The Giving of Thanks

A long time ago, in a faraway land known as Ohio, there lived a young maiden. This girl lived in a cottage with her older brother and her parents. This cottage had been built on that land by the young maiden's grandfather, and the family had lived there ever since.

Not far from this cottage, there lived a young man. He had lived with his parents and two younger brothers, but had recently left their home to pursue higher learning. On one of his journeys he came across the maiden from the cottage, and the two fell deeply in love.

As often happens in stories like this, the two were soon married. The man continued to pursue higher education, and eventually completed all of the requirements to become a pastor. The People in Charge decided that this young man and his wife, despite having lived their entire lives in the Kingdom of Ohio, should embark on a new journey in an uncharted territory. And so the young man and his wife packed up all of their earthly belongings and headed off to the wild kingdom of Nebraska.

There they lived for many years. They raised three sons and a handful of dogs and cats. They never forgot their family in Ohio and would sometimes make the journey back to see their loved ones there. Their three sons grew and flourished and soon they began their own journeys. The eldest enlisted in the Royal Guard, becoming an officer in the King's Navy. The second son became a guard of one of the King's dungeons. The youngest, well, no one is really ever sure what he's up to. But what we do know is that, this past week, he made the journey from his home in the frozen tundra in the north to the Kingdom of his Ancestors. He traveled to see his family and loved ones in the Kingdom of Ohio.

So, that's what I've been up to lately. I just got back from spending Thanksgiving with my extended family in Ohio. It was a great time, I got to see a lot of my favorite people, and to eat some wonderful food. I learned all sorts of things about Pokemon, watched the same episodes of children's tv shows over and over, reconnected with some family I haven't seen in too long, and had a great time.

The drive was long, about 13 hours. I left on a Friday and spent the night in a hotel in western Ohio. Then I started off again on Saturday morning and arrived at my cousin's house before lunch. I got to spend a lot of time with her family. She has three boys ages 9, 5 and 2 and so I always had something to do when I was with them. I also got to spend a lot of time with my 20 year old Godson who also happens to be the son of my other cousin (who is the brother of my previously mentioned cousin). I got to see quite a bit of my uncle who my first name is named after (on a side note, my middle name comes from my other uncle, the previously mentioned uncle's younger brother, who both happen to be the younger brothers of my dad). Then both of these uncles and their spouses, three cousins, one spouse and three kids and I had a great Thanksgiving dinner together. Then, we were joined later by another cousin, his spouse and their four kids. So, there was quite a houseful.

The next day I drove to visit the cousins on the other side of my family. We had dinner and played games. There was houseful there, too, with three cousins, spouses and then their collective seven kids.

The second day I was there I was going out to eat with my Godson. Being the great Godfather that I am, I said that I would pay the bill. So I gave the server my debit card and she went to run it through the machine and came back and said it was declined. She said they had been having difficulty with my particular bank all day, and since I knew that I had more than enough money in my account, I figured that's what it was. But that didn't solve the problem that we had a bill and now I had no way to pay for it. So, being the great Godfather that I am, I had to ask my Godson to pay for it. Luckily he has a job and money and a card that the restaurant's machine would accept. We went to a store afterward, where he found a CD that he wanted, so I said I would buy it for him. But when I went to pay for it, the same thing happened. However, the cashier said that they had been having problems with their computer system all day and it had been declining cards. So I paid cash, which I luckily had enough of for the CD.

But, thinking it was an odd coincidence that my card was refused twice, I decided I needed to call the bank to see what was going on. Turns out that when I had paid for the hotel room on my trip out, it raised a red flag at the bank, and so they turned off my credit card with no warning to me. Thankfully, it was easily corrected.

Also, while I was there, my 5 year old cousin came down with a cold. My two year old cousin got a double ear infection and pink-eye. When I went to visit the other side of my family, I was greeted at the door by my fifteen year old cousin who warned me not to get too close, as she had pink-eye. Thankfully, I did not get pink-eye or an ear infection, but the five year old was successful in sharing his cold with me.

So now I am back home in Minnesota. Today is my first day back in the office after a great week away with family. I am doped up on cold medicine, and am double fisting it with coffee and orange juice and trying to figure out where to begin on my list of things to do. So, of course I am writing on my far too neglected blog.

But in this holiday season, as we bask in the glow of Thanksgiving and look toward the coming light of Christmas, I am reminded of all of the blessings in my life. I have been blessed with an amazing family, who although I might not get to see as often as I like, the times I get to see them are wonderful and fun. I am thankful that, even though I might have a cold, I have been blessed with good health and the access to medicine should I need it. I am insanely blessed.

I hope all of you become more aware of the blessings you have already received, and that blessing upon blessing would continue to shower upon you.

troubled times

The internet has been abuzz with news of the restructuring of the ELCA and the subsequent loss of jobs for the 60-65 ELCA and global mission personnel.

