Glad Tidings!

I confess! I’m caught up in the Christmas spirit, and I’m experiencing sensations of joy and hope that I just don’t feel at other times of the year. Perhaps it is the knowledge that the short days and long nights are going to reverse. Maybe it’s the combined pleasure of choosing gifts for others while anticipating the special treats they are planning for me. It may have something to do with the gay decorations that adorn everything from homes to businesses, or the quiet reverence for an ancient stable scene that still continues to inspire hope for a better world. The spirit of Christmas is all these things and more; it is the metaphysical mystery of the whole being greater than the sum of its parts. This is my second Christmas since being diagnosed with leukemia, and in a strange kind of way I am grateful for the keener sense of appreciation for almost everything than I had before. I am truly looking forward to our family gathered together for the holidays, for some time off from the mundane routine, and for the opportunity to be still and to know that God is with us. In all likelihood I will take a breather from my blogging, too, and so it is appropriate that I take this opportunity to wish my readers all the goodness and happiness of this season.

Happy Holy Days!

As it draws nearer, I’m trying to be very intentional about focusing upon the real meaning of Christmas. All of the attendant “symptoms”—shopping, giving and receiving, gathering with family and friends—can either contribute or detract from the holy day. Christmas, for me, symbolizes the very real connection between the Creator and its creation. For sentient creatures such as ourselves this raises the very real possibility of interaction with the One who made us, of actually entering into some sort of communion that gives purpose and meaning to our lives. Exclusivity erodes the beauty of this phenomenon because it fails to acknowledge the multitude of ways by which the Creator communicates to all hearts and minds that are receptive. The Christ child’s universality is what Christmas is really all about, and when that realization becomes authentic, all the walls of separation—anger, hate, envy, selfishness, deceit—crumble beneath the knowledge that all humankind is loved equally by its Creator. So let us beware of the claim that Christmas is only for Christians! When the awareness of our connection to the Eternal gives birth to the spirit of Christ within us we shall be illumined by the joyous realization that we are truly nothing more—and nothing less—than children of God!

More About the Reason for the Season

Fight for Your Right to Party by Barbara Ehrenreich

See What I Mean?

My sincere thanks to a co-worker for sharing this bit of holiday lightheartedness:

Company Holiday Party

FROM: Patty Lewis, Human Resources Director
TO: All Employees
DATE: December 1
RE: Christmas Party

I'm happy to inform you that the company Christmas Party will take place on December 23, starting at noon in the banquet room at Luigi's Open Pit Barbecue. No-host bar, but plenty of eggnog! We'll have a small band playing traditional carols...feel free to sing along. And don't be surprised if our CEO shows up dressed as Santa Claus! A Christmas tree will be lit at 1:00 P.M. Exchange of gifts among employees can be done at that time, however, no gift should be over $10.00 to make the giving of gifts easy for everyone's pockets. This gathering is only for employees! A special announcement will be made by our CEO at that time! Merry Christmas to you and your family.
********************
FROM: Patty Lewis, Resources Director
TO: All Employees
DATE: December 2
RE: Holiday Party

In no way was yesterday's memo intended to exclude our Jewish employees. We recognize that Chanukah is an important holiday which often coincides with Christmas, though unfortunately not this year. However, from now on we're calling it our "Holiday Party." The same policy applies to employees who are celebrating Kwanzaa at this time. There will be no Christmas tree present. No Christmas carols sung. We will have other type of music for your enjoyment. Happy now? Happy Holidays to you and your family. Patty
*****************
FROM: Patty Lewis, Human Resources Director
TO: All Employees
DATE: December 3
RE: Holiday Party

Regarding the note I received from a member of Alcoholics Anonymous requesting a non-drinking table ... you didn't sign your name. I'm happy to accommodate this request, but if I put a sign on a table that reads, "AA Only"; you wouldn't be anonymous anymore. How am I supposed to handle this? Somebody? Forget about the gifts exchange - no gift exchanges are allowed since the union members feel that $10.00 is too much money and executives believe $10.00 is very little for a gift.NO GIFT EXCHANGES WILL BE ALLOWED.
********************
FROM: Patty Lewis, Human Resources Director
TO: All Employees
DATE: December 7
RE: Holiday Party

What a diverse group we are! I had no idea that December 20 begins the Muslim holy month of Ramadan, which forbids eating and drinking during daylight hours. There goes the party! Seriously, we can appreciate how a luncheon this time of year does not accommodate our Muslim employees' beliefs. Perhaps Luigi's can hold off on serving your meal until the end of the party-the days are so short this time of year-or else package everything for take home in little foil swans. Will that work? Meanwhile, I've arranged for members of Overeaters Anonymous to sit farthest from the dessert buffet and pregnant women will get the table closest to the restrooms. Gays are allowed to sit with each other. Lesbians do not have to sit with Gay men, each will have their own table. Yes, there will be flower arrangement for the Gay men's table. To the person asking permission to cross dress, no cross dressing allowed though. We will have booster seats for short people. Low-fat food will be available for those on a diet. We cannot control the salt used in the food - we suggest for those people with high blood problems to taste first. There will be fresh fruits as dessert for Diabetics, the restaurant cannot supply "No Sugar" desserts.Sorry! Did I miss anything?Patty
******************
FROM: Patty Lewis, Human Resources Director
TO: All Employees
DATE: December 8
RE: Holiday Party

So December 22 marks the Winter Solstice...what do you expect me to do, a tap-dance on your heads? Fire regulations at Luigi's prohibit the burning of sage by our "earth-based Goddess-worshiping" employees, but we'll try to accommodate your shamanic drumming circle during the band's breaks.Okay???Patty
*****************
FROM: Patty Lewis, Human Resources Director
TO: All Employees
DATE: December 9
RE: Holiday Party

People, people, nothing sinister was intended by having our CEO dress up like Santa Claus! Even if the anagram of "Santa" does happen to be "Satan," there is no evil connotation to our own "little man in a red suit." It's a tradition, folks, like sugar shock at Halloween or family feuds over the thanksgiving turkey or broken hearts on Valentine's Day.Could we lighten up?Please?????????Also the company has changed their mind in announcing the special announcement at the gathering. You will get a notification in the mail sent to your home.
************************
FROM: Patty Lewis, Human Resources Director
TO: All #%&$**@ Employees
DATE: December 10
RE: The %#*&^%@*%^Holiday Party

I have no #%&*@*^ idea what the announcement is all about. What the %#&^!@ do I care...I KNOW WHAT I AM GOING TO GET!!!!!!!!!!!! You change your address now and your are dead!!!!!!!!!!!!No more changes of address will be allowed in my office. Try to come in and change your address, I will have you hung from the ceiling in the warehouse!!!!!!!!!!!Vegetarians!?!?!? I've had it with you people!!!We're going to keep this party at Luigi's Open Pit Barbecue whether you like it or not, so you can sit quietly at the table furthest from the "grill of death," as you so quaintly put it, and you'll get your #$%^&*! salad bar, including hydroponic tomatoes. But you know, they have feelings, too. Tomatoes scream when you slice them. I've heard them scream. I'm hearing them scream right now! HA! I hope you all have a rotten holiday!Drive drunk and die you hear me!!!!!!!!!!The Bitch from HELL!!!!!!!!
*******************
FROM: Terri Bishop, Acting Human Resources Director
DATE: December 14
RE: Patty Lewis and Holiday Party

I'm sure I speak for all of us in wishing Patty Lewis a speedy recovery from her stress-related illness and I'll continue to forward your cards to her at the sanitarium. In the meantime, management has decided to cancel our Holiday Party and give everyone the afternoon of the 23rd off with full pay. Happy Holidays!

Kid Stuff

It upsets me that my belief in Christmas is regarded by some as immature and stupid. It also upsets me that my beliefs about Christmas are regarded by some as heretical and sacrilegious. Yes, I believe in Santa Claus and God, and yet in neither case do I consider myself a prisoner to a literal, anthropocentric understanding of what or who they are; I only know that they are real and that they symbolically embrace the reason for this season: the miracle of life! I shudder to think how many of my “clients” believe that they are Christian and that their pursuit of concretized commercialism in any way offsets the way they debase and dehumanize the very lives they have brought into this world. Christmas is rightfully about the children and their sacred role in the universe, not about a victorious conquest over those vying for Tickle Me Elmo. From the perspective of having been estranged from organized religion for five years now I can see more clearly how it is fundamentally responsible for the Christological corruption that has literally perverted this grandest of holy celebrations. Who cares about virgin births? Who cares about brilliant stars in the sky? Who cares about angels, shepherds and magi? To paraphrase: it’s about the kid, stupid! What a magnificent holiday this can be if our focus is upon the child in the manger and what empowered him to grow in wisdom, stature, and in favor with God and humankind.

Season's Greetings!

I have always liked Christmas. It’s my favorite time of year for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which is Dad’s dynamic explanation of the significance of the Christ’s birth which made such a profound impression that it remains paramount among my earliest memories. Candlelight services are not uncommon this time of year, but I have found that for such events to have meaning and purpose is quite rare. The simple metaphor is so incredibly powerful—that it takes only one light to dispel the darkness—that I am surprised that it is not more widespread. Such is the joy, beauty, and hope of this season: when it seems that all is lost in darkness, a single light can overcome it with illumination that grows ever brighter as it is spread one to another. For those who question whether or not such an interpretation is scripturally sound I suggest reading the first chapter of John. This is not a time when reason must be set aside to accommodate a plethora of supernatural superstitions. To the contrary, this is the season when all the world is invited to celebrate the amazing Truth that Emmanuel—God with us—can reasonably, intelligently, and naturally illumine the hearts and minds of humankind as it is shared with one another as it has been shared with us!

