I Feel So Break Up, I Want to Go Home

In 1927, the American Poet Carl Sandburg included a poem called "The John B. Sails" in his compilation of folk songs The American Songbag.  A little over 20 years later, the poem was recorded as a song.  But it wasn't recorded by the group you might be thinking of.  It was first recorded by a group known as The Weavers.  Over the ensuing years, others recorded the song, including Johnny Cash and Dwight Yoakum.  But the most famous recording is probably the one The Beach Boys released in 1966.

The poem (and later the song) tells the story of a sloop named the John B.  According to legend, a Welshman named John Bethel lived in the Colonial Bahamas in the mid 1600's.  His sloop, the John B, later wrecked near Florida.  The wreck of the John B became somewhat famous in the area which inspired the lyrics of the song.

We come on the sloop John B

My grandfather and me

Around Nassau town we do roam

Drinking all night, got into a fight

I feel so break up, I want go to home

Hoist up the John B's sail

See how the mainsail sets

Call for the Captain ashore

Let me go home, let me go home

I want to go home, why won't you let me go home?

I feel so break up, I want to go home

The first mate got drunk

Broke up the people's trunk

The constable had to come and take him away

Sheriff John Stone, why don't you leave me alone?

I feel so break up, I want to go home

Hoist up the John B's sail

See how the mainsail sets

Call for the Captain ashore

Let me go home, let me go home

I want to go home, let me go home

Why don't you let me go home?

I feel so break up, I want to go home

The cook, yeah, he caught the fits

He threw away all my grits

And then he came and he ate up all of my corn

Let me go home, why won't you let me go home?

This is the worst trip since I have been born

So hoist up the John B's sail

See how the mainsail sets

Call for the Captain ashore

Let me go home, let me go home

I want to go home, why don't you let me go home?

I feel so break up, I want to go home. 

Well, folks, this song sums up perfectly my voyage with Covid.  On Sunday, January 9th, my 22 month winning streak of not getting the dreaded disease came to an end.  About 3:30 that afternoon, my throat became scratchy.  As the afternoon wore on, I felt worse and worse.  When Myranda got home that afternoon from seeing patients, I told her of my symptoms.  I'm pretty sure we both knew in the back of our minds what was next.

I made myself a lair in Palynn's bedroom since it is isolated from the rest of the house and has a bathroom near it that everyone else could avoid.  Palynn moved in with Emma.  When I woke up Monday morning, I was much worse.  After a several hours long trek throughout Abilene, we finally were able to get a home test.  As soon as I put the drops on the test strip, two lines lit up.  The last time I saw lines like that on a test strip, it was good news.  It meant that we were positive for a baby.  This time, not so much.

By Monday night, I was absolutely miserable.  Chills, check.  Fever, check.  Sore throat, check.  Headache, check.  Cough and congestion, check and check.  Awaking on Tuesday, I had high hopes.  But alas, no.  I was still miserable.  Now, new symptoms had appeared.  Muscle aches so severe I thought I would die.  My eyes felt swollen with pain.  A flash of burning agony shot up from my jaw into my inner ear.  And the strangest prickle would randomly come alive in my nostrils.  I suffered through Tuesday lying on the bed like a lump of illformed clay that would never be useful again.

Wednesday morning, there was a miracle.  I felt better; not worse.  I still had a lot of fatigue, but I was able to sit up.  I made some calls, checked in with the Aldersgate staff, and sent out some texts.  I was even able to enjoy a meal.  Last night when I went to bed, I was so glad that the journey was coming to an end.  Then I woke up this morning.

As soon as I did, I knew things weren't better.  The Covid headache was back.  In fact, it's still with me even as a write.  But the symptom that I've dreaded the most, the one symptom I hadn't had and didn't want to get, it was waiting silently in the wings.  I had made myself a steaming cup of strong coffee and a delicate slice of perfectly seasoned cinnamon toast.  At the time, I didn't notice that the aroma of cinnamon wafting from the oven was missing.  I sat down to enjoy a leisurely breakfast.  I took my first sip of coffee.  My first thought was, "This coffee sure isn't very strong.  It must be getting old.  I'll ask Myranda to get some more when she is out today."

Then my world came crashing down.  I bit into my lovingly prepared toast...and nothing.  I lifted my coffee cup to my nose and took a huge whiff.  Nothing.  Quickly I grabbed my bottle of Lip Medex and inhaled a giant sized breath.  Nothing.  Filled with the deepest of darknesses, I crammed the whole piece of toast into my mouth.  I swallowed as quickly as possible.  Then I chugged my coffee.  Covid had struck again.

That's when the Sloop John B came to mind.  Throughout the voyage, the protagonist encounters one pitiful experience on top of another.  All he can think about is going home.  He wanted things to go back to normal.  Yet, he was still on his journey.  He had to suffer through before he could get back home.  I suspect that even after he got home, it wasn't the way it was before.

On my Covid journey, one symptom after another keeps cropping up.  I cry out to Covid, "I want to go home, why don't you let me go home? I feel so break up, I want to go home."  But Covid just laughs at me and has another plan.  So I sit adrift in the sea.  I wait to see what fresh new hell Covid will bring.  But in the meantime, I choose to sing and laugh at myself.  

Paint the Beauty

In the fall of 2021, a couple of people recommended a podcast to me.  Usually the podcasts I listen to are focused on comedy, true crime, or the supernatural.  I intentionally try to stay away from religious based things.  After all, it can become too consuming.  And I do have a life outside of the church.  But the podcast intrigued me.  It's called 'The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill' produced by "Christianity Today."

If you're not familiar with Mars Hill, it was a church planted by Mark Driscoll (and others) in Seattle in the mid-1990's.  At the time, it was a bold move on the part of the church planters.  Seattle is known to be one of the least religious cities in the United States and most people agreed at the time that a conservative church plant would never succeed.  But they were wrong.  Mars Hill did succeed.  Not only did it stick, but it actually flourished.

But this post isn't about Mars Hill.  There are hundreds of blogs about that if you're interested.  It's not a post about Mark Driscoll.  I don't know him.  It's a post about my experience of listening to the podcast.  As I reluctantly hit play on the first episode, I really wasn't expecting to get into the story as quickly as I did.  As I listened, I did get into it.  There was just something about the story telling that intrigued me.  By the time I got through the second episode I realized what the intrigue was.  I felt as thought the Holy Spirit was holding a mirror in front of me.  He was convicting me to examine my own pastoral leadership through the lens of what happened with Driscoll and Mars Hill.

Throughout Driscoll's tenure at Mars Hill, he manipulated the system to his benefit.  He refused to be held accountable by anyone.  If someone disagreed with him, he would angrily dismiss the person.  In fact he famously stated, "There is a pile of dead bodies behind the Mars Hill bus, and by God's grace, it'll be a mountain by the time we're done."  Instead of lamenting about the carnage he was causing, Driscoll celebrated it.

As the Spirit of God held the mirror up in front of me episode after episode I reflected back on my years in pastoral leadership.  How many people had I run over with a bus?  Was there a pile of bodies in my wake? How often have I used the system to benefit me?  These questions, and hundreds like them, continued to swirl through my mind.  With a repentant spirit, I listened.  Many times I dreaded the story that the next episode would reveal.  I was sorry partly for the Mars Hill people it happened to.  But I was also sorry for the things I had said and done in my own past that caused pain in people.

When I finished the podcast this week, two important things have remained with me.  First, is a question that's asked at the end.  "What gospel was Mars Hill preaching?"  I can't answer that question.  But I can explore the question of "What gospel do I preach?"  My hope is that I consistently preach the good news of Jesus Christ.  But what I preach and what people hear me preach could very well be two different gospels. So I'm being more intentional in my sermon preparation.  I'm intentionally seeking to balance righteousness with mercy and grace with justice built on the foundation of love.  If I fail to do that then I've failed to preach the gospel of Jesus.

Secondly, this podcast opened a wound within me that I've desperately tried to let scar over.  That scar is a result of the pending split of The United Methodist Church.  The opening theme of the podcast is a song written and performed by Kings Kaleidoscope, a band formed at Mars Hill.  The song's title is "Sticks and Stones."  Here are the lyrics:

Did I pledge my allegiance

For the purpose of progress

To a priest or a prophet

Playing god in the process?

Was I chasing convenience

In a wave of disaster

Where the captain's a captor

And I'm a puppet to pastor?

A worthless war

A curtain torn

To take control of this ship

A nail of shame

A broken vein

To write redemption a script

A truth-less gun

A dying Son

To turn the tables we flipped

Turn the tables we flipped

Paint the beauty we split

Paint the beauty we split

Paint the beauty we split

Paint the beauty we split

Nah nah nah, nah

They don't get it, I don't get it

We're committed to sticks and stones

What's a vision if it's driven to imprison?

