Remembering the Future

One of my favorite Christmas traditions is our Christmas tree.  While I’m not a huge fan of hauling boxes out of storage and setting it up, I do enjoy the beauty and the memories our tree evokes.  Most of the ornaments on our tree are connected to places and people who hold a special place in our hearts.  Year after year, those ornaments take us back to fond memories of past. 

This year, though, our tree has a slightly different look to it.  One might say it has a somewhat more “creative” display than in years past.  Where, typically, we distribute the ornaments to produce a full and balanced display, this year’s tree includes an eclectic grouping of ornaments concentrated in a space of about 6 inches.  It also happens that this collection is right at 3-year-old eye level.  You see, this year, for the very first time, our grandson had his heart set on being part of decorating our tree, and, of course, we welcomed his help. 

One of my favorite times to enjoy our tree is after everyone else has gone to bed, the TV is off, and the evening is winding down.  It’s not really intentional, but I often find myself staring at the tree and remembering times past.  It’s a selective process, of course, as I spend so much more time remembering the good times than I do the hard times.  Sometimes, that remembering makes it difficult to feel very good about Christmases ahead.  This has been a very difficult year for our nation and our world, as hatred, violence, natural disaster, and threats like terrorism and nuclear holocaust have dominated our news.  But, then, I look at that spot on our tree with all its assorted decorations.

Our grandson’s part in decorating the tree reminds me that God still has more ahead.  The innocence and promise of his young life bear witness to the fact that God continues to move and to work, most often in ways that are outside the grasp of my limited understanding.  While much of my Christmas focuses on remembering – remembering God’s gift in that miracle birth, remembering my own celebrations of that event over the years – I need never to let remembering keep me from anticipating God’s future work. 

As I remember the past, I can also “remember” the future – its promise and, ultimately, its path.  Though I can’t see it nearly so well as I can remember selected parts of the past, the future is every bit as real.  I don’t know the details, and I can’t control it nearly so much as I like to think I can, but the future is just as much God’s as is the past.  Hebrews 13:8 reminds us that, “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.”  He doesn’t change, regardless of our circumstances.  Even if some of those things that concern us most actually come to pass, God’s love, power, and purpose remain unchanged.

Nearly 40 years ago, when my wife and I first started decorating our own tree, we couldn’t possibly have imagined what the future would hold.  And it’s probably just as well, because I’m not sure my finite mind could have comprehended everything that’s transpired since then.  One constant throughout, though, has been God’s faithful love and provision, in good times and in bad, that has sustained and blessed us.  In the same way, I don’t have to know the details of the future to know God doesn’t change, that his faithful love and provision will see me through everything that lies ahead, good and bad.

If ever I’m tempted to doubt that, all I have to do is look at our tree. 

"It's never been this..."

“Our nation has never been this divided.”  You’ve heard it said, maybe even said it yourself.  And, at least at times, it does seem that way.  To be sure, we have some deep and serious divisions in our national culture.  Fault lines along topics like race, economics, politics, and (seemingly) countless others threaten to fracture our nation, perhaps irreparably.  In fact, there are those who would suggest just such a fragmentation is imminent.  But are they right?

Marty Duren, self-described “Christ follower, husband, father, writer, social media manager and teaching pastor,” would disagree.  In a recent social media post, he proposed that a look at our nation’s history might suggest a different conclusion.  Without diminishing in the least our current crises, Duren calls attention to the U.S. Civil War of the 1860’s in which more than 600,000 lives were lost.  He also points to the huge cultural divides of the 1960’s that "saw soldiers and marines who had just returned from combat in Vietnam deployed on the streets of America to control protest and rioting," multiple assassinations, and domestic bombings so frequent they "reached 'ho-hum' levels."

When we take Duren's advice and look closely at our national history, we see that dissension, division, and heated antipathy are recurring elements of our national character.  When, then, do we tend to think our circumstances are the worst ever?  Why do we believe things have never been this a) divided, b) hateful, c) unpredictable, d) angry (choose all that apply)?  More to the point, regardless of where they'd rank on the list of "all-time worst," what can we do to bridge, even erase, the deepest of our divisions?

Duren's suggestion to take a closer look at history bears rich dividends here, as well.  Following the Civil War, intentional steps were taken to facilitate the reunification of the nation, though not exactly in a pre-war condition.  The new nation officially included nearly four million new citizens, slaves freed during the course of the war.  Sadly, it took the deaths of those 600,000 soldiers and citizens over four long years to begin the process of fully incorporating former slaves into the fabric of our nation (a process that continues to this day).  Similarly, it was only after many painful years of protests and violence that our culture found room to include traditional and more progressive values.  At least for a time, we seemed to find room for both the clean-cut and the long-haired, the conventional and the non-conformist.

