The Trappist monk Thomas Merton was one of the great spiritual lights of the 20th century; those who read and study this man’s writings will be enriched and challenged. Today I offer excerpts from an undated Merton prayer found in A Thomas Merton Reader Revised Edition (1974), 283-284:
“Almighty and merciful God, Father of all men, Creator and Ruler of the Universe, Lord of History, whose designs are inscrutable, whose glory is without blemish, whose compassion for the errors of men is inexhaustible, in your will is our peace!
“Mercifully hear this prayer which rises to you from the tumult and desperation of a world in which you are forgotten, in which your name is not invoked, your laws are derided and your presence is ignored. Because we do not know you, we have no peace.
“From the heart of an eternal silence, you have watched the rise of empires and have seen the smoke of their downfall. You have seen Egypt, Assyria, Babylon, Greece, and Rome, once powerful, carried away like sand in the wind.
“You have witnessed the impious fury of ten thousand fratricidal wars, in which great powers have torn whole continents to shreds in the name of peace and justice.
“Save us from the compulsion to follow our adversaries in all that we most hate,
confirming them in their hatred and suspicion of us. Resolve our inner contradictions, which now grow beyond belief and beyond bearing. Teach us to be long-suffering in anguish and insecurity.
“Teach us to wait and trust. Grant light, grant strength and patience to all who work for peace, to this Congress, our President, our military forces, and our adversaries.
“Grant us prudence in proportion to our power,
Wisdom in proportion to our science,
Humaneness in proportion to our wealth and might,
And bless our earnest will to help all races and peoples to travel, in friendship with us,
Along the road to justice, liberty, and lasting peace:
But grant us above all to see that our ways are not necessarily
your ways,
That we cannot fully penetrate the mystery of your designs,
And that the very storm of power now raging on this earth
Reveals your hidden will and your inscrutable decision.
Grant us to see your face in the lightning of this cosmic storm,
O God of holiness, merciful to men:
Grant us to seek peace where it is truly found!
In your will, O God, is our peace!”
Amen
Creede Hinshaw
P.S. This Sunday’s inspiring service includes a special congregational prayer, a duet by two of our children (11:00 a.m.) and a solo at 8:45 a.m. and words from church member Col. Mike Foster, recently returned from Afghanistan. If our organ technicians are successful our Noack organ will be completely repaired, too. Don’t miss this Sunday.
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How many more days will we hear the rising and falling cicada crescendo in Savannah? I’ve enjoyed that lazy low level hum every day this summer. If I were more entomologically enterprising I’d go to some internet bugsite and learn a lot of stuff. But that would expend more energy than I’m willing to invest. Better to sit and listen to that soothing, rasping sound from my screened in second story box seat.
These locusts – that’s what we called them in Indiana – are comforting friends in their own way, serenading Savannah with their happy humming white noise, lurking just off stage from sunup to sundown.
Do the cicadas know it is Labor Day weekend? Are they already winding down their oratorios? Can they acknowledge the traditional end of summer? Do they see us firing up the grill one last time, bidding adieu to summer vacation, greeting another season of college football? Do they sense our dreams for cooler weather?
Here’s one more reason why this pastor loves the cicadas: they eventually outgrow their shells. Sinking their claws into the bark of some tree and holding on for dear life, they burst into new life, transformed into a more robust version of bugness, leaving their old shell behind for curious children of all ages to behold.
Maybe these mostly invisible choristers are singing in anticipation of or in praise for that glorious moment of transformation. Perhaps the apostle Paul had the cicadas in mind, too, when he recognized that “the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time.”
Listen for their song. Sing your own song. Yearn for and believe in and sing about and claim God’s power to transform you and me and all creation through Jesus Christ. I’ll see you in worship this Sunday at 8:45 a.m. or 11:00 a.m.
Creede Hinshaw
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This Sunday’s text (Exodus 3: 1-15) describes Moses and the burning bush, one of the seminal events of the Bible. The narration alerts the reader that Moses is tending sheep on “Horeb, the mountain of God,” a tipoff that something unusual is likely to happen here.