I don't know enough about it to comment much. I can't say "They should have done..." or "Why didn't they think about..." or "They had no good reason to..."

All I know is that some changes had to be made, and they resulted in some pretty wonderful people losing their jobs, and some programs that are important to me losing (more) funding. Neither of which are desirable, and neither of which probably would have happened in a better economy.

What I can say is that in the midst of uncertainty, in the midst of pain and anguish, in the midst of questions and anger and frustration, there is God.

And I can say, with certainty, that with God and with each other, we will continue together on this journey, with all of its ups and downs and twists and turns.

And I can say, with certainty, that there is a Light at the end of this tunnel. It shines in the darkness. And the darkness has not, and will not, overcome it.

A lesson on the Body of Christ

It's funny how one little thing can cause us to think about how we do just about everything else in our lives.

Wednesday of this past week started out just like most every Wednesday. I hit my snooze button several times. I begrudgingly got out of bed. I walked around my house in a sleepy fog. I took a shower, got dressed and went over to the office.

In the office, things went like usual, too. I checked my e-mail. I started to put together the power point presentation for Confirmation that evening.

But then I realized I needed to do something back at my house. And, since I live right across the street, it's not that big of a deal to run home. So, I did.

The thing I needed to do was in a room where I don't allow my cats to be unsupervised. They have a knack for causing mischief and I'd rather they not do it in this particular room. So I keep the door closed. But, to get the door to latch, it needs to be shut hard. If one does not shut it hard, the door does not latch and the cats can push the door open and run amok. Which they do nearly every time the door isn't shut tight.

So, to close this door, I usually shut it hard. Or, slam it, really. Which breaks most mothers' cardinal rule. But no mother lives at my house, so it's ok. I slam this door most every time I shut it.

Now, give me a second to explain. I don't slam the door by pulling on the door knob. Most of the time I just grab the edge of the door and give it a yank as I leave. It works most of the time.

Actually, it worked really well this time, only my finger was still in it.

*** At this point, we might use some descriptive language that could cause those of a weaker constitution to become a bit queasy. If this is you, you might want to go look at pictures of rainbows and kittens and unicorns for a while, instead. ***

It took me but a split second to realize my finger had been slammed in the door. I pulled my hand toward me, and I'm not sure if the yelling took place in my head or if I actually verbalized it. But then I looked at my finger and realized I didn't see my finger nail. I also realized I didn't see my finger tip. And then I thought it looked like I could see the bone. Turning my hand, I saw my fingernail and fingertip were still attached, they were just doing their best impression of a PEZ dispenser.

So, I closed my finger and then realized I needed to seek medical attention. I also realized I was in no shape to drive myself there. I needed to get back to the office and ask someone there for assistance. So, I determined that I was not going to pass out in my house, and I would not pass out in the street. If I was going to pass out, it would have to be in the office where someone would be present to aid me. This meant I needed to get over to the office quickly.

Clutching my injured hand, I quickly walked over to the office where the secretary and the custodian were talking. Bursting in the door, I said, "I need to go to the hospital!"

The custodian looked at me, the expression on his face not reflecting the urgency or concern that I, at that moment, deemed necessary. "To the hospital or to the doctor?" He asked.

"I don't know!" I said. "I slammed my finger in the door and will most likely need stitches!"

"Oh," he said. "The doctor, then. They can do that at the clinic."

"Ok," I said. Then, feeling a little woozy, I said, "I need to sit down."

So the secretary took me to the clinic, where I was x-rayed. It was determined that I did a pretty good job of demolishing my finger. The skin was torn and, to use the Doctor's medical terminology, was basically "turned to hamburger." I destroyed the nail bed, and chances are good that I will never grow a nail on that finger again. I also managed to possibly crack the tip of my finger, but the Dr determined there wasn't much that could be done about that. So he cleaned my wound, stitched my finger closed, put on a splint and wrapped it up. I was prescribed an antibiotic, to prevent infection, and a pain killer to use if necessary. I was then sent on my merry way.

*** If you haven't already, you can probably stop looking at fluffy, pretty things now and continue with the story. ***

Considering what I did, it hasn't been that bad. But it has made me mindful of things I take for granted - things you never really noticed your middle finger on your non-dominant hand played such a big part in. Like, tying your shoes. Zipping your pants. Bringing in your groceries. Typing on the keyboard. All sorts of other things. Things that were easy and I did without much thought now must be done differently or a lot more slowly and deliberately so to avoid or reduce the amount of pain that accompanies them.

Of course, being a church nerd, I can't help but think of the theological implications - we are the Body of Christ, and we are all important. Even those of us who we consider to be middle fingers on non-dominant hands are important and valuable. Sometimes it just takes a little pain or discomfort for us to realize it.

some old guy

I was going through some old e-mails and such today, stuff that I'd saved for various reasons, and reliving past memories. It brought up all sorts of memories, like the time I got stuck in between a bed and the wall at a high school lock-in at a hotel during my years in seminary.

