JOHN WESLEY ON HOW THE CHURCH SHOULD “GLORY” [W, 1-16-19]

As The United Methodist Church tries to find a way forward to satisfy everybody on the homophobia issue, I think it is worthwhile for Methodists to see what our “founder” thought Methodism should be, and by extension—especially for you if you are a non-Methodist—what this major religious figure thought the church should be…

From John Wesley’s Journal, Sunday, June 18, 1888, ten days before his 85^th birthday:

            “The Methodists alone do not insist on you holding this or that opinion; but they think, and let think. Neither do they impose any particular form of worship; but you may continue to worship in your former manner, be it what it may. Now, I do not know of any other religious society, either ancient or modern, wherein such liberty of conscience is now allowed, or has been allowed, since the age of the apostles. Here is our glorying; and a glorying particular to us. What society shares it with us?”

There are other “religious societies” now that claim to share such, and there are certainly now Methodist sons and daughters of Wesley who do not share in this particular glorying, but I find it helpful to know that when the founder of my “society” was an old man--an age I share with him, almost--130 years ago, he believed in open doors and open minds and open hearts. That’s not a new thing.

John Robert McFarland

AS THE LIGHT TURNS [M, 1-14-19]

I have not been stopped by a police officer for 40 years, and now it has happened twice in 3 months.

Even though I was too puny and feeble to go to church yesterday, today is cleaning lady day at our house, which means an “errands and coffee” day for me. I took a bunch of donations to Opportunity House, then went to The Pour House for coffee and a blueberry bagel. As usual I asked for “only a smidgen of butter.” As usual they gave me enough to sculpt a cow at the county fair.

Then I went to the mall to walk, even though it is a sunny day, when I would normally walk outside, but it was 20 degrees, which in Bloomington, unlike Iron Mountain, is considered cold. As I went east on 2^nd St, I passed a police car that had a pickup truck pulled over. Many blocks later, as I approached High Street, here came the police car, lights blazing and twirling. I knew I had done nothing wrong—at least not in driving—so I tried to pull over to let him pass to go get the bad people.

But the 2^nd and High intersection was designed for buggies and has not been changed since then, and the best I could do was pull up onto the curb. Well, then the car with the twirling lights stopped behind me. So it was I he was after all along! But I had dong nothing wrong!

I prepared my defense as I sat there. And sat there. And sat there some more. You’re not supposed to get out of your car when stopped by a cop. But I was worried. Maybe he was having a heart attack. I was just getting out to go give him CPA, when he walked up.

A very pleasant young man. “I won’t lie to you,” he said. “I forgot my lights were on.”

“I pulled over behind you because you drove up on the curb. I wondered why you did that. I thought maybe you were having a heart attack and maybe I should give you CPE.”

“Alright,” I said, “but the next time you stop me you have to let me go, because you owe me one.”

He looked a bit perplexed but said, “Okay.”

Twice in 3 months now, after 40 years of minding my own business!

The other time was in October and we were hurrying to the hospital because our Brown County friend, “Mississippi Bob” Butts had been taken to the hospital. [Mississippi is not usually part of his appellation, but I put that in for Jimmy Moore or Robert Sharp or some other misplaced person.] His wife, Kathy, was stuck in October Brown County traffic, and poor Bob was languishing in lonely isolation at the hospital. [Actually he was chatting up the nurses and eating snacks, but we didn’t know that. Yes, we should have assumed it, but that’s a different story.]

We needed to get to the hospital right away. But I wasn’t stopped for speeding. No. It was profiling. The officer looked at me and said, “That guy is much too old to drive.” But he had to let me go. Not even a warning. Because my license was in order. Besides, those people on the sidewalk weren’t scared that bad!

John Robert McFarland

No, I’m not writing again, but every once in a while a story just must be told. Maybe by CPB. Or CPU.

DAVE LAMB’S WRITING ON THE WALL [F, 1-11-19]

Dave Lamb was the art editor of Oak Barks, the Oakland City, IN HS newspaper, when I was editor. We both considered going into the preaching ministry. We even went to little churches throughout southern Indiana’s “pocket” [southwest corner] in summer, with Bob Robling and Bob Wallace, wherever the District Superintendent sent us, to fill in for a pastor who was on vacation or otherwise missing in action, where we sang as a quartet and I preached. [1]

Dave would have been great as a preacher/pastor, but he was also aware of his gift for art, and so he went that way, majoring in art at the U of IL, where he was active in the Wesley Foundation [campus ministry] with Joe and Ruth Miller, friends of ours now at St. Mark’s UMC in Bloomington, IN. [1] He started as a graphic artist at Foote, Cone, and Belding Advertising in Chicago, and worked his way up to being such an effective creator-executive that he was sought out individually and became one of the premiere US ad men of the 1970s and 80s.