The thing is, though, there were no signs at the foot of Horeb saying,
WELCOME TO HOREB
MOUNTAIN OF GOD
PREPARE FOR STEEP GRADE NEXT 3 MILES
BEWARE OF BURNING BUSHES!
LISTEN FOR THE VOICE OF GOD!
As far as Moses the shepherd is concerned this place is a place to graze his sheep. It’s a mountain, to be sure, but how could he know that it was God’s mountain? He will not recognize its sanctity until commanded to remove his sandals from this holy ground.
We designate many places as “holy” or “sacred” ground. Some are sites where tragedy happened: where the World Trade Towers once stood, the balcony of the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, TN, the Ford Theatre in Washington, D.C. Holy ground may be associated with a particular religious site: Canterbury, Jerusalem, St. Catherine’s Monastery at the base of Mount Sinai, your home church.
But holy ground has no specific latitude and longitude. It is not set aside by velvet ropes, protected by signs forbidding cell phones or flash photography or announced as a shrine and guarded by any particular institution, no matter how well meaning.
Holy ground is usually the most surprising, shocking, secular real estate: a stool at a lonely bar in a corner pub, the bleachers at a packed stadium, the cubicle where you spend your work day, a crib over which you lean to change a diaper, a front porch overlooking the marsh. Holy ground is where those who once were lost now are found, were blind but now see. Holy ground is where one hears the Living God call his or her name. Holy ground is the place where life swallows up death, where despair becomes victory, where doubt becomes certainty. But holy ground can also be perplexity, puzzlement and the wrinkling of the brow over the turn of the unexpected.
Stay alert and be prepared for surprise. Few mileage markers announce the exact distance to the next patch of holy ground.
Having said this I hasten to add that Calhoun Square is as good a place to encounter God as anywhere! It’s promotion Sunday and our children will have a pancake parade beginning in the fellowship hall at 9:45 a.m. At both worship services we’ll present bibles to our second graders, pray over backpacks that will feed 15hungry children per week during the school year and spend time with Moses on Horeb, the mountain of God. I’m eager to see you.
Creede Hinshaw
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An author musing on her craft observed that the art of writing involves the agonizing but liberating realization that some of the author’s words, thoughts, paragraphs or chapters must be “unwritten” or sacrificed for the good of the larger narrative.
Most preachers can identify with this painful choice. For every sermon the pastor preaches there are probably two or three others left on the cutting room floor, edited before the congregation hears the final word. If you thought the sermon was a dud, you should have heard the material the discriminating pastor didn’t share with you.
Some DVDs now include out-takes to satisfy the viewer’s curiosity about the scenes that were cut. Other director’s cut DVDs introduce previously snipped scenes into the original movie usually to no good effect. I know of no demand for sermon out-takes or sermons restored to their original 40 to 60 minute length.
From the vantage point of the pew it must seem like the preacher spouts off whatever comes to his or her mind with no intent to cull or edit. I have heard (and preached) a few of those sermons and in neither case has it been edifying. Though the congregation would have no way of knowing this, most pastors leave the pulpit wondering whether their sermon could have hit the mark better with a shorter story here or a deleted point there.
Life is messy most of the time and the preacher shouldn’t agonize too long over whether every single word works. One can polish a story or streamline a proposition to the point where it is no longer worth conveying. But on the other hand there is this deep desire on the part of most pulpiteers to bring some order out of chaos rather than the other way around.
I bring these comments to a close before you begin wondering why I didn’t unwrite at least a couple of paragraphs. How good it will be to gather again as God’s people this Sunday!
Creede Hinshaw
P.S. Worship was so inspiring last week with Monica Harper now on our staff as Director of Music Ministries. Seven new people have come to our choir either immediately preceding or since her arrival. You’ll see why when you come to worship.
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The VIX soared higher last week than it’s soared in the past four years. So says Bloomberg News reported.
I’d never heard of the VIX, and now it’s soaring? Is that good or bad? One article said, “The VIX is a popular measure of the implied volatility of the Standard and Poor 500 index options.” I don’t understand that either.