Battle of the Titans

It doesn’t make a lot of sense to take longer telling the story of my time at Rockbrook UMC than I was actually there—which was two years. The following cast of characters was involved one way or another in the end of my appointment to Rockbrook in 1990. Donald Bredthauer was the Omaha district superintendent who arranged for my transfer from the Desert Southwest Annual Conference, and he had since become one of the associate pastors at First UMC. Lowen Kruse followed Bredthauer as D.S., and as I’ve already mentioned, Dick Carter had been a district superintendent prior to being appointed to Rockbrook. Vernon Goff was the senior pastor of St. Luke’s UMC, one of the fastest growing churches in the conference. Denny Silk was senior pastor at First UMC which was arguably one of the more prestigious churches in the conference.

Having observed my ability to get things done at Rockbrook, both Goff and Silk expressed interest in me becoming an associate on their respective staffs. Bredthauer, having just been succeeded by Kruse, was the most pragmatic in his understanding that being appointed to another church in the same district was a long shot, but he nonetheless was supportive of such a move. The alliance between Carter and Kruse, however, was not to be underestimated, and those two expressed to Bishop Woodrow Hearn that my remaining in the proximity of Rockbrook would not look good, particularly for Carter, and that whatever threat I was posing could be reduced significantly by moving me far away from Omaha. It was hard for Kruse to disguise his satisfaction the day he called me to his office to inform me that it was time for me to learn what it meant to be the pastor-in-charge. His spin was that I was to be appointed to the churches in not one but two county seats (what he neglected to tell me was that each town was the only one in each county).

The strangest irony to come out of my time at Rockbrook was the confession (this is not sacramental in The United Methodist Church) from a parishioner that she had had an affair with the pastor of a United Methodist church in Las Vegas while she and her husband were living there. What a small world! Six years before my appointment there, I was learning about the dark side of Trinity United Methodist.

Are You Brave Enough to Read the Entire Article?

My heartfelt thanks to Mary for sharing this incredibly disturbing article:

A Fraud Worse than Enron by Elizabeth de la Vega

I Yield the Floor...

…to two of the prophetic voices of our time:

Cut and Run, the Only Brave Thing to Do…a letter from Michael Moore

Inadvertent Wisdom from George H.W. Bush by Joe Klein

Happy Birthday, Rebecca!

Twenty years ago today Rebecca brought new life, light, and joy into our world and that is certainly sufficient reason to take a break from the dreary Mark vs. The United Methodist Church saga. Beneath the San Francisco Peaks of Flagstaff, Arizona, Rebecca didn’t waste a lot of time entering our lives. The two decades since have been filled with wonder and awe as we have witnessed our two little girls blossom into beautiful young women. With her blonde hair and blue eyes, Rebecca has been the yang to Rachel’s yin, never ceasing to amaze her parents that two such completely different personalities could contain essentially the same DNA (although I have always had my suspicions about the milk man). Rebecca was marching to Thoreau’s different drummer from the start, and she continues as a champion of idealism and compassion that often makes me think she pays a price for being too much like her father. Our daughters are a good example of John Wesley’s prevenient grace: a magnificent blessing unearned and undeserved. And so, dear daughter, your mother and I wish you the very happiest of birthdays, and we thank you for having chosen us to share your miraculous life!

Et tu, Marcus?

To his credit, Dick Carter felt that it was important that I do some preaching, a role coveted by most senior pastors because it places you squarely in the center stage spotlight. I’ll never know whether this was a purely charitable act on Dick’s part, or if it was prompted by parishioners who were tiring of his somewhat disjointed homilies, but at any rate I ended up delivering a sermon about once a month. Once again my close attention to Dad’s style and content served me well, and it wasn’t long before some of Dick’s detractors were urging him to let me preach more often. Although this was flattering, it was also politically dangerous, and I had been in the United Methodist church long enough to know that this was a recipe for disaster for me as the associate pastor. It also wasn’t helping that those program areas that Dick had assigned to me were beginning to produce results. It was known throughout the district and the conference that Dick suffered from a kind of ineptitude for most things ministerial, particularly administration. It didn’t help that such was highlighted by the three associates that Dick had had in about as many years, and it was my luck of the draw to be number three. In other words, I was perceived as a threat by the man who managed most of the time to be his own worst enemy.

With Great Thanks

Among my fondest memories of Rockbrook United Methodist Church in Omaha, Nebraska, is the Thanksgiving dinner at which the entire family gathered in the church parlor. The parsonage wasn’t large enough to hold everyone, and the parlor with its adjoining kitchenette provided all of the amenities necessary to accommodate the festive feast. In preparation for tomorrow’s celebration, it seems a good time to recall the many things from my time at Rockbrook for which I am grateful:

• We were near family again. Mary’s Nebraska roots were restored, and we were far more accessible to my Colorado family than we had been in Flagstaff.
  
• We were provided with a parsonage to live in, something that the Flagstaff church had not been in a position to provide their associate pastor.
  
• I had the nicest office that I’ve ever had before or since. Who cared that it was originally furnished as an expression of admiration for my predecessor?
  
• I had the freedom to be with Mary, Rachel and Rebecca just about whenever I needed or wanted to.
  
• I benefited from the collegiality of a number of United Methodist pastors, something that Flagstaff’s two UM churches just couldn’t offer.
  

With the experience I had gained moderating Dad’s radio program from the Arvada church, I worked myself into the fun spot of being the announcer for the Nebraska Conference’s weekly broadcast over KFAB, and I had the opportunity to take some classes in communications at the University of Nebraska, Omaha. The Midwest lifestyle was perfectly suited for raising our young family, and I was doing well with my studies which, for practical reasons, I had transferred to Saint Paul School of Theology in Kansas City. Life was good!

Between a Rock and a Brook

More often than I would have liked, I’ve seen senior pastors pitted against their congregations in a struggle for power. There was a little of this going on at Trinity Heights in Flagstaff as the congregation adjusted to the extreme difference in the personalities of Bill Denlinger and Hal Cowart. Hal, however, was easy going and not all that fond of the northern Arizona climate, so to be appointed elsewhere was not a great catastrophe to be avoided. Richard Carter, on the other hand, came to Rockbrook with plenty of conference baggage that included a reputation of being an “absent minded professor” at best and something of a jerk at worst. There was a pronounced division within the congregation between Dick’s friends and supporters and his detractors. He had angered many by arranging my predecessor’s ouster, an exhibition of the cronyism among district superintendents past and present. Dick took every opportunity to explain to me what had been so unsatisfactory about Pat which I perceived as a tutorial on what I was and was not to do as the new associate. Then there were the disgruntled parishioners who had no reservations about informing me of the myriad of reasons that they didn’t care for Dick and why they wanted to see him replaced. Somewhere in the midst of all this I remained convinced that there was still merit to the life and teachings of Jesus the Christ that deserved to be communicated as gospel.

Where's Waldo?

The careful reader has perhaps noticed something that has been bothering the author. Any mention of theology has been markedly absent as the saga of my ministry in The United Methodist Church has progressed. It was Dad that taught me that church and theology are—or at least should be—intertwined. One’s hermeneutic, ecclesiology, Christology, eschatology and general philosophy are all grounded in one’s theology/worldview, and yet little to no emphasis was being placed by the institutional church on the development of what Claremont’s Jack Verheyden called “a rational discourse about God.” Biblicism was the practical focus of both the general and local church which made any theological inference accidental at best. What good does it do to profess Jesus of Nazareth to be the Son of God if the only rationale is that the Bible says so? How can one claim to be a follower of Jesus the Christ without attempting to explore and understand the Nazarene’s own theology? Interestingly enough, I discovered that these were topics that laypersons hungered to address; it was the church to which they turned for their spiritual development that relegated theology to the exclusive realm of scholasticism while feeding them biblical pabulum with the expectation that it be unquestioningly swallowed.

Mary recommends...

Not to be outdone by her father-in-law, Mary encourages you to hear from another raving liberal:

A Re-Look-See at the Constitution by Bill Maher

A Liberal's Pledge

My thanks to Dad for sharing this with me so that I may share it with you:

A Liberal's Pledge to Disheartened Conservatives by Michael Moore

Please Read!

Learning that 100,000 new blogs are created each day with an estimated 1.3 million posts added daily has given me a whole new sense of journalistic freedom seeing as how I truly am talking to myself. At times I permit myself to enter into the monologue of another, and I found Michael Kinsley’s essay, When “Oops” Isn’t Enough, to be well worth sharing. I just pray that Mr. Kinsley does not take offense at my bringing him to this remote part of cyberspace.

The Blessed Hierarchy

I’ve obviously never had a good grasp on church politics; otherwise, I would not be writing this from my 8’ x 8’ cubicle tucked away in the dark recesses of a government office building. Particularly difficult for me to understand is how the selection of district superintendents in The United Methodist Church is made. As a rule they are not the most successful parish pastors because those folks need to be left in their local churches to continue the success (the UMC at large is funded by what is essentially a tax on local congregations dubbed “apportionments”). Nor are district superintendents the persona non grata of an annual conference; those folks are needed to fill the appointments that no one else wants. Bishops choose their cabinets, and I can only guess that their choices are made on the basis of how much adoration and obedience they can expect from their chosen ones. While it is not written in the Book of Discipline that bishops are inerrant and infallible—that just wouldn’t be Protestant—the presumption is submissively accepted by the rank and file that are kept in line by the episcopacy’s lieutenants. The reason that I’ve expounded upon this subject at some length is this: the Reverend Richard G. Carter was a district superintendent prior to being appointed to Rockbrook UMC.

