"At least you have your health . . ."

"At least you have your health." How many times do we hear that from people in the course of our lifetime? Last evening I wasn't sure that I was going to have even that. For the better part of the last week I've been looking after my wife and daughter who each ended up with stomach flu--thoroughly unpleasant and awful for them. This is why I haven't posted since last week. I've been taking care of them, suffering from sleep deprivation, and still trying to keep up with everything else. While they're no longer vomiting, they are still hardly %100 better. All through this, I was alternately thanking God that I hadn't and asking God that I wouldn't get sick in the same way. So, for the most part, I could say, "At least I have my health."

Until last night.

Early in the evening I began to experience slight nausea. And I thought, "Uh oh, here I go. My turn." I took a couple of gravol and lay on the couch, since I felt too awful to do much besides watch TV. My body began to ache. I had some chills. All I could think was, "I really don't want to spend an entire day vomiting." You see, I rarely get sick. I can't even remember when I threw up last. I didn't know how I would deal with it. Plus, I'd had the pleasant experience of listening to both my wife and little girl wretch and convulse.

However, thankfully, though I was up several times in the night, it wasn't for vomiting but to get a drink. And I never did vomit. If I did get the same bug as my family, my body managed to fight it off. I tend to have a pretty good immune system.

Anyway, this has been life for the last week or so. Once we're all feeling more or less normal, I'll have an easier time posting more regularly. Until then, at least I have my health.

The Discipline of Devotion

Quite a while back I posted some thoughts on reading our Bibles and in that post I mentioned a new edition of the Bible published by the International Bible Society called The Books of the Bible. It uses the TNIV translation, and my real reason for loving this edition is the format itself: no chapter and verses in the text, single-column, no headings, study notes relegated to end notes, and, though this feature was less compelling to me, the re-ordering of the books of the Bible according to their probable dates of composition, literary style, and theological content.

Right now there are just over 20 people in our church reading through The Books of the Bible in a year. At the website you can find a handful of different reading plans for just this purpose. At the beginning of the new year we had a special service wherein we dedicated these new Bibles and handed them out to those who had signed up to read it in a year. And we are also meeting once a month for prayer and encouragement. Of course, not every one is literally on the same page, as nice as that might be; however, the point is that people are reading. That said, I still tease my wife since she is still behind! But, again, she is reading. And when it comes to the Bible this is the most important thing.

We're not always much for discipline in our churches. And trying to read through the Bible in a year no doubt serves as a reminder of this. I imagine there are some in our church who opted out of even attempting this simply because they couldn't imagine finding 15 - 20 minutes a day to read their Bible, fearing from the outset that they would fail miserably. But even for those who have taken up the challenge, we too are discovering that finding time is not always easy. Hence those who are still reading through Exodus when on the schedule we should all be in Leviticus or Deuteronomy.

I sometimes wonder if the reason we have trouble with discipline regarding spiritual things has to do with more than simply our busy lives; I wonder if it has something to do with our attitude about spiritual matters to begin with. Is it possible that our reticence to engage in spiritual discipline reflects the degree of our devotion? Do we need to repent of a halfhearted love for God? Or is it perhaps a symptom of a culture that wants everything in quick fixes and therefore wants spiritual enlightenment and growth in the same time that it takes to watch a TV sitcom?

Now, I completely understand and can identify with those whose lives are full and who simply find it difficult to squeeze in time for prayer and worship and Bible reading because there are work and family demands that leave us exhausted and drained of motivation at the end of the day. I, too, once the day is done and the evening begins often want nothing more than to sit in front of the TV to enjoy a favourite show. This is especially true if the day has been both busy and stressful. I don't want to think. I'm too tired to be of much value. But I also know that it doesn't necessarily take a great deal more energy to sit and quietly read my Bible rather than watch another episode of The X-Files. So it seems to me that having a busy and full life is no excuse for not taking time out for my relationship with God which, like any relationship, requires deliberate attention.