Here’s how Wikipedia explains the VIX:
“The VIX is quoted in percentage points and translates, roughly, to the expected movement in the S&P 500 index over the next 30-day period, which is then annualized. For example, if the VIX is 15, this represents an expected annualized change of 15% over the next 30 days or [1.15 ^ (1/12)]; thus one can infer that the index option markets expect the S&P 500 to move up or down over the next 30-day period. That is, index options are priced with the assumption of a 68% likelihood (one standard deviation) that the magnitude of the S&P 500's 30-day return will be less than 4.33% (up or down).”
Did that make sense to you? Confused enough? Well, here’s something I can understand: The VIX is often referred to as the fear index or the fear gauge. It measures the market’s expectation of volatility. Or as derivatives broker Brenna Hardman said, “We’re in one of the most interesting times in financial history and everyone is grasping for something to hold onto but no one knows, because this is unprecedented.” (I believe Hardman’s assessment reveals somebody who has a really bad case of VIX volatilitis!)
Christians should not allow a few shocking headlines to send us over the top on the VIX fear index. We know Who hold us. We have faith in the One who died for us. Our foundations are unshakable because we stand on the promises in Jesus Christ.
These are challenging times, to be sure. But, contrary to what Brenna Hardman may think, these times are not “unprecedented.” Every age has its stress, anxiety, fear. And lots of eras have seen a lot worse than we’re experiencing now. As far as “grasping for something to hold onto”, though the waters should foam and roar and the mountains crumble into the sea God remains our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. (Psalm 46:1) The VIX scale measures fear/anxiety. Big deal. I’m more interested in measuring faith. And even faith the size of a grain of mustard seed can accomplish the miraculous. (Luke 17: 5-6)
I’ll see you Sunday as we welcome Monica Harper to our congregation as new Director of Music Ministries!
Creede Hinshaw
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God is everywhere, right? Yes.
We don’t have to go to church to experience God, right? Again, yes.
But in the span of just seven days this week friends and members in our congregation will have experienced God in our beautiful sanctuary at services that celebrate three major transition points that occur in the life of a Christian: a service of baptism, a service of death and resurrection and a service of Christian marriage.
Last Sunday our 11:00 a.m. congregation rejoiced over the baptism of Jenny and Madelyn Byrd (mother and daughter) and the reception into membership of the entire family (father and husband Matt Byrd joined by transfer of membership.) Baptism, the sacrament that initiates us into the life in Christ, should be one of the high points of congregational life and we’ve had many occasions to celebrate this year. Three other young adults joined last Sunday, too, making it a memorable day for our congregation.
Two days ago our congregation and the wider community gathered to remember to offer thanks to God for our hope of resurrection and to celebrate the life of Peter Sales, an exceptional Christian. Peter had striven so mightily with pancreatic cancer; his death was sudden and we found ourselves unready to accept it. And so we returned to the sanctuary to sing songs of faith, hear a brass ensemble, listen to Monica Harper play the organ (even before her first day on the job), lean on our faith in Christ and pray for and with Janice and the Sales family. Following the service we went downstairs for a reception in our beautiful new fellowship hall, catered so grandly by Richard Glendenning and the Alpha Sunday School Class. It was the church at its absolute best.
Tonight I will be involved in a wedding rehearsal and tomorrow night will be privileged to assist Dr. Jason Shirah as we officiate at the wedding of Brad Tuttle and Jamison Pannell. To lead a couple through the wedding vows is such a joyous privilege and to serve in this capacity with our beloved Dr. Shirah makes it even more so. Jim and Karen Pannell were the first couple to join Wesley Monumental under Dr. Shirah’s leadership and he has been present with this family at key moments of their lives for quite a few decades now.
It is a week such as this that reaffirms my joy over the high calling to be a servant of the gospel. As if that’s not enough, we return to the sanctuary this Sunday morning for another significant event: celebrating the Lord’s Supper together. It’s a wonderful gift to be the pastor of a church, and even more so when that church is Wesley Monumental UMC. I’ll see you this Sunday in the place where God is revealed in significant ways.