So This Is What "No Win" Means

The function of an associate pastor is basically determined by the pastor in charge (senior) in conjunction with the desires of the congregation which are hypothetically communicated through the Staff-Parish Relations Committee (SPRC). The associate’s role is rightfully supportive of the senior pastor, but the converse is—at least from my experience—rarely reciprocated. Senior pastors are by their position entitled to the limelight positions: preaching, administration, funerals and weddings. Associate pastors are as likely as not to be ex officio education/youth directors, substitute church secretaries and janitors, and stand-ins at those functions that require a pastoral presence but are essentially beneath the dignity of the senior pastor (the United Methodist Women often fall into this category, and I discovered attending their meetings to be absolutely delightful; and, it was just one more opportunity for the associate pastor to become more endeared than the senior pastor to one the congregation’s more formidable forces). Add to this political cocktail the fact that many—if not most—of Rockbrook’s parishioners were not happy with Dick as their senior pastor and you end up with an unstable and volatile church environment. I discovered that you cannot assist someone who sees himself as above assistance, and I eventually learned how senior pastors who perceive they are cornered react.

Learning the Ropes

Richard G. Carter was the quintessential scholastic snob. He delighted in esoteric trivia. His view of parishioners as pathetic little paeans fueled his elitist arrogance. But this is not to say that Dick was a bad person. He was just odd. And he was the kind of oddity that strangely defines the rule rather than the exception for United Methodist clergy. Two independent studies conducted in the late 1980s and early 1990s both concluded that over three-quarters of clergy in the United States are clinically codependent (now there’s a fact to ponder for at least the next couple of seconds). Dick always made me think that he would have been happier as a teacher, but a mere teacher doesn’t enjoy the same status and prestige as a minister who as often as not fulfills the additional roles of principal, superintendent, and board member within the local church. As is true with many pastors, Dick didn’t try to hide his preference of particular parishioners over others. This was okay for those who found themselves in his favor, but was a chronic irritant to those he chose to ignore. This basically explains the working environment I entered at Rockbrook UMC. My predecessor had been beguiled by the disenfranchised parishioners who led him to believe that they might succeed in ousting Carter (again, this scenario will eerily repeat itself a decade later). The only thing that this treachery accomplished was the appointment of a new associate—yours truly.

On Being Number Two

Becoming an associate pastor is akin to an arranged marriage. Compatibility and camaraderie have little to do with it. Subservience and obedience have everything to do with it. I was aware at the time what a rare working relationship existed between Nate Holt and me, but Richard Carter impressed upon me the brutal reality of what most senior/associate relationships are like. In retrospect I can see that even Dad’s batting average with associates wasn’t high. Lonnie Johnston, Wilber Benham, and Charles Cooper managed to work with Dad more amicably than almost a dozen others who found themselves on the receiving end of his wrath and disdain. Congregations unwittingly contribute to the tension that exists between seniors and associates by expressing that they like this or that about the associate; if this is done while expressing what they like more about the senior pastor, then the coexistence can progress smoothly. But if it ever appears that the associate is somehow favored over the senior, then look out! This is a direct threat to the hierarchical homeostasis, and I personally don’t know of any instance where the associate came out on top. My first mistake at Rockbrook was to get along with the parishioners.

What's a Rockbrook?

There is a particular protocol within The United Methodist Church for being appointed. It begins with a telephone call from the superintendent of the district in which the prospective appointment is located. In the spring of 1988 my call came from the Reverend Donald Bredthauer whom Mary and I both knew as a former associate at First UMC in Lincoln. Don was now superintendent of the Omaha District, and there was an opening for an associate pastor at the somewhat prestigious Rockbrook UMC on Omaha’s west side. The senior pastor, Richard Carter, was unhappy with his current associate, the Reverend Patrick Culligan, and was looking to replace him (this scenario will eerily be repeated nearly ten years later). Viola! Enter stage west the fledgling local pastor for whom the choice between Williams, Arizona and Omaha, Nebraska was a genuine no-brainer. For what I later discovered was more to maintain the appearance of consulting the local congregation than anything else, it was arranged for me to fly to Omaha to meet with Rockbrook’s Staff-Parish Relations Committee (SPRC). I say that this is just going through the paces for good reason. The principals involved (the bishop, the district superintendent, and the senior pastor in charge) have already met and agreed to the prospective appointment which is then presented to the local congregation not on the basis of would you like to consider this appointee but rather here is your opportunity to meet the person we have selected for you. The SPRC could theoretically reject the proposed appointment but it would be much to the local congregation’s detriment for having challenged the authority of the bishop, etc. It was, therefore, perfunctorily agreed that the Nebraska Annual Conference would welcome my local pastor’s license with open arms so long as I would attempt to work with the Reverend Richard G. Carter.

With Deepest Sympathy

I extend my heartfelt sympathy to the congregation of the New Life Church and to supporters of the Rev. Ted Haggard. I, too, have experienced the almost indescribable hurt that results from being betrayed by one’s pastor. The born-again variety of American Christianity has repeatedly failed to prove immune to this kind of disgrace even as the most progressive of churches have managed to also defile the sacred trust of parishioners. The contemporary American evangelical movement, however, continues to bleed more because of the additional injuries inflicted by hypocrisy, bigotry, deceit, and false piety. The “better-than-thou” attitude embraced by these megachurch giants does lead to a harder fall that validates the skeptical view of these profiteering zealots that claim to head the moral majority, and I can only pray that our country is finally recognizing and rejecting the movement’s political counterpart. As has been the case far too many times over the past two millennia, the true victim of this evil is the Christ whose name has once again been profaned and besmirched. Beware that Haggard and his ilk will try to spin themselves as the victims in all this. Do not let yourself be further deceived by this evil posing in the guise of righteousness. It is the Body of Christ that suffers each and every time such treachery is perpetrated. We are called to forgive, but we are also called to a repentance that will never allow us to forget.

Surprise, Surprise, Surprise! (you go, Gomer)

It was a typically grey wintry day in Lincoln, Nebraska, where we were spending vacation time with Mary’s family. Mary and I had been deliberating what changes were about to be imposed upon our young family if I remained in the local pastor’s program. Quite innocently she wondered what opportunities might be open in the Nebraska Conference, and confident that inter-conference moves are difficult even for ordained elders I saw no harm in inquiring. As I sat in the lobby of conference headquarters who should walk by but Warren Swartz? Warren, now a district superintendent, had been the senior pastor of St. Mark’s UMC where I had done a student internship while attending Nebraska Wesleyan, and he also knew Dad as an Iliff School of Theology alum. To dispel any notion that this was anything less than fate, the cabinet was in session for the purpose of lining up appointments for the next session of annual conference and Warren surprised me by saying that Nebraska would be happy to have me back in their ranks. Somewhat stunned I returned to give Mary's family the news that it might not be so difficult to visit us in the future.

Go West, Young Man?

There is a kind of logic to the Roman Catholic dictum that its priests remain unmarried and celibate. I don’t agree with it, but being married and the father of two cast a whole new light upon the appointment system employed by The United Methodist Church of which I was becoming a part. As the newly formed Desert Southwest Annual Conference began deliberating and defining the role of the local pastor, I was first exposed to the hypocrisy of the consultation process. United Methodist congregations and pastors alike agree to accept the appointments made by the resident bishop, but the supposed checks-and-balances provision of the agreement is that pastors and congregations will be consulted by the bishop and her/his cabinet to try to ensure a “good fit.” Just as there is nothing in the Discipline which states that the exclusive route to ordination is through seminary, neither does the Discipline prohibit a licensed local pastor from being appointed associate pastor to a church large enough to support that position (indeed, the Discipline does not prohibit a local pastor from being appointed as the senior pastor). I was happy to be the associate pastor at Trinity Heights; Nate was amenable to me being his associate, and the congregation was favorable to the two of us being its pastoral team. None of this mattered, however, to the conference hierarchy. Having moved to Flagstaff from Denver the city felt small and remote, but it now seemed mammoth in comparison to Williams and its population of 2,500. A drive by the parsonage revealed a substandard house, and it was known throughout the conference that the church building was sorely in need of expensive repairs. Had I been single the appointment might have been viewed as a challenge that I’d like to take on, but taking Mary, Rachel and Rebecca into account made finding some sort of alternative an absolute necessity.

If It Ain't Broke...

Earning my local pastor’s license turned out to be a mixed blessing; in spite of our theological differences, Nate and I made a good team and we took albeit the egocentric foundation set by Bill Denlinger and continued to grow Trinity Heights upon it. The first year of the Course of Study at Claremont School of Theology afforded me the opportunity to study under the likes of William Baird and Jack Verheyden, a truly thrilling experience for one who had chosen to pursue an alternate route into the ordained ministry. The congregation was amenable to my appointment as their associate pastor, and all was good. Sometimes I like to think that my career could have been spent in Flagstaff (Dad’s thirty-five year reign in Arvada proved that it could be done) but the politics of envy and jealousy were not about to let such a thing happen. With the input from his cabinet (superintendents from each district of the conference) Bishop Elias Galvan deemed that local pastors should not—could not—serve as staff (associate pastors) at large churches. To do so would establish a precedent that would not favor Elders (seminary graduates) and this was obviously against the establishment’s grain. And so it was that the little burg of Williams, Arizona (about thirty miles west of Flagstaff) was raised as the likely spot that our now family of four (Rebecca blessed us with her arrival in November of 1986) would be relocated.