A part of this is simple habit. What have we habituated ourselves to do when we have free time? Do we allow the hours to be occupied by a lot of what we typically call screen time? This is certainly our cultural habit, one that is ever increasing since screen time can now include TV, computers, cell-phones, video games, etc. What we need, though, are holy habits, ones that do more than simply entertain us and, worse, numb us to the realities of life. In other words, we need to do do much more with our time than indulge in escapism. Rather than habituating ourselves to escape reality, holy habits such as reading Scripture prepare us to face reality but on God's terms.

But, unfortunately, this takes discipline. It takes intentional effort. It takes a willingness to put the things of God before the things of men. And it means doing so regardless of the poorer habits we have formed over time. But such disciplines of devotion are part and parcel of our life of faith and constitute much of our training in holiness. Growing in holiness, or spiritual maturity, is not an overnight process. It takes place in fits and starts. It happens incrementally. It takes place in a world of dirty laundry, crying children, busy schedules, long days at work, and arguments with our spouses. And unlike other, less noble habits, such holy habits actually imbue life with value and meaning and purpose rather than simply anesthetizing us against life's hardships.

Thinking About Prayer: Part 1

Every Sunday morning in church we take prayer requests for the pastoral or congregational prayer, and almost inevitably most requests concern, generally, the same thing: physical well-being. And this is understandable. We have had people in hospital, having surgeries, struggling with various illnesses and health conditions, and so it only makes sense that when we come together to pray that such issues form the bulk of our prayers. Or does it?

It is true that such prayers emerge from the basic sense that God cares for our well-being and that he is intimately involved with the details of our lives. We bring our present life experience--experience often defined by health concerns and other earthly priorities--before God in prayer; and to do this is natural. Our God is Immanuel or God with us. But I do wonder that if in concentrating largely on petitions regarding physical health we are missing much of what God wants us to be praying about. While God is with us, he is so for his own purposes and will and not for ours. While intimately involved in the details of our lives, he is so in order that we might become closer to him, to grow in our knowledge of God. Yet how often do our prayers--personal and corporate--reflect God's concern and God's cause? And are we able to see the details of our lives--at home and at church--in the light of God's plan?

All this has been on my mind because I see a huge contrast between prayer as I experience it personally and corporately and prayer as I see it in Scripture. Looking, for instance, at Paul's prayers, we can observe pretty quickly that much of what occupies our times of prayer doesn't even show up on Paul's radar. All of his letters, except Galatians, mention his prayers for the recipients. For all we know there could be people in those various congregations that have serious health concerns, yet Paul is largely silent on such matters. That's not to say that such concerns were never addressed in prayer--but they were not the first or only prayers on the list.

Theologian and biblical scholar D.A Carson wrote a book a number of years ago called A Call to Spiritual Reformation: Priorities from Paul and His Prayers, and in this book he discusses some of these very same issues. He begins by looking at 2 Thessalonians 1:3 -- 12 and the framework of Paul's actual petitions on behalf of the believers in Thessalonica. Two things, Carson argues, shape Paul's prayers: First, a thankfulness for signs of grace among the believers. In other words, Paul expresses thanks that their faith is growing, that their love for one another is increasing, and that they are persevering under trials. So Paul is not thankful for simply anything; he is thankful that they are living the Christian life more obediently and faithfully and with resilience in the face of opposition. And how often are our prayers--mine included!--shaped by such thanksgiving?

Second, Carson says, Paul's prayers are shaped by the anticipation of Christ's return. The tenor of Paul's prayers are guided by his eschatology, the belief in the world to come with the Second Advent of Jesus--and how this will result in vindication for believers and in retribution and judgement for non-believers. Carson goes on at length discussing this point, especially since some would find the notion of God exacting such judgement distasteful. But he is simply talking about what Paul himself says:

"He will pay back trouble to those who trouble you and give relief to you who are troubled, and to us as well. This will happen when the Lord Jesus is revealed from heaven in blazing fire with his powerful angels. He will punish those who do not know God and do not obey the gospel of our Lord Jesus. They will be punished with everlasting destruction and shut out from the presence of the Lord and from the glory of his might on the day he comes to be glorified in his holy people and to be marveled at among all those who have believed."