In both cases, it seems the pain and angst of violence led to a recognition that the opposing sides had a common interest in reducing the intensity of the conflict.  It wasn't easy, and it was never smooth.  There were (and are still) pockets of reluctance and resistance on both sides, but progress was made.  How, then, can we reduce the level of hostility and confrontation we see in our own culture today?

I'd suggest it begins with an acknowledgement of the inherent worth of each and every human being.  (For me, this stems from my theology that teaches we are ALL created in the image of God.)  Such an acknowledgement allows room for conversation, and we can all learn so much from genuine conversation.  Now, conversation doesn't necessarily generate instant agreement.  It does, though, offer a full, more complete, understanding of another's position.  That richer understanding, then, can lead to fuller appreciation of each other.

Passion and conviction are, undoubtedly, important.  But, so long as our interactions with one another are driven chiefly, even exclusively, by emotion rather than understanding, we will remain divided.  Hostility and antagonism will continue to flourish.  If we will work, instead, toward honest conversation, perhaps we can change our future history by bridging divides before they lead to Civil War or 1960's levels of hatred and violence.  The choice is ours.

#MartyDuren  #history  #culturalconflict  #culturaldivision  #conversation  #inherentworth

The Cost of Caring

As I began to give thought to the subject of this post, I considered reflecting on my family’s experiences during Hurricane Andrew, now a full 25 years ago.  Then Harvey happened.  So, I gave thought to addressing the terrible circumstances that continue to unfold in Texas, but, now, Irma. 

Sometimes, it seems as though the disasters never end.  And that’s before we even take into account human disasters like Syria, Charlotte, nuclear threats, and so many others.  It becomes very easy to find oneself feeling completely overwhelmed, unable to deal with the magnitude and frequency of countless tragedies. 

The truth of the matter is our brains aren’t wired to deal with non-stop waves of immense tragedy and suffering, each seemingly higher than the last.  We become numb to the personal, emotional component of each successive horror and respond with less and less compassion and concern.

This response (or lack of response) is so consistent and so predictable, there is a term to describe it: Disaster Fatigue.  The more destruction to which we are exposed, the less likely we are to respond.  The greater the need, the less we do.

So, what can we do to counteract this tendency toward apathy?  How can we step forward and help meet the needs of so many?  Ironically, the most effective way to step forward may be to step back.  

As my friend Marilyn Gardner has so eloquently written – 

"I have found that I have to exit the noise.  I cannot sustain the information overload.  It renders me useless in everyday life.  When I give myself permission to exit the noise, when I allow myself to move to a place of quiet, I become healthier and more compassionate...a quiet place of contemplation and prayer is far more valuable than distraction and overload."

She continues - 

"Prayer leads me to reliance on a God who 'will not grow weary, and whose understanding no one can fathom,' and in the comfort of those age-old words, I can lose the guilt and rely on a never-ending resource of compassion and strength, available to all in crisis." 

Pay close attention:  The solution to our disaster fatigue is NOT to simply retreat into a “spiritual fetal position” of reflection and withdrawal. Rather, the only hope I have of being the “salt and light” I am called to be in this world is to avail myself of God’s endless resources.  Only by allowing God to do a work in me am I able to see God work through me.  

Only by allowing God to do a work in me

am I able to see God work through me.  

To many, it may seem counterintuitive to pull aside in order to more fully engage, but the time I invest in drawing near to God is more than amply repaid.  I find myself more caring, more generous, and more able to withstand the stress and strain of doing my part in meeting the needs of those beset by tragedy, both here and around the world. 

_____________________________________

To read more of Marilyn Gardner’s thoughtful and articulate work, please visit:
    www.communicatingacrossboundariesblog.com/blog/  

New Insights into Old Words, Stanza 2

Just more than two years ago, I wrote a column for our local paper about words we don’t hear so often anymore.  I talked about words like “icebox,” “mimeograph,” “Kodachrome,” “transistor,” “curlers,” “HiFi,” “oleo,” “phonograph,” and “floppy drive.”  In an effort to avoid dating myself too precisely, I’ll tell you I’ve never used the term “icebox,” but “floppy drive” is one I’ve seen both come and go.  

In that column, I focused, especially, on the word, “redeem.”  The context was the adoption of our first grandchild, Oliver Dean.  Given the circumstances surrounding his birth, the opportunity to be welcomed into a loving and supportive adoptive family was nothing less than total redemption.  Without it, his very survival could well have been at risk. Today, Oliver is a beautiful, healthy, loving, bright, energetic (I am a proud grandparent, after all) almost-three-year-old.  And in a very exciting development, he is also a big brother! 