"The Least of These"

Choosing to enter the ordained ministry of The United Methodist Church via the Course of Study was probably as close to experiencing discrimination as this little white boy was ever going to come. While the Discipline of the church allowed for those COS students who demonstrated exceptional promise to actually be ordained Elder and given full membership in an annual conference, the chance of that ever actually happening was as thin as the paper it was printed on. The reality was that most—but not all—annual conferences would begrudgingly ordain COS graduates as Deacon (translate that to “servant of the servants”) and then assign them to the appointments that Elders refused to accept. (As I completed the COS at St. Paul School of Theology in Kansas City, Missouri, I was surprised to meet local pastors from the Rocky Mountain Annual Conference which had strictly abided by its “seminary rule” while I was living in Colorado. The reason that the RMAC was now tolerating these second-class wannabes?; because the conference could not find seminary trained Elders willing to accept appointments to the boonies.) Now, going strictly by the book (Discipline) it is theoretically impossible for any pastor who has taken her/his vows in the UMC to refuse an Episcopal appointment, but that, too, is only on paper. The truth of the matter was that we Deacons were regarded as the caddies for the elitist Elders playing the country club course of church politics.

The Wrong Direction?

To say that the local pastor’s licensing process was very basic in nature is quintessential understatement. I’m sure it was for good reason that the instruction presumed virtually no familiarity with UM polity, but it was so elementary as to make one wonder if my classmates had even completed some rudimentary form of training for the local church membership which was a prerequisite to applying for a license. Remember when I referred to the church as a business? Well, licensing school was designed to spell out the franchise’s policy and procedure for prospective assistant managers. And that was cardinal rule number one: don’t ever let yourself make the mistake of thinking that you were a manager. All authority of the local pastor is derived from the supervising elder, who in turn, I guess, is empowered by the district, which is empowered by the conference, and so on. The fundamental lesson I learned from licensing school was that by pursuing ordination in The United Methodist Church I was ironically putting greater distance between me and God instead of drawing closer.

Thought provoking...

...thanks, Steve, for bringing Military Matters: Cynicism on Iraq
by William S. Lind to my attention.

What Have I Done?

I just agreed to make telephone calls on behalf of MoveOn between now and November 7 to encourage people to vote. This is very unlike me. I really do think that it's time for a change, and the most productive change would be for more people to vote (more often :-) I'm going to be "trained" regarding what I suppose MoveOn wants me to say, but the truth of the matter is that I'm looking forward to doing nothing more than lubricating the machinery of our democracy by urging folks to vote! So, can I have your word that you will? If so, perhaps I can count this as a call.

Let the Hoop Jumping Begin

A candidate for the ordained ministry of The United Methodist Church undergoes rigorous screening to ensure that s/he doesn’t turn out to be of unsavory character; or so goes the company line. In order to apply for a local pastor’s license it was necessary for me to follow a prescribed path under the watchful supervision of an ordained elder. Since I was on staff at Trinity Heights it was deemed a conflict of interest to have Nate fulfill this supervisory role, and so I was farmed out—in a manner of speaking—to the Rev. Kendall Taylor of Flagstaff’s Federated Church (a Methodist/Presbyterian hybrid). I also made the trek down to Phoenix for a complete psychological evaluation which found me, in the words of the examiner, “disgustingly healthy.” That’s the last time I was assessed in such a positive light. My interview with the district committee on ordained ministry was on a rainy afternoon in the basement of First United Methodist Church in Las Vegas (the building was recently sold and changed into a coffee house and Manpower center). Finally, I was interviewed by the Conference Board of Ordained Ministry at Paradise Valley UMC in Phoenix. It was a high point in my life when the chairperson, the Rev. Dr. James Standiford, affirmed my calling and approved my entrance into the licensing school at Claremont School of Theology. This has gone on long enough, but it is important to me to mention in conclusion that not once in this entire process was I ever asked to articulate my theology or worldview. This was my introduction to the reality that theology is not really what the church is concerned with.

The Paradigm Shuffle

All systems are “go” today! It will be interesting to see how much time elapses before the next malfunction.

I’ve been internally debating where to go next with my expose of life in and with The United Methodist Church. The argument has been over how personal a blog should become. I’ve heard (though I’ve not read) that there are blogs where the author reveals everything, sometimes to her/his embarrassment later on. I don’t think that how many warts I’ve had removed over the years is really germane to the subject, but the fact that Dad left Mom shortly after we moved to Flagstaff somehow is. The values of the church as I understood them at the time—the sanctity of home and family paramount among them—were failing the experiential acid test just at the time I was preparing to publicly attest to them. My parents’ separation challenged the authenticity of the liberal theology I grew up with when compared to the conservative theology of Nate Holt who was inadvertently becoming my mentor and a surrogate father figure that had no intentions of leaving his wife. Which had more merit? The “practice what you preach” paradigm or the “do as I say and not as I do”? Suffice it to say that a holistic worldview which encompasses both the sacred and the secular is tested by such dilemmas, and my pursuit of the ordained ministry was certainly no exception.

Time On My Hands

You know how some people can’t wear wristwatches because they somehow cause them to mysteriously stop working? Well, I’m beginning to think I have the same effect on my workplace computer. There is a program that I use frequently, and I seem to have a quota for how many times I can apply it before it starts screwing up. The top IT personnel are at a loss to explain what goes wrong, but the net result is that I get a new CPU about every three months. I think that this might be an omen that I should have a thinking position that doesn’t require me to use a computer, but the thinkers that are already in place will probably disagree. It might be better if Bill Gates would set me up with a suite in Seattle where I could sup Starbucks while subjecting tried and true programs to my grueling repetitiveness (I just love being alliterate). Mark your calendars and let’s see how long it takes me to tear up another one.

And Now, for Something Complete Different

Having realized that I am at complete liberty to detour from my path of mundane introspection, I am choosing today to indulge in some amateur punditry. Don’t worry, I’ll eventually get back to the mind-numbing saga of my adventures with The United Methodist Church, but with midterm elections a mere three weeks away I just can’t resist throwing some barbs at the mindless 51% of the American electorate that has kept the immoral regime of King George up and running.

What the heck were you thinking? Oh! That’s right, you weren’t! Remember that you didn’t have 9/11 for an excuse the first time you finagled this cowboy into the White House. It was nothing more than a greedy grab by the rich for more combined with a masterful campaign that portrayed this nincompoop as a born-again Christian that successfully rallied fundamentalists whose ability to think for themselves was already proven to be nil.

With the sale of Hummers having increased—increased!!—by 16% in 2005, America gives the world just one more reason revile us. We deserve everything that’s coming to us, and I’m not talking about respect and support. Without any earnest campaign reform measures in place, even if the House shifts Democratic in this election, we will still be dealing with the best Congress money can buy. Shame on us!

A True Friend

With the exception of the year that Mary and I lived in Florida, I was known for thirty-five years as Earl Hanna’s son. That was how I was identified. The children of prominent parents will know what I’m talking about. But for some strange reason Dad’s reputation had not traveled to Arizona with a couple of notable exceptions (Don Sapp was a district superintendent in the Phoenix area whose daughter attended the Arvada church), and nary a soul in Flagstaff had any idea who Earl Hanna was. This was a truly unique experience for yours truly.

Nate Holt (the pastor who was appointed to Trinity Heights to follow Hal Cowart) and I could not have been at more opposite ends of the theological spectrum, but his ignorance of who my father was led him to judge me on my own character. In the Wesleyan tradition we agreed to disagree about theology, but Nate was impressed by my intellect and organizational skills. He allowed for the fact that these may have been inherited characteristics but, for the first time in my life, really, Nate made me feel that I was a person in my own right. Nate’s primary objective was for the two of us to work together as a team to build up the local church.

I had been at Trinity Heights long enough to recognize that working for a church is not synonymous with being in ministry, and Nate understood what I was feeling. He himself had come into the ministry as a second career having previously been a respected Phoenix lawyer. So when I approached Nate about the possibility of obtaining a local pastor’s license and then pursuing the Course of Study I discovered that I had his wholehearted support! To enroll in the local pastor’s licensing process required the approval of the Trinity Heights congregation, the district committee on ordained ministry, and finally the conference board on ordained ministry (whew! ain’t Methodism great?). With Nate’s advocacy I started jumping the hurdles that for years had seemed impassable.

Providence, Arizona Style

The move to Arizona gave me a new appreciation for—and understanding of—providence. Unbeknownst to me when I applied for the position at Trinity Heights, Arizona and the southern tip of Nevada were preparing to form a new annual conference. Again, anyone not involved in The United Methodist Church would understandably not recognize this as the once-in-a-lifetime occurrence it was, but there I was just in the nick of time to witness the whole thing. Being a layperson not elected as a delegate from the local congregation made my attendance unofficial at best, but the good folks at THUMC still felt that I should be there to observe the proceedings.

What I regarded as so providential about this development was the fact that a brand new conference would not, in all likelihood, have a “seminary rule” in place as did the Rocky Mountain Annual Conference. Such a rule was, in my opinion, emblematic of the elitist class that United Methodist clergy had become. For nearly two-centuries the historic avenue into the ordained ministry of the Methodist church had been through the Course of Study, but post-WWII seminary graduates looked down upon this non-academic route and devised rules requiring graduation from a seminary in order to be ordained and become a member of the conference. This always struck me as “illegal” because the provisions for the Course of Study were included in the Book of Discipline, but I was told that annual conferences had the latitude to institute such provisions if they so chose. But in what came to be known as the Desert Southwest Annual Conference the only rule book was the Discipline and it was very clear to me that now was the time to act!