And then in the next verse Paul says: "With this in mind, we constantly pray for you . . ." With this in mind . . .

How often do any of us truly pray with such things in mind? If we were to take these foundational elements of prayer--a thankfulness for signs of grace and growth in the Christian life and, as Carson calls it, Paul's "fundamental orientation to the end of the age"--and make them the basis of our prayers, what might our prayers sound like?

I don't think we approach prayer naturally this way. Truth be told, I don't think we approach prayer naturally at all. There is nothing natural about prayer. It is super-natural. It is conversation with God borne of the Spirit of God about the things of God. And we don't know how to do it. This is why the disciples asked Jesus, "Teach us to pray." We need to be taught to pray, as much as we need to be taught to tie our shoes and boil water on the stove. "In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us through wordless groans," Paul writes in Romans 8:26. So we learn to pray from Jesus, and indeed all of Scripture, and we rely on the Spirit to make of our prayers what they never could be on their own. We don't know how to pray and we don't know what to pray for. But God does and, thankfully, he's more than willing to teach us.

There's an old Puritan proverb: "Pray until you pray." Certainly this could mean that we ought to be persistent in our prayers. But it means more, I think. It means practicing prayer, keeping at it until it moves beyond formalism, awkwardness, and religious duty, until it becomes an intimate expression of our relationship with God. The more we pray, honestly and biblically, the more we will learn how to pray. Pray until your prayers become honest expressions of faith before God.

I think this proverb can also mean that we ought to ask God to instill within us certain priorities in prayer--pray until you really pray: pray for God's cause, pray with thankfulness at signs of grace among your fellow brothers and sisters in Christ, and pray with an eternal perspective, that sense of hopeful anticipation of Christ's return. We don't know how to do this, to pray as we ought--Scripture tells us as much--but we are told where to go and learn. This doesn't mean we stop praying that our loved one's cancer is healed but that we also pray they would learn to trust in God's grace even in trials, despite the persistence of illness, hopeful that Christ will restore them upon his return. It means seeing our earthly concerns from a heavenly perspective and allowing a heavenly perspective to shape how see and pray about our earthly concerns. In other words, "Pray until you pray."

Something Extraordinary

I'm about to pack up and go to the office. My wife and daughter are away until later today so I could work at home, but sometimes work requires the feel of an office. It's going to be a busy week, one that involves some rush to get things done. Or so it seems at the moment. My wife is going to an overnight retreat on Friday night which means it'll be my little girl and I until sometime Saturday evening. That means I have to have my sermon done (or at least 90% done) before Friday night. That's not how it usually works. I sort of wish the retreat was last week when, quite unexpectedly, my sermon was done just before lunch on Friday. But I have to trust that the Lord who provided then will provide this time as well. Even for a pastor, or at least this pastor, that's not always easy.

How easily our faith becomes mundane and all too ordinary, especially when we can't even muster enough trust to believe that God will help us get through a week with all its priorities and responsibilities. At our adult Bible study we were looking at Jesus' power over sin and one of the questions was: when have we questioned Jesus' power and authority? Most of us as Christians probably don't question Jesus' power and authority directly, doubting in plain sight that God can do great things. We affirm his greatness. He applaud his power. We verbally attest to our conviction that God has the authority and the power to pull off miracles. We stare in awe, blankfaced at his actions as recorded in Scripture. And then we go on living as though he can do nothing about our everyday circumstances. Our actions, as the saying goes, are more powerful than words.

If I consider that God created all the universe, that in him I live and move and have my being, how can I doubt that he can also provide me with a sermon for Sunday? If I consider that all things are made in, through, and for Christ, how can I doubt that the Lord can enable me to get through this week? How is it that we can read Scripture, with its incredible portrayal of God in all his majesty and glory, and still end up believing only what our eyes will show us? How is it that we can allow our moods and the number of hours we've had for sleep so easily determine the earnestness and persistence of our prayers? When will the scales fall from our eyes? Lord, help us see.