I don't know

They don't get it, I don't get it

We're committed to sticks and stones

Undecided, but I'm trying still divided

So it goes

A worthless war

A curtain torn

To take control of this ship

A nail of shame

A broken vein

To write redemption a script

A truth-less gun

A dying Son

To turn the tables we flipped

Turn the tables we flipped

Paint the beauty we split

Paint the beauty we split

Paint the beauty we split

Paint the beauty we split

Turn the tables we flipped (Nah nah nah, nah)

Paint the beauty we split

Take control of this ship

Paint the beauty we split

Write redemption a script

Paint the beauty we split

Turn the tables we flipped

Paint the beauty we split

Nah nah nah, nah

Show me a man, an honest mission

I'm willing to hope beyond suspicion

Show me the race, I'll run the distance

Longing to give and taste forgiveness

Dying to live a pure religion

Settle the rush to chase submission

Open my eyes and soul to listen

This song was originally written as the band processed their part of the Mars Hill story.  But it is much larger than that.  When I hear it, I hear the story of The United Methodist Church.  Both sides of our church have pledged their allegiance to the purpose of progress to a priest or a prophet.  We have allowed ourselves to be puppets to whichever leader is in control of our faction of the church.  We have been committed to sticks and stones.  We have flipped the tables and in the process we have piled up the bodies behind the United Methodist bus.  

After I finished listening to the final podcast, I immediately listened to this song.  I wept.  When I allow myself to think about it, I weep again.  I'm tired of the posturing.  I'm tired of the table flipping.  I'm tired of the split.  So where do I go from here?  I don't know.  I'm disenfranchised from both sides of my church.  There is no place for me or my voice in the post-split church.  For now, I wait.  The hope I have is that Jesus will paint the beauty we split.  Somewhere in that painted beauty maybe I'll find my way.

Staffsgiving

The other day, someone I used to work with (and I greatly admire) posted the following on her social media page, "Y'all ever miss co-workers from past jobs?  I've met some really good people over the years."  And it got me to thinking, "I really have worked with some of the best people in my life."  So many times these women and men have seen me through some tough times.  They've celebrated the birth of my girls, they've laughed at my lame jokes, and they've listened to me vent about all the things life throws my way.

I've come to understand that as time drifts by, co-workers come and go.  One thing that Covid did that was totally unexpected on my part was to force us to re-evaluate who we are and what we want out of life.  That self-reflection took three people from the Aldersgate staff and moved them in a new direction.  As much work as hiring new people can be, it also gives me an opportunity to meet new people.  These new people bring a fresh outlook on the ministry we do, they bring excitement to our team, and they bring themselves into my life.

So today I celebrate my co-workers.  Each one of them challenges me in their own way.  Each one gives me a perspective on ministry and on life that I wouldn't have without them.  And each one brings to the table so many gifts and graces for ministry that fills the gap.  I love these people not for what they do, what they give, or even for how they help me.  I love each one of them just for being who they are.

+Grace and Peace,

Dustin

The Goodness of God

For the last several years I've been dealing with anxiety.  I really can't pinpoint exactly when if first showed up.  But I do know I first began dealing with it while I was in seminary.  Several things worried me.  I had a family to take care of, I wanted to do well in school, I wanted to learn as much as possible, I didn't want to let down my local church, I missed my family back in Texas, and the list just goes on and on.  At that time, I just dealt with it.  I kept telling myself that all I had to do was get through school and then everything would be ok.  But it didn't work out that way.

After I graduated and received my first church, I couldn't have asked for a better place to start out in ministry.  So many of the people there accepted me and my family.  They loved us, cared for us, and invited us into their lives.  But for some reason, the anxiety that I felt continued to build.  I pushed myself to preach better sermons, come up with new ideas, and do better than the best I could do in order to make my people proud of having me as their pastor.  After three great years, we moved from that church to another in a different state.  I again hoped that with a fresh start, the anxiety would melt away.  And once again, it just stuck around like a bad dream.

So I countered the anxiety by pouring myself into that church.  I did everything I could think of to keep my mind and body busy.  I started new ministries, conducted a capital campaign, worked hard to renovate an aging structure, merged churches, established relationships, and loved the people.  And when the anxiety continued to build, I ignored it and tried to improve myself by going back to school.  In the midst of all of that, the anxiety was kept at bay, mainly because I kept myself so busy that I could ignore it.  After five years of ministry at that place, I was homesick enough that I knew I needed to return to Texas.  By the grace of God, I was brought to a church that genuinely seems to fit me and my family.  I can't explain why, but we just all seem to fit together.  So you would think at this point I would be able to tell you that the anxious feelings I have ignored would now be dissipating.  But no.  They are still here.

I didn't realize how bad it was getting until Covid hit back in March.  I don't know exactly why, but since then it has been much worse than before.  I don't know if it was the downtime of shutdowns and non-pressing schedules, or if it is because of the uncertainty of what church will look like post-Covid, or it's because my denomination is facing an ever more likely split, but over the last several months the anxiety has continued to build.  

There are days that it seems absolutely unbearable.  Today was one of those days.  I have heart palpitations, I feel nervous, I get sharp pains that suddenly appear, and my mind has a hard time remaining focused.  My therapist has taught me a breathing exercise that helps calm me down to a reasonable level.  But I know that it's just a matter of time until it builds again and I will have to start all over with my focused breathing.  I don't like to live this way, but I also know that there's not a magic pill I can swallow that will erase this problem.

At the end of days like today, I am relieved that the darkness of night has flooded across the land.  I am relieved that it's almost time for bed.  I'm grateful that I have a wife who holds my hand.  I don't know what tomorrow will bring.  Perhaps the anxiety will be less.  Perhaps it will be overwhelming.  But regardless of what tomorrow brings, I'm going to do my best to remember the goodness of God.  After all Jesus is my only hope.  And while that sounds silly to some people, it's all I've got.  And the reality is that for me, clinging to the truth that Jesus is my only hope makes my anxiety at least bearable one more time.

+Grace and Peace

Dustin

Follow the Leader

One of my favorite games when I was a kid was Follow the Leader.  I'm sure y'all played it too.  One person would be the leader and then everyone would line up behind him or her.  Then the leader would walk, hop, skip, run, etc.  Everything that the leader did, everyone in line had to do.  It really was a lot of fun.  Especially if you were the leader!

But being the leader isn't nearly as much fun as an adult as it was as a kid.  A few years ago I read a book by Bob Farr called Renovate or Die.  The main theme of the book is to help churches get refocused on their mission.  One of the main things that Farr points out is that the pastor really is responsible for getting the renovation done.  And it's not always a fun thing to do.  One particular quote has stuck with me.  He says, "If you lead, you bleed."  I have discovered that to be true.

I used to think that leadership could be learned.  But I'm not so sure about that anymore.  Leadership is a lot more about making decisions that may or may not be popular with the crowd.  It's about weighing as many of your options as you can before acting.  It's about listening carefully to as many ideas, opinions, and voices as you can so that you can weigh your options.  Leadership is about doing the best you can to do what's in the best interest of everyone.  Leadership isn't about popularity.  And so leadership is hard.

The frustrating thing about the last few months is the lack of focus; the lack of unity.  With social distancing and many people choosing to stay home, it's almost impossible to listen to people.  I find it interesting that a lot of people have told me how well I've lead our church through this pandemic.  But I really don't think I have.  I've made mistakes.  I've doubted decisions.  I continue to have anxiety about what Aldersgate will look like post-Covid.  So I'm not quite as confident in my leadership as others have been.  

I suppose the most I can say is that I've done what has had to be done.  Nothing more.  Maybe some day I'll learn how to be a better leader.  But I doubt it.  Because I still say that leadership can't be taught.  It's simply done.

+Grace and Peace,

Dustin

Midlife Crises Suck

I turned 45 this year.  I have always heard of having a midlife crisis, but I never thought much of it.  But at 45 you realize that you are at the peak of midlife.  And at that peak I suppose a crisis is bound to happen for many of us.  And so amidst a worldwide pandemic, amidst a devastating church split, and due to the fact that I have chosen to ignore myself for a long time, my own crisis came bubbling up out of me.  

Now I'm not going to go into any specifics right now, but suffice it to say, this crisis caused pain in my own life and in the life of someone I love dearly.  But as I've pointed out numerous times over the last several months, there's always a silver lining even on the darkest, angriest cloud.  And the silver lining to my own mid-life catastrophe happens to be a man named David Hanson.  

To anyone walking down the street, David would look like just an average man.  There's really nothing extraordinary about him.  He looks like any number of other 30-ish year old white men hanging out in the mall, at a ballgame, or even sitting in the pew at church.  But you see, David has a superpower.  And that superpower is that he listens.  He challenges.  He pushes.  He cares.  You see, David is my therapist.

I never thought that I'd be the kind of person who would go to therapy.  I come from a long line of farmers and ranchers who work hard and don't really like to ask for help.  It's ingrained in me to the deepest core that you don't talk about your issues.  You don't involve outsiders in your family business.  And you most certainly NEVER seek counseling.  So, I guess you could say that I've broken the rules.  But since I'm not really a rule follower most of the time, it shouldn't be a surprise to anyone.

