Lent... Public and Private

The memories of my early awakening to faith are still sharp and sweet. Raised in small country Baptist churches, I was taught by example, by sermons and teachers what being a Christian meant. At nine years of age, I told my parents I wanted to become a Christian and join the church. My daddy believed strongly in the Baptist principle of the age of accountability for children. He did not approve of childhood evangelism nor pressuring children to join the church. It was difficult for him to imagine that I was ready, that I understood what I was asking. So he required me to wait until I was twelve. The first Sunday after I turned twelve, I marched down the church aisle, shook Brother Kannon’s hand and made my first public profession of faith. Believers baptism, immersion for Baptists like us, and my first Lord’s Supper stand out in my faith memory scrapbook as clearly now as if it were yesterday. I had entered into the full fellowship of the larger church and was now deemed a member with all the rights and responsibilities attached to this privilege. Fifty four years later I am still a Christian, privately and publicly.
I’ve been intrigued with the results of a recent Pew Forum study on matters of faith and religion among the young, the millenial generation. Only 20% attend church but 75% believe in an afterlife. They feel alienated from religious institutions on both sides of the spectrum, liberal and conservative, that they view as too political. And one of the most interesting facts for me, the retention and growth rate for young people among evangelical churches outstrips mainline denominations. If I were a pastor or leader of a mainline denomination, I would be looking at the evangelical model and asking what they have that we don’t have.
I suspect the answers might be as simple as my experience in my little country church. I did not become a Christian because of a public stand taken by my pastor or church on an issue. I became a Christian because I was loved and taught the basics of the Christian faith by a family of faith that was committed to nurturing their young and witnessing their faith in language and life. The concept of a home church was very real for me as a child, teen, young adult and through the rest of my life. Faith was rooted in community and common belief. The personal experience of faith that flowers on the framework of our original source, the Bible, however one chooses to interpret it, seems to set the evangelical tradition apart from the more liberal expressions of Christian faith.
Much as I disagree with some of the traditional evangelical theology, I have experienced in my journey the power of the personal expressions of faith that are a hall mark of this tradition. Testimonies, verbal and lived out, charity at home and abroad, worship with feeling, a sense that one’s individual self matters to the Creator of All...I can understand how a generation raised on skepticism and computer screen realities would hunger for a skin faced experience of God. Most of us liberals are pretty wimpy and wishy washy about expressing our faith truths so no wonder our children are looking for someone who can and will speak from their hearts about a personal experience with God.
I teach a framing and matting class at our local community college. I am always amazed at how often conversation (without any help from me) turns to matters of faith. Thursday night our conversation centered on Lent and the practice of giving something up for Lent. In that room were conservative Christians who had never practiced Lent, liberal Christians who took Lent seriously, and some who were not affiliated with any faith system at all. It was fascinating and fun to hear folks speak what they believe(or not) with good humor and clarity. We have been gathering for eight weeks now every Thursday night so we know each others names, have grown to be a community centered on learning a skill, and in the process share much of our lives with one another. Sharing an essentially private experience, the practice of Lent, in a public setting led to a strengthening of those bonds.
Would to God our children can find that place, that community that will teach them, love them, be the Face of God in their lives whatever the denomination, whatever the politics of our secular nation, whatever the theology. I want my children’s children to have the sense of belonging to God, being a part of a church home where laughter and sorrow are shared, knowing others who live the life of a Christian, to be taught they are important and matter to the One who first loved us into being. I pray for each of them and for all the millenial generation that they will have a Clyattville Baptist Church in their lives, a church where they can be grown up in the faith. And as a part of my Lenten discipline, I will speak my private faith experience in public, sharing not only what I believe but also my joys and struggles and triumphs as a Christian.

Lent... Tough not rough

I stood in the check out line at Tractor Supply, my favorite store, with a load of horse, cow and chicken feed. The young woman checking me out heard me complaining about my rough hands. One of the side affects of farm work is calluses and rough skin on the side of my pointer fingers, split skin around my nails that bleed, and chapping during cold weather. She reached over and grabbed a tube of cream from a display next to the counter and handed it to me. “Try this”, she said. “It works for me and I tend horses and cows every day.” Holding her hands out for inspection, I could see they were a working woman’s hands but they were not split or rough. The calluses were smooth and not peeling. The cream was named “Tough not Rough... Intense Healing Cream”. Made in Aiken, South Carolina, it is a local product and I like using local products.
I have been using this cream every day now for a month and it lives up to her advertising. My hands are obviously the hands of a woman who works outdoors everyday but they are not bleeding, cracked and peeling. Every morning before I put on my gloves, I put on some cream. It sits by the back porch door so I won’t forget. Perhaps it is the regularity of application as well as the product itself... whatever... it works and I am grateful.
Lent is a little like my hand cream... tough not rough. It is forty days and nights of boot camp for the soul...giving something up to gain something. Friends of mine have given up various things for Lent. One has given up his glass of wine in the evening, a daily ritual that signals the end of the day and sets the tone for his evening. Another is consciously changing his life to simplify and live with only what really matters the most. Easier said than done. But this process of examination and repentance and letting go is absolutely necessary for anyone who takes Jesus seriously.
Doing without is not an easy sell in our current culture of easy come prosperity religion. Our culture reinforces this with buy now pay later plans. And, we are bombarded with images and words that promise beauty, health, wisdom, riches and happiness if we will just buy this or go there or eat this or do that. Giving up the illusion that acquiring something on the outside will change who we are on the inside may be the toughest thing of all to give up for Lent.
When we flee from the sight of our true selves, our souls stark naked in the harsh light of Lent, we give up our chance to see not only our sins and flaws, we miss the chance to see the unique miracle of creation that is contained in our being, the image of God that resides in our temple bodies here on earth. Those that have eyes to see, ears to hear and the stamina and will to persevere, see and hear and touch the face of God that lurks beneath the surface of us all. Its tough to hang in there for forty days but the journey is rich beyond measure.
Both Luke and Matthew record some words from Jesus that have become my Lenten motto. “ If anyone would come after me, let them deny themselves, take up their cross daily and follow me. For whoever would save their life will lose it; and whoever loses their life for my sake will save it. For what does it profit you if you gain the whole world and lose yourself?”
So, way to go, Malcolm! Have at it Hugh! Hip, hip, hooray for all who are staggering through Lent, marching like Marines at boot camp, giving up and gaining, hanging in there until the end of this tough season of faith. Our souls and our selves will be better for this time of penance and release. Hope I can keep up with you and not let the team down!

