PASTOR

Tonight I am grieving the home-going of a great pastor, Pastor Bill Hamel. I don't know what to say amidst the flood of memories I have sitting under this great man other than to say he was the last really great pastor who pastored me and my family during some very difficult years.

We moved to Minnesota in 1979 when my daughter Abby was just a few months old. He became her first pastor. She connected to him in a special and glorious way. Fortunately for her, she got to see him this last May when she went back to Minnesota to visit some dear friends. It was just weeks before he received the diagnosis that meant he had such a short time left on this earth. I am happy she had some time with him.

We started attending West Bloomington Free Church shortly after settling into the suburb of Bloomington. It was not a huge church, probably medium sized by most standards. We made some life-long friends there. Bill was the pastor there, a great big man with a huge heart for his flock. During several of those years I led worship alongside this great man. I fondly remember sitting in his office each Sunday morning before each service. We would talk and pray and I came to love this man of God deeply.

While we were in Minnesota our daughter developed some health issues. She had to spend a couple days in the hospital when she was just 13 months old while needed tests were run to figure out why she was failing to thrive. I remember he came to see us during those days. It was something he did as a pastor.

As Abby got older we noticed she adored this great big man. On two occasions during a Sunday service while the congregation was praying, she slipped away from us and would walk up to the platform and stand next to him while he prayed. He would finish praying and seeing Abby would just tell her she needed to go back and sit with her parents.

At one point she needed surgery to remove her tonsils. When she came back to her room after the surgery she refused to talk to us, I don't think she even wanted to look at us feeling we were responsible for her post-surgery discomfort. At one point we looked up and there was Bill standing in the doorway, filling it. She looked at him and flung her arms out for him and uttered her first post-surgery word, "Pastor". He took her in his arms and comforted her.

Bill left West Bloomington about a year before we left. He'd taken on the role of Area Pastor for the Free Church and was moving to Nebraska. His reason for leaving was because he wanted to pastor pastors. His heart was always for coming alongside and helping others, and he felt there was a great need for this ministry of pastoring those who were pastors. I remember that last Sunday sitting in his office. Tears streamed down my face as I knew I was losing his influence in my life. I've missed him greatly these past 30+ years.

The practice of pastoring is not as it once was, especially in this day of large, mega churches. Pastoral duties are viewed as a duty to be delegated to other staff members. It may be more efficient this way as Senior Pastor duties are huge in these mega congregations. It saddens me that this is occurring.

My own experiences in the 32 years since we left Minnesota have made me realize how special this man was. I've had some tough times here and often felt alone facing some of these troubles. In my grief at Bill's passing, as I recall now,  I am brought to the conclusion he really was the last great pastor I've had.

Well done, faithful servant. You will be missed greatly by this man here in Sacramento. I look forward to seeing you one day when I get to go home.

Narrow

I often think of the narrow way that Jesus spoke of as He contrasted the highway of destruction to the "narrow" path He calls us to traverse. Yes, if we view the choice Jesus describes between the highway of destruction and the narrow way of following Him through the only eyes we have at the beginning, the paradigm of our flesh, it appears as He says. The apparent choice to deny our flesh, saying "No", at times is hard and one needs to consider this choice carefully in the initial steps upon the narrow way. Even with time and wisdom there will be many times upon the journey we must once again consider the choices presented, times where the narrow way seems more difficult than expected. Our flesh will cry out in rebellion and our enemy will entice with seduce-ments that can seem too overwhelming to ignore. There will also be times one makes detours off the narrow way eventually hitting the myriad of dead-ends the wide highway only offers. At those times Jesus' words, "Lo I am with you always" will arise and one may repent of poor decisions made. Yes, He is there when we do stray. Our elder brother will be there bidding us lovingly back to the true journey of our hearts in Him.

At some point in the journey one may come to realize how wide the "narrow" way is for our hearts, who we truly are. We will see how many wide, spacious places there are along the way in which we thrive, we live in a way never offered in the bondage that is the highway of destruction. I think it is at these points we see the paradox in Jesus' words describing the two paths, the twinkle in His eye when we understand that things are not as they initially appeared to be.

When viewed through the eyes and needs of our hearts transformed by the Holy Spirit at our second birth, we see it is not a narrow way at all. There is a freedom in His grace for living the life He offered. A life marked by what the world really is hungry for; love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self control. Those bound to the highway, it's true narrowness of bondage, need to see Jesus in us who follow Him. His offer was LIFE. Do we represent His life well, in a manner that invites others to His life?

