IT AIN’T OVER ‘TIL IT’S… [F, 6-9-23]

 CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter—IT AIN’T OVER ‘TIL IT’S… [F, 6-9-23]

 

The pastor of our church, St. Mark’s UMC in Bloomington, IN, is on clergy-renewal leave. When our associate pastor, his wife, asked if I could relieve her of preaching duties on an occasional Sunday in his absence, I realized tht I am no longer able to preach. To preach, you need to be able to stand for 20 minutes in a row and think for 20 minutes in a row, and I am now too old to do either of those. I told about this in the column for May 28.

However, I told her that there was one exception—if she got sick on Saturday night or Sunday morning. Apparently, she thought that period started on Thursday afternoon. 

I sort of hoped the bulletin was already done.  One of the things that keeps me from preaching these days is having to make choices. With a completed bulletin, I would have no choices to make. I would just use the scripture and sermon title already there. No problem. There is no scripture I haven’t used in 60 years of preaching. I have no notes or manuscripts or old bulletins anymore, but I have so many stories in my brain that I can preach for 20 minutes on anything. Or at least “preach until I hit upon a subject,” as Garrison Keillor said the fill-in pastor at Lake Wobegon did.

No such luck. I even had to pick a theme so the music director would know how to finish his work. I thought about “The Past, Present, And Future Of God, Man, And The Universe.” That’s the title Gerald Kennedy used for a lecture series when I was a seminary student. He said that he had no idea what to say when they asked for a title, and he thought that would cover anything he came up with. But that was too wide even for me. I figured I could not go wrong with “Nothing can separate us from the love of God.” Romans 8: 31-39.

So you’re welcome, if you have nothing else to do Sunday morning, at 10:30 Eastern Daylight Time, to join us, by going to smumc.church and clicking on the Livestream rectangle. Or any time thereafter by clicking on the Video Archive rectangle.

When I was a young pastor, I was intrigued by the stories old people told me when I called on them. They were almost all stories of their childhood, as though it had just ended. I did not understand that then. I do now.

Since I think that this really will be my last sermon, I decided to go back to the beginning…

John Robert McFarland

 

 

 

STARTING WITH LOVE [W, 6-7-23]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter—STARTING WITH LOVE [W, 6-7-23]

 

Be careful where you start, because where you start determines where you finish. At least in thinking about God…

In the column for 5-11-23, I mentioned the Reformation theological division between John Calvin [1509-1564] and Jacobus Arminius [1560-1609].

John Wesley [1703-1791] was a follower of Arminius, because he started his theology in a different spot than Calvin. The starting point… that’s the main cause of different systems of thinking in any field.

From long before the time Luther started the Reformation through the time of Wesley, the main theological discussion was about heaven and hell. In the days of the Reformers and Wesley, heaven and hell were very real geographical places, and everyone went to one or the other upon death. Forever! To eternal bliss or eternal misery! So, it was rather important, especially since life expectancy in the body was rather short in those days, and eternity quite long.

Calvin started his thinking with the power of God. If God is omnipotent [all powerful] and omniscient [all seeing], then God already knows where each person will go upon death. It’s called predestination. You might live the most blameless life in this world, but it makes no difference. Your fate is not determined by the choices you make on earth, but by the choice God has already made about you in heaven.

Wesley, though, started his thinking with the love of God, as seen in Jesus of Nazareth, the Christ. Step by theological step, that led to everyone having a chance in this life, by our individual actions, to get into heaven.

Essentially, Calvin was a philosopher, starting with an idea. Wesley was an historian, starting with the story of God’s interaction with God’s chosen people, and the Messiah [Christ]. From that story, Wesley concluded that God is loving, which means giving us a chance to make our own decisions about how we want to live, and thus where we’ll end up for eternity.

God is power, but God is love. You can’t choose both of those as your starting point. Where you choose to start out makes all the difference in where you end up. If you start with the love of God, then the purpose of life is simply to love.

Love is sometimes a feeling, often an action, but always a decision.

 

You make the loving decision, Wesley said, by using what church historian Albert Outler called “The Wesleyan Quadrilateral:” You consult the Bible, tradition, experience, and reason. You will make the most loving decisions if you use all four of those together.

What is most important, for where you end up, is where you start.

John Robert McFarland

 

POTPOURRI: PERFECT ATTENDANCE TO WALK THERAPY [6-4-23]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter—POTPOURRI: PERFECT ATTENDANCE TO WALK THERAPY [6-4-23]

 

PERFECT ATTENDANCE

My friend, Ron, told me of going to his granddaughter’s 8^th grade graduation, which was mostly an awards night. The very first award was for perfect attendance. There was only one kid who, for 8 years, had never been absent or tardy. They called out his name. He wasn’t there!