A lady with a capital L

She was a lady with a capital “L”. Whenever and wherever she was, her first response to you was unfailingly gracious. She made you feel special and welcome and you wanted to be who she saw you to be. Visits with Pauline Oates soothed jangled nerves and smoothed out the rough edges.
Every Halloween we would take Megan dressed up in her costume to Wayne and Pauline Oates house for trick or treating. Pauline would come to the door and greet Megan, admiring her costume. She had a way of bringing out the best behavior in children and adults. We would have some “refreshments” served always on her best china because guests were special. Then we would be on our way feeling graced.
As an adult, one of Megan’s first jobs was in the medical school program Wayne had begun for ministers, pastoral counselors and chaplains. The completion of this circle was Pauline’s presence at Megan’s wedding and wedding reception. She stayed until the dancing ended and the we began to clean up, a smiling benediction presence for us all.
Pauline loved hats and wore them whenever there was an opportunity. She knew I shared that love and once she gave me a tour of her hat closet. Wayne had a special closet built for her with shelves to the ceiling, each holding a hat with a story. When Wayne was a young professor and money was scarce, Pauline saved her change from groceries each week to buy her first hat. Louisville did not have a hat store then so she traveled to Lexington to buy that hat. It was crafted in New York City by a famous hatmaker. She showed it to me and told me she still wore that hat and loved it. Whenever we saw each other at church or a party or any other function, we would nod and smile, each wearing our hats and perfectly happy.
The last time we saw her dementia had required her son to place her in a facility. Sitting in her chair, she greeted us just as she always did, smiling and kind. She had no idea who we were but her essential kindness and concern were still the outward signs of her gracious soul undimmed by the glaze of dementia.
There are not enough ladies like Pauline Oates in this world and we are the poorer for her absence among us. Never stuffy or overly concerned for her own self, she knew her gifts and was assured and competent. As a young seminarian’s wife, Pauline was both friend and stand-in favorite aunt for me. She was one of my teachers in the art of hospitality and I will remember her every time I set a table, serve a guest or wear one of my hats. God bless you, Pauline Oates for the gracious attention paid to everyone who was around you. I am still trying to live up to the vision you had of who I was and could be. Thanks for the memories...

Lent... Tradition

I stood at the ironing board ironing damask napkins, napkins that once were used by my grandmother and Michael’s mother. The easy repetition of ironing one flat square after another calmed my mind and set my spirit to roaming. Memories of family dinners with china and crystal and silver, family gathered around large tables, small children twitching, grace being said and meals shared with laughter as the whipped cream on the dessert. Over forty years of meal memories are settled deep in the fibers of this beautiful old damask fabric. Our family with children and grandchildren now gathers around our old round table and these napkins I am ironing (at last) are from the Christmas season when we shared several meals here at Sabbath Rest Farm.
In the early seventies, our church, Lake Shore Baptist Church became an active participant in the “Greening of America”. We read the book, took the ideas on many of our church retreats for all ages, had study groups, heard sermons... full court church press to get us to consider how we were living and using earth’s resources. One of the changes I made was to switch to cloth napkins. Preachers didn’t make much money so I had to be creative. I made some napkins, found some at sales and bargain stores, collected napkin rings, looked for permanent press napkins that didn’t need ironing and some fancy napkins that did. Our children grew up with cloth napkins in a ring by their plate. You kept your napkin at your place at the table for a week’s worth of meals (unless we had a really messy meal or you were messy yourself).
Cloth napkins became a tradition in our family. And this tradition links me to the families that came before us. My grandmother’s napkins are a beautiful soft old damask. The woven pattern reflects the style of her generation, her time on earth. Michael’s mother’s napkins are a crisper damask that irons up without starch to a sharp crease. The pattern on them reflects the thirties and forties. When Michael’s mother died, we shared her napkins, each of us taking some from her bountiful store of table cloths and napkins. She loved to set a pretty table. Tradition...
The tradition of Lent is one that has been passed down to us by all those families of Christians who have gone before us. Like the pretty cloth napkins that need ironing, Lent provides a time out to let our spirits roam, to reflect on times past and to prepare for times to come. Lent as a liturgical season is about as popular as ironing but it has some gifts for us if we will take the time to celebrate it honestly and with gratitude for all that has been. The past is always with us whether we choose to acknowledge it or not. We may react against it, revile it, revamp our history, refuse it, or choose to re-new it by giving thanks for everything... the good, the bad and the ugly... during Lent.
We could not be who we are, be here at all, without our pasts. The history that brought me to this place in time has been a gift and I am grateful... traditional Southern Baptist, Primitive Baptist, liberal(and I do mean liberal) Southern Baptist, United Church of Christ... all have been my teachers and homes for my soul in their time. During this day, I will give thanks for these traditions and the richness of their teachings that linger still in my faith practice. Considering where I have come from shines a light on where I am going. Thanks be to God for the process of Lent year after year.