We recently discussed, via email, why “evangelicals” are so obsessed with President’s Trump’s wall that they are willing to forgive him for breaking every one of the 10 Commandments, repeatedly. I told of reading the thought of an “evangelical” leader about walls in our society. “The problem is that we’ve taken down all the walls.”

He meant, of course, the walls that keep women in their place, that keep black folks in their place, that keep poor people in their place, that protect white rich people from the rabble, that keep Muslims and other “furriners” out. “THE WALL” to “evangelicals” is a total symbol of correcting all that is wrong with a wall-less society. President’s Trump’s advocacy of THE WALL excuses all of his perfidies, which they would never excuse in a different politician. Just look at how upset they are at a young mixed-race woman for using a swear word once while “forgiving” a billionaire thrice-divorced white man for saying it is okay to “grab women by the pussy.” The standard is not just double; it is so multi-layered it is completely lost.

Dave has that gift for art, and he also has a gift for theological thought. In discussing “evangelical” thinking about THE WALL, he said: “I’ve always been taken more with Wesley’s assurance that faith continually develops within us and challenges us to grow, bend a little and seek the same assurance in all others… look for doors.”

I’m glad Dave used his gift for art, and I’m glad he is still using his gift for thinking.

John Robert McFarland

For a prophetic interpretation of the writing on the wall, see the 5th chapter of Daniel.

1] Bob Robling said for 55 years after, every time he had the chance, “The best preacher I ever heard was an eighteen-year-old kid.” Which proves that Bob did not go to church much for 55 years.

2] Joe Miller and Helen recently had opportunity to spend an hour together in a doctor’s waiting room, where they got a lot of good talking done, including their mutual consternation at college chemistry, which came up because grandson Joe Kennedy is even now taking chemistry at the U of IA, and wherever Helen is, the subject of grandchildren gets into the conversation. Joe Miller’s discontent with college chemistry dealt in part with his lab partner. “He was so smart. Even had gotten patents on things when he was in high school. You might have heard of him. His name was Linus Pauling.”

SUNFLOWERS AT MIDNIGHT- a poem [R, 1-10-19]

There are harder days

to come, I know

but I have given up

planning, the way

a sunflower

gives up midnight

Never much good

at it, anyway.

John Robert McFarland

I AM NOT JOHN R. MCFARLAND--AT LEAST NOT THAT ONE

Just to be sure everyone knows: I am NOT the Rev. John R. McFarland, UM minister, recently arrested for child molestation. We are not even related, except through name.

I do know who he is, from when I wrote several years ago a slightly-noted article advocating the disbandment of the UMC. His friends were considerably aghast. Not at the idea of disbandment. They were all for that. But as clergy members of the Closed Doors, Closed Minds, Closed Hearts wing of the UMC, they wanted disbandment for very different reasons and for very different outcomes than those I espoused.

So I became aware of him, via unsocial media, as they debated how to use my ideas to accomplish other goals.

I thought we might get through his arrest with no one here in this progressive haven of Indiana even aware of that Rev. John R. McFarland—until one of our pastors, Mary Beth Morgan, accosted me with far too much glee after worship Sunday morning. [That’s being unfair to MBM, but what’s a parishioner for besides criticizing the pastor?] After all, CA is a long way from IN. Phil Amerson? Yes, he’s atoning for his sins in San Diego this year so he might know, but…

Having served on the Investigation Committee and the Board of Ordained Ministry in the Central IL Conference of the UMC, I know that this is serious business. It’s a sad time for Rev. McFarland, his family and friends, clergy in general, the UMC, his conference. They all need our prayers. Especially, though, it is a continuing sad time for the victims, and we need especially to pray for them.

I thought in my old non-writing age I would start being just John, as befits one at the pinnacle of irrelevancy, but I think I’m going to stick with the whole John ROBERT McFarland.