I've become weary of those who have grown sour, who have not found Jesus' grace along the way, but only see the road as a set of rules and regulations to attempt to keep. Often I've found pride in those who think they have succeeded in seeking and living out of narrowness without finding the wideness in His grace, the easy yoke He spoke of. Often they see Abba Father only as a line judge ready to whack us when we stray. Yes, correction is needed at times and I've experienced this at times, but I do believe we do Him a grave disservice if we only see Him standing by with a 2x4 ready to whack us whenever we stray. This is not the Father I've come to know on the narrow way that is not really narrow at all. His adjustments are gentle, always full of grace. He loves us deeper than we can imagine, even in the mud we may put ourselves in through poor choices.
 
It is sad to see some so encumbered by their own attempts at developing and maintaining their own sense of personal holiness. It is not our righteousness we are clothed with, but Jesus'; His redemption, His wisdom, His holiness offered freely by a loving God-head who states emphatically that we are in Him, He is in us. It is in that perspective we find the wideness of the "narrow" way.

Jesus, may I lean on You at those times when the narrowness presses in, when I can only move forward by keeping my eyes upon You. May I see the wideness You have for my heart as I traverse this path. May I remember well the bondage and dead-ends offered by the highway when I am tempted. Amen.

Murphy

It is a beautiful day here in Sacramento, 80 degrees with a great breeze. I spent the better part of the day getting our trailer ready for a week in Tahoe. We leave two weeks from today and the trailer had several things that needed some work. Both my wife and I are ready for that week in the mountains.

So now I am out front. I have a small table with two chairs in our small covered porch. This is where I do nearly all my thinking and reading when I am home. Last January I spent a ton of time out here writing a play for Good Friday. It was about 40 hours of writing and editing. I am always outside here with my dog Murphy.

Generally he's a pretty good dog. He's part shitz-hu and yorkshire terrier. He knows my evening rhythm very well and when he senses I might be going out front he gets very excited. Some evenings he will sit and stare at me and then whine a little if it doesn't look like I am going out front. Sometimes I have to tell him, "No, I am not going out". He seems to understand me and will dejectedly lay down but often he just sits and stares at me.

His dual breeding gives him an odd heart. Yorkshire terriers can be a little territorial. His feisty bark is sounded whenever he thinks something is going on that he thinks we need to attend to. It gets a bit annoying at times. In addition, he does not like other dogs so whenever I have him outside with me I keep him on a lead to keep him in our yard. If he sees a dog he wants to confront them no matter the size. Terriers have ferocious hearts, I think.

The shitz-hu in him means he has to get on my lap on a regular basis whenever I am outside. Try typing on a computer with a dog in your lap! It can get complicated. I will often let him up as I pause to think. Even a short stay on my lap will satisfy him for a while, but eventually he just "has" to get back on my lap and he makes the need known by putting his two front legs on my leg and whines, batting his big brown eyes with their massively long eyelashes. It usually works and I let him jump back onto my lap for a time.

Right now he is contentedly sitting at my feet, but I am sure his heart will send the signal, I need to sit on his lap.

This need has often caused me to think of my own heart and what it needs. We protestants have done a good job of nourishing our minds with good preaching and study. Many books have been written to nourish this aspect of living with God along with the explosion of podcasts that can often help us to think through our theology. This is all good, but I do wonder if we have neglected the heart.

What do we really long for? Longings rise from our hearts. Murphy longs for the comfort of my lap. What do I long for? Most who follow my sporadic ramblings here know my early morning habit of time before work in a park with God. That habit began in 2005 when I realized I did not understand my heart. I engaged in an email conversation with a young man, Ryan Cadwell, asking him how I might come to know my heart. He told me to spend time with Father. Now, being the good protestant that I am, I wanted the steps, there had to be a process I could think through to get to the point where I understood the good heart Father had given me. Ryan just kept telling me to spend time with Father. Frankly, it felt, at the time, like he was asking me to nail jello to a wall. But I did do as he suggested.

Fast forward 13 years and I am amazed at all that Father has done in helping me understand how central, how incredibly vital it is that we who claim to follow Jesus pay attention to our hearts, learning to lean in to Father's heart to help us live more deeply alongside Him. Without engaging our hearts, it is impossible to grow, be transformed.