Then I got to some e-mails from around 2006, right before I moved out here to Minnesota to start my call. There were quite a few from when I volunteered at the ELCA Youth Gathering in San Antonio. It reminded me of how, even though there were thousands upon thousands of ELCA youth and adults there, I still managed to run into a lot of great people I knew.

I wrote about my experience volunteering on the Community Life team a few posts ago, but as I was looking at some of these e-mails it reminded me of a particular story that happened. I think I shared this on my old blog, but I don't believe I've shared it on this one. If you've read it, then feel free to stop reading. But if you haven't, or want to read it again, then read on, dear friends!

At the hotel where I was stationed, I was paired with one other person, a guy named Nick who was one year out of high school. It was obvious that the high school girls in our hotel fancied Nick. They would always giggle and say hi when we walked by. One time, Nick and I were walking through the lobby on our way somewhere, and a group of girls were lounging on the sofas and chairs. As we passed them, a chorus of "Hi Nick!" rang out. Finally, one girl said, "Oh. Hi, Mark!" I was not phased. Spending two weeks with Nick made this seem perfectly natural.

As a nightly ritual, Nick and I would walk through the hallways and make sure everyone was in their rooms with their doors closed. The first night we had split the floors, and each took half. The second night, we decided that even if it took longer, it would be more fun to team up to do it. So we began patrolling the halls together.

We were walking through one of the hallways that Nick had been in charge of the night before, when we saw a doorway propped open and some girls talking loudly inside. Nick and I looked at each other and Nick said, "Why don't you take that one." So I walked up to the door and knocked on it.

The door was opened by a smiling high school girl whose smile diminished when she looked at me. "Oh... hi." she said. "It's after curfew. Why is your door open?" I asked. "I guess we just forgot to shut it." she replied. "Well, could you go ahead and shut it? And would you mind keeping it down a little?" The girl agreed and shut the door.

And then I heard her say to her friends: "Oh my gosh! NO! It was some old guy!"

Nick then revealed to me that this same room had the door propped open the night before, and he had had to stop and ask them to close the door and quiet down. Apparently, they had enjoyed this interaction and so hoped to repeat it the following night. Unfortunately, it was not repeated and they didn't get to see Nick again. Instead, it was some old guy who asked them to be quiet.

I don't think their door was propped open the following night.

Real Ministry

A while ago, I applied at a place to do something I have wanted to do for many years. I don't want to say what the place was or what it was for, because I don't want to sound like I'm badmouthing some place or some people in particular. What I'm bad mouthing is an ideology.

The reply came back from this place that they appreciated that I was interested, and they were sure I would do/am doing great things in youth ministry, but that they didn't see me as a good fit for what they were looking to do.

Now, this thing I was applying for is ministry related, but it is not youth ministry focused. And, while I think I do a good job in youth ministry and have quite a bit of experience in that area, I don't think that disqualifies me from doing well in other areas.

It seems to me that there is this idea that youth ministry doesn't always qualify as "real" ministry. It's those backhanded compliments given to youth directors, asking them when they are going to become a pastor and do real ministry. Or questioning a person's call to ordination because they feel called to focus on youth ministry. Or thinking that someone wouldn't be good at doing something because they have a lot of experience in youth ministry.

Youth ministry IS real ministry. In youth ministry you deal with the same kinds of things that you deal with in every other kind of ministry. There is joy and celebration, there is frustration and disappointment, there is healthiness and new life, there is sickness and death. But, throw into that mix all sorts of other things like hormones, drama, teen age relationships, acne, junior high girls... and there's quite a bit more that comes with youth ministry.

I think we can discount the kind of ministry that happens with young people. We don't see it as real or important, just like we don't think that young people are an important part of our church today. At least that's the message we send when we tell them they are "the future of our church." They are here now, and they are looking to be engaged in ministry, and they need people to walk alongside them and work with them and advocate for them. And that IS real ministry.

So I wanted to write a letter to this place and tell them that they really missed out. That, by overlooking my other gifts and seeing only those that they saw as dealing with youth ministry, they were depriving themselves of the opportunity to get to know me and to see the ways we could have been mutually blessed.

That's what we do when we overlook our young people. We miss out on a great opportunity to get to know some amazing people. We miss out on the opportunity to have them plugged in and engaged in the life and ministry of our congregations. We miss out on the opportunity to lift them up and encourage them to use their gifts and to recognize and celebrate the ways they already are. We miss out on the opportunity to acknowledge them as children of God.

Children of God are important no matter what their age. Ministry is valid and real regardless of what age group it encompasses. We all lose out when we don't acknowledge this.

