WHEN WINTER TURNS TO SPRING

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith for the Years of Winter… ©

A long time ago, when I was trying to get started as a writer, as well as pastoring, I pitched a book idea to a national publisher. They liked the idea and asked me to write the manuscript and send it to them. As I worked on it, I realized it wasn’t really a book, more like one chapter in a book, or a magazine article. I knew I could fluff it up, write ten more chapters that said the same thing as the first, just different words, but I have bought and read too many books like that. I always feel cheated when I have paid for a whole book and only gotten the same chapter ten times.

So I told the publishers. They were impressed. They said they often got one-chapter manuscripts and were happy to meet an author who understood the problem before they had to read the whole manuscript. They told me that they liked my writing, so if I got any more ideas that were really a book, they would be glad to publish me.

The problem with writing was the pastoring. I was never able to shirk on that. If someone needed my time, that was my first priority. There was never much time left over for writing. Until I retired.

So for a long time, I have written in this blog almost every day. But then I went to AZ to be part of the memorial service for my best friend from my high school class. I knew I would not blog during that time because I would be pastoring again.

Something changed in that process. Having a break from blogging made me see it differently. When I got home, I realized that I was at the same point I had been when I pitched that book idea so long ago. I had one good idea, but if I continue, I’m not blowing up a new balloon, just blowing more air into the old one. I am out of stories. I could tell the same ones over, maybe in different words, but that would not be fair to you.

I’m not saying I won’t post anymore. It might be worthwhile to check Christ In Winter once in a while. But I’m no longer in “the place of winter.” In my old age, I am at a point of spring. We’ll see if anything buds and grows.

  

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

I started this blog several years ago, when we followed the grandchildren to the “place of winter,” Iron Mountain, in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula [The UP]. I put that in the sub-title, Reflections on Faith from a Place of Winter for the Years of Winter, where life is defined by winter even in the summer! [This phrase is explained in the post for March 20, 2014.]

I tweet as yooper1721.

Solving Problems with a Bible Verse

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith for the Years of Winter… ©

When I was a campus minister, I spent most of my time counseling. I dreaded going out of town. Whenever I returned from a conference or some other meeting, Anne Paxton, my secretary, would have me scheduled up on my first day back in the office with back-to-back counseling sessions, sometimes 7 or 8 in a row. She said that when she told students I was gone, they looked so forlorn that she would schedule them in for the earliest possible time in my day.

One of my campus ministry friends used to say that when the mothers of the coeds began to look better to you than the coeds, it was time to get out of campus ministry. I don’t think he was advocating that campus ministers [all male in my day] should be dirty old men, just that they should be young. I got out, in part, because I was bored. All the students in those days were 18 to 22 years old. Their problems were identical. It got to the place in those counseling sessions that after the first five minutes, I could go ahead and script the rest of the session. Only the names--boyfriend/girlfriend, roommate, major, parents, professors--would be different.

I recall one student who came in with the usual problems. I did the usual counseling—listening, trying to help him see what was causing the problems, trying to help him see solutions. He got up and left in disgust. “What kind of minister are you?” he asked angrily. “I came to you with problems and all we did was talk. You didn’t give me a single Bible verse!”

So, if you’ve got problems… Romans 8:31-39.

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

I started this blog several years ago, when we followed the grandchildren to the “place of winter,” Iron Mountain, in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula [The UP]. I put that in the sub-title, Reflections on Faith from a Place of Winter for the Years of Winter, where life is defined by winter even in the summer! [This phrase is explained in the post for March 20, 2014.] The grandchildren, though, are grown up, so in May, 2015 we moved “home,” to Bloomington, IN, where we met and married. It’s not a “place of winter,” but we are still in winter years of the life cycle, so I am still trying to understand what it means to be a follower of Christ in winter…

I tweet as yooper1721.

THE MEANING OF SYMBOLS

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith for the Years of Winter… ©

I once co-officiated at a Jewish-Christian wedding, at a Jewish temple, with a rabbi. He said, “You can put anything Methodist you want into the service, except you can’t mention you-know-who.” I knew the bride wanted to have I Corinthians 13, read. “Oh, that’s okay,” the rabbi said. “Nobody thinks of that as Christian. That’s just a nice statement about love.”

I agree with him, to a certain extent. It’s a nice statement about love. But to me it is also Christian.

Independence Day, the Fourth of July, is here. This year, more than most, because of the controversy over the flying of the Confederate flag, this holiday raises the issue of the meaning of symbols, including words,

Words are symbols. If I could not speak, I could point to a table or draw you a picture of a table and it would be the same thing as saying “table.” Using words, though, is quicker than playing charades.