The Times They Are A Changin'

Hal Cowart was an intelligent man with a relatively progressive theology. As mentioned previously Hal had the unenviable assignment of following the charismatic Bill Denlinger, and it was my observation that he really didn’t possess the necessary skills for taking control of a congregation that was still in the throes of the separation anxiety that resulted from having the only pastor it had ever known taken from it. Added to this mix was the sometimes no-so-subtle manipulation of local church politics by born-again fundamentalists that saw their opportunity to remake Denlinger’s church in their own image.

Hal probably realized that his time at Trinity Heights was going to be short. The United Methodist Church, as a rule, has no provision for interim pastors and so it substitutes sometimes brutal appointments that are intended to absorb the ire of a disgruntled congregation (Denlinger was clear that he had not wanted to be moved to Phoenix, and the congregation had been clear that it wanted him to stay; this is a deadly combination in the politics of the UMC that is usually most keenly felt by the sacrificial lamb that is the resident bishop’s tool for demonstrating that s/he is still in charge).

The net result was a schizophrenic church that wanted to continue in the glory of its former pastor while puzzling over why the new pastor seemed more than willing to just put in his time. Hal was courting a perky airline attendant that was a divorcee with an adolescent daughter (he had never been married) and that pursuit was obviously of more interest to him than wrestling with the issues of a congregation that more than likely would not be his responsibility in a couple of years. Hal knew how the UMC worked, and it was not long before the Staff-Parish Relations Committee was being notified that it needed to be preparing for yet another appointment: The Reverend Doctor Nate Holt, J.D.

I Found It!

...with Mary's help, of course. As is true of so much I was introduced to these words in my father's church (I am still trying to figure out if such idealism has proven to be a blessing or a curse to my life). This describes the capital 'C'hurch for which I so long to be a part:

Before I was born MY CHURCH gave to my parents ideals of life and love that made my home a place of strength and beauty. In helpless infancy MY CHURCH joined my parents in consecrating me to Christ and in baptizing me in His name. MY CHURCH enriched my childhood with the Romance and Religion and the lessons of life that have been woven into the texture of my soul. Sometimes I seem to have forgotten and then, when else I might surrender to foolish and futile ideals of life, the truths MY CHURCH taught become radiant, insistent, and inescapable. In the stress and storm of adolescence MY CHURCH heard the surge of my soul and She guided my footsteps by lifting my eyes toward the stars. When first my heart knew the strange awakenings of love MY CHURCH taught me to chasten and spiritualize my affections; She sanctified my marriage and blessed my home. When my heart was seamed with sorrow, and I thought the sun could never shine again, MY CHURCH drew me to the Friend of all the Weary and whispered to me the hope of another morning, eternal and tearless. When my steps have slipped and I have know the bitterness of sin, MY CHURCH has believed in me and wooingly She has called me back to live within the heights of myself. Now have come the children dearer to me than life itself and MY CHURCH is helping me to train them for all joyous and clean and Christly living. MY CHURCH calls me to Her heart. She asks my service and my loyalty. She has a right to ask it! I will help her to do for others what She has done for me. In this place in which I live, I will help Her keep aflame and aloft the torch of a living faith.

--William Henry Boddy

Brilliant!

When Not Seeing is Believing by Andrew Sullivan

The Church at the Top of the Hill

Life in Flagstaff was good! The position at Trinity Heights was a good fit and allowed me to do the kind of work I enjoyed. One of the lessons I learned from working at Dad’s church was that pastors in charge (senior pastors where more than one is on staff) need to possess certain CEO qualities if the congregation is going to grow and thrive. Dad was one of the best in this respect, and having worked under him for the first year after Mary and I wed gave me a behind-the-scenes look at what made a large church (later to be labeled megachurch) tick. Trinity Heights was about a third the size of the Arvada church in terms of membership but still fell into the large church class. Hal Cowart was the senior pastor who had the unenviable assignment of following Bill Denlinger, Trinity Heights’ founding pastor. Denlinger was (I was told) very charismatic and had been permitted to stay in Flagstaff long enough to put his personal brand on the congregation. Cowart, in contrast, was more scholarly and introverted, and struck me as someone not really suited to convert Denlinger’s church back into a United Methodist church. My predecessor, Irma Campbell, decided to move on herself when Denlinger, who had hired her, was appointed to a Phoenix church. I think that Cowart would have been just as happy working solo, but the congregation was intent upon continuing to do things the way that Denlinger had done them which worked to my advantage. It was going to be Hal and me working together to erase the Denlinger/Campbell legacy at Trinity Heights.

Arizona, Here We Come!

It was mid 1984 and Rachel’s birth in January had plunged me headlong into the world of adult responsibility. No longer was I the carefree lad free to explore whatever occupation of the moment might intrigue me but was instead being called upon to be one of the co-providers for this precious gift that had been bestowed upon Mary and me. I was losing the fight as a Field Underwriter for New York Life (even though I had just passed my NASD exam on the first try; a rather extraordinary accomplishment, I was told) and Mary cut to the chase in her characteristic style. If you would spend as much time trying to sell insurance as you do volunteering for the [Arvada] church, she told me, you probably wouldn’t find it to be such a struggle. This should be telling me something, she said, about what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. My NYLIC trainer was Bob Paul, himself an inactive ordained minister who had achieved notable success with the company, and he concurred that the biggest problem I was having with sales was that my heart just wasn’t in it. He agreed with Mary that working for the church seemed to be my true calling. And so I set about looking for a church job. A new position was being created at the Arvada church which very much interested me, but it was explained to me that I didn’t possess the required credentials. A search of the denomination’s various publications turned up a position of Director of Lay Ministries at Trinity Heights United Methodist Church in Flagstaff, Arizona, and my resume earned me an interview with the Staff-Parish Relations Committee. The competition didn’t stand a chance! I offered my organizational and administrative skills and the question of my credentials never even came up. So, on the threshold of my thirty-fifth birthday (remember that magic number?) a caravan consisting of a U-Haul and cars full of grandparents made its way toward a new adventure.

Still Looking

I’ve spent most of today’s lunch hour looking without success for a particular statement. I know that I’ll be able to find it at home, and so let it suffice for now to say that I am aware that my commentary on The United Methodist Church has been tinged with negativism. As the story unfolds I trust that the reasons for this will become apparent, but in the meantime I need to clarify that it was my church, composed of family and friends, which deserves the credit for anything about my character that can be construed as positive and constructive. The same is true for education (which I hopefully have distinguished from academia). I try to be a good person, and that is because of the lessons learned from my church experience. This being said, what I discovered as an ordained minister about the political machinations of the UMC was made all the more disappointing because the church in general had been so seminal to my overall development.

Sabbath Soliloquy

Abba,

I have every reason to believe that Jesus of Nazareth observed this highest of holy days—the most awesome of the Days of Awe—to deeply introspect into what “sins” stood in the way of complete communion, of at-one-ment, with you. Yom Kippur as the climatic conclusion of Rosh Hashanah makes so very much sense that it is very puzzling to me why it never made its way into the Christian calendar of holidays. While it’s true that we almost have our ten days between Christmas and New Year’s they are hardly time spent focusing upon the nature of our relationship with you (celebrating the birth of the Christ into our world could come close to fulfilling such a function but you well know that is a far cry from the practical observance predominant in our contemporary culture). Forgive my digression that is so characteristic of the many things I’ve discovered that daily break the oneness with you that I truly strive for. Why is it so very true that the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak?

As this birthday of the world marks another anniversary of your magnificent, miraculous creation, I renew my declaration that I desire to genuinely be at one with you, and I will more earnestly repent of those things that I allow to get in the way. I am going to try very hard in the coming year to recognize each moment of life that is granted to me as the miracle it truly is, and to remember that this includes your children—all your children—with whom I share your gracious gift. I pray that I may become your faithful servant devoted to co-creating the New Day of your divine reign on Earth. Amen.

Jesus Would Be So Proud!

As I was composing yesterday’s entry I realized that I was inadvertently wandering into the realm of jargon esoteric to the Methodists. Since this monologue is primarily for my own therapeutic edification I decided to briefly describe the structure and polity of this uniquely American denomination. What began as a grassroots movement gradually evolved into the bureaucratic monstrosity that exists today.

Laypersons become members of a local parish that is headed by a pastor-in-charge. If that pastor holds only a local pastor’s license s/he is also a member of that local congregation. Local churches are grouped geographically into districts which are headed by superintendents that are appointed by the presiding bishop of the Annual Conference. For the most part, these Annual Conferences are also determined by geography, and the resident bishop for each Annual Conference is elected by the General Conference which meets quadrennially (GC is the big enchilada of Methodism). When a pastor is ordained by an Annual Conference s/he gives up membership in the local church to become a member of the Conference. Much like the military, the ordained pastor agrees to go wherever the resident bishop appoints her or him, just as local congregations agree to accept whoever is appointed to their parish by the bishop. Local church property is held in trust by the Annual Conference (which turns out to be a nifty way of keeping control over renegade parishioners).

This is more than anyone ever wanted to know about The United Methodist Church, but it is basic to a better understanding of the institutional challenges that confront anyone who believes that they should respond to their calling through the UMC. If I had known then what I know now, I probably would have gone ahead and endured the ecclesiastical gauntlet anyway, but an objective outsider would certainly be justified in wondering why?

I Fight Authority and Authority Always Wins

How I managed to go all this time without realizing that John Cougar Mellencamp’s Authority Song should be my life’s theme song I don’t know, but while exercising this morning I really listened to the words for the first time and voila!