David did something in our session a few weeks ago that I can't really put words to.  And if I told you exactly what he said or what he had me do, you would probably think I'm pretty weird.  Or at least if you know me very well, you would think it was weirder than normal.  Without going into all the details of what the session involved, I will tell you that at the end of the session, for the first time in my memory, I began to love.

Now I don't mean that I began to love people.  I have loved a lot of people in my life.  My earliest love was towards my parents and grandmother.  Over the years, I have loved other people too.  My wife.  My kids.  My sister and her family.  Cousins, aunts, uncles, and other family.  When I became a pastor I fell in love with church people.  And through the Holy Spirit I am learning to love people the way Jesus loves people.  It's a life long transformation, but I'm slowly getting there.

But there has been one person that I have never loved.  To me, he was unlovable.  He is mean.  He's selfish.  He's arrogant.  And personally, I just never liked hanging out with him.  But due to the way things are in my life, I never could get away from him.  Over the years, I have learned to distance myself from him emotionally.  I have learned to keep him at arm's length in order to keep my public self safe.  But David has made me engage with him.  He has made me actually talk to him.  He's making me get to know him as other people know him.  And because of that, I am learning to love him.  In case you haven't figured it out by now, the person I'm learning to love...is me.

Now I realize that I still have a long way to go before I really can love myself.  After all, falling in love does take time.  There's still a lot about me that I don't like.  There's still a lot about me that causes me pain, that causes me embarrassment.  But there's also things about me that I'm learning are ok.  I can be a good guy sometimes and I've even been known to be generous at times.  

So today, I thank God for David.  I thank God for hundreds of other therapists who are on the front lines of the mental health crisis that is plaguing our country.  I thank God for convicting me and sending me into a tailspin.  I'm not sure where this therapy road will eventually lead, but I do know that as of today, I'm doing much better than I was when I turned 45.  

If you don't currently see a therapist, I encourage you to at least think about it.  There's nothing shameful about it.  And in so many ways, having one is saving my life.  If you do see a therapist, I want you to do me a huge favor.  Pray for him/her.  They need strength.  They need wisdom.  And even a therapist needs to feel loved.  

Even though my own mid-life crisis is what led me to David, I still maintain that midlife crises suck.

+Grace and Peace,

Dustin

Love, Cyberspace, and Grace

I met a man this week.  We didn't meet in person; instead I met him in cyberspace.  In fact, due to the anonymity of social media, he doesn't even know that I met him.  What amazed me about this particular person was the way that he presented himself to the world.  His entire demeanor was from a place of disdain and cynicism.  As I scrolled down through his Facebook posts it became apparent to me that he is an atheist.  I honestly have no problem with people who don't believe in God.  That, of course, is their right.  A person should be able to believe whatever he or she wants to believe. However, what bothered me is that he is an anti-theist.  He is one of the people in the world who does not want others to believe in God and when he encounters someone who does, he intentionally attacks the person through hateful comments and ridiculous accusations.

But even more than that, most of his attacks (in fact all of the ones I read) were aimed at Christians.  This particular individual pointed all of his barbs and vitriolic comments at people who are Christ followers.  Again, I suppose that that does not surprise me.  After all, Jesus told us that there would be people in the world who hated us because the world hated him.  In fact, I have been personally vilified for my desire to follow the teachings of Christ.  However, usually these attacks come from people in the church and not from the world.

My initial reaction to this man's hatefulness was repulsion.  I had a hard time wrapping my mind around some of the things that he had posted.  I could sense the deep disdain that he has towards people in general and disciples of Jesus in particular.  It seemed as though every breath of his body was mustered in order to destroy instead of to build.

But then I was surprised by how I felt next.  Instead of feeling superior (pharisaic) in the way I looked at him, I began to pity him.  I wondered what had happened in his life to make him so filled with hatred.  Was he hurt by the Church...by people who claim Christ as their savior but behave more like agnostics?  Was he disappointed by Christians with their pie-in-the-sky theology that doesn't translate into actual behavior?  At some point did he believe, only to have that belief turned into disbelief as he watched churches fight over the silliest theological differences?

I suppose any or all of these scenarios could be true.  I certainly understand church politics and I see how professing Christians treat one another and their neighbors.  Gandhi once remarked to E. Stanley Jones that "I do not reject your Christ. I love your Christ. It is just that so many of you Christians are so unlike your Christ."  So my best guess is that this man, who is about my age, that I met this week has probably seen the worst in Christ's body.  For that I am truly sorry.

The other thing I realized from my encounter is that only by God's grace am I not like this man.  I have seen plenty of fighting, hatefulness, and meanness so many times that I simply want to walk away.  But something I read has kept me firmly rooted in my belief in God.  "God is love, and those who remain in love remain in God and God remains in them.  This is how love has been perfected in us, so that we can have confidence on the Judgment Day, because we are exactly the same as God is in this world.  There is no fear in love, but perfect love drives out fear, because fear expects punishment.  The person who is afraid has not been made perfect in love.  We love because God first loved us." (1John 4:16b-19)

You see, I know where my heart was before I knew God.  If I would never have learned to love, I would be just like this poor man I met on Facebook.  But I'm not.  It is only because of God's love, God's grace, and God's mercy that I have as much love in me as I do.  I recognize that I'm not where I want to be yet.  However, I also know that as I continue to choose love over hate and as I choose forgiveness over resentfulness, then God's Spirit will continue to make me look more like Jesus.  And dear friends, looking and acting like Jesus, not going to heaven upon death, is the ultimate goal of every disciple of Christ.

So I'm going to pray for this man.  I pray that he encounters someone in person who is a true disciple.  I pray that he sees the true love of God played out in his community.  I pray that God doesn't give up on him and continues to pour grace and love into his life.  And finally, I pray, that if I ever meet him in person that I continue to love him because God does.  Until next time...

Pastor Dustin

"Friendship Is a Single Soul Living in Two Bodies"--Aristotle

In my second year of seminary, I decided to pick up Oswald Chambers' devotional guide My Utmost For His Highest as a part of my personal time with God each morning.  What I remember about that year was that every morning as I read the daily reading, I could sense that God was indeed speaking to me through the words written.  I knew that the Holy Spirit was doing a mighty work in me as he was preparing me for full time ministry.

I couple of months ago, I read a short piece that was quoted from the devotional and I could sense the Spirit stirring within me.  So I decided to once again go through the book for 2015.  It's funny how God works.  A few days before Christmas I had dropped by our local mall to pick up a couple of last minute Christmas gifts.  For whatever reason, I ended up going into the used book store.  As I was looking at the commentaries, one of the books that stuck out at me was a really nice copy of Chambers' book.  I picked it up for a mere $3.00 and gave it to Myranda so that she could read the book with me.

On January 7th, the focus verse is from John's gospel.  "Jesus replied, 'Don't you know me, Philip, even after I have been with you all this time?'"  It made me wonder, how many of us who claim Jesus as our savior are in Philip's boat?  How many of us have been with him for 20, 30, or even 40 years and still don't know him?  Knowing who Jesus is and knowing Jesus are two diametrically opposite things.

For many years, I knew a lot about Jesus.  I knew that he was born in Bethlehem.  I knew that he was baptized by John in the River Jordan.  I even knew that he died on a cross and was resurrected from the tomb.  But I really didn't know Jesus.  It wasn't until I was in my twenties that I actually was introduced to the Son of Man.

It was only after I began to know Jesus that my life truly changed.  Knowing him has been a challenge, a joy, a struggle...over all, it's been an unfathomable experience.  As I reflect upon my relationship with him, I have come to realize something.  My relationship with Jesus is a true friendship.  Sometimes he makes me laugh.  At times, we argue.  I get mad at him.  And at times, there are moments of intimacy where I feel as though we truly are "a single soul living in two bodies."

But through it all, I am so glad that I do know Jesus.  For me, knowing Christ is not about going to heaven or avoiding hell.  Knowing Christ is a walk where he reveals myself to me.  He gently shows me where I am weak, lovingly shows me where I need to improve, and carefully forms me into something better than I could have been without him.  I guess that the longer that I know Jesus the more I recognize that the Jesus I knew a lot about is not the Jesus that I now know.  While I believe all of those things did happen, it's not about the things; it's about the person.

That's what I think he was telling Philip that day.  A person can know about someone else.  A person can even live a life associated with someone else and really never know that person.  But that's not the same as knowing them.  So my hope for 2015 is that if you are a Christ-follower that you will get to know the real Jesus.  If you're not, then maybe I could introduce you sometime.  It would be my pleasure.  Until next time...

I'm Not Tantalus and God's Not Zeus

It's the monsoon season here in New Mexico.  Growing up just across the line in Texas, we didn't have a monsoon flow.  Most of our rain came in the spring and the fall.  Occasionally we would get a summer thunderstorm.  But for the most part our summers were dry and rather warm.

But over here on the western side of the mountains, the climate is different.  From what I've been told, we stay relatively dry most of the year.  But starting in July, the tipping point is reached and moisture begins to be pumped north and we begin to receive rain.  Obviously, I have no other years to compare this year's monsoon to, but it has seemed somewhat quiet to me.  