Creede Hinshaw
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Today I salute John Wesley, Frances Asbury and the circuit riding Methodist preachers in our past. Having recently returned from Tattnall County Camp Meeting I have a new appreciation for our hardy Methodist forebears. I preached eight times in seven days at the camp meeting and came home absolutely worn out, even though I am in great physical health and love the privilege of preaching.
I could suggest a number of reasons for my weariness, but you probably aren't interested. Suffice it to say my appreciation for our Methodist circuit riding preachers has risen immensely. Wesley, Asbury and others would ride or walk miles through the wilderness on horseback or foot to get to the next preaching site. They would do this day after day, week after week, year after year. Asbury had the reputation of having traversed more miles through our nation than any person alive and I suspect the same could be said about Wesley, who also took a number of treacherous boat trips to Ireland and back to offer a saving word about Christ.
Wesley, Asbury and others would have preached eight sermons in the space of two days, sometimes even one day, riding through sleet, hail, heat, storm to reach their appointed destination. One of the most interesting Methodist books I've read, John Wesley and His Horse, documented these trips. When Wesley grew too frail to ride a horse - somewhere in his 80s - he switched to a carriage. (He had no children to take away the reins of his horse, but somehow made the transition.) It was Asbury, finally a frail old man, who preached his very last sermon to an impromptu crowd gathered beneath the second story window of his host's home. The next morning they found him in his bed, having died during the night.
I have not taken the time to double check these stories, so my recollections may be slightly fuzzy, especially on Asbury's last sermon. But I'm reasonably sure I'm correct on this; the definitive Asbury biography is on my bookshelf waiting to be read. At any rate this I know: Methodists have always been a determined band of faithful Christians, insistent on taking the good news about the new life of Jesus Christ to a world very much on the brink of disaster. I hope that DNA is still a dominant Methodist trait!
In the meantime, keep our leaders in Washington in our prayers and remember that name calling and accusations may be temporarily satisfying but really have no place in our vocabulary. Every Senator and Representative, not to mention our President and Vice President have been duly elected. They represent somebody's legitimate point of view. To demonize any of tour leaders is to demonize the electorate. Be wary of either party trying to marginalize the other party by suggesting they are on the fringe. It's a worn out tactic that, sadly, is often still effective.
I'll see you Sunday...bring a friend!
Creede Hinshaw |
I’ve been preaching at Tattnall County Camp Meeting this week, just down the road from Manassas, Georgia, a wooden tabernacle in the middle of the pine trees and onion fields of Tattnall County. If you’ve never been to Manassas, Georgia, it’s right down the way from Daisy and Hagan and just a few miles from Collins and Bellville. If you’re still mystified, this rough hewn place of worship is about 8 miles outside of Claxton.
Methodists have worshiped there every summer since 1867. The camp ground is surrounded by “tents” but what once were real tents are now humble cinderblock or wooden cabins with room air conditioners, kitchens and screened porches with rocking chairs. Families own the same tents for decades, passing them on to the next generation or (rarely) selling them to another family on the waiting list.
When you come to camp meeting you renew friendships with other tent holders, slow down from life’s harried routine and sing, pray and worship. And oh, yes; you eat well. At least they feed the preacher well. I’ve been to a different tent every evening, sitting down to a spread that is making me a more substantial person.
Two pianists who play together at each service are the best part of worship. One of the musicians plays with no sheet music; she must know every gospel or church song ever written. The two of them have over 70 years of experience in congregational worship. I could listen to them for hours.
They hold a morning service at 11:00 a.m. daily led this year by a fine Methodist layman named Tab Smith. Evening worship begins with a song service at 7:30 p.m. followed by an 8:00 p.m. worship service. That’s the service I am preaching for seven straight nights concluding Saturday evening. (Yes, I’ll be at Wesley Monumental on Sunday morning!)
The camp meeting is primarily a Methodist innovation dating to the early 1800s when a largely rural people gathered from miles around to be introduced to and pointed towards eternity and the Kingdom of God through the saving power of Jesus Christ.