Serving three internships (Havelock United Methodist Church and St. Mark’s United Methodist Church in Lincoln, Nebraska, and Arvada United Methodist Church in Arvada, Colorado) impressed upon me that the “new and improved” United Methodist church was giving no credence to the apprenticeship model that had seemingly served it well for nearly two centuries. Even my employment at Dad’s church was contingent upon successfully completing an undergraduate degree in preparation for admission to a seminary. I had become aware of the historical—and not academic—route into the ordained ministry known as the Course of Study, but the Rocky Mountain Annual Conference would not even acknowledge that such a thing existed even though it was explicitly provided for in the Discipline.

And so it was that I embarked upon the journey of Everyman that introduced me to sales, banking, labor, and finally law enforcement. Even if I was to move to an Annual Conference that accepted the Course of Study, I had to wait until I was old enough (the Discipline requires one to be thirty-five years old to obtain a Local Pastor’s license, something akin to having to be old enough to be elected President of the United States, I suppose). Every endeavor accepted me for my demonstrated abilities instead of credentials, and I hope that it is without bragging that I report I attained the highest levels of achievement in each. My churchmanship remained impeccable and I was finally successful in becoming a certified lay speaker at age thirty.

Just Look What She Started!

The Gestalt of Mary’s unconditional love served as horizon-expanding proof of that to which the Gospel originally testifies. The affirmation that I was nothing less than a child of God lent credence to John Wesley’s (the founder of Methodism) notion of prevenient grace and flew in the face of somehow having to justify my worth—academically or otherwise—to my Creator. The spirit underlying the notion that “all men are created equal” is bona fide in spite of the seeming impossibility of ever practically implementing it. The social climate of questioning unquestionable authority complemented the growing rebellion within me. Jesus did not include the beatitude of blessed are the scholars for they shall be deemed superior. The scholars invented such self-serving ideology in order to promote themselves up the ladder of power and control over the common people. The priestly ability to transubstantiate the bread and the cup (among other things) was part of what the Protestant rejection was all about, but even the Protestant clergy had to devise ways of putting themselves a cut above the rest. My faith was becoming more and more at odds with the beliefs I had been taught.

From Worthless to Worthy

The clear message I received from family, church, and society in general is that there is nothing inherently worthy about me, and that the avenue to earning the respect of others is through achievement; in my case, specifically of the academic sort. While this didn’t jive with my understanding of the teachings of the Christ I was repeatedly reminded that my interpretation counted for naught until such time as I could scholastically justify it. There was to be none of this sentimental “but I was called by God” nonsense; what counts is being able to say “what I think about this or that matters because I have the academic credentials to support my position.” Try as I might, I was unable to reconcile this attitude with the biblical message that the least shall be the greatest, that the last shall be first, and that the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve.

This is not the first time that I have confessed to the selfish aspect of the love that has bound Mary and me for the last thirty-six years, but in the context of the outside conditions I found being placed on my worthiness it was literally awesome to discover that someone apparently loved me unconditionally! Mary didn’t ask for a copy of my transcript before agreeing to date me. She didn’t require that I produce my SAT scores or my acceptance into graduate school. Mary loved me for me, and in turn that empowered me to love her in the same way. In Mary I found the true, unconditional love of which the Christ taught, and in so doing I discovered my value as nothing more—and nothing less—than a child of God. To those who were expecting me to authenticate my calling through academic achievement this was a great disappointment, but in terms of my own sense of self it was nothing less than an exhilarating sign from God!

At the Pearly Gates

St. Peter: Admission will be based on what we find in your book of life. Let’s take a look and see what we have.
Me: Sounds fair.
St. Peter: Hmmm…it looks like you have some problems with authority.
Me: So I’ve been told.
St. Peter: Do you really have a complete lack of respect for authority as some of your references say?
Me: I haven’t been overly impressed with their authority.
St. Peter: So whose authority do you respect?
Me: My understanding of the Christ is that there is but one true authority.
St. Peter: And that is?
Me: God.
St. Peter: You’ll get no argument from me on that one! But many of the authorities you have so little respect for have been vested in their power by God haven’t they?
Me: So they say.
St. Peter: Well, what they say seems to have been generally accepted by the masses.
Me: If the masses already knew the truth, then why is the Christ necessary?
St. Peter: With all due respect, why do you honor the authority of the Christ?
Me: Isn’t it of God?
St. Peter: By whose authority would you say such a thing?
Me: Just how long is the waiting list for purgatory?

Let the Contest Begin!

Human development consists of, among other things, forming a sense of self and esteem. The questions who am I and what am I here for are nearly universal, although it is true that they are more pronounced in societies that are relatively free from poverty and warfare. Abraham Maslow explained why this is so by proposing a hierarchy of needs which has since generally been accepted as valid. Coming from the idyllic W.A.S.P. environment which defined Jefferson County, Colorado, I had more than enough protection from worldly distractions like hunger, homelessness, racial inequality, etc, to supply ample time for this self-reflection. In the course of this introspection, however, I discovered that there were varying degrees of disparity between how I viewed myself and how others viewed me. For the most part, I sensed that my worth to others was conditional. Parents love me if I am a good boy. Teachers love me if I am a good pupil. Peers love me if I fulfill particular criteria of friendship that I to this day do not comprehend. While I was supposed to be building a solid sense of self-esteem, I could not avoid the fact that it was highly dependent upon what others thought of me. This understanding eventually generalized from personal relationships to the way that I interacted with larger institutions. While I knew in my own mind what constituted a calling from God, such knowledge was irrelevant to the university and the church because their evaluation of me was based upon how well I conformed to their structure and how well I was able to regurgitate what they deemed to be important. As I grew in wisdom and in stature I found myself increasingly at odds with the society in which I was living.

Oh, Those Sixties!

It seems to me worthwhile to reiterate that these Monday through Thursday musings are strictly off-the-cuff because I choose to write them in the second-half of my mandatory lunch hour. Whatever weaknesses in construction and development that may be discovered can be blamed on this rather than on my lack of ability (this shortcoming may be easily observed in those occasional Friday through Sunday entries that, according to my excuse, should be evidently superior because I spend more time on them).

It occurs to me that I have belabored my formative years beyond what is necessary or helpful, and so I will attempt to put succinctly where it is that I’ve been trying to get. While my academic achievement during college was anything but stellar (until the later years) I did learn many things while at Nebraska Wesleyan University. Chief among them was that neither the university nor the church was the least bit interested in my calling, my theology, or my spirituality. The United Methodist Church was intensely focused upon seminary serving the graduate school function of producing professional ministers, and the university was therefore focused upon preparing undergraduate students for postgraduate studies.

My impression of the sixties and seventies as a time of revolutionary change in our country has been affirmed by any number of studies, documentaries, etc. One of the things that were increasingly being questioned by my generation was the authority of the status quo, the notion that things are the way they are because they have always been that way. Also under fire was the very notion of the source of authority itself. Was Richard Nixon above the law because he was President of the United States? Was the Pope infallible and inerrant by virtue of being the head on the one true church? Was The United Methodist Church’s movement in the direction of academically achieved professionalism justified? There was a lot to think about.

The Business of Business

To be in business implies that there is either a product or a service being offered for remuneration. Businesses that sell a product usually have customers, while businesses that offer services more often have clients. So, if the church is a business what product or service does it have to offer? Since “church” is a Christian term it seems fair to say that one way or another Jesus is the product to be marketed or the service to be promoted. While I know this sounds harsh, I believe that it is functionally and historically accurate. The legalization of Christianity in the 4th century opened the door for franchising a now politically correct institution that had been a couple of centuries in the making. I was affected by this to the degree that I failed to understand that the church is a business because I was regarding it as the environment in which Christian discipleship could be practiced. Reflection upon those two prospects reveals that they are as different as night and day.

For those who are in the least bit interested in the veracity of what I’m saying, may I recommend the cover story of the September 18 issue of TIME magazine: Does God Want You To Be Rich? I found it to be a rather uncanny coincidence that a national publication would so powerfully support my personal ramblings.

Sabbath Soliloquy

Abba,

Did you hear us? Did you receive us? My wife, youngest daughter, and a group of your children heretofore unknown to me gathered yesterday at Willow Springs in Red Rock Canyon—a place I coming to understand as sacred ground—for a global lifting up of a prayer for peace:

We are a global Family
All colors, All races
One world united.
We dance for peace and the healing of our planet Earth
Peace for all nations.
Peace for our communities.
And peace within ourselves.
As we join all dance floors across the world,
let us connect heart to heart.
Through our diversity we recognize Unity.
Our love is the power to transform our world.
Let us send it out
NOW…

Only you know how many of us around the world prayed at the appointed hour. Only you are able to sort out the heartfelt prayers from the insincere lip service. Only you know how many of your children work with you and those who work against you. May I be granted the courage to change the things that I can, the serenity to accept the things I cannot, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Your loving son

Mary recommends...

This Hole in the Ground
by Keith Olbermann

Reclaiming The Issues: Islamic Or Republican Fascism? by Thom Hartmann

We Won't Be Quiet
by Salt Lake City Mayor Rocky Anderson
Washington Square
Salt Lake City, Utah
August 30, 2006

Vote for Me!