One thing does intrigue me about living at the base of the mountain.  Monsoon or not, this summer the mountains have been getting a good soaking.  Almost every afternoon I hear the thunder rumble as the cumulonimbus build up over the areas around Cloudcroft.  I guess there's still a part of me that gets excited when I hear thunder roll.  With great expectations, I lift my eyes to mountains just east of us and secretly hope they find their way west.  I hope they will bring us moisture and cooler temperatures.

But that doesn't happen.  The mountains selfishly rob us of the rain.  They squeeze every drop they can from the skies and leave us thirsty.  On many afternoons as I drive home, I feel like Tantalus.  

(Maybe you remember that story from Greek Mythology.  Like other figures from the Greek stories, Tantalus was punished by Zeus.  Apparently, he was initially welcomed to Zeus' table to eat.  But he decided to steal ambrosia and nectar and share it with humans.  Since Zeus was a selfish and prideful god, he punished his son by sending him to the depths of Tartarus.  His punishment fit his crime.  Since he stole food and drink he would forever be without them.  But it was worse than that.  He was surrounded by fruit hanging from trees.  When he reached up to pick fruit to eat, the branch would move just beyond his reach.  And the pool of water where he lived was the same.  When he reached down to draw a handful of water, the pool would recede.  And, that folks, is where we get the word to tantalize.  But I digress.)

It's hard for me not to become disenchanted with the mountains.  In some ways, I want to believe that we are being punished for some reason.  I want to find a way to make things right so that we too can receive the blessedness of rain.

But you know, that's not what Jesus taught us.  He taught us that God is love and that God sends forth everything that we need.  In fact, he was big on teaching that his Father is not Zeus.  Unlike Zeus, God enjoys giving us things.  From the very beginning of the Bible, we are told that God created the world for humanity.  He turned the Garden over to us to manage, to use, and to enjoy.  Jesus tells us that God sends the rain to the just AND the unjust.  He reminds us that a life of blessing is God's desire for every person.  

So as I lift my eyes to the mountains and I see the rain falling up there, I remind myself that mountain rains are a beautiful thing.  I remember that God has always provided for me and my family and that I have an opportunity to provide for others by being a blessing.  Even when it doesn't rain here in the desert, I know that God loves me and that he never tantalizes me.  Instead, he always provides.

Until next time...

Dustin

Sometimes I just sits...

Last week we had the opportunity to spend some time with my family camping in the mountains of Southern Colorado.  When I was a kid we spent at least a week every summer camping somewhere.  I have a lot of fun memories playing with my cousins in the rivers, fishing, and exploring the mountainous areas so different from the plains of West Texas.

This was the first camping trip that all six of us were able to go on in about 7 years.  We all had a really good time and were able to relax in the cool mountain air after all of the hubbub of our move and transition this summer.

One afternoon I had quite a bit of down time.  A couple of people took a nap, some were playing a game, while the rest decided to spend some time reading.  For whatever reason, none of those activities appealed to me at that moment.  I felt restless; I needed to do something but nothing sounded like a worthwhile pursuit.  I decided that perhaps I just needed to get away for a bit and visit with God.

Right above our tent was an outcropping of rock that overlooked the hamlet of Platoro.  I decided that would be the ideal place for me to have a short retreat.  As I sat on the ground surrounded by immense majesty, I began to pray.  For some reason I thought that God would take that time to communicate with me.  Perhaps he would give a profound truth, taking me deeper in my spiritual journey.  Maybe he would give me insight into leading Grace UMC.  Or maybe, just maybe, he would speak to me with words that would transform the way I pastor, teach, and disciple.

But as I sat there, waiting, waiting waiting, nothing happened.  I became restless.  My mind wouldn't focus and I had a hard time praying.  Why?  Why would it be harder to pray while sitting quietly in a beautiful landscape intentionally seeking God than it is in my office, in the car, or other places where distractions happen all of the time?  After all, didn't Jesus say "My sheep listen to my voice.  I know them and they follow me...?"

I thought, "Well God, I am listening.  Here I am.  Speak."  But nothing happened.  All I heard was the river rushing far below, the birds singing, the chipmunks chattering, and laughter from my kids and sister playing a game.  The longer I sat there, the more frustrated I became.  My mind raced with doubt and questions.  Why wasn't he speaking?  Was he upset with me?  Did I do something wrong?  Had he abandoned me?

As I sat with these questions whirling around me, an ant caught my eye.  The more I focused on the activity of the ant the less concerned I was with the questions.  I watched him move across the ground in search of something.  First he darted in one direction then suddenly, without prior notice, he darted in another direction.  Seemingly oblivious of me or anything else around him he continually searched.  As I watched him, I couldn't help but laugh out loud.  He was so disorganized, so disjointed in his pursuit of something.  I wanted to tell my little ant friend to slow down.  I wanted to tell him to settle down, think things through, make a plan, and then calmly move forward.

And that's when it hit me.  I was the ant.  God had watched all of the activity I had been through over the past several weeks and he had probably (and with good reason) chuckled at my darting around.  I remembered the story of Jesus calming the storm with his hand and the disciples' awe-filled response "He commands even the winds and the water, and they obey him!" Surely I am smarter and more obedient than winds and water.  So for the next hour I just sat on my rock and I was.  My mind no longer wandered.  I didn't receive any wondrous revelations.  There was no amazing transfiguration of my spiritual life.  I just sat there and I was Dustin.

I never heard God's voice or direction that afternoon.  I just sat in his presence.  No praying, no listening, no wild pursuit of something.  Honestly, it was nice.  Maybe I can learn that discipline better.  Just before I got up to rejoin the family, I remembered a sign on the wall at my good friend Ken Lane's house.  It states, "Sometimes I sits and thinks and sometimes I just sits."  Well Ken, I am learning to "just sits" too.

Until next time...
Dustin

I will tell you what God has done for me...

When I first arrived here at Grace, I was trying to think of ways that I could engage the other staff members and be able to integrate myself into their team.  One night as I was thinking about it, I had the idea that I should have a one-on-one time with each of them.  My hope was that I would do most of the listening while they talked about themselves.  Looking back on that idea, I realize now that it was a direct revelation of God's wisdom through the Holy Spirit into my brain.

You see, over the past two weeks the staff have made appointments with me for this time of listening.    I have asked them to share with me their spiritual journey.  I wanted them to feel free to visit with me while not feeling obligated to share everything.  I have to admit, each time I have sat down with them I have been blown away by their stories.  Time after time I have heard them share powerful testimonies of God calling them out of the world.  I have heard of his amazing protection during physically dangerous situations.  I have heard their frustrations, their triumphs, their pains, and even their healings...all the while learning to trust God and turning their lives over more and more to God's guidance and leading.

Sometimes, I think that we forget that God is at work in lives across the world.  While God might be comforting us through a trial or pain, he is also celebrating with someone else through a time of joy.  While we might feel distant from God, someone else feels closer to him than they ever have.

I guess what these interviews have done for me is to help me understand these men and women with whom I am now in ministry.  Their stories are now a part of me.  I was amazingly blessed through them.  I have told the staff more than once how excited I am to be in ministry with them.  But now that I've finished the interviews, I have to admit that I am the one who needs to take a backseat to them.  These people are truly the salt of the earth...they are the lights of the world taking Christ's light to others.

I am humbled knowing that they have trusted me with their stories...they have made themselves vulnerable by sharing their spiritual intimacy with me.  In Psalm 66 we are told "Come and see God's deeds; his works for human beings are awesome:...Come close and listen, all you who honor God; I will tell you what God has done for me..."

The truth behind these words is what makes our testimonies so powerful.  People can argue about the existence of God, they can claim the Bible is bogus, and they can even doubt that a man named Jesus ever lived.  But what they can't take from us...what they can never disprove is our own testimony.  As a Church, we must always be ready to tell people what God has done in our lives.  We must always be prepared to share God's mighty deeds in our lives.

So this week, share your stories.  Become vulnerable to your brothers and sisters in Christ.  Tell others what God has done.  The psalmist is exactly right, God's works for human beings are awesome!

Until next time...


Print Page

Back on Track

Well, it's no secret, my family and I have moved.  This past spring my district superintendent called and told me that the cabinet had been discussing my gifts and graces for ministry and that they believed that it was time for us to pack up and head West.  After discussing it with Myranda and the girls and praying about it, we agreed to the appointment.

I have to admit that I do enjoy moving.  I like meeting new people, seeing new places, and experiencing God in new and exciting ways.  However, I hate the process!  The packing, the purging, and the scheduling is always a nightmare.  In the midst of gearing up for the move it dawned on me that two areas of my life were going to take a direct hit.  Both of these things I have learned not only to enjoy but to cherish as a part of my daily schedule.  They are my prayer time and my exercise time.

About a month before the move, I began to pray that God would give me a double portion of his Spirit.  I know myself well enough to realize that in the process of transitioning from one place to another that my prayer life would take a major hit.  So I began to build up "Spiritual Fat."  I prayed longer, I asked God's grace to see me through, and I asked for him to meet me on the other side of the move.

