The First Christmas

On December 20^th, 2017, my father got diagnosed with brain cancer. They scheduled him for immediate surgery on December 23^rd. On December 24^th, I was scheduled to lead two of my congregation’s four Christmas Eve services as well as the Christmas Day service. On top of that, my dad was 1,000 miles away from us, heading into a surgery which would be life-altering. I was overwhelmed. Thankfully, his surgery got postponed to December 26^th and my congregation graciously allowed me to leave to be with him. Instead of preparing to preach to a full church, I packed my family into our vehicle and drove across six states. Last year, I had my last Christmas with my dad.

Christmas 2017, all of us gathered together with Dad

My whole family piled into my brother’s house for Christmas Eve. I had brought a bulletin of the service I was supposed to be leading that evening in New York, and my 8-year-old nephew did all the readings. We sang the Christmas carols, we cried, we exchanged gifts, and we cried some more. My dad tried to tell us all how much he loved us, but the hug and the passionate look in his eyes said much more than words ever could. I will never forget that Christmas, the last Christmas.

My dad put up a valiant fight with an infection and growing tumor, still finding joy in his family. After months in the ICU and then hospice in home, my father died on March 20th. This year, we will celebrate the first Christmas without my father. It will be emotional, painful, tear-full. It will be a hard day, but a day still to celebrate. A day still to gather around gifts and food, family and friends. A day still to sing and pray, laugh and cry.

I am sure I am not alone in having a first Christmas this year. Maybe it’s yours, too. The first Christmas without Grandma. The first Christmas with a new child. The first Christmas in a new home. The first Christmas without a job. The first Christmas after the divorce. Pain and heartache mixed with joy and happiness await many of us during the holidays. It can make the excitement of Christmas dreadful. We get caught in a confusing world of joy and pain, an we struggle to sort out our feelings.

Thinking back to the first Christmas, though, it makes sense. After all, the first Christmas came as a complete shock to everyone. Shepherds in the field, a crowded city, first-time parents forced to travel late in pregnancy. The first Christmas was, in so many ways, not pleasant. Those shepherds had left their families at home and were sleeping on rocky soil with smelly sheep surrounding them. Mary and Joseph couldn’t find a comfortable place to spend the night. But on that night, heaven touched earth. On that night, angels bent low with sweet songs. On that night, a baby was brought into the world with the agonizing joy of a first time mother. The first Christmas was joy coming to a broken, chaotic, lost, and dying world. On that night, God was born in a barn and embraced humanity more fully than we could ever comprehend. As Phillips Brooks wrote, “The hopes and fears of all the years are met in Thee tonight.” 

All the years… Each Christmas is truly the First Christmas, filled with the tension between living in the moment and awaiting eternity. It is a day where we always do the same thing, sing the same songs, hear the same readings. But each year we experience them in a new way, with a new depth and richness. Each year brings new experiences, new sadness, new hope, new longings. We gather together with those closest to us in the agonizing joy of this life which God has given us, awaiting the ultimate present of eternal life in God’s presence. We embrace the pain and the joy and hold them in tension, as a new mother embraces her baby through the pains of childbirth.

There will be a day with no more pain, no more tension. Christmas will come to fulfillment in that Last Day, but not before. Until then, let us celebrate the First Christmas every year, embracing the hope that comes from trusting in the Immanuel, God-with-us, the God who loved us first and promises to fill us with love, joy, and peace forever.