Having already partially violated the taboo against discussing religion and politics, I might as well go all the way by expressing some thoughts on the latter. Anywhere there are people there is going to be politics, the word having its origins in the ancient Greek polis, meaning a state or society having a sense of community; Plato then develops this into statesman. It seems to me that politics becomes more pronounced in a competitive environment than in a cooperative one simply because it is one means to achieving superiority and control. It was Jesus’ apolitical mindset that drove his contemporaries crazy just as it has continued to frustrate generations of hopeful disciples since. The first shall be last, the greatest is the least; these are concepts utterly incompatible with the competitive spirit. That Jesus’ “victory” was achieved through submitting to crucifixion rather than conquering his foes continues to mystify. The long and the short of it is that the Church failed early on to embrace its Savior’s apolitical way and became paramount among political institutions. So, not only do I find myself having to authenticate my calling through academic achievement but through participating in the politics of power.

Anything You Can Do…

While I’m playing with semantics, I might as well explain what I see to be the difference between education and academic achievement. At the most basic level I understand the former to be a cooperative venture while the latter is competitive in nature. The distinction has become so blurred in our American society that the two are regarded as synonymous, much the same way that religion and faith are (erroneously) used interchangeably. A childhood example might serve to illustrate. My mother taught (educated) me to tie my shoelaces. Without the pressure of competition she patiently instructed me in the intricate moves that I still employ today. If this lesson, however, was transposed into an academic setting it would surely become a competitive matter of determining who can tie their shoelaces the best and fastest. The “winner” would go to the head of the class while the rest of us would be clumped together as average and normal. In such a scenario the basic lesson learned becomes secondary to the successful achievement of outstanding performance which distinguishes the superior from the inferior. I mistakenly set out for college thinking that I was going to further my education, when the truth of the matter was that I was entering the academic arena to scholastically prove myself worthy of the calling I had sensed my entire life.

Is There a Doctor in the House?

Obviously, I find great satisfaction in examining the subtle nuances of the English language. Now that I have “accused” the church of being a business, I really need to attempt a clearer distinction between vocation and occupation (see Who Cares?) by introducing profession. It has helped me clarify the difference by understanding that occupations, for the most part, have customers, while professions have clients. This is particularly important to understand when it comes to defining just what kind of business the church is in. Certainly, to regard parishioners as customers just doesn’t sound quite right (although this is an increasing popular paradigm with today’s megachurches), and so the more sophisticated paradigm of professionalism treats them as clients of sorts. Customer-oriented occupations are more apt to lean toward experience-based apprenticeships while client-oriented professions tend to weed out unworthy candidates by selection based on academic achievement (I wish I had a nickel for every time I was told that if I required surgery I would want nothing less than a medical school graduate operating on me). As far as I can tell, it was following World War II that the United Methodist church shifted its focus from a vocational to a professional view of the ordained ministry, striving for its ministers to dwell in the same realm as doctors and lawyers rather than that of barbers and farmers. It is very similar to the same paradigm shift that took place in public education whereby “normal” teachers (such as my grandmother) were no longer thought of as being as qualified as those with college degrees. I can understand how this must have seemed progressive at the time, but I have always felt that something was lost when professional servanthood became the norm (not to mention an awkward oxymoron).

Getting Down to Business

One of the labels I have chosen to describe myself is that of ‘romantic idealist.’ I have a strong sense of how things should be combined with a somewhat misguided belief in the possibility of things eventually being as they should. This perhaps explains why I feel so attuned to that line from Desiderata which promises that—even if I am not aware of it at the time—the universe is unfolding as it is supposed to.

This facet of my worldview held me fast to the notion that my vocation (being called by God to a prophetic ministry of service to others) was most compatible with an occupation in the church, and my father’s example naturally led me to think that this meant the ordained ministry. I have elaborated upon my childhood and adolescence development—perhaps more than I needed to—in order to bring me to what I now realize to be one of the most important discoveries of my life: the church is a business!

Had I been quicker to accept this truth I might have done some things differently, but my idealism (and naiveté) caused me to hang tight to the belief that the Church was, like the church I had grown up in, primarily in the business of theologizing and social action. But as James Burke argues in his book, The Day the Universe Changed, the function of the institution ultimately becomes to preserve the institution. So, had I been born a couple of millennia earlier than I was I might have encountered the authentic community of faith inspired by Jesus the Christ, but instead I ran headlong into the political bureaucracy that is The United Methodist Church of today.

Sabbath Soliloquy

Abba,

I’m sitting here watching CBS Sunday Morning. The subject is predictably the fifth anniversary of 9/11. There are highlights of progress made in security, etc, but there is equal emphasis upon how little has been accomplished in terms of resolving the hatred that is aimed at us (or the government that supposedly represents us). If 9/11 has accomplished nothing else it has managed to convince Americans that we are the victims. Evil is doing a masterful job of focusing upon isolated events that support such thinking while diverting attention away from the truth that we are not as innocent as we’d like to believe.

The President has finally admitted that he is at war with Islamic fascism, and in so doing he has confirmed pathetic ignorance of his simultaneous confession of Christian fundamentalism. In the end it will finally be revealed that a greedy military industrial complex of which we were warned over a half-century ago plotted and executed the “terrorism” that it now continues to use to propagate and engender chronic fear. We are at “war” with an enemy of our own making, and the gluttonous eco-terrorists driving their Escalades, Excursions, Hummers and Navigators are literally throwing fuel on the fire daily.

Here’s my confession: Why does the human mind immediately reject the revelation of the Christ that loving our enemies is the only godly response to hatred? Is it a cruel joke? Have you provided a solution to the problem that is humanly incomprehensible? Your “old testament” of an eye for an eye makes so much more sense, and we have repeatedly demonstrated our ability to comprehend and implement it. I’m beginning to think that this Jesus thing is just some sort of institutionalized concoction that was somehow used to take advantage of the oppressed and downtrodden. I can’t think of an historical instance when love trumped violent destruction—including Jesus’ story. Maybe our only real hope is to just bomb the hell out of them and be done with it!

Love,
Your gullible child

Who Cares?

Just as subtle as the distinction between pantheism and panentheism is that between occupation and vocation. As has already been established, Dad’s way of doing things at his church was significantly different from others. This was perhaps nowhere better seen than in his approach to membership training. Yes, if you wanted to become a member of Dad’s church, you had to go through membership training. The novitiate version of this process was confirmation, something that I did concurrently with earning my God and Country award through the Boy Scouts (that was a rather intense year). One of the concepts that most impressed me from that instruction is that there is difference between an occupation (a job) and a vocation (a calling). As best as I was able to understand it at the time, the ideal was to strive for an occupation that was consistent with and supportive of one’s vocation. In other words, pursuing the occupation of minister was a reasonable response to God’s call to be of service to others. Again, as I burst my bubble and entered the real world I discovered that such a distinction was not regarded as an especially important one, even to the church.

Oh, What A Foolish Boy I Was

It unfortunately cannot be overemphasized how naïve I was as I entered college. The embarrassingly best example was my belief that after having had a few fun tag skirmishes during the summer that occasionally involved some “tackling” I would be equipped to play football at Nebraska Wesleyan University. Mind you, I had not played any ball prior to this delusional decision made on the assumption that because NWU was a Methodist school it would be just as collegial as the games played with friends in the park. My idiocy was further compounded by my desire to join my family in a final vacation trip to South Carolina which led me to inform the coach that I would arrive two weeks late for practice. Upon settling into the freshman dorm I was spared practice the next morning by a typical Lincoln rain, but the sun shone on my afternoon massacre. After spending a grueling half-hour or so in the locker room with my fellow victims Paul and Rob trying to figure out where things such as knee pads are supposed to go, I sprinted out onto the practice field to get personally acquainted with the coach. When asked what position I played I had to respond that I honestly didn’t know, and the look on Coach Chaffee’s face should have been my first clue that I was making a horrible mistake. He bemusedly instructed me to take a crack at defensive back. The real football players saw me coming and must have been gratified at the pummeling they gave me. There was really no choice about whether I went to practice the next morning or not. I simply could not even get out of bed. The final insult was that Wesleyan’s team didn’t win even one game that season, so I was pounded senseless by the weakest and the worst.

I’ve gone to great length here to detail the authenticity of my naiveté as a way to illustrate how it affected my worldview in general. It affected the way I perceived what college was all about. And it most certainly affected my understanding of the way my “calling” was going to be assimilated into the United Methodist church. Lowell Jorgenson and I (I haven’t thought of him in a long, long time) discovered one Sunday morning that we were the only two out of the entire freshman dorm that were headed for church, and what we experienced was very foreign to both of us. My need for a place to conduct my “good” churchmanship prompted a search of over a half-dozen UM congregations before I finally found my spiritual “home” at Westminster Presbyterian (this encompassed a whole range of other issues that I will not bore the reader with now). Just as I thought because I had had fun playing football with friends would qualify me for a college team, I was still under the delusion that being a regular churchgoer would eventually result in my being ordained into the ministry.

Has Anyone Seen My Church?

The United Methodist Church I discovered in Lincoln, Nebraska was quite different from my father’s. Take the Bible for example. In Dad’s church scripture was a means to an end. In the Midwest churches (which I eventually came to understand were more typical) scripture was just the opposite being an end unto itself. I was exposed to lectionary preaching that was more explanatory than it was inspirational, more popular than it was confrontational. And the times they were a changin’! The church to which Americans had flocked by the millions in the early sixties were somehow proving to be irrelevant to the societal upheaval that was taking place in the latter part of the decade, and substance was succumbing to appearances as folksy coffee house guitar strumming attempted to halt the growing exodus from mainline sanctuaries. I, still being of the belief that “good” churchmanship was the appropriate way to respond to my calling, began a frustrating church to church search for anything that seemed vaguely in alignment with my understanding of the faith as it had been taught me.

Say What?