But my exercise was another story.  I really have learned to love my treadmill.  Over the past few months it has become a fixture for me.  It is no longer a burden.  I love the way it hums.  I enjoy seeing the miles trickle by and the calorie counter increase.  As I watched it loaded onto the truck, I realized that there was no way that I could store up extra miles like I did with my prayer life.

So for almost two weeks I didn't exercise and I didn't have deep prayer time.  After I got settled in and Mykaylee found the key to the treadmill, I finally was able to resume my routine.  As it so happened, my first day on the treadmill was the same day that I restarted my prayer time.  Boy did it feel good!  It felt great to challenge my legs again.  As my heart began to race and my lungs expanded from the increased activity, I could feel my body fit back into its groove.

Paul wrote to his son in the faith Timothy, "Train yourself for a holy life!  While physical training has some value, training in holy living is useful for everything.  It has promise for this life now and the life to come."  I think I understand his words better now than I ever have in the past.  Training my body and my spirit for a holy life is a good thing.  Both the physical training and the holy living make me a better person.  They help form me and fashion me the way God intends for me to be.

So today, I thank God for meeting me where I am and for sustaining me during times of transition.  I love the fact that God's grace never quits and will even carry us through until we can get back on our feet.  Most of all, I'm thankful that my training is back on track...both physically and spiritually.

Until next time...





Print Page

Lessons and Criticism

Any time that a person has a public profile, criticisms become common place.  I've been told by more than one person that "so and so" is your worst critic.  But that's really not true.  In my understanding of who I am as a child of God, as a parent, as a son, and as a pastor, I have learned that I am my own worst critic.  I have learned to be honest with myself.  After all, how else is a person going to grow?  The only way that I know of to gain wisdom is to make mistakes and learn from them.  If I continue to make the same mistake over and again without learning from it, then that is mere foolishness.

Times of transition are the perfect opportunity for me to look back...to reflect upon who I have been, the mistakes I've made, and hopefully how I have grown.  I learned many years ago that I am not the most brilliant scholar.  I have struggled with math my entire life.  I don't understand the mechanics of most machines.  My communication skills are not always up to par.  Sometimes I come across as being gruff when I'm trying to process what is happening around me.  Because I'm an introvert, I am awkward in many social situations.  I can be hard headed at times.  And if I'm not careful, I can be perceived as being arrogant.

So yes, I am well aware of my shortcomings.  But I'm also aware of God's intervention in my life.  Even though I still have many faults and I need to grow in certain areas, I also know that God has grown me.  Through adversity I have learned the amazing teaching of Jesus about forgiveness.  Seventy times seven, Lord?  Yes indeed!  I thank God I've learned that lesson.  Dying to self is the only real way to live life?  Oh, that is certainly true.  I thank God I've learned that one.  The last will be first?  Thank God for that lesson! Generosity (yes I mean money) as a way of life?  This lesson has given me great joy.  And the most recent lesson I have learned, that I must suffer in the name of Jesus.  That lesson has taught me to expect suffering because it is a gauge, telling me if I am truly being a Christ follower.

Now, I'll admit that I don't always live these lessons out to their fullest degree.  But I can guarantee that I have come a long way over the past three years.  By God's grace, I have matured.  My skills have become sharper.  The Holy Spirit has honed in on some of my weaknesses and made me better than I was.  I am more prepared now than I was in 2011 to be a servant-leader.  I think I do look a little more like Jesus now than I did.

Last year at my ordination, the Bishop asked me and the other ordinands one of the historic questions from our tradition.  "Are you going on to perfection?"  I really like this question.  It doesn't ask if we are perfect...it asks if we are moving in that direction.  And as I look back upon the past few years I see even more clearly than I did last year.  So my answer is again, "Yes Bishop, by God's grace, I am."

Until next time...

Dustin

Print Page

The World's Ugliest Garden

I do believe that I have the world's ugliest garden this year.  From the time I can remember, my family has had some form of a garden every summer.  One of my favorite childhood memories was going with my dad out to the garden on summer evenings.  My grandmother and her cousin had a large garden together every summer that I can remember.  Sometimes it was on her land and other years it was on his.  But regardless of who had the garden that year, it was large enough to feed several families.

Dad would come home after work and ask if I wanted to go with him to check on the garden.  I can't ever remember telling him no.  We would load up in his white suburban and head out towards West Camp just as the heat from the day was beginning to recoil.  I'm not sure what all we did out there.  Most of the time, I remember picking whatever was ripe and maybe pulling a weed or two.  I remember one summer the coyotes found the watermelon and really like it!  I don't know if it's that my memory is just bad or if the garden always looked good, I don't ever remember it being ugly.

Once I was an adult and owned my house, Myranda and I always made a spot for a garden.  They were never as big as the ones I had as a kid, but they were big enough for us.  We always had enough room for tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, squash, and maybe a watermelon.  I enjoyed working in it.  I loved watching the plants grow, hoeing the weeds, and watering it.  Every year, I spent countless hours working in it and I don't remember it ever being ugly.

While we were in seminary, I didn't have a spot or the time to devote to a garden.  I missed it immensely.  That's why last spring I was so excited when I borrowed a rototiller and began to turn the soil again.  I went to the store and bought my tomatoes and peppers.  I dutifully planted squash and cucumbers.  The spot is smaller here, so I didn't have room for as much, but we still had plenty of plants that we should have been able to share with others.  But just as the vegetables were getting ready, the summer heat intensified.  I couldn't keep enough water on them and the plants finally gave up.  I did get a little bit of produce off and even shared some of it.  But it just seemed like it was a big waste of time.  I had decided not to have another garden this year.  I had put a great amount of work into it and so it wasn't an ugly garden...it just couldn't make it.

But as all gardeners understand, the desire to sow and reap is just too strong.  So this past spring I halfheartedly began again.  I didn't borrow a tiller.  In fact, I didn't even try very hard to disturb the soil.  I told Myranda that I was trying a "no-till" approach to gardening.  But in reality I didn't want to put all of the effort into it just to be disappointed again.  Therefore, I have the ugliest garden I have ever seen.  Bermuda grass is trying to invade all parts of the garden (the frustrating thing is I chose this spot because there was no Bermuda there).  There is another kind of grass that I'm unfamiliar with that is sprouting up everywhere.  The weeds are twice as bad as they should be because I didn't mulch like I normally do.  So yes, my garden is ugly.

But there is something funny going on.  It is actually producing.  I picked the first tomato off the vine just this week.  There are several more that are turning red.  The peppers look good and strong.  In fact, all of the plants are blooming their little hearts out.  Now I know the lessons about weeds choking out the good plants and I am doing the best I can to keep the weeds at bay.  No matter what I do to this garden it will be ugly.  But, the thing is, the produce that comes from this garden is good.  The tomato I proudly served on the supper table the other night was absolutely delicious!

This garden reminds me of a couple of things.  First, it reminds me of when God called forth Samuel to anoint David king of Israel.  When Samuel first saw Eliab, David's brother, Samuel just knew that God wanted him as king.  But God said, "Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him; for the LORD does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the LORD looks on the heart."  Second, this ugly garden reminds me of something Jesus said, "Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!  For you are like whitewashed tombs, which on the outside look beautiful, but inside they are full of the bones of the dead and all kinds of filth.  So you also on the outside look righteous to others, but inside you are full of hypocrisy and lawlessness."

So I think this garden has to be one of my favorite ones.  Yes, it takes a lot of work.  It is very unappealing to the eyes.  And it might quit producing at any time.  But so far, it has reminded me that a vegetable garden is not primarily about beauty.  It's about producing good fruit.  As Christians, it would do us well to remember this.  While we might have the world fooled in thinking that we are a beautiful garden, our produce is the indicator.  St. Paul tells us that the fruit of the Spirit is "love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control."

I want to be known as God's ugly garden.  I don't mind looking like I do on the outside as long as my spiritual produce is good.  Until next time...




Print Page

For Whom The Bell Tolls

It is time for the Church to die.  Yes, you read that correctly.  A United Methodist Elder just admitted something that could potentially be an end to his profession.  It really is time for the Church to die.  Overall, we have lost our identity.  We have become an utter failure in what we were raised up to do.

Now, before we go too much further, I want to clarify that I most certainly am not an advocate of the "emerging church" movement.  I am not anti-denomination (after all, I am a United Methodist) and I don't want to see any particular denomination to overshadow all of the rest.  I don't think the answer to the problems of the Western World rise and fall with whether or not our churches transform from denominational entities into non-denominational, free-from-man's-rules type worship groups.  Even though I love small groups and promote them, I'm not even saying that the small-group cluster is the answer to Christianity's downward spiral.  The only answer I see on the horizon is the death of the Church.

Now, let me see if I can explain this.  Several times throughout the New Testament we are told things like this "If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.  For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it.  For what will it profit them if they gain the whole world but forfeit their life?  Or what will they give in return for their life."--St. Matthew 16:24b-26

I think Jesus meant these kinds of statements.  I don't think he was talking in riddles or metaphor.  I don't think he was trying to be over-dramatic in order to capture the people's attention so that they would listen to his teaching.  I think he meant it.  I really think that what he said about losing a life...dying...is what he wanted us to do.