While I completely understand and accept that much of life is ordinary, a shopping list of duties and responsibilities, of chores and errands, must it be the case that our faith is confined by the same boundaries? I know that since much of life is this way, our faith has to make sense of and be relevant to the everydayness of our routines and schedules; but where is the sense of mystery, of transcendence, of our faith, while addressing the ordinary, being about less--or rather more--than the ordinary? Shouldn't there be a levity to faith to match the gravity of life?

I do have those moments when, for some reason, all of life's problems, while still very much there, no longer have the weight I normally assign them. I can't quite describe it, but it's as though the reality of God--though very much unseen--seems more real and powerful than the reality of everything else that I can see. And it's not a forget-your-problems-happy-escapist-sort-of-feeling. Seems to me it's a gift. I can't summon it. I can't worship myself into it. I can't pray myself to it. This makes it even more odd because knowing that I did not and cannot manufacture such a perspective means that faith itself is a gift. I can't force my faith; but I can ask for it to grow.

Now when I get to the office there will be the temptation, a temptation that forever is there, to rush ahead and dash into work. I'll want to make the phone calls I have to make. Plan. Wrack my brain for sermon ideas. Think over music for Sunday's worship. Such an attitude is, in some ways, endemic to our culture. And it's not necessarily unhealthy as far as it goes. But in ministry it can be a problem insofar as it makes it about what I do. And there is a sense in which the less I do the better. To think otherwise, that all of this pastoral work is the fruit of my labours, the result of my gifts and talents, and that if I can't pull it together out of thin air, then there is something wrong with me and I should look into another vocation or career or job, is to neglect the very reality at the heart of ministry, the reason and rationale for ministry in the first place: the reality of God. But that takes faith. And that's something only God can provide. So I have to ask for it. In other words, ministry should, though it doesn't always, begin and end and be immersed in prayer. In neglecting prayer, I allow my ministry, such as it is, to make that downward slide toward the ordinary, where mystery has been replaced by methods, transcendence by technique, and faith by sight. Only a prayerful life informed by the revelation of Scripture can find itself sure that in the midst of doctor's appointments, burnt suppers, coughs and runny noses, late night risings to calm an upset child, and feeble efforts at sermon preparation that the God who called the simplest and grandest elements of creation into being can also grant me life and faith. Only God can help me see and live in the ordinary with a faith that is more than the ordinary. That's something extraordinary.

A Song

A couple of posts ago, I mentioned that I had written a song that I was then planning on playing in church. I did play it in church yesterday, and I received a few encouraging comments. Some even came in on the chorus! And of course that's the intent. It's a song that works well congregationally. Anyway, someone posted a comment asking if I would post the words to the song on my blog. So, here they are.

Walk With Me
Lord, You are here
Regardless of the circumstances
You are here
You are the God of all second chances
Yes, You are here
So let me worship just as David dances

Chorus:
Lord, You walk with me
You’ve been faithful all these years
Lord, You walk with me
Through the pain and through the tears
Lord, You walk with me
When You speak, help me hear
To know You’re near

Sometimes this life
Can really be overwhelming
So shape this heart
To know that of my trust You’re worthy
Though dark the night
May You show forth Your glory

Chorus:
Lord, You walk with me
You won’t forsake those whom You love
Lord, You walk with me
Fill me with strength from above
Lord, You walk with me
You’re here though I find it hard to see
Lord, You walk with me
Lord, You walk with me
You’ve been faithful all these years
Lord, You walk with me
Through the pain and through the tears
Lord, You walk with me
When You speak, help me hear
To know You’re near
To know You’re near

Expectations vs. Reality

Sometimes it seems as though nothing goes according to plan. For instance, after three weeks of having to postpone our daughter's homeschooling (vacation, illness, etc.), my wife was supposed to start it up again this morning. But they're both still asleep after what was a long, not very restful night. Once our little girl came into our bed sometime in the middle of the night, she woke up several times upset and crying, either at still having a cold and feeling stuffed up or because of nightmares. Either way, it means that the plan for today was de-railed even before the sun came up.