Giving thanks in the midst of suffering

On December 20th, my father went into an Emergency Room in Monroe, WI, with some slurred speech. They found a mass in his brain after a CT scan, and thus begun a rush to get him into surgery and work on getting rid of a tumor that was found.
On February 20th, after two short months of battling a tumor and surgically-acquired infection, my father got the devastating news that the tumor had grown back- as big as it was before the surgery. He was put on hospice; I was able to get back to Wisconsin on February 24th and help get him from a nursing home into my parents' home. He has been home now since February 28th, and it has been 10 days since he has eaten or drank. His battle with a brain tumor is wearing him down slowly, and we pray peacefully.
Dying is one of the hardest processes we as humans will go through, and it is universal. We will all go through it, and chances are high that we will watch someone else go through it as well. God has something profound for us to learn through dying; in fact, dying was a central theme of Jesus' teaching: "If anyone will come after me, he must deny himself, pick up his cross, and follow me."
Losing my father is something I was not ready for and am still not ready for.  But here I am.  And being here by his side is a privilege and an honor.  Being your Pastor is a privilege and an honor.  I have felt torn between two places I call home, two communities my heart desires so strongly to serve.
Even in the midst of pain and suffering, I am thankful to be here with my father, and our family must thank you as a congregation for allowing us these last moments with him here on this earth.  We are humbled by your understanding, your outreach to our family, and the unity you all have with one another and Christ. We look forward to seeing you all again soon, knowing that my father will at last rest peacefully with our Lord.
My father has been a man of God and an example in the faith for me and many others. He has embraced Wisdom, "Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it." He led me in Sunday School and adult Bible studies, and he has modeled a servant heart both in the church and outside the church. There will be a dad-sized hole in my life, and I will miss him dearly.  But I am filled with the hope that transcends knowledge and experience: the hope of eternal life, that death is not only the end of life, but the beginning of a new life together in the presence of the Lord.

I put together a short video over the last couple weeks, to capture some of our memories. Feel free to watch it here: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=h4wwsing9a8

Marguerite

Recently, I had the opportunity to spend time with a man and his wife. She has had Alzheimer's for some time now, and their life has had major adjustments to it. I was moved by the love this man had for his wife- true love, one that gives without getting. As we wept together over the sharing of painful memories, I was thankful he let me in on his life. He was not ashamed, embarrassed, or saddened in any way by his life. His heart was filled with the love of Jesus, and he shared it with everyone he met and cared for daily in the memory care unit where his wife now lives.

I wrote this poem for him and his wife, and I hope it paints a picture of one couple's struggle with this dreadful disease and the hope that overcomes through love.

Marguerite

Two pillows, one head,

Lying awake, alone, in bed;

The tears have already been shed.

But tomorrow is another day.

One wall, two frames,

Holding pictures with their names;

The faces don’t quite look the same.

But tomorrow is another day.

One pond, little fish,

Four years, one wish;

A familiar look, a knowing kiss.

But tomorrow is another day.

A woman so sweet swept him off his feet

Before he even turned seventeen. Now wondering,

Puzzling, after sixty years, why she must come here.

It breaks his heart to leave her every day,

The pain of a thousand deaths, but her heart still beats.

He is never beat, never leaves her side,

The tears cried make him more certain of the life he’s been given.

Jesus has a promise and we all await heaven,

So he takes a deep breath, begins to pray,

And lets Jesus lead them on to another day.

Two homes, here and there,

Neither has the squeak of a rocking chair;

He learned to love in the truest way, to selflessly care.

And tomorrow is another day.

photo from https://unsplash.com/search/aging?photo=ULz8ELesYBM

Expanding Upon Black Lives Matter

A controversial topic right now, in light of many tragic deaths, is the value of a human life, especially in relationship to another. All human life is sacred, from unborn children to 23-year-old drug dealers, no matter what we may think. All life has value, according to Genesis 9, “Whoever sheds the blood of man, by man shall his blood be shed, for God made man in his own image."

We all bear the image of God, especially fathers. Fathers reflect our Heavenly Father; we show love, give guidance, and provide stability in the lives of children. This is truly a blessed burden, to be held to such a standard. I myself struggle and fail with representing the perfect love and righteousness that my children need to have modeled to them. I don't always show them the right way to handle anger or frustration, or how to talk to others and love their mother. I miss dinner for work meetings, and I am not always attentive to their needs. But I do model for them a positive life as well, starting with confession and forgiveness. I lead the best I can and help them to be strong and confident in my (and my wife's) love and in the love of God. This is my duty, and this is the very beginning of "culture", raising our kids in the way they should go. PLEASE watch this video from Prager U; it unpacks a relatively un-discussed part of the conversation. Do I have a right to bring it up? Probably not, but this man does, and so does his father before him. You might not agree with everything he says, but it is hard to argue with statistics, and it is sure to leave you with some thoughts, which I would love to hear. May we continue to stand up for the value and dignity of every person, starting with our own children and those near and dear to us!

https://www.prageru.com/courses/race-relations/black-fathers-matter#.V17jISck_RU.mailto

Growing In, Not Up

I am married with two kids. 