For four Tuesday evenings I, along with three others, will be leading a series of classes titled "Heart Habits". Study, Meditation, Solitude, Silence, Fasting, Prayer, Worship, Community and Celebration are the topics we are hoping to cover. Honestly, it still feels daunting, there is so much to be said and I truly want to cover these topics well, leading people into a deeper walk with Jesus.

But I come back to Murphy and his need to be on my lap. I've often thought about this in regards to me sitting on Father's lap. I really need this as well. In my musings surrounding the parable of the Prodigal Sons (yes, there are two prodigal sons) I've wondered if there wasn't some point when the son who'd left and squandered himself with riotous living didn't need to sit on his father's lap and simply be loved. I've also wondered if the son who'd remained and was driven by self-righteousness also didn't need the same when he came to his senses - I think he might have at some point.

I remember as a little boy sitting in my father's lap while he would read the paper. My heart still wants that comfort. The heart habits of solitude and silence for me often are my times of sitting in God's lap, letting Him whisper words of comfort. It is something our hearts need from time to time.

This is the lesson I've learned from my dog Murphy and am often reminded of my need for "lap time" whenever he insists its time to sit on my lap.

Remembering

Good Friday is nearly here and I am aware that too often we rush to the joy of Easter without some sober remembering of what happened that day.

My good friend Bill says that a big part of worship is remembering, remembering what we learn God has done in Scripture and what He has done for each of us personally. Hopefully those two knowings don't reside separately but rather reside intertwined in a way that draws us deeper into Him, into the awe of intimacy with the God who spoke all of this into existence.

I want to remember and honor what that Friday was so long ago, what it must have felt for His disciples and for those that loved Him. I also want to remember and honor the high cost the Incarnate God paid for my entrance, my adoption into His family.

I want to remember how, in the end of John 14, He says to the remaining 11, "Let's go".  He was a man facing a horror none of us can imagine and I am sure He, as fully man, must have felt sick to His stomach, but He gathered up His band of followers and heads out for Gethsemane.

I want to remember how His heart desired to be attended by His dearest friends as He prayed there in the garden. I want to remember how He must have felt disappointed in those that could not stay awake as He prayed.

I want to remember His words pleading for this "cup" to be taken from Him but His submission, "Not my will, but yours". I want to remember He sweat drops of blood due to the anguish headed His way.

I want to remember that upon seeing the band headed to arrest Him, led by Judas, He asks peacefully, "Who do you seek" and when they say, "Jesus of Nazareth", He answered with the deep dignity of choice, "I am him who you seek".  It is such a bold statement they have to ask again.

I want to remember Judas' kiss of betrayal and the scattering of all but a couple of disciples.

I want to remember the three trials, the questions and His willingness to hand Himself over to Rome.

I want to remember His beating, being spit upon, the scourging and the crown of mocking thornes He wore on His way carrying the instrument of His death, the cross.

I want to remember the nails, His nakedness, His suffering, His final words.

I want to remember and show solidarity with those who've gone before. I am thinking here of those gathered that day in the shadow of the cross, those that loved Jesus and could not believe what was happening. Could not believe it and yet could not set aside the fact He was hanging right before them dying as they wept in grief, shock and horror.

Yes, we know how this all ends, and in a few days they will as well, but I think it is important to remember that day as it was and identify with those that loved Jesus who had yet to fathom the next few days and the coming resurrection.

I also think about those who may have been smiling at the demise of the itinerate preacher who would not go away.  The Pharisees had been plotting for some time for this day and it could not have worked out better for them.  I doubt they were whoopin' and hollerin', that kind of behavior was beneath them, but sly smiles amongst themselves as they continued to whip the observant crowd into a frenzy would not be beneath them.

There probably were some there who were whoopin' and hollerin'.  I imagine a whole host in the unseen world who gleefully watched this man's death. They might have been dancing around the foot of that cross. They thought they'd won.

Nowhere are we instructed to observe Good Friday in any particular manner. However, I do want to remind myself again of what my friend Bill teaches, remembering is a large part of worship. Traditionally we set aside one evening to remember with some sober respect the high cost paid for our redemption.  It really comes down to perhaps one hour or 90 minutes out of an entire year where we corporately try to absorb what that day meant for the one suffering on our behalf and to show solidarity with those who loved Him and who were caught up as they watched Him die.

I remember with a sober respect what was done for us, and I also remember to show solidarity with those grieving that day.