But unlike the little boy in 6th Sense...I don't see dead people.  I don't see very many people who claim Christ carrying crosses.  Oh sure, we wear them around our necks, stick'em on our cars (next to our fish), and we even hang them on our walls.  But I don't see people carrying them around.  I don't see the Church being very inconvenienced.  We sacrifice our money for things like new carpet, paint, and technology for our church, but we don't generally want to spend money on transients, homeless, or "illegal aliens."  We choose politics over faith and television over Scripture.  We think that family time means running around after our children for 18 years watching them in everything from sports to band concerts.  Our family meals have transitioned from the dining room table into the living room.  I don't think we're dying.

I wonder about a group of people who claim Christ...but only in the public sphere.  We want the 10 Commandments posted on the courthouse lawn, prayer to be said at the beginning of athletic events, and even insist that God actually cares more about the people of the United States than he does for those living in hedonistic places like Iraq and Afghanistan.  Yet, we don't pray at home (where we do have control).  I seriously doubt many of our finest church-goers could recite the 10 commandments much less live up to them.  And what was that we were told about our enemies?

I'm sure at this point you must be thinking that ministry has turned me cynical.  No, not really.  You see, I have fallen in love with Christ.  And as such, even as broken as she is, I am in love with his bride.  You know, the Church.  More than anything it makes me sad.

It makes me sad that we...the Church...have become blind.  We are blind to our calling.  We are blind to the needs around us and the opportunities we have to serve.  We claim to be committed to Christ, but only if the commitment comes at our convenience.

So there you have it.  The only solution, as I see it, is for the Church to die.  If the Church dies, then Christ will rise up a new creation.  If each one of us will be honest with ourselves and ask God to show us where we need to die, he will do it.  If we agree to lose our life for Christ's sake, then we will find the life that Jesus has called us to.  The thing is, that if the Church refuses to die...if we refuse to die to ourselves and follow Christ...then we will gain the whole world and lose the only thing that really matters.  As a Spirit filled entity, we will be gone forever.  Resurrection, not resuscitation, is the answer to the mess we are currently in.  If we do die to ourselves, only then we will live as God intends.  Either way, our fate is sealed.  In the words of John Donne, "therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee."  Until next time...




Print Page

Connections

Several years ago TLC had a series on the air called Connections.  The host of the series, James Burke, would take an interesting approach to history.  He would begin with some obscure historical fact or event and trace people, places, and other events through time.  Essentially, what would happen is that while he would start the documentary by discussing tea in Dutch-ruled India, he would end the show with radio-astronomy.  Topics discussed between the two would be diverse and all connected in some way or another.

I think God does something very similar in our lives as we move along our faith journey.  To show how this works, I'm going to trace some connections that God has maneuvered in my own life...I'm going to connect a Muleshoe High School choir concert to how T.V. came to Haskell.

In 2005 I was deeply searching for where God wanted me to be.  I was struggling with many different things spiritually.  I knew that God loved me, I knew that he was calling me somewhere, but I had no idea where or what that entailed.  That December, the choir teacher and band director were having their annual winter concert.  Someone came up with the idea that it would be fun for the faculty to join the band and the choir in their final performance piece at their Sunday afternoon concert.  So I agreed to donate my voice to the effort.  A friend of mine, Sally Messenger, also had agreed to sing.  At one of the practices she asked me if I would be willing to come and help her church out with their church choir when they sang their Christmas special at the Methodist Church.  They were short male voices that year and so I agreed to go and help.

Since it was getting close to the performance, I was only able to make it to a couple of practices.  The Sunday we were to sing was only the second time that I had ever gone to the Methodist Church on a Sunday morning.  As I sat in the choir loft that morning, I really didn't know what to expect.  The church service began and they went through a couple of typical church-y things.  But then a short, balding man got up to offer a prayer.  At the time, I had no idea who this guy was.  When he began to pray (what I found out later is called the pastoral prayer) I was absolutely blown away.  I had never heard anyone pray the way this man did.  He actually prayed like he believed that God was listening to him!

I found out later that this man was the pastor of the church and his name was Monty Leavell.  Now Monty was instrumental in helping me discern my calling into the ministry.  He prayed with me, encouraged me, and kept up with all of the necessary paperwork and details that needed to be done for my candidacy process to proceed.  When it came time to look into seminaries, there were several options.  But truthfully I knew that there was only one option for me.  I wanted to attend the school where Monty had gone...I wanted to be formed the same way he had been formed.  That's why I went to Asbury.

When I was at seminary, I met all sorts of wonderful people.  People who literally had come from all parts of the world.  More amazing than that, Asbury was a place that sent people back out all over the world.  As a part of their willingness to be a world-wide educational institution, the seminary began to work classes into international study.  My good friend Tom had gone to Costa Rica with a leadership class the second January we were in Wilmore.  He talked about it so much that he really inspired me to want to go.  That fall, Tom and I took an Old Testament exegesis class together under a man named Michael Matlock.  Towards the end of the semester, Dr. Matlock told us that he would be teaching a course in January.  As a part of that course, the class would go to Costa Rica for study with the pastors in that country.  Tom highly encouraged me to go.  So after prayer, Myranda and I decided to go for it.

During that class I made some wonderful friends.  One of the guys in the class was Ed Dickens.  Now Ed spent most of his time on the Asbury campus in Orlando, so I had never met him before.  But since he was living in Georgia, he was able to take this class with us in Kentucky.  After we got to Costa Rica, Myranda and I really got to know Ed better.  He's a great guy to be around and is so easy to work with.  He has a great sense of humor and we really just clicked.  After we got back from our trip, Ed decided to take a class or two in Wilmore for his last semester.  So in the spring of 2011, I got to see Ed in chapel on a regular basis.  In April of that year, I finally got a call from the district superintendent telling me that I was coming to Haskell as their pastor.  While I was unfamiliar with Haskell, Ed knew all about it!

You see, Ed took several classes in Orlando.  One of the professors in Orlando was raised in Haskell.  Apparently, Dr. Steve Harper loved growing up in Haskell so much that he would often refer back to his home town.  He would talk about being raised in a small West Texas town and the influence that the people in the community and especially in the United Methodist Church had on his formation as a person.  I'll never forget the day I told Ed that I was going to Haskell.  He got really excited and told me how wonderfully blessed I was to be going to that place.  He encouraged me to get in contact with Dr. Harper and let him know who I was.

So right after I came to FUMC Haskell, I e-mailed Dr. Harper.  He e-mailed me back a very nice and encouraging letter.  To this day, I have never met Steve Harper.  I hope that some day I will.  But until then I get to share a connection with him that is very special to me.  He and I know many of the same people.  Every week I get to stand in the pulpit and preach to the same individuals and families with whom he has a long history.  A few weeks ago Dr. Harper's newest book was released for sale.  This book is called When TV Came to Town.  I have yet to read the book, but it has made quite a splash here in Haskell.  Several members of our congregation have read it and have thoroughly enjoyed it.

I don't believe in coincidences.  I firmly believe that God places people in our lives for specific times and for specific reasons.  At the time, we might not be able to see how the connections are taking place or why the connection is significant, but as we move forward with our spiritual life we might occasionally catch a glimpse of what he's doing.  All of these people are connected to me and I to them in a wonderful way.  They have contributed to my preaching, teaching, and pastoral ministry.  While some of these people may not know each other, they are connected in a wonderful and miraculous way.  I've discovered that whether we embrace the opportunities for us to know people or not is our choice.  So I am choosing to know others...to be influenced by them...to grow in my relationships with others.  I want God to connect me with others and to see how those connections serve his wider kingdom.  I joyfully thank God for that choir concert in Muleshoe and how it led me to know how TV came to Haskell.  Until next time...


For more information about Dr. Harper's book go to  http://www.amazon.com/When-TV-Came-To-Town/dp/1482779358 or if you're on facebook check out the page at https://www.facebook.com/pages/When-TV-Came-To-Town/590367387649409?fref=ts

Print Page

Ordination (AKA The Beginning of An Era)

Last week at this time, I was contemplating my upcoming ordination.  I looked to the past and recounted the last several years that led up to this point in my life.  I anticipated what it would mean to be ordained as an Elder in the United Methodist Church.  But what I've come to understand and appreciate is that ordination is a moment in time.  It is a good point to reflect upon where God has been leading me and begin to wonder where he will take me next.  It also has spurred me on to think about transitions and new beginnings.

One of those new beginnings was in our episcopal leadership at this year's conference.  The Northwest Texas Conference recently was appointed a new bishop.  It was interesting to see how Bishop Bledsoe leads, how he interacts with people, and how he preaches and teaches.  Our new bishop brought a lot of energy and excitement to conference.  He also brought high expectations of us...both clergy and laity.

As we moved forward with conference, I found myself getting more and more excited.  The reports, the opportunities for ministry, and the financial health of our denomination is looking better than it has.  The staff of our conference office is intentionally seeking out ways to be a part of our ministries as United Methodists.  They are listening to the needs and challenges of the local churches.  And what impressed me the most is that they are being proactive in making a way for new ways of working and communicating.