It is appropriate here to summarize the theology (the worldview) that I took to college with me. Synthesizing the input from family, church, and community, my faith was (and is) in a dynamic paradigm of reality. God is real; therefore, the Creator is continually in the process of becoming as opposed to being composed of serialized static events. The Bible is a record of humankind’s discovery of this reality, and Jesus the man managed to wholly align himself with this divine process.

What in heaven’s name ever led me to think that this kind of thinking would be accepted outside of what I have affectionately come to regard as the bubble I grew up in I will never know. But true to the character of the turbulent sixties, I was unknowingly heading toward a culture clash that would change my life.

Jesus Is Just Alright With Me

The “good p.k.” strategy worked well right through high school graduation. The church was popular during the sixties; made all the more so by the assassination of John F. Kennedy, and it definitely didn’t hurt my reputation any that my father was pastor of one of the most dynamic, fastest-growing churches in the Denver area. Three Sunday morning worship services (four on Easter) packed full of congregants in the “new” building completed in 1963, religious education (Sunday school) classes that required registration and had attendance standards, this was the environment I grew up in. I really had no idea how extraordinary this all was when compared to the “average” Methodist church (it became The United Methodist Church when the Evangelical United Brethren and Methodist churches merged in 1968), and I can assure you that it was a rude awakening that awaited me my freshman year at Nebraska Wesleyan University in Lincoln Nebraska (yes, a fine church-related liberal arts college—“the Harvard of the plains”—that was deemed the most sensible place to do my undergraduate work in preparation for seminary). Naïve best describes the me that headed east on I70 with my two best friends that morning in August of 1968, and included in that naiveté was my belief that all my years of being actively involved in the church while growing up were going to count for anything.

Groomed for Success

Having admitted in hindsight to its weaknesses, I nonetheless opted for what at the time seemed the both logical and practical way of answering “the call” by developing impeccable churchmanship. “As the twig is bent” certainly applied to me as the Methodist church became the center of my worldview. From my earliest to my most recent memories the church is second only to my parents in its influence upon how I perceive and understand what and who I am. Nursery, Sunday school, worship, choir, youth groups, and committees—yes, those notorious Methodist committees—composed the milieu within which I conducted my sacred and secular lifestyle. And what’s more, having sensed “the call” caused me to take all of this quite seriously. I actually found myself paying attention to and thinking about this doctrine to which I was being introduced.

It would be misleading if this in any way causes the reader to think that mine was a saintly childhood and adolescence. Quite to the contrary—as many who are still alive will attest—I was the proverbial pain in the hind. Immersed though I was in the culture of the church, I was also quite aware that it was sometimes at odds with the society in which I was being raised. Not only did I carry the onus of being the Reverend Earl K. Hanna’s son into an outside world where it was only slightly less impressive than in the church, but the feeling that I was somehow different from my peers was compounded by this odd and difficult perception of being called. In retrospect it was, I suppose, schizophrenia of sorts, trying to be one of the kids while simultaneously trying to be obedient to this summons that daily became more real. When I earned my first perfect attendance pin from Sunday school, well…I figured that ordination wasn’t far away.

Dinner's Ready!

If one perceives a calling, what is to be done with it? A mother calls her child in from playtime to eat dinner, and the child has the choice of ignoring it or answering it (the truth be known, there are a whole variety of ways between the two extremes that the child can respond). As a rule, incorrect responses are punished one way or another while the narrowly defined correct response is usually rewarded—perhaps by getting to eat. As I said earlier, the notion of being called is scripturally based, but where does the study and interpretation of scripture take place? To answer “organized religion” doesn’t require any particular genius, and my experience of organized religion was the Methodist church into which I was born and raised. It was altogether natural that I would adopt the logical deduction that since Dad was a minister of the church, Dad must have been called; therefore, if I was being called it was to the church’s ministry. The hindsight of my fifty-six years allows me to see the weakness of such a train of thought, but for a yearling that was trying to process what that “feeling” was and what it meant, it worked! And so the die was cast, so to speak, that the appropriate way to answer my calling was to follow the path into the ordained ministry of the Methodist church.

DefCon to Debate Religious Right

On Tuesday, August 29, at 7 p.m. EDT, DefCon advisory board member Michelle Goldberg will debate Phil Burress, the president of the religious right organization Ohio Citizens for Community Values, at Xavier University in Cincinnati, Ohio. DefCon is pleased to announce that we will be broadcasting the audio of this event live through our website:

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Patriot or Traitor?

Officer Wants Trial for War Objector

Thank you Lt. Ehren Watada

Mary recommends...

Again, my thanks to my wonderful wife for keeping me abreast of such timely issues as Finally, Fired up over Global Warming by Bill McKibben. Isn't now the time for us to be implementing a strategy?

Do You Hear What I Hear?

Being “called” is, to the best of my knowledge, scripturally based. Prophets, sages, and yes, even messiahs are subject to a biblical formula for verification and authentication. The formula, however, always presumes that there is One who does the calling. In the preceding article I explained the tremendous influence of my father on me, especially in the context of the church of which he was an integral part. As I gradually perceived my being called, it was only natural that I would attempt to discern whether or not it was my earthly or heavenly father’s “voice” I was hearing. Was I aspiring to nothing more than wanting to grow up to be just like Dad, or was I “hearing” from an even higher power?

Enter the equally significant influence of my mother. While my impression of Dad was how important he was, my impression from Mom was how important I am. Call it maternal nurturing, but Mom was the one who taught me everything from tying my shoelaces to skipping, from singing “Away in a Manger” to the “Lord’s Prayer.” And it was always with the encouragement and affirmation that I was capable of doing these things that Mom gradually revealed to me that there is a purpose to my life that my Creator is capable of communicating to me if I will but “be still and listen.” Mom was the one that inspired me to listen for the call that eventually became the most powerful force in my life.

Of course I didn’t know it at the time, but I was beginning to discern the subtle difference between pantheism and panentheism. Through the sophisticated tutelage of my father my theology encompassed a higher power that was more than just an old man with a white beard sitting on his throne in heaven, but through the loving affirmation of my mother my theology came to allow for the personal quality of God that makes for real dialogue instead of sterile disenfranchisement. Having pursued this path since has helped me to understand how Jesus of Nazareth was able to think of God as his Abba, his “Daddy”, without anthropomorphizing his Creator. Yes, God speaks to me when I listen, and God has called on me to share the good news that such is possible for anyone willing to do the same.

Born to be Tame

I was literally born into the Methodist ministry. Perhaps under hypnosis I could recall subliminal impressions of Taylor Hall at the Iliff School of Theology in Denver, but my earliest conscious memories are of a newly installed gas stove at the parsonage in Erie, Colorado. Clearer still are the images of life in Platteville, the second of only three appointments Dad would serve (being appointed to a new parish every three years was—and still is—commonplace in the United Methodist church). Moving to Arvada in 1955, I had no way of knowing how extraordinary it would be to grow up there, attending R-1 schools from kindergarten to graduation. There were the three years at Nebraska Wesleyan and Mary’s first year of teaching in Broward County, Florida that temporarily absented me from my “hometown”, but Arvada was it until the move to Flagstaff, Arizona in 1984.

Preacher’s kids (pk’s) seem to fall into one of two categories. There are those who develop a deep disdain for anything and everything churchy, and they put as much distance between themselves and their family as they can as quickly as they can. Then there are those who apparently aren’t quite as bright as their counterparts and get caught in the trap of organized religion. I was one of the latter, although in my own defense I must explain that witnessing the devotion of my mother and others to my father made it seem only natural to want to follow in his footsteps. While some preachers fill the bill of the town bumpkin, my father was a powerful force to be reckoned with that was more than worthy of emulation. And so I’ve always identified with the prophet Jeremiah’s belief that he was called to the ministry from his mother’s womb, simply because it has been my experience that such is truly possible.

Let the Journey Begin

A coworker asked me today if I didn’t used to be a pastor. My first urge was to respond that I still am, but I must be getting better at accepting that fact that I no longer am because that’s the answer that actually came out of my mouth. I do continue to cling to the notion of “once ordained always ordained” but I realize that even that is subject to how ordination is defined by whoever does the ordaining. The truth is that the United Methodist Church that ordained me Deacon in 1992 is the same that I surrendered my credentials to in 1999, and whatever has happened since is pretty much between me and God.

Having also accepted that this blog is a virtual monologue, I’ve decided to take advantage of that fact by working through the events that filled the time between ordination and surrender for the first time in journaling form. I’ve had the opportunity to do some reconstructing “on the couch,” but I’ve not yet put pen to paper as a means to sort things out. I don’t know that it’s really appropriate to be doing this in the public forum, but then this one can hardly be considered all that public. Whatever comments I may generate will be, I’m guessing, constructive and therapeutic.

I will make an effort not to assume that a great deal is known outside the United Methodist Church about its polity (it can be argued that few within the denomination really understand it). This is definitely going to be a personal journey, but I will welcome companionship and discussion along the way.

1. One book that changed your life: The Discipline of The United Methodist Church

2. One book you have read more than once: The Road Less Traveled by M. Scott Peck

3. One book you would want on a desert island: The New Interpreter’s Bible by God? (I liked Rachel’s answer better)

4. One book that made you laugh: Between the Bridge and the River by Craig Ferguson

5. One book that made you cry: Fundamental Research Statistics for the Behavioral Sciences by John T. Roscoe

6. One book you wish had been written: mine

7. One book you wish had never been written: so far its unanimous; anything by Ann Coulter

8. One book you are currently reading: Our Endangered Values: America’s Moral Crisis by Jimmy Carter

9. One book you have been meaning to read: God’s Politics by Jim Wallis

10. Now tag five people: on a really good day that many read this blog