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

New Insight into Old Words

The following is a piece I wrote for the "Minister's Corner" column in our local paper this week.  It's been an eventful week for our family, and it's given me a lot to consider...
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I’ve been giving some thought lately to words I don’t hear much anymore.  Some I’ve only heard, but some I’ve used myself.  I’m thinking of words like “icebox,” “mimeograph,” “Kodachrome,” “transistor,” “curlers,” “HiFi,” “oleo,” “phonograph,” and “floppy drive.”  In 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.

Recently, certain experiences have caused me to think about another word I don’t hear as often as I used to.  That word is “redeem.”  Most often, “redeem” is heard in a religious context, but Green Stamps (and there’s another term we don’t use much anymore) were “redeemed,” too.  So what does the word really mean?

According to the dictionary, to redeem is “to make something better or more acceptable, to extricate from or help to overcome something detrimental, to change for the better—reform, repair, restore.”  I suppose trading a pile of Green Stamps for something, for most anything, would definitely constitute a “change for the better.”  In theological terms, though, “redeemed” or “redemption” has to do with being saved from sin or evil.  That’s usually considered to be something only God can do, but I really believe, at least in some circumstances, God calls us to participate with him in the process of redemption.

The recent experiences I mentioned earlier have to do with the arrival of our new grandson, Oliver.  Ollie is our first grandchild, and to say we’re excited wouldn’t even come close.  What’s been especially remarkable, though, is to see the process of redemption at work in Ollie’s young life.  You see, Ollie is adopted, a months-long process that was completed just this week.  And in Ollie’s case, adoption has served as a form of redemption, directed by God, but involving his birth mother, our daughter and son-in-law, and even his grandparents and aunts and uncles. 

The circumstances of Ollie’s birth family are complicated, and what could easily have been a very difficult, even tragic, situation has been redeemed.  Oliver’s adoption has unquestionably made a difficult situation something better—for him, for our family, and, yes, even for his birth mother.  But none of that would have happened if everybody, anybody, along the way had refused God’s invitation to be part of that redemption process.

My prayer for Ollie is that he’ll come to understand how God has moved to redeem him through adoption.  Too, I pray that Ollie will come to understand that God’s redemption for him is even bigger than physical adoption and that he’ll come to know God’s spiritual redemption, as well.  I look forward to what is ahead, but, for the moment, we simply celebrate the process of redemption that has brought Oliver Dean into our lives.