It feels really weird to say that. 

I am a husband and father of two, and the implication of those words does not seem to correspond with my own perception of myself. 

I am married with two kids?! Don't get me wrong, I love it. I am so glad that this is my life. I wouldn't trade it for anything. But that doesn't feel like my reality right now. Add onto this that I am now called "Pastor" by a whole congregation of people... I went through the schooling, was deemed qualified, and got placed in the field, but does that make me "Pastor"? To be married with two kids, to be a pastor, means you're a grown-up, and I don't always feel like I am.

I think my "identity crisis" comes from the common conception that we "grow up". You outgrow the things of the past in order to become something new, something more, something better. That is not my reality, though. When I turned 18, I was called a "man" and no longer a boy. At the very least, Gillette mailed me a razor and told me I was (though beards are much more manly, am I right?). Was I not a man then, because I have a different perception today of what makes a man a man? (And no, a beard is not a requirement for being a man, although it is suggested.)

People told me I was loving and a good leader when I was in high school. I now have a much fuller understanding of what it means to love and to be a leader; does this mean that I was not really a leader in high school?

People told me I was smart when I was a child. I know so much more now than I did then; does this mean I wasn't actually smart as a child?

The real issue is that I have not grown up. Growing up is a lie, and it does not actually happen. There is not a future reality that is going to bigger and better than this moment. In this moment, I am as big as I could be, as much of a father, husband, son, Pastor, as I could be. And I will not out grow any of these things. Growing up means I am waiting for something bigger. But why should we be waiting for something else?

I am growing in. I am growing in to the qualities and jobs and titles I have been given. I was a husband from the moment I married my lovely bride, and I am growing into more and more of a husband. I was a father from the moment Abram was conceived, and I am growing into more and more of a father every day. I understand at a deeper level what it means to be a "man" as I get older, and I work to embody that, to more fully express that every day.

We grow in to the qualities, titles, and jobs we have. The task before us is not to grow up and out of what we once were, but to work at embodying more clearly and fully that which we already are. 

This does not give us license to be lazy. I don't have a free pass on maturity, just because I am growing into something more. Actually, the idea of growing up is what gives us a free pass. "Someday, when I grow up," you may say, "I will give up these habits, I will finally start doing such-and such." The reality is that we continue to mature, like a good wine, and there is no drastic change. It comes slowly, and with time. And this moment has an extreme importance in my development, in the process of me becoming more and more of what I have been created to be. 

I am married with two kids. I will never be more of a "Daddy" or husband than I am right now. And that is so encouraging. I am those things. And I will continue to be them, continue to grow in to the roles I have been given. It will be a process, and every day is important.

I don't want to discard who I am or where I've been. The "Daddy" I am today is pretty awesome, and I do not want to forget the wonders of being a new(ish) dad. I might not be equipped to parent a 14-year-old going through puberty, but I don't have to. Yet. I'll grow in to it. For now, I'll be who I am and do what God has given me to do.

Will you give up the idea of Growing Up? Will you give up the fantasy with me that there is something bigger coming? Will you embrace who you are right now, no matter how you feel, and be the person you have been made to be and do the things you have been given to do? 

I hope so. 

We are not alone

A poem for you, the reader. If you care to know what's behind it, a brief description follows the poem. I hope you know- you are not alone.

We are not alone

You made dust, you made dirt, finger touched all the earth.

Plants and trees, birds and bees: from your breath we have birth.

Lord God, you come to us, uniting God and man,

Inviting us to walk, in Spirit, in your hand.

No more walks, no more talks, we fell flat on our face,

Giving up our Garden, so ashamed, so disgraced.

You kept us from yourself, with a sword and a flame,

Took from us your Spirit, your presence and your name.