For words to work, though, they must have common meanings, meanings we all agree on. If you say, “Well, that thing may be a table to you, but it isn’t a table to me,” we can’t communicate.

Once, after I had been preaching at a new church for several weeks, I was accosted after worship by a man who was very upset with me. He wondered if I were even Christian. “In all these weeks,” he said, “you haven’t mentioned the blood of the lamb once.”

To him, that was what marked the Christians off from the non-Christians, saying “the blood of the lamb.” I had spoken in my sermons, often, about the sacrifice of Christ, but I had not used those particular words, “the blood of the lamb,” so my faith was suspect at best.

July 4 is the essential time for American patriotism. Patriotism and religion are not just intellectual. There have huge emotional components, and their symbols stir those emotions. I always get a thrill when I sing, or hear, “The Star Spangled Banner,” or “America the Beautiful” or “The Battle Hymn of the Republic,” or when I pledge allegiance to the flag.

                                                                                                         

Patriotism and religion are more than just words. Supporting the troops, for instance, is more than just having a bumper sticker on your car that says “Support Our Troops.” Indeed, if you vote for politicians who refuse to provide adequate armaments and housing and food for troops in the field, or adequate care for veterans, you are not supporting the troops, you are abusing them, and your bumper sticker is an insult.

As with any other human element, we don’t always agree on the meaning of a symbol. Christians, though, have to consider what a symbol, including a word, means to others. If it is hurtful to them, we set aside our own feelings and refuse to use it. Paul talked about this in the controversy over meat sacrificed to idols. That meat was sold in shops. Christians could buy it and bring it to the potluck. Some folks in the church didn’t want to eat it, though, because of the idol connection. So, Paul said, consider the feelings of others; don’t bring idol meat to the potluck. [1]

This may not be the standard for the society at large, but it is for Christians. If a symbol, including a word, is harmful, hurtful, offensive to others, don’t use it.

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

1] You can read about this in I Corinthians 8.

The picture is of the Pine Mountain ski jump in Iron Mountain, MI, the highest man-made ski jump in the world. I started this blog several years ago, when we followed the grandchildren to the “place of winter,” Iron Mountain, in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula [The UP]. I put that in the sub-title, Reflections on Faith from a Place of Winter for the Years of Winter, where life is defined by winter even in the summer! [This phrase is explained in the post for March 20, 2014.] The grandchildren, though, are grown up, so in May, 2015 we moved “home,” to Bloomington, IN, where we met and married. It’s not a “place of winter,” but we are still in winter years of the life cycle, so I am still trying to understand what it means to be a follower of Christ in winter. I have a picture that is more appropriate now for Indiana, boys playing basketball in winter snow, but I have not yet figured out how to replace the ski jump picture with the basketball picture.

I tweet as yooper1721.

A STAYED MIND

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith for the Years of Winter… ©

I woke up this morning with my mind, stayed on Jesus

Woke up this morning with my mind, stayed on Jesus

Woke up this morning with my mind, stayed on Jesus

Allelu, allelu, alleluia…

I love that old spiritual, at all times, but especially right now because it is very difficult for me to keep my mind stayed.

Six weeks ago we moved 650 miles from a fairly large house to a fairly small condo. Even after giving two tons, literally, away, we brought too much. We are trying to fit in to this nice but smaller place, and find our way around, and find new hair dressers and doctors and dentists and coffee shops and plumbers and…

Bill and Mike, two of my oldest and closest friends, died within two days of each other. Bill I had been grieving for two weeks, knowing he was dying. Mike had a heart attack and lived for less than two days.

I am preparing memorial services for both of them. I fly to AZ on Tuesday to do Mike’s service. That means booking flights and printing tickets and finding our way into and around strange airports, and packing for strange weather, and all the indignities and anxieties that go with air travel. And remembering to have the mail held, and…

I am also preaching and serving communion Sunday for a friend who is out of town.

My mind flips from serving communion to grieving Bill and Mike to preparing their services to the airport to… It is not stayed!

When I sing, though, especially those simple choruses and spirituals, it stays my mind. Not forever. I have to keep bringing my mind back to a lot of different things that need to be done. But I’ll keep singing… and… well, Allelu, Allelu, Alleluia!

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

Tomorrow will probably be my last post for a week or so. In the meantime, I hope you wake up with your mind stayed…

The picture is of the Pine Mountain ski jump in Iron Mountain, MI, the highest man-made ski jump in the world. I started reflecting on Christ in winter several years ago, when we followed the grandchildren to the “place of winter,” Iron Mountain, in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula [The UP]. They are grown up, so we now live in Bloomington, IN.

I tweet as yooper1721.