Coehn James arrived in early December.  Like his big brother before him, he, too, is adopted.  In fact, the end of July marks the finalization of the adoption process.  At first, I wondered whether or not the idea of redemption fit his situation, too.  The circumstances of Coehn’s birth were quite different from his brother’s.  Unlike Oliver’s situation (in which DHS was involved), Coehn’s birth mother and her family made the decision to hand him into the loving embrace of a caring adoptive family (though not without a few tears, I'm sure).  However, given the legal (if not ethical) options available to Coehn's birth mother, I came to realize the term "redeemed" fit his situation just as well as it did his brother's.

Another word describes Coehn’s situation for me, too, though.  That word is “bequeath.”  Typically heard mostly in a legal context (think wills and estates), it literally means “to pass on or leave to someone else.”   When Coehn's birth mother made the difficult and selfless decision to give him up for adoption, she bequeathed to him opportunities he would not have known otherwise.  When I consider Coehn’s God-given potential and the possibilities now open to him, I begin to understand the magnitude of the gift his birth mother bequeathed to him when she made that difficult decision.   

As it was for Oliver, my prayer for Coehn is that he will come to understand how God has moved to redeem him through adoption and the vast array of blessing and opportunity that has been bequeathed to him in that process.  Too, I pray both Oliver and Coehn will come to understand that God’s redemption for them is far bigger than just physical adoption and will come to know God’s spiritual redemption, as well.  

We look forward to what is ahead. For the moment, though, we simply celebrate the redemption that has brought Coehn James into our lives and all that has been bequeathed to each of us through that very precious gift. 

To God be the glory!

#adoption  #grandchildren  #redemption  #bequeath  #redeem  #birthmom

Method v. Message

A few weeks ago, I checked-off one of the items on my “bucket list,” that list of things we want to do before we die.  I don’t think I have a particularly long list, and it’s probably not all that adventurous (though landing on and taking off from an aircraft carrier is on there).  One item that had been there for several years, though, was to see the Broadway production of THE LION KING.  When the touring version stopped in OKC, I finally had my chance!

I’d wondered for a long time just how a stage production could reproduce an animated movie.  It seemed to me that some things that could be animated just simply couldn’t be reproduced “live and in-person.”  As the show began, it quickly became clear that the secret to the stage production’s world-wide success was precisely that those in charge DIDN’T try to reproduce the film.  Instead, they created an incredible stage version based on the same story that inspired the film.  By utilizing techniques suited specifically to the stage (rather than to film), creators put together a world-class production. 

Now, to be sure, there were some common characters, musical elements, and so on.  Even those, though, were reformatted to fit the context of the stage.  New music was added, sets/scenes were reimagined, even some characters were reinvented or created.  What didn’t change, though, was the basic underlying story that inspired the wildly successful film – a story told by animals that was, ultimately, a very human story of life, death, commitment, and community.

Well, that got me to wondering.  Are there times in my life when I try to replicate a method, rather than retelling the story, times when I am more intent on reproducing an experience rather than re-sharing a message?  I quickly came to the conclusion that, in fact, I have done that very thing on many occasions.

When I stubbornly try to recreate a family holiday experience or tradition, rather than being open to new and fresh ways to celebrate the season (ways, perhaps, better suited to current circumstances), do I not miss the real blessings of the holiday?  If I insist that the only “genuine” or “real” worship is that worship rendered in the style I know and prefer, am I not confusing the method with the message?

Now, some people prefer a movie over a stage production, and that’s fine.  But if my circumstances in life have changed, if the world has changed, and I find myself onstage rather than in a movie theater (metaphorically speaking), what do I accomplish – for myself, or for those around me – by insisting that we try to recreate the movie?  While I may miss the “golden age” of movies, to insist that the new production forego its own innate strengths in an attempt make it something it is not will frustrate both me and those who enjoy live theater.  And the story, the message, will be lost in the process.

The Broadway version of THE LION KING is a beautiful work of art, not because it reproduces the movie that preceded it, but because it is an exceptional stage production that conveys a powerful story.  So, too, the movie is exceptional because it so effectively uses cinematic tools and techniques to effectively share the same powerful story.  May I be sure to use every tool, every method, every technique at my disposal – here and now – not to replicate an experience, but to convey a powerful message.

#message #holidays #worship #movies #stage

The Gift of Listening

Before transitioning to healthcare chaplaincy, I spent nearly 30 years as a full-time Minister of Music/Worship Pastor.  Especially early on in my ministry, I had opportunities to lead the preschool “choir,” though that is a generous term for such a group, to be sure.  The experience was much more about simply exposing children to basic musical concepts such as rhythm, pitch, and volume.

One of the questions I regularly asked the children was, “What part of your body is most important to   use when singing?”  The most common answer, of course, was ”your mouth.”  Occasionally, a child would respond with “your breath” or “your eyes” (for watching the director).  I don’t recall a single occasion, though, on which I received the answer I was looking for – your ears.  Before a child could learn to sing, they had to learn to listen – to themselves, to other voices, and so on.