When we told grandson Joe, he said it would be worth going to school on time every day for 8 years just to be able to pull that off.

 

TOOTIEHEADS

When our granddaughter was in kindergarten, she reported to her mother one day that a classmate had been sent to the principal’s office because he called another child a “tootiehead.” “Do you know what a tootiehead is?” Katie asked. “No, but apparently the teacher does.”

ROCK THE VOTE

I received an email from Rock the Vote, a non-partisan organization “working to be sure young people are enfranchised in the political system,” to remind me to vote, for “our voices count.” That’s one of my nicest compliments ever.

 

18^TH CENTURY GREATS

On line, I came across a list of the 100 greatest people of the 18^th century. Marie Antoinette made the list. So did Benedict Arnold and the Marquis de Sade. So did Indiana’s own Wm Henry Harrison. And Black Beard, the pirate. John Wesley did not. In fact, there were figures from politics and science and literature and economics and music and philosophy and war, but no religion people at all.

 

A MAN CALLED OTIS

Otis Collier was my District Superintendent in the Calumet District of The Northwest Indiana Conference, while I was pastoring at Cedar Lake and Creston, while driving back and forth, 60 miles each way, to Garrett Theological Seminary, at Northwestern University, in Evanston, IL.

Helen says I should tell you about the reunion Otis went to each year.

The Calumet District was basically Lake County—Gary, Hammond, East Chicago, etc. Plus Crown Point, the county seat, and the smaller towns in the south end of the county, like Cedar Lake and Lowell. Otis had been out to one of his churches and was driving back to his home when a freak April snow storm hit without warning. It was huge. The highway traffic came to a standstill. Otis was on a back road. He trudged up to a farm house. They took him in.

Soon, other motorists arrived. Then a passenger train—yes, a train! It came to a halt near the farm. The passengers made their way across the farm fields to the house. The place was full! The farm family got out all their supplies and fed everybody. They were all there for almost two full days.

“We had such a good time,” Otis said. “We all gave the farm folks all the money we could muster up. Now, every year, on the date of that storm, we all go back. It’s a family reunion, but we’re not family. It’s church, but we’re not a church. It’s just… people… being what people ought to be…” 

 

TALK THERAPY OR WALK THERAPY

So many people have gone to counseling, what is called “talk therapy,” over the last few decades that it has now been studied empirically. Big surprise: The evidence is that it is useful for some folks and not for others.

I think walk therapy is best, as when Jesus says, “Come, follow me.”

John Robert McFarland

 

A SHADOW WITHIN A SHADOW [R, 6-1-23]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter—A SHADOW WITHIN A SHADOW [R, 6-1-23]

 

I have always been aware of this, but as my days “dwindle down to a precious few,” it is rather startlingly clear: I have lived in two directions at once—both forward and backward. It is what Jaber Crow calls “a shadow within a shadow.” [Jayber Crow by Wendell Berry]

When I first began to think in stories, what some people call writing, I had hardly any stories of my own, and my generation had even fewer. The stories we grew up with were WWII and The Great Depression, the stories of the generation before us. As the years went by, living forward, I added in The Korean War and The Silent Generation, then Civil Rights and Viet Nam.

But as I added each decade from the future into the present, I also added the one from the past that mirrored it. The Roaring Twenties became part of my story along with The Quiet Fifties, The Horseless Age with the Activist Sixties, The Gilded Age with The Me Generation, finally even The Civil War with The Days of Greed.

Now as I have pushed almost 90 years forward from my birth, I have pushed 90 years backward, also. My story goes from 1847 to 2027, from the end of the Mexican-American War to the end of The MAGA War. [Yes, it will end, because all such eras contain the seeds of their own destruction.]

I first became aware that students could “major” in a subject along about 7^th grade. But as I heard it, I wasn’t sure if the word were “major” or “measure.” I think that confusion helped me to do this living both back and forth at the same time. I majored in history in and theology. And I was measured by history and theology.

In my soul, in my history and theology, I am almost 200 years old. “Through many dangers, toils, and snares, I have already come. Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home.”

John Robert McFarland

 

MEMORIAL DAY WEEKEND [5-29-23]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter MEMORIAL DAY WEEKEND [5-29-23]

 

Seventy years ago

I worked at Moe’s

so that he could go with Ethel

to her parents

 

I toiled with joy

Five dollars was a fortune

 

More, much more than that

I was trusted

 

to open and to close

pump the gas

clean the windshields

raise the hoist

to lube the dirty chassis

change the oil or fan belt

slice the cheese and lunchmeat

hand over loaves of Wonder Bread

dole out cans of beans

making change the old-fashioned way

in my satisfied head

 

An independent high school man

of means

 

John Robert McFarland

THE LAST SERMON

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter—THE LAST SERMON

 

I have already preached my last sermon, and I didn’t even know it!