Decades spent in despair, we went years without you here.

When it seemed you didn’t care, that’s right when you drew near.

Jesus Christ, in our midst, healing some, touching all:

In his voice, we felt love; his presence reversed the fall.

When he died, to bring us back, we were left, alone once more.

But he sent the Advocate, to be with us forevermore.

Took away the orphan curse, Jesus made us God’s own.

Breathes new life into dirt, together we’re not alone!

We are not alone; we are not alone!

You gave us bodies, you gave us Breath.

Spirit indwelling keeps us from death.

Now and forever, free and alive,

God with us – Immanuel – has arrived.

(Recently, I contemplated what it meant that we have God's Spirit. Within us. Yet we are still separate from God... God is wholly holy mystery, unless such a being would choose to reveal God's own self and nature to us. As a Christian, I believe that God did do this, through Jesus Christ, the "Word made flesh." At the beginning of the Bible, God speaks, and the world is made. God's voice has power, and we find out later, and the beginning of the New Testament, that God's voice also has flesh and blood. Jesus came to make the unknowable God known. And more than that, Jesus promised us the Holy Spirit, so that we would never be without God's presence. This poem is meant to be a picture into what it means that we have the Holy Spirit, from the teachings of the Bible, especially in regard to the loneliness that we experience in the world today. It was originally a song, and maybe some day, we will be able to sing it together, because we are not alone!)

A Day Forgotten, A Life Lived

I had just gotten back from a trip to Guatemala, and I began to write down some of the memories I made, the highlights that hung on tight. After I had written down some of my experiences, I wrote the date of one experience: 3-4-14. And that's when it hit me.

March 4th had come and passed. And I didn't even notice.

To you, March 4th might not mean anything. But to me, it marks a day of life change. It marks a day that has marked every day after it. It is a day that requires reflection, demands my attention, demands my life be put on pause. March 4th is a day I have written about many times (here, and here, not to mention countless notebook pages), maybe the renewal of my self- and God-discovery through writing. I don't know what else to do with what goes on in my soul on March 4th.

I lost three friends in a car accident on March 4th (3-4-05), and ever since that truly terrible tragedy, every March 4th has been a reflective day in my life. I made a public promise to live my life remembering the lives of Dan, Carrie, and Lisa. I demanded that others do the same, patterning their lives in a way that would show honor and respect for those who no longer live. I commanded my community and school to live differently. And when I forgot to remember the day, I felt a tinge of guilt in my heart. I felt like a betrayer, one who has forgotten about those he has sworn himself to. Have I left their lives in 2005? Have I forgotten my friends?

I stopped writing for a long moment. My eyes continued on to the story I had just written. It was about Manuel, and Carlos. It was about visiting them, and their little village nestled between farmland and banana plants at the bottom of an active volcano in El Rincon, Guatemala. I could tell you the rest of their story, but that will be saved for another day. As I read over the words I had just written, I realized something profound.

I was living out the promise I made. I was doing exactly what I should have been doing. I was serving other people, showing them that their lives mattered, telling them that they are special. I wasn't focused on reserving a special moment for meditation, but rather I had refocused my life to accomplish a mission. I had promised to honor Dan, Carrie, and Lisa, by showing love and compassion to the world, especially those who need it the most. And I was doing just that.

It is easy to live in fear when we lose loved ones. We are afraid to forget what they meant to us, and miss important days (I remember January 3rd, too!). And these days can keep us from weeks and years of living our lives. What I realized is that I honor these people through living, and not through fearing. Maybe you have lost a loved one. Maybe one of your loved ones is the same as mine. Don't live in fear of forgetting. Live as a remembrance. And it isn't too late. You probably have some unresolved issues with that person(s). It is time to move on, and just change. Make the change that you wish you would have before they died. Live the life you have been given.

And if you forget the day that you used to fear, reflect on what you actually did that day. Maybe you will realize that you honored them not by removing yourself from the world, but rather by living your life for others. Or maybe it's time to change the way you live every day, and not just one day. Don't worry about a day forgotten, go experience a life lived.


How are you living (or going to start living) to honor someone you have lost?