Even I didn't get up until around 9am. I went to bed around half-past midnight, but didn't actually fall asleep until after 2am. My mind was wound up, I guess. I was thinking about church stuff. And I was worried that my wife was still up and awake even though she had preschool with our daughter in the morning. Now thankfully, since it's just the two of them, schedules are pretty flexible. And though I slept in, Monday is normally my day off anyway.

Last night while lying in bed, I happened to say to my wife something along the lines that I wish things could go completely right and as planned even for just a few days. And she, though still struggling with depression, was able to say that our life was still pretty good. She's largely right about that. It seems quite a lot has to do with our perspective on things. I find that I'm becoming more self-conscious about my own moods and attitudes, and that a lot of the problem when I see things going astray or just plain wrong is me.

It's all about the difference between expectations and reality. How do I expect our life as a family to be? Or more simply, what do I expect to accomplish this morning? Or what do I expect of my wife this afternoon? And which of these expectations are actually realistic? Do I sometimes have unrealistic expectations for us? I'm guessing yes. Sometimes these expectations are pretty conscious--I know I have them and find myself frustrated when they aren't met. But sometimes expectations can be unconscious. I get frustrated but don't know why. I find myself in a sour mood but can't pinpoint the reason. I get irritated at my wife but am unable locate the source of the irritation. Or even if I think I have, it may turn out to be more than what I thought. So there are conscious and unconscious expectations that may or may not match up with reality.

But there's another kind of expectation that can cause even more difficulty: unspoken expectations. This is when I expect my wife to read my mind and understand what I want from her even if I haven't verbally communicated it. There's a certain self-righteousness that rears its ugly head here. "She should know that I would want this," I think. And then I blame her for lacking psychic abilities. We can all deliberately remain non-communicative about these expectations because we truly do believe that our spouse's ability to understand how we feel without our having to spell it out is part of the point. The hiccup in thinking this way, of course, is that we would never reverse the logic. I know I can't psychically intuit what's going on in my wife's head. Heck, even when she spells it out sometimes I still don't get it! Expectations need to be spoken, at least if you want the other person to know what they are.

Such expectations apply to relationships, and they apply to plans and life in general. I expect things to go this way or that way. Then they don't. I expect my wife to do this or that. And she doesn't. I expect to get this or that accomplished. And then I don't. Life doesn't always go as planned. And sometimes that's because we have unspoken expectations and sometimes it's because of unrealistic expectations. I guess that means I have to do a better job either of communicating my expectations or of measuring them and setting them in such a way that they come closer to reality and take what might happen and what might not happen into account. And that's one thing life is teaching me--through marriage, parenting, and ministry: be realistic.

A Week in Ministry . . .

I can hardly believe it, but by 1pm today my sermon was actually finished. It was nearly 1pm precisely when I completed a practice run in the sanctuary sans congregation (I almost always try to practice preaching my sermon before Sunday). This is very unusual, because normally I'm working on my sermons until sometime late on Saturday afternoon or even late Saturday evening. What makes this especially odd is that I told my wife that I was pretty sure that I would be done at that time. And then I finish, look down at my watch, and voila, I am done! More than unusual, it's also special, because that means I have a Saturday to use at my and my family's disposal (that is, barring any sort of unanticipated congregational emergency or unexpected natural disaster). I'm very much looking forward to tomorrow, especially now that it's a day off.

And overall this has been an encouraging week in ministry. We had a great business meeting on Monday evening where I discovered that one of my deacons had been having very similar thoughts on our worship service that I had been having. Looks like there will be some challenging and exciting changes up ahead. People at the meeting were wonderfully receptive, largely because of the recognition that any church needs to grow and change if it is going to be relevant to an increasingly un-churched yet still needy community.