REMEMBER TO BREATHE

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith for the Years of Winter… ©

The last six weeks have been quite intense. We moved 650 miles, from a fairly large house into a fairly small condo. Just trying to fit things in, and then find them, is a challenge. Finding our way around and getting established with new plumbers and dentists and librarians and waitresses is a bigger and more important challenge. And then two of my oldest and closest friends died.

As I started out to walk this morning, I realized I was not breathing.

I once had some body problems, freezing shoulder primarily, that took me to a deep muscle therapist. Bjorn said that most of her patients, including me, preferred to drop their bodies off so she could work on them overnight and then pick them up in the morning. As she dug her fingers deep into my joints and muscles, I would tense up at the pain. She would say, not unkindly, “Remember to BREATHE.”

We do that when times are tense. We stop breathing. It’s the worst thing we can do. Breath is life. When we breathe deeply, we are taking in the world, becoming one with all that is, receiving life, becoming whole. Breathing deeply requires us to slow down, stay in the moment, just be.

When times are tense, it’s the simplest thing to do, and perhaps the most important. Remember to breathe.

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

The picture is of the Pine Mountain ski jump in Iron Mountain, MI, the highest man-made ski jump in the world. I started this blog several years ago, when we followed the grandchildren to the “place of winter,” Iron Mountain, in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula [The UP].

I tweet as yooper1721.

RIP, PAUL MICHAEL DICKEY

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith for the Years of Winter… ©

Paul Michael Dickey died yesterday, June 30, 2015. He was my oldest friend. I have friends who have lived more years, but he is the friend I have known the longest, from my first day of school in 5^th grade in Oakland City, IN, when my family moved from Indianapolis to a little hard-scrabble farm a few miles out of town. That was in March of 1947, over 68 years ago.

I was keenly aware of our poverty. Dad was blind, we were on welfare, had no running water in the house, no car, an outhouse, nothing “store-bought.” It was embarrassing to me to ride into town, where my new classmates could see me, on the high seat of our old horse-drawn Double Cola delivery wagon, when Dad and I would go to the mill to have feed ground. All my classmates were accepting of the new kid, though, exceptionally kind, none more so than Mike.

He was the one who invited me to his house to play and lunch. Even at ten, I started hitch-hiking into town, which usually meant walking, but Mike and his father would drive out into the country to give me a ride.

The continuing invitations to his house had as much to do, I think, with Mike’s mother as with Mike. I think she saw me as an ally in civilizing him. He was not mean at all, but if something looked like fun to him, he did it. If it turned out badly, he laughed, which was his response to almost everything, up until the day he died, good or bad, not because he was uncaring, but because he took life as it came. If something looked like fun to me, I preferred to examine all the options first, making sure no calamity would befall, before doing it. Mothers prefer that their sons check the calamity quotient first, so Mrs. Dicky made sure Mike spent time with me.   

Since Mike lived in Phoenix, for the last 20 years of so, we have seen each other in person only every 5 years, when our school class has its reunions. He and Terri already had their tickets purchased to come to our 60 year reunion on July 25.

I had decided not to go to our 55 year reunion. It was over 700 miles for us to drive, and I was feeling puny then. Mike said, “Hey, the ranks are growing thinner. We have to see each other any time we can.” He was right. We went. As always, whenever there were no class gatherings, he and I stood outside our motel, so he could smoke his pipe, and had long conversations about events long past, and the ways those events, and the people in them, had shaped our lives.

Our ranks will be much thinner, and much poorer, when the class of 1955 gathers in the fire house in Oakland City on July 25 this year. But we’ll tell the same stories we always tell, even better than ever. Most of them this year will be about Mike. Miss Grace Robb, one of our teachers, said that the members of our class were more emotionally involved with one another than any class she had ever seen. I think a lot of that was due to Mike. Everyone thought he was their best friend. He made us feel like we belonged to one another. We do.

John Robert McFarland

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

The picture is of the Pine Mountain ski jump in Iron Mountain, MI, the highest man-made ski jump in the world. I started this blog several years ago, when we followed the grandchildren to the “place of winter,” Iron Mountain, in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula [The UP]. I put that in the sub-title, Reflections on Faith from a Place of Winter for the Years of Winter, where life is defined by winter even in the summer! [This phrase is explained in the post for March 20, 2014.] The grandchildren, though, are grown up, so in May, 2015 we moved “home,” to Bloomington, IN, where we met and married. It’s not a “place of winter,” but we are still in winter years of the life cycle, so I am still trying to understand what it means to be a follower of Christ in winter. I have a picture that is more appropriate now for Indiana, boys playing basketball in winter snow, but I have not yet figured out how to replace the ski jump picture with the basketball picture.

I tweet as yooper1721.