May the peace of Christ be with us,

John Robert McFarland

THE IRREPRESSIBLE FRED SKAGGS [F, 12-7-18]

No, I’m not really writing again, but I am thinking about Fred Skaggs this morning, as I sit in my living room, drinking coffee, looking at our little Christmas tree, and…

Fred is a clergy colleague and Virginia Gentleman. He called a few days ago, not exactly upset that I am no longer writing, but disappointed, so much so that he gave me several ideas of things I should ruminate on in print. That’s the way Fred is—he looks for solutions.

The solution to my “problem,” though, I think, is not writing, but not-writing. I suspect that I have used words all my life to avoid The Word. Ironically, the words are a gift from The Word.

I have always learned what I was thinking, and sometimes what The Word was telling me, by reading my words, reading what I wrote. I think that the challenge for me in my last days is to learn to hear The Word without processing it into words.

Fred is already at that point. He hears The Word, regardless. Maybe, perhaps after Christmas, I shall be closer to that point, and feel comfortable about writing again. If not, I know that Fred’s got my back, which is a gift in itself. Thanks, Fred, and Merry Christmas… and to anyone who has stumbled across this site again, may the peace of Christ and Christmas be with you.

JRMcF

johnrobertmcfarland@gmail.com

If you don’t know where you’re going, you might wind up some place else. Yogi Berra

JOHN ROBERT MCFARLAND HAS GONE DOWN THAT SKI JUMP FOR THE LAST TIME.

Christ in Winter: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter…

The “jump,” of course, refers to the Iron Mountain ski jump in the picture above, “the highest man-made ski jump in the world,” as folks in Iron Mountain always say, the same way IU people always say that the IU union building is “the biggest university union building in the world.”

I always said about Michigan’s Upper Peninsula and Iron Mountain in particular that winter there was thirteen months long, that March was just February under an assumed name, and that life there was defined by winter, even in the summer.

By that last phrase, I mean that summer is so late and so short in Iron Mountain that people take advantage of every minute of it. Even on the hottest day of summer, you’re aware that winter is breathing, with frosty wind making moan, right over your shoulder.

It was in that environment, so strange to a boy who grew up in southern Indiana, the part I always called “the Mississippi of the North,” that I wondered how to go about being a follower of Christ in such a cold and shivery atmosphere. Since I find out what I think and believe by reading what I write, I started writing Christ In Winter to learn how to be a follower of Christ, a pilgrim on The Way, when the way is covered by snow and ice.

The ski jump above symbolizes Christ In Winter, where being a follower does not mean a “leap” of faith so much as a “ski jump” of faith.

But John Robert McFarland, the author of Christ In Winter, is no more.

That name was my persona for a long time. A persona is not a bad thing. Each of us has one. It’s our interface with the world. It is always partially real/true and partially unreal/false.

For instance, as John Robert McFarland, if I were tired at the end of the day, and could not stand the thought of one more person with a problem, and just wanted to go home and put up my feet and watch TV, if someone bopped into my office and said, “Do you have time to talk?” I never replied, “Yes, I do, but I don’t want to, so I’m just going to go home and watch the Reds lose.” I said something along the lines either of “Yes,” or, if I felt really guilty about not wanting to do it, “Sure, always time for you, come on in…”

False? Yes, but true, too. It was not truly my immediate personal reality, but it was truly my ultimate personal reality. In that situation, it was better for both of us for me to call upon my persona. I liked my persona. It served me, and others, well.

But I don’t need my persona, John Robert McFarland, anymore. It was my reality for pastoring and writing and speaking and administering. The only thing left of any of those is writing this blog, and the blog is no longer necessary, for I have no more stories, at least not that are worth your time to read.

That’s what I have tried to do in this blog—tell stories. That’s what I always have tried to do, both as John Robert McFarland and as just plain John—tell stories. I often tried to pull a broader application out of a story in Christ In Winter, but the story was both starting point and ending point, for we live in stories, not in propositions or theories.

It is time to go down that long ski slope one more time… and just keep flying. Thank you for reading. You have been kind, patient, and faithful to John Robert McFarland. He is grateful.

John

“Persona” originally meant the literal mask an actor wore in a play. It was cheaper to have a few actors and a lot of masks. That’s helpful in understanding the origin of the doctrine of the Trinity—God being one actor wearing three different masks, according the role played at the moment: Creator [Father], Savior [Son] or Sustainer [Holy Spirit].