On Tuesday evening we had our Valentine's Day supper. We planned for a maximum of 50 and had around 40+ attend, including some folks from the community who don't go to our church or haven't in years. The food was terrific, and the fellowship, I think, was even better. So often at these suppers people eat and run, but people that night stayed and chatted. We started at 6:30 and there were still plenty of peopl around more than an hour later. I can only pray that the Lord will use that occasion to encourage some to consider coming on Sunday morning.

And on Wednesday I wrote a song. That was a complete gift from God. I hadn't done this in some time and on this particular day hadn't planned on it either. I just started noodling around. It began with a few words and a chorus, and a few hours later I ended up with a song that I will sing in church on Sunday. It sort of fits the theme of the message. I'm going to try and teach it to the congregation--which is to say, I will invite them to sing along. It is a worship song, and such music usually sounds better with more than one voice.

Tonight is youth group. Unfortunately, this is one of the ministries that is really struggling in our church. No thanks to me, it suffers from a lack of attention and time. But I do find that with everything else on my plate, it is very difficult to plan a great deal. I really want our kids to grow in their faith, but it's hard, too, when half the group are siblings. I can't imagine that that is easy for them. We need more kids involved, and we need one or two people who can really take a youth ministry on. I was told by a pastor friend when we started youth group a year and a half ago: "You can't do it." By this he meant, you can't do it. You need someone else to do it, to be passionate about it, to have the time and energy to put into it. I'm beginning to see his point.

That's church life, I suppose. Areas of strength are matched by areas of weakness (or areas in need of development). But I am grateful that I am beginning to see encouraging signs. And I am grateful that there are others who see the need for the same changes. And I am grateful, right now, that I have tomorrow off before another week of ministry begins.

Weather or Not . . .

Already it's started. If I look outside, I can see the snow coming down. At this point I've lost track of how many snowstorms we've had since December (or earlier?), but it's been several years since we've had so much snow. At first, it was kinda cool. It reminded me of my own childhood. So when we got wolloped around New Year's, it was actually sort of exciting, especially for my little girl.

But then it never stopped.

And what I find the most inconvenient and annoying about it all is that lots of stuff ends up getting cancelled or postponed. Sunday school gets cancelled (actually, considering we were up all night with our daughter, that worked for me -- see previous post), business meetings and church suppers get postponed, and you have to dig yourself out of an avalanche before you can get the car out of the driveway and send your wife and child to their doctor's appointment, because you forgot that your regular plowman is away. That was fun.

So you just can't depend on any plans you've made. That's the biggest problem. Every time you schedule an event or have an appointment, you have to consider a possible snow date. Just in case. The question is always weather or not we'll be able to go forward with whatever is on the calendar.

A couple of days ago at our church business meeting I happened to mention that we were supposed to get lots of snow today (and freezing rain, incidentally). The person to whom I said this gave me a rather cold stare since I was the bearer of obviously bad news--and then she told that I should be praying that God would keep us from getting a storm! Well, I didn't. And now it's snowing. But as I said then, God, in his infinitely wise sovereignty, might have his reasons for sending us even more snow. And besides, I rarely pray about weather unless I'm praying for travelling safety for someone.

So while at the beginning of all this snow, I was gleeful and glad, because I like it when the seasons of the year are actually like the seasons of the year, I'm pretty sure we've had more than our share of winter. I'm now looking forward to the thaw. I'm looking forward to being able to put away the shovel. And I'm looking forward not to have to cancel or postpone things because of the snow. I'm looking forward to spring--to the emergence of new life, longer days, and warmer weather. Weather or not it'll come soon, I guess I just have to wait and see.

The adventure of a night-time . . .

It's been an unusual couple of days.

It all started when I found out that I would have a funeral to do today--Sunday--and that we were also supposed to get a storm on this very day. And we did get some snow, but not nearly as much as they were forecasting. Good for us, since we had some driving to do.