I have decided to quit preaching several times, because I thought I should. In order to concentrate on other things, like my own spiritual development. But that decision to quit never stuck. In part because I didn’t want to leave my friends hanging when they needed to get out of town for a Sunday. This time, though, I think final means final, because it is my energy level that is making the decision.

I figured on making a big deal of my last sermon. After all, preaching was central to my life and identity for a long time. Not making a big deal of it to anyone else, but to myself. Lots of remembering, wallowing in nostalgia, looking at old worship bulletins, etc.

I figured I could get to September of 2026 and preach my last sermon on the 70^th anniversary of my first, when I was a nineteen-year-old Indiana University sophomore. 70 is a round and impressive number.

In September of 1956, I told the DS that I was thinking that some day, maybe, perhaps, I might want to be a preacher. He said, “Good, you can start next Sunday.” 3 churches, on the Chrisney circuit. I didn’t even know where Chrisney was! That was 66 years ago last Sept.

I suppose a 66 year anniversary would be a nice number for a last sermon, but it’s awfully close to 666, and I don’t really want folks associating my preaching with that number.

Seventy years is a long time. September of 2026 is a long way off. Too long, as it turns out.

I was on the committee to persuade the Lilly Foundation to pay for a “renewal leave” for our pastor, Jimmy Moore. I even wrote the congregation’s rationale for why he should have a leave for 3 months. [“We really need a break.”] I assumed, and so did others on the committee, and so did our associate pastor, Mary Beth Morgan, who is Jimmy’s wife, that I would be available to back her up while Jimmy was gone.

That, however, was a year ago. When Mary Beth asked me to preach on a given Sunday in May, I realized I couldn’t do it. I had declined so much, both physically and mentally, over the last year that I could no longer stand for 20 minutes and think for 20 minutes, both of which are necessary for preaching.

[Okay, I know it’s possible to preach sitting down, but sitting down doesn’t do anything for the brain. Or the throat. Or the eyes. Or remembering whether it is Point 2 or Point 3 that follows Point 1.]

Not realizing that you will keep declining, when you are as old as I am, is in itself a sign of mental decline.

I am dependable but not reliable. Dependability is a matter of character. Reliability is a matter of timing, as in being able to show up when you say you will.

So I actually preached my last sermon a year ago. But even though I did not intend for that sermon to be my last, it was a perfect way to leave the pulpit. Three of my high school friends drove a hundred miles each way to come in person. Several of the students—now old retired people—from my campus ministry days were there via livestream, even though they live in far-away places. And it was a good sermon. About forgiveness, Jesus’ own most frequent sermon topic.

John Robert McFarland

 

 

 

 

HOW WILL I BE REMEMBERED? [R. 5-25-23]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter—HOW WILL I BE REMEMBERED? [R. 5-25-23]

 

The story is told of the little boy who was taken, quite reluctantly, to kindergarten. Later in the day, he was upset. His teacher thought it would help him if he could talk to his mother, so she called her. When the mother answered, the teacher handed the phone to the boy. “Who is this?” the mother asked. “This is your son; have you forgotten me already?” he wailed.

No one is remembered for long, unless you are a shaker or mover. We understand that, but we want to be remembered by those who know us, in whose lives we have played a part. In winter, we look at the snow that covers up the reminders of spring and summer and autumn, and we wonder. Who will remember me? Especially, how will they remember me?

Bob and Lois Teague were our neighbors when our girls and theirs were little. We moved onto Fairchild Avenue, next door to each other, at the same time, the first houses either of us had ever bought. We lived side by side for six years. Bob and I did not have a lot in common--except we were both trying to raise little girls, and provide for our families, and fight dandelions--but we were good neighbors.

Years later, when we were in our mid-fifties, he called up and said something that shocked me. “I always admired you and wanted to be like you,” he said. I had no idea that he had ever felt that way.

Then he said, “But I have taken it too far. I’ve gotten cancer, too, just like you.”

Months later, when Bob was dying, he and Lois asked me to officiate at his funeral service. I made a trip to spend some last time with him. I asked him how he wanted to be remembered. “I was faithful,” he said.

Now it was my turn to admire and emulate. At that point, I wanted to be like Bob. I wanted to be remembered as one who had been faithful.

That still sounds like a good way to be remembered.

 

John Robert McFarland