Finally, on Wednesday night, it was time for the ordination service.  I guess in some ways I found myself nervous.  I was ready to move forward with the final goal of ordination.  And when it came time for the Bishops and others to place their hands on me, I really didn't know how I would feel.  The one word that comes to mind that happened at that exact moment was the word "heavy."  As the leadership of our denomination laid hands on me, I literally felt the weight of the situation.  It was as though the entire burden of what it means to be in ministry was being placed upon my shoulders.  As Bishop Bledsoe said "Dustin Wilhite, take thou authority..." the overwhelming responsibilities, expectations, challenges, and opportunities collided.  It was at that moment that I realized that ordination is not the end of a seven year process where I was now going to be able to rest on my education and spiritual growth.  Ordination was simply a stopping point on the journey of being in full-time ministry.  It was a point where I could gather up my courage so that more ministry, more love, and more of Christ could be poured into who I am as a person and as a pastor; not for myself, but for those whom I'm sent to serve.

On the last day of conference, Bishop Bledsoe preached a wonderful sermon on the Transfiguration of Christ on the mountain.  It was during this sermon that all of what had happened to me leading me up to this particular conference meeting began fully to make sense.  The ordination service was a special moment in my life.  It was a marker along my spiritual path where I joyfully shared a moment in time with three other men.  But it wasn't just an ending; it was also a beginning.  It was the beginning of a new part of my ministry and a new way of being held responsible for my actions and decisions.

So with all this newness around me, I remember the beauty of God's wondrous grace as he leads us through our lives.  In order for something new to come about, the old must pass away.  While it's hard sometimes to let go of the old, the familiar, the comfortable, we must let go in order to continue to move forward.  We must learn to embrace changes and learn how to minister wherever we find ourselves.

In his sermon, the bishop said that we can't freeze moments in time like Peter tried to do on the mountaintop.  Instead, we have to enjoy the moment, pray, and move back down the mountain in order to do ministry.  So while ordination was a point in my life that I would like to have frozen in time, I can't.  It's a moment I will always remember and cherish.  But it's also a moment where I cannot live.

LORD, our God, I ask in the name of Jesus Christ that  you help each one of us to move forward.  Help us to embrace the newness of life each day.  Give us the strength to step outside of ourselves in order to be made into the likeness of your blessed Son.  While we may remember those special times of mountaintops, send us into the valley for ministry.  And help us to never say, "But we've never done it like that before."  We pray this to you our glorious Father, through your glorious Son Jesus Christ, by the power and authority of the the Holy Spirit.  Amen





Print Page

Ordination (AKA The End of An Era)

A seven year process is about to come to an end.  This coming Wednesday, I will be ordained as an Elder in the United Methodist Church.  This whole thing started when I finally felt like my life was in order.  Myranda and I had three beautiful daughters, I was teaching in the high school where I had graduated, and Myranda had a job she throughly enjoyed.  After the LORD called me into the ministry, I began the process of ordination.  At the time, I'm not sure I really understood what that meant.  I didn't know how I would grow and change as I met with Derrell Evins and he led me through the candidate process.  I will always be grateful to Derrell and his willingness to meet, to encourage, and to be a voice of wisdom throughout those early weeks of this journey.

I also didn't understand the role of a pastor as I watched and learned from Monty Leavell.  I'm not sure he ever knew how much I admired him as my pastor.  He always had time to visit with me.  He was willing to share his experience, his pulpit, and his Bible classes with me.  He continually encouraged me to seek the LORD's direction and he always was honest with me.  I never felt anything but love and pride as he prepared me for the next step of seminary.

And when the time finally came, it was more difficult than I thought it would be to leave the 'shoe.  I guess a part of me knew that I wouldn't ever really return there.  For the first time, it dawned on me that once seminary was over, I would not be coming back to my home and my church.  But on a July morning, we pulled out of town in a parade of clothes, kids, a cat, and parents.  We trekked across the country not even knowing what our house looked like, any people, or even what we were really doing. I'll never forget the day that I thought we had made a huge mistake.  Myranda had not yet found a job, the girls' school was starting in just a few days, and we were completely broke.  We knew we needed to get them school supplies and we also knew that we didn't have the money for it.  So we made a list of only the barest essentials to get them started and headed out the door to go school shopping.

For whatever reason (I believe by the prompting of the Holy Spirit), I peeked in the mailbox before we left.  There was one letter in the box.  In the upper left-hand corner was a cross and flame logo with FUMC Muleshoe next to it.  I opened the letter and I wept.  For in that envelope was a letter that simply stated that our church was 100% behind us as we began this adventure.  Wrapped up in the letter was a check.  The check was enough to cover ALL the girls' school supplies and a little left over to buy groceries.  But what was even more amazing than that was that for the next three years, the church did not fail to mail a letter of encouragement and a check to help cover expenses and pay bills.  In my entire life, I had never felt that kind of love from a church.  I am so deeply indebted to FUMC Muleshoe for everything they did and their willingness to support us financially and with prayer.

Seminary was nothing that I expected it to be.  To be honest, I'm not sure what I expected.  But it was something that changed my life.  It challenged me, it tore at me, and many times it wiped me out.  But it also was a deep journey of faith, hope, and love.  Some of the people in my seminary classes became my best friends.  Tom Snyder is one of them.  Tom is a man who started seminary the same semester I did.  We took classes together.  We discussed lessons, worked on projects, and lamented the amount of reading and writing expected of us.  Yet, we endured.  We both walked through a valley of the shadow of death and experienced a new birth of thought, life, and spiritual formation.  My life is forever united with Tom.  Because, not only did we begin seminary together, we ended it together.  He and I walked across the stage on the same day.  He returned to Michigan and I to Texas, but I still consider him one of my best friends and I miss seeing him immensely.

Then it was time to move again.  This time we drug four beautiful daughters, a cat, and a dog back to Texas.  We rolled into Haskell for our first appointment.  Excited and a bit apprehensive, I began to meet my new church.  The last two years have been a whirlwind.  I have had many firsts here.  My first church funeral was a week after I arrived.  My first time to consecrate the Blessed Sacrament was in our historic sanctuary.  My first baptism was of a young man I love and respect.  I have taught my first confirmation class and been integrated into the life of this wonderful congregation.  The gracious folks of Haskell UMC have let me make mistakes.  They have forgiven me for my trespasses and they have loved me in spite of my frailties.  While we have disagreed at times, we have done so in love and in the grace of Christ.  They have embraced my family and me with open arms and we have grown to love them so very much.  My journey with them has been amazing.

As I said, this part of my journey is coming to a close.  In just a few days I will no longer be a provisional elder.  I will once again take vows to the church.  At my final meeting with the Board of Ordained ministry, one of the elders I have recently come to know and respect asked me a question that I wasn't quite sure how to answer.  She asked, "What does it mean for you to be ordained?  What does it mean for you to be in the Order of Elders?"  Mindy, if you're reading this, I have really contemplated that question since that meeting.  I'm not sure I still have the "right" answer.  The rest of the story is that I'm not sure I'll have the right answer on the day I'm ordained, the day after, or even ten years later.  But one thing I do know is that God has led me here.  He got me through those days of no money in the bank by sending us a check.  He got me through the dark days of seminary by sending me a friend.  He has gotten me through the entire process through my amazing wife and my beautiful daughters who have had to sacrifice so much for this journey.  While they may not know it, I admire them so much for never complaining, always supporting, and continually loving me and the church despite their sacrifices.

A really good friend of mine (and fellow pastor) was ordained last year.  A note arrived from him today in the mail (Ryan Strebeck is one of the last people I know who actually hand writes and mails real letters).  Ryan has been on this journey with me for the last several years and knows the process of ordination as well as anyone.  In this letter he said this, "It (ordination) is all a mystery, that's for sure.  But what we know is that it's some form of covenant and it involves Christ's Church so it's Holy and it's beautiful and I'm proud to know a man like you in this context."  I guess that's where I am with the whole thing too.  I'm in a place where I know that God has been acting and continues to act in my life, both personally and as a pastor.  I also firmly believe that God will do something amazing on Wednesday night when the Bishop lays hands on me and ordains me in Christ's Holy Church.  Whether I feel any differently or not won't matter.  What I am coming to lean on more and more are John Wesley's final words before he passed from this life to immortal life.  "The best of all, God is with us."  I couldn't have said it better myself.


The Sunday before we left for seminary, two of our best friends sent us away with this song.  Kenneth and Toni King first showed me the depth of God's love.  I now share this song with all you reading this blog.  Whether you were mentioned in this blog or not, you most certainly have been a part of this journey.  For your love and support, I always will be eternally grateful.  I now joyfully dedicate this song to each one of you who has been a part of this journey.  It's for those who have shown unconditional love and those who have gone beyond the norm to help see me through this process.  It's for those who sacrificed, offered wisdom, and let me vent.  It's for those who have no idea how much you influenced me.  It's for those who have stood beside me and even held me up when I was weak and tired.  You are my brothers and my sisters and always remember, the best of all, God is with us.  Until next time...