Something I never thought I'd say at work

Yesterday was Sunday, and I was in charge of preaching. Today our custodian, who had been at our 8:00am service, came up to me and asked what I did for the sermon at our 6:30pm service. You see, our 6:30 service is our "contemporary" service and usually attracts a much smaller, more casual crowd. And my answer is something I never thought I'd say at work:

"Well, it was pretty much the same sermon I gave in the morning, except without the fireworks, noisemakers and orangutans."

Meme: My Faith, My Tattoo

Adam Copeland over at A Wee Blether is conducting some informal research about people of faith and their tattoos. Seeing as how I have one, I decided to help him out and answer his questions. So, here goes:

1. Describe your tattoo(s):

I have one tattoo on my right shoulder blade. It's a red cross behind an icthus (sometimes called a Jesus fish). I have ideas for other tattoos (all faith-oriented) that I think about getting. We'll see if I ever do.

2. What made you want that tattoo?
I had been contemplating one for a while. I ended up deciding to go and get one my last summer as a camp counselor. There was a whole group of us who decided to go and get some ink one weekend. I didn't set out to get this specific tattoo, however. I told a co-worker, who I knew was artistic, that if she drew something I would get it tattooed. So she did, and I did.

3. How did your faith influence your tattoo, indirectly or directly?

I have always been a very faithful person. In fact, the summer I got this tattoo I was working at a church camp, and it was also the summer before I headed off to seminary. A tattoo is a unique and fun way to share your beliefs or what is important to you. So a cross and a fish, two symbols of Christianity, seemed like a good way to share what is important to me.

4. What's the relationship between your tattoo and your broader understanding of your body?

My senior pastor has told me on numerous occasions that I should never play poker. I have a hard time keeping a straight face in a lot of situations. People can tell, by looking at my face, what is going through my mind. In fact, there is some statistic (that I can't remember and so I won't quote) that says that a majority of communication is nonverbal. We use our faces and our bodies to communicate all the time. My tattoo is an extension of that.

5. Was it worth it... do you have regrets?

I see my tattoo everyday in the mirror. Everyday I look at it and I appreciate it. I appreciate what it stands for, I appreciate what those symbols mean to me, and I appreciate the memories that it brings back of the time in my life when I got it. Never once have I looked at it and wished it wasn't there or that I hadn't got it.

6. What funny story has happened because of your tattoo?

I have several stories about it that are kind of funny. I'll only share a couple. Since I was a camp counselor when I got it, I know that I didn't take care of it like I should during the first few weeks. There are guidelines about what you should and shouldn't do for a couple weeks, and going into a chlorinated pool is one of the things you shouldn't. But I worked at a camp with a pool, and had to go there everyday with my campers. Trying to explain to my boss that I'd rather sit on the side of the pool and not get in because I decided to get a tattoo during the summer would not have gone over well. The campers would not have been big fans of this, either. And I'm not one to sit on the sidelines and let other people have fun. I like to be in the mix. So I ignored some of these guidelines and played in the pool. Well, one day in the pool, I was giving a camper a piggy back ride. Now, when tattoos are healing they will scab over. You are not supposed to pick the scabs as that can affect the coloring. But I'm giving this camper a piggy back ride and he says to me, "Is your tattoo real?" and I said, "Yeah it's real." and he replies, "No it's not. Look, I can peel it off!" I told him not to do that, and thankfully he didn't because not only could it have made some spots on my tattoo that are less colorful than the rest, but it could have been pretty painful, too.

Another story is how I told my parents about the tattoo. I was unsure how they would respond, so I showed it to them while we were in the hospital and my dad was just about ready to go in for hernia surgery. I knew that if they didn't like it and weren't happy about it, that it wouldn't give them much time to be upset about it before my dad went under.

Being a pastor, my work does not call for me going shirtless a lot. Most of the time this happens at events or places where we can go swimming. Most of the time, these events are youth events. It is always funny to me to see the kids' reactions when they see that their pastor has a tattoo. Jaws drop, eyes widen, and they say, "Pastor Mark!!! YOU have a TATTOO?!?!" It never ceases to amuse me.

There's also a funny story surrounding the inception of the tattoo, and some events that happened afterward, but I think you might have to know me better to get that story.

7. How did your tattoo change your faith (and if not, why not)?

I can't say that it changed my faith, really. I don't think that, because of my tattoo, I am now bolder in my faith or that I suddenly have less doubts. I think it is just an outward manifestation of my faith, and has given me opportunities to talk about it with other people. When I'm in the pool or the hot tub, or on the beach, or some other activity where I am not wearing a shirt, my tattoo is readily visible. I've had people ask me about it, when I got it and why I got it, and it opens it up for a conversation about what the symbols mean to me.

For background on how this meme started, see Adam Copeland’s blog at http://adamjcopeland.com