- Mom and I putting them together in the back seat, Dwight driving, and Marianne stuffing the paper boxes.

In late winter 1972, when I was in the 10th grade, I had one of my many freak accidents: I broke my ankle running at school. They had to put a screw in the ankle and I was laid up at home for some time. Part of that time, the Holts let me sleep on the couch in their den.

It's obvious we had grown together as family.

Dwight became one of the few positive male figures in my life. My biological dad was pretty much out of the picture, so the primary family males were my grandfather, Uncle Russell and my Uncle Mike (my biological dad's brother). As for non-family members who were male role models, it was pretty much Dwight and Phil Prater, who died a few years ago, who influenced me. Phil was a bachelor who lived next door to us at Hilliard Road Apartments.

Now, you need to know that in the late 1960s and early 1970s, an adolescent male with a single mom looked at the primary males around him for guidance on certain aspects of male life, but sometimes those primary males needed a little bit of guidance themselves. One of these days I might write something about that ...

(Incidentally, we sometimes called Dwight "Daddy Rabbit," though I have no idea where the name originated. As crazy as we all were in those days, I'm not sure I want to know ...)

I was thinking about Dwight early this morning, knowing that he was close to death. There was something besides his work ethic that touched my life: It was his sense of grace and love for friends and family.

I won't go into details, but one day I let Dwight down. In his own way, he let me know that I had disappointed him ... but he never brought it up again.

It was like Dwight tossed the incident into the deep waters we sometimes fished, never to be reeled in again.

Pure grace.

Even though our lives grew apart over the years, I'm going to miss Daddy Rabbit. I'm thankful I called him on the spur of the moment one recent night to tell him how much he meant to me, how thankful I was that he was around in those early years.

I needed someone like him.

Grace and peace ...

Gathering Wool: Tales of a Black Sheep Living inPost-Christian America