Print Page

United Methodists and Pope Francis

So the last couple of weeks have been rather interesting across the Christian world.  Something that hadn't happened in about 600 years happened...the Bishop of Rome resigned his position over the Church.  I must admit, I was taken by surprise when he did.  There are some things that just aren't supposed to happen.  There are certain parts of life that are supposed to stay the same and the Pope serving until his death is one of them.  One of the first responses that I heard from various people is "Why should we care?  We're not Catholic!"  While I understand where that sentiment comes from, I can't agree with it.

Whether we like it or not, all Christian churches have their roots in the historical church that dates back over 2,000 years.  When you take time to study Church history, you see where various doctrines and practices come from.  You begin to understand the layers and layers of meaning that dwell within the Church.  One of my favorite quotes comes from a Church historian when he said this about the Church's past, "Without understanding that past, we are unable to understand ourselves, for in a sense the past still lives in us and influences who we are and how we understand the Christian message...When we stand, sit, or kneel in church, when we sing a hymn, recite a creed, or refuse to recite one, when we build a church or preach a sermon, a past of which we may not be aware is one of the factors involved in our actions."--Justo Gonzalez

So with that in mind, what does it mean to a United Methodist that the cardinals of the Roman Church have elected a new Bishop of Rome?  Well, for starters, it means that 1.2 billion of our brothers and sisters in Christ have a new shepherd.  In many ways, the Catholic Church and the Methodist Church are set up in a similar manner.  The Catholic Church is connectional...so are we.  Recently, my annual conference went through a period of unknown.  In the UMC, it is rare for us to go without a pastor or bishop.  However, this last session of bishop appointments hit a snag.  And for reasons that are unimportant, the Northwest Texas Annual Conference was without a permanent appointed bishop for a few months.  It was a rather unusual time for us.  As far as I know, it has been the only time in the history of Methodism that something like this had happened.  The local churches continued to minister and our conference leadership continued to lead, but it was a bit odd not to have a bishop.  When our bishop was finally appointed to us, it was much better.  While I still haven't met him, it really doesn't matter.  Just knowing that we have a shepherd over us makes me feel better.  It brings me peace of mind to have someone in that office.  So I empathize with my Catholic brothers and sisters.  In many ways, we are in the same boat.  Neither of us knows in which direction our leader will take us and yet we trust the Holy Spirit to lead and guide these men.  We believe that God is active and that he is instrumental in the decisions that these men are making.

Another reason that we United Methodists should care about the Catholic Church's recent ordeal is that the world is watching.  Since there are so many Catholics across the globe and since the Catholic Church has been a major force in world history, the secular world pays careful attention to what happens and how other Christians respond to what has happened.  An event like this gives all of us who claim Christ a chance to witness to our devotion to Christ and our love for one another.  What I find impressive is when Church leaders from other denominations take time to express their well-wishes to the newly elected Pope Francis.  One of my favorites comes from the newly appointed Archbishop of Canterbury, Justin Welby, who said this, "We have long since recognised-and often reaffirmed-that our churches hold a special place for one another.  I look forward to meeting Pope Francis, and to walking and working together to build on the consistent legacy of our predecessors."  And here is the official response from the Council of Bishops of the UMC, "We, the people of The United Methodist Church, are ready to continue the journey with the Roman Catholic Church, praying for one another, staying in respectful dialogue with one another, knowing of the differences but believing that Christ unites us." (Bishop Rosemarie Wenner-president of The United Methodist Council of Bishops.)*

And finally, we United Methodists should care because we are all on the same side.  Christ is our Lord.  We all believe in one God in three persons.  We all pray that the Father will lead us...that the Son will show us...that the Holy Spirit will guide us.  All of us who profess Christ are living in a world that is becoming increasingly hostile toward us.  We live in a time that those who oppose the Church are becoming bolder.  We live in a time where people who don't believe in God are no longer atheists...they are anti-theists.  Not only do these people not want to believe in God, they are actively seeking out to destroy our faith in God.  Instead of the in-fighting of the past, our various denominations must seek out harmony and unity.  While it can be difficult to heal past wounds, that is what we must do.  We must apologize to each other and we must seek reconciliation.  While we may not agree on everything theologically, that's okay.  My wife and I don't always agree theologically, and yet we continue to live together, to love one another, and to work together.

So I lift up my prayers...my voice with the countless others across the globe to congratulate the Catholic Church on her new leader.  I sincerely hope that Pope Francis continues to seek the Holy Spirit's guidance as he leads.  I hope he feels love and support from the United Methodist Church, from our bishops, our clergy, and our laity.  And I pray that God continues to unite us as brothers and sisters of the faith and that our witness resounds the world over.

I invite you to pray this prayer written by Taylor W. Burton-Edwards for Pope Francis:

Gracious God,
look with favor on your servant, Jorge,
now elected Francis, Pope of the Roman Catholic Church,
that he may lead with great faithfulness and compassion
among the people entrusted to his care,
and be a sign of the unity and hope
for which Christ prayed
for all your people, in every Church and land;

Through Jesus Christ our Lord,
who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit,
One God, now and ever.  Amen.**



Until next time...



*You can read the entire article at http://www.umc.org/site/apps/nlnet/content3.aspx?c=lwL4KnN1LtH&b=5259669&ct=13021863

**"Prayer for a Pope" by Taylor W. Burton-Edwards.
Copyright (c) 2013 , The General Board of Discipleship
of the United Methodist Church.  Used by permission.

Print Page

The Lost

This week's lectionary readings really helped me to grow spiritually.  They pushed me to see past my own short-sightedness and to make some connections I had not made before.  The first story that leads up to the Scripture reading for this Sunday is the parable of the lost sheep.  You probably remember that Jesus told this story about the sheep who was lost (hence, the title).  The shepherd left the 99 sheep that he had and went to search for the one that was lost.  The shepherd does not leave the 99 in a pen or in a safe place...he leaves them "...in the wilderness..."  The wilderness is a hostile place.  It's a place of the unknown.  It's the place where the children of Israel wandered and where Jesus was tempted.  But the shepherd leaves his flock to search for the lost sheep.
The second story is the parable of the lost coin.  In this story, a woman has ten silver coins.  Somehow, she loses one of them and begins to search for it.  She looks under furniture, through drawers, anywhere she can think of that the coin may have been placed.  She is so determined to find it, that she even lights a lamp in order to give her more light in her search.


At this point you're probably thinking, "Okay, Dustin...so what?  We've heard these stories before.  We know what they mean!  God's love is so great that he will go through whatever it takes in order to find us.  He continues to search for the lost sheep.  Like a valuable coin, so are people.  There's nothing new here."  Well, that is part of what Jesus is saying here.  But it's really not the full story.

In order to better understand why he told these stories, we have to look at the entire context.  Last week we talked about repentance.  In fact, the entire season of Lent pushes us in that direction.  And while a case could be made that these stories are about repentance, if that is our primary focus, then we are woefully missing Jesus' point.  Let's look at the final lines of both parables.

In St. Luke 15: 7, Jesus finishes the story with "Just so, I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance."  And in verse 10 he says, "Just so, I tell you, there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner who repents."

Do you hear the repetition here?  The main focus of these stories cannot be the repentance, it must be something else.  After all a sheep might be able to repent, but there is no way that a coin can!  So what is it that these stories are really pointing towards?  The key word in both of these stories is "rejoice."

Rejoice, or joy, is something that we may not always understand in our culture.  In the Jewish culture of the 1st century, rejoicing was a flamboyant, outward expression of the inner excitement that they felt.  Many times rejoicing was evident through shouting, singing, clapping, dancing, and feasting.  In other words, it was a huge party!

That's what Jesus was saying happened after the sheep and the coin were found.  The shepherd invited his shepherd friends over to party with him.  The woman invited her neighbors over to party with her.  His point is that when the lost are found then God invites all of his people to a huge party!  With singing, shouting, dancing, and clapping of hands, God, the angels, and the children of God join together with a great celebration.

That leads us to the third parable in the series...the parable of the lost son (many of us know this one as the parable of the prodigal son).  Once again, the story isn't so much about the boy's repentance as much as it is about the celebration of the father.  It's also about the invitation to party for the lost being found.

I'm afraid that those of us in the Church have lost sight of what it means to rejoice and to be filled with joy.  But you see, the shared joy that we have with our Father and with our brothers and sisters is what sets apart our fellowship as Christians.  We should get excited; we should celebrate; we should outwardly express our joy in our own salvation and the salvation that God is bringing to all who will accept it.  God's joy must be our joy.  The joy of our brothers and sisters must be our joy.  If it's not, then maybe we're more like the scribes and Pharisees who sit on the edge of the room and are "grumbling."  It's our choice.  We can either celebrate or we can live a life of misery.  I would much rather celebrate than to complain.  Here's how I envision God calling to us as his children to join the festivities:  http://youtu.be/3GwjfUFyY6M

Until next time...




Print Page