The camp meeting tradition survives here in Georgia where wooden tabernacles are scattered across our state, standing on holy ground where sacred memories are as real as the rough hewn tabernacle timbers.
Will camp meetings survive the 21st century? I doubt they’ll ever see video screens or video preaching and air conditioning in the tabernacle would be heresy. Though people complain about the gnats one suspects they are secretly part of the ambiance
The tradition does have some permeability. I saw energy saving light bulbs in the tabernacle and ceiling fans (and funeral home fans) ward off all but the most tenacious gnats. Though most do not want to worship in such conditions on a weekly basis, especially in blazing July weather, there is something appealing about drawing apart for part of a week, eschewing a few modern conveniences in order to reclaim, remember and reconnect with God. If my experience in Tattnall County is typical I predict the camp meeting will have meaning for years to come.
Creede Hinshaw
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Here’s an Independence Day story:
On December 31, 1802, Baptist evangelist John Leland delivered a 1,235 pound block of cheese to new president Thomas Jefferson. The cheese came from the grateful farming community of Cheshire, Massachusetts, where the deist Thomas Jefferson has won almost 100% of the vote. Emblazoned on the crust of that cheese was the motto “Rebellion to tyrants is obedience to God.”
On Sunday, January 3, 1803, Rev. Leland delivered a sermon before Jefferson and a joint session of Congress, implying that Jefferson was greater than Solomon himself. Not everybody was thrilled with the sermon. One Federalist called Leland “a cheesemonger and a poor ignorant, illiterate clownish preacher.”
Thomas S. Kidd, who tells this story in his book God of Liberty: A Religious History of the American Revolution, pointed out that Rev. Leland confessed his only hope of salvation was in the blood of Jesus Christ and that President Jefferson would never have made such a claim, believing that much of the Christian religion detracted from the pure Jesus.
The interesting thing is that religious freedom made friends of people who did not hold to the same doctrines. The Baptists in the early days of our nation were severely persecuted and harassed by the establishment church – even after the passage of the Bill of Rights – and they found a champion and defender of religious freedom and liberty in Thomas Jefferson. As Kidd explains, “Jefferson the skeptical deist and Leland the fervent evangelical both believed that government should afford liberty of conscience to its citizens and should not privilege one Christian denomination over another.” (p 5)
This inspires me at a time when some in the religious community can get so polarized and upset with those who do not see eye to eye with them doctrinally. Our nation is bigger than that and always has been. A clerical cheesemonger and a brilliant President share common cause for the freedom we so cherish and want to protect. That’s worth shooting fireworks over! Happy July 4th!
Creede Hinshaw
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I’m writing one day early to encourage you to attend tonight’s Town Hall Meeting (Thursday, June 16, 7:00 p.m. in Fellowship Hall, nursery provided) to pray about and discuss how our church should allocate the $3.2 million Oliver Bequest. We have observed an appropriate season of prayer and contemplation over this generous, unexpected gift and many of you responded to an invitation this spring to provide your input on the disposition on this bequest.
Tonight we will share the results of your survey, offer some background information and seek further suggestions and comments. The initial presentation will be brief so that you will have time to ask questions and make insightful suggestions. We want to be careful listeners to God and to each other.
There will be no votes taken, no motions made, no decisions finalized. But we are getting much closer to that moment! The trustees plan to finalize a proposal for the bequest next week and then present a plan to be adopted at a charge conference on July 12 at 5:30 p.m.
The advisory group leading us through this process has spent much profitable time thinking through the implications of this gift. There are so many places where the funds could be vitally used! I am very excited to see where the Holy Spirit will ultimately lead us.
Creede Hinshaw
P.S. Those who attend tonight will also be among the first in our congregation to hear a late breaking announcement of very good news for our entire church. Praise God from whom all blessings flow!
P.P.S. This Sunday at 11:00 a.m. we will recognize the infants born into this congregation over the past 13 months…there are 25 of them!!! (Can anybody say, “Thank the Lord for a new nursery??”)
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