For some reason, I ended up having real trouble working on the message for this funeral. Many of the family are not believers, though the deceased, a wonderful lady from our church, was. That makes knowing what to say and how to say it a little tricky and sensitive. This is especially so since this family have faced a number of similar losses over the last couple of years. Thankfully, the message did come together. I finished around 1am this morning. It wasn't my best sermon, that's for sure, but I was mostly pleased.

The next unusual occurrence happened after I finished this sermon. Like I said, I finished preparing the sermon late last night/early this morning and when I finally settled in our bed it was somewhere in the vicinity of 1:30am. And I had no sooner settled down (for a long winter's nap?) when our three-year old daughter woke up with what sounded like the croup. Poor girl, she sounded absolutely miserable. Exposing her to lots of steam by taking her into the bathroom with the shower water on hot and full didn't seem to break it. Neither did covering her up except for her face and taking her out in the cold. That's when the tele-care nurse suggested we take her to out-patients or emergency just to be safe. So we did. At 2:30am.

What's kind of funny about the story at this point is that once she was in our car, she began to become much more alert and awake, and she began talking up a storm, joking, singing, and generally acting very happy, even with the hoarse cough and raspy voice. Up until we left, she was beside herself with misery and just wanted to be left alone to sleep.

Emergency proved fruitless. After an hour and a half of waiting with no visible end in sight, we decided to take her back home. This was around 4:30am, and our decision was in part prompted by another young woman who let us know that she had been waiting since 9pm! Yikes! At that rate, we would have been there until sometime late morning. So we left for home and arrived, after a sleepy drive during which my wife diligently made sure I stayed awake, at around 5:30am. And then we crashed, pretty sure that if the storm didn't result in a cancelled Sunday school that we would not be going. But there was snow--and so we didn't have to make that choice.

The strangeness of the day didn't fully end there. I left my wife and little girl home while I trudged tiredly off to church to preach, and when I got there found out that my pianist would not be coming either because of the roads. Understandably so, since they were very messy. Our hymns, therefore, were improvised and sung a cappella. It more or less worked, but with the frame of mind I was in, it left an odd tint on the service. My mind was not entirely present to the proceedings.

And as a result of the snow, a church dinner was also postponed.

I did the funeral. My wife sang at the funeral. Ultimately, all went fine. Except for such glitches as forgetting the hard copy of some hymn lyrics, which my wife had to then sing by memory, and my knocking the TV power cord from the socket during the deceased's video tribute while slipping a note to the organist (which sounds rather clandestine, doesn't it?). Oddly, that caused little disturbance. One of the deceased's daughters more than graciously accepted my quick but sincere apology.

All in all, it just felt like an odd couple of days. A little left of normal. And after all was said and done, we just felt--unsurprisingly--very tired. We came home and basically did not do much of anything. I plan on doing much the same tomorrow. Well, not completely.

Through it all, I hope and pray that God was still at work, even though my ministry was performed through layers of exhaustion. Oddly enough, despite my lack of complete satisfaction with my own "performance," people who attended the funeral seemed genuinely appreciative of our ministry. That certainly says something about how God can use despite ourselves, especially after the adventure of a night-time when you're awake into the early hours with your sick little girl.

We are not alone . . .

Though I don't read anywhere near enough, I do try to plant my nose solidly in a book as much as possible. And usually I have one or more books on the go. Both as a pastor and even simply as a follower of Jesus, I read in part to know I'm not alone, to be reassured that my own experiences, frustrations, failings, hopes, and aspirations don't completely mark me off as an oddity among my brothers and sisters in the faith. Thankfully, I often discover that I am not alone.

One of my favourite writers at the moment is Mark Buchanan, a pastor and writer from BC. His reflections and explorations of the Christian life have a way of penetrating mind and heart. And I think this is so because while he is a pastor he freely admits to his own failings (though not necessarily specific sins) and places himself among the body of Christ rather than above it. He writes on the Christian life as a means of dissecting the issues that he himself has faced as a disciple of Jesus--and in so doing he manages to unearth truths from Scripture, distilled through his experience, that reverberate and echo in my heart as well. Though often we feel alone in our struggles as believers, we are usually not the first to feel what we feel and to face the problems we face.