Interestingly, when I began training for chaplaincy, I was reminded of a similar truth.  The first step to being an effective chaplain is learning to listen.  Listening well – to what is said as well as to what is unsaid, to what is verbalized as well as to what is “spoken” in other ways – is the foundation of meaningful ministry as a chaplain.   The art of listening is one that I continue to develop every day, and I hope to continue that process for the rest of my life.

The biggest hindrance to listening, though, is learning to be quiet.  In today’s society, most of us are uncomfortable with quietness, with silence.  We’ve come to regard almost any pause in a conversation as an “awkward pause.”  Rather than simply wait, we say something.  Anything.  This is especially true when we encounter others going through a time of crisis or pain.  Our first inclination is to help, to fix, to say something meaningful.  More often than not, though, our first inclination is wrong.

Take, for instance, the biblical example of Job, a prosperous man who was blessed with a large family and many possessions.  The opening line of the Old Testament book of Job tells us that he was also “blameless, upright, fearing God and turning away from evil” (Job 1:1).  Suddenly, however, Job’s world came crashing down.  He lost his children, the bulk of his possessions, even his own health.  And three of his friends, hearing of his terrible misfortune, came “to sympathize with him and comfort him” (Job 2:11).  As soon as they arrived, they began to share words of comfort and understanding.

NO!  I say, again, NO!  “They sat down on the ground with him for seven days and seven nights with no one speaking a word to him, for they saw that his pain was very great” (Job 2:13).  Did you hear that?  “With no one speaking a word to him.”  “They sat down on the ground with him.”  “For seven days and seven nights.” 

Do you suppose their ears were open, even while their mouths were shut?  Do you suppose they spent at least part of those seven days and seven nights listening to Job’s grief?   It’s no stretch to suggest that the most effective part of their ministry to their friend was in those first seven days of their visit, simply sitting in silence.

I share this to remind myself, all of us, of the incredible power to be found in listening, in using my ears before I even consider using my mouth.  I can’t afford to let the discomfort of another’s pain goad me into filling the silence with the clatter of my own voice.  To offer the simple gift of presence, to use my ears and truly listen, is the most meaningful gift I can bring. 

#listen #listening #hearing #presence #quiet #silence #SSM2017

I recently had an opportunity to share some of these thoughts in person with the 2017 SSM Leadership Conference in St. Louis.  Select the link below to view.

2017 SSM Leadership Conference - Bill Simpson

 

#RuntoRemember

This morning, I had my third opportunity to participate in the annual Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon.  (For the record, I have never attempted a full marathon.  Two years ago it was the 5k, and the last two years has been the half.)  There is something about this event that touches me deeply, and this year was no exception.

The title of this post is the theme of the event - Run to Remember.  It commemorates the 168 people killed and the countless other lives impacted by the bombing of the Murrah Federal Building in OKC on April 19, 1995.  This event touches me in surprising ways each and every year.

I wasn't even an Oklahoma resident in 1995.  I was nowhere near the events, and I didn't even know anyone who was personally impacted.  But to be part of this run, to pause for 168 seconds of silence before it begins, to see firefighters from Oklahoma City and many, many other cities and towns making the trek in full gear, to see the community come out by the thousands to cheer on the participants moves me every time.

This year, on the Friday night before the Sunday morning event, Oklahoma City was struck by a line of severe thunderstorms with winds of 85+ miles/hour.  Saturday morning revealed huge trees broken or toppled, street signs bent over at 90 degrees, power poles snapped in two and lines down everywhere, a major interstate shut down, roofs ripped off, and over 39,000 people without electricity - all less than 24 hours before this year's marathon.

There was concern that conditions might require rerouting, even rescheduling, all or parts of the event, especially with another line of storms coming through on Saturday.  But residents, neighbors, volunteers of all sorts joined city crews in making streets safe (if not necessarily clean) and ensuring that no alterations, neither routes nor schedules, were required.  And people turned out - to participate, to cheer on participants, to help with the event - people turned out in cold, wet, windy conditions, because that's what we do in Oklahoma.

When one considers the tragedy this event commemorates, how do the inconveniences of a storm or poor race conditions begin to measure-up?  Unless conditions were such that lives would have been in danger (and they weren't), how could we possibly justify anything but pulling together and carrying-on?  And that's exactly what happened.

My wife and I have been back in Oklahoma for about three-and-a-half years, now.  It's not perfect, and it's often not very predictable, either.  One thing you can count on, though, is the character of her people and their willingness to step-up and do what needs to be done.  Twenty-two years ago, 168 people were doing just that when their lives were taken from them.  And in the aftermath, countless others stepped-up, as well.

I pray nothing like that ever happens again.  But if it does, I am confident that the citizens of this state will rise to the occasion.  That promise, demonstrated in small ways each and every day, makes me proud to be an Okie!

#RuntoRemember