This is especially comforting to me as a pastor, because sometimes, wrong or not, I can feel as though I need to have it more together than everyone else in church. It's though what makes a pastor effective is that he (or she) is immune to the daily toils and troubles that assault the rest of Jesus' followers. We have to exist and live somewhere between the clouds of heaven and the dirt of the earth. But this isn't true at all. And it may not even be what people in the pews think. I hope that it isn't. All I know is that I do not feel immune nor do I have the ability to don angels' wings and view matters from above. I am here just like everyone else. And, wonderfully, so is our God. He who is heaven also was on earth in Jesus; and he continues to be present here by his Spirit for those who trust him.

So I read. I read to know that I'm not alone. I read for other reasons too but that's not a bad place to begin. I'm currently reading Buchanan's book Your God is Too Safe. And this past Christmas someone gave me his book Hidden in Plain Sight. That one I've already devoured. I've also read The Rest of God and The Holy Wild. I heartily recommend any or all of them. Maybe as you follow Jesus, you'll discover in reading that you too are not alone.

In these earthly vessels

I just got a phone call letting me know that someone related to one of our church families has passed away. It was not wholly unexpected, but even so is still difficult and sad. And I had already received a phone call earlier today that a lady from our church who had been in hospital recovering from a stroke passed away late last night. Again, this was not a surprise, but that doesn't make it any easier. In addition to this, there are others in our church who have recently had surgery and others with serious health concerns. All serve as a reminder that our bodies are not always our friends. I'm only 35 and it's easy to think that I have a long life ahead of me. But when I see a young man 15 years younger than me going through chemotherapy and surgery, a long life is not something I can assume will be mine. We never know when our limbs, organs, bones, and flesh may betray us. We are frail creatures, living in earthen vessels.

So many people in this world live only for this life. They put all their eggs in the same earthly basket. Considering how unreliable most things in this life are, including our own bodies, that's a scary thought. I know that when I look at all the people around me who are sick, it can almost overwhelming. It can be discouraging. Sickness, disease, illness, injury, and, ultimately, death. None of it seems natural to me. It seems, instead, profoundly wrong.

I think of those Jesus healed, of the throngs of disease and demon ridden people who swarmed him: "When Jesus heard what had happened, he withdrew by boat privately to a solitary place. Hearing of this, the crowds followed him on foot from the towns. When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them and healed their sick (Matt. 14:13, 14)." Even Jesus couldn't get away from it. Yet he had compassion. Well, he was the Son of God; he is compassion in bodily form. Jesus, too, it seems, recognized the profound incongruity between God's intent for creation and creation as it was: fallen, broken, misshapen, and in need of redemption.

I don't usually go about my days with a profound sense of my own mortality. I'm not sick. I feel mostly well. I have no major health problems. My physical body faces few limitations beyond those common to most. But I never really know. I could find myself facing MRIs and frightening diagnoses at any time. The funny thing is, I'm not sure why it seems to take something life-threatening to make us realize how frail we actually are. With rare exception, we live as though we are immortal, as if nothing we do to our bodies will ultimately bring us harm. No wonder those occasions when death is staring us straight in the face, whether in the mirror or through the eyes of a loved one, we find ourselves so much more vulnerable. And open. Open to the fact that God has something better in mind for us. Between creation and new creation there is a great groaning, a waiting for God to renew and remake, remold and reshape, to bring his purposes to completion. Paul speaks of this: "We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption, the redemption of our bodies (Romans 8:23)." And so the only way that I can see to put up with all this groaning--the pain, trials, illnesses, frailty, physical sufferings, diseases--is to trust that God, through Christ, will indeed redeem these earthen vessels in which we live. It's also the only way to deal with the groanings of those around, those whom we love, who in reminding us of our mortality also point the way to our hope, and "if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently."