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My thoughts today were headed in an entirely different direction until I read David Von Drehle’s essay, It’s All About Him. It’s hard for me to imagine that there is anyone who has not tried to come up with an explanation for how and why the Virginia Tech massacre took place, and Von Drehle provides a very solid—and profoundly disturbing—look at what’s going on in our society today. My understanding of the Christ’s gospel is its call to repent from selfishness by turning instead toward selflessness. Our failure to heed such counsel may truly lead to our ultimate demise.

Administrative Professionals Day circa 2007

How ironic is it that on this Administrative Professionals Day my own unit administrator denied my request for a box of Papermate Eraser Mate® Ballpoint Pens? This is the world I live in for forty hours a week, and this is the mentality that I am obliged to appease if I just want to be left alone to do my job. I hadn’t really set out to bankrupt Clark County with this outrageous $0.53/pen request (they may actually be found cheaper if I want to research it on the company clock @ $20/hour) but my “boss” thoughtfully suggested that I could purchase my own. This poses a dilemma. I don’t see the cost as unreasonable for my employer if it improves the quality of my work (no unsightly whiteout or scratches covering my mistakes), but it does seem unreasonable if it has to come out of my own pocket. In the final analysis, the citizens of Clark County can rest easier in the knowledge that their tax dollars (in truth, my division is funded by a federal grant) are being zealously guarded by frugal managers who cut short the extravagant waste of spendthrift employees like yours truly. All hail Administrative Professionals!

Happy Birthday, Mary!

On this day in 1950 the world became a more beautiful place. I didn’t personally experience that beauty until Valentine’s Day 1970, but from that day forward I have been blessed by the love of Mary Jean. When everyone aspires to emulate her then we will know the true meaning of heaven on earth. I love you!

G vs. G

If I understand The Secret correctly, a key element is gratitude. Thanks to the lessons I was taught as a child that were reinforced by practical experience as I matured, I can honestly say that I almost get this one. Just think of the profound changes that would appear almost immediately if the human species replaced greed with gratitude. The 180 from “I want” to “I have” would prove a miraculous cure for an endless list of diseases. The never-ending quest for more would be satiated by the contentedness that accompanies genuine thankfulness. When my gratitude for what I already have is genuine, I am supplied with an abundance that must be shared. Occasions such as yesterday’s Earth Day would become history because people who are truly grateful for what they have will take care of it. It sounds deceptively simple, but we all know how easy it is to succumb to the evil temptation of believing that we are impoverished rather than blessing ourselves by giving thanks for the wealth we already have. I daily remind myself how very fortunate I am to be married to Mary, to have Rachel and Rebecca for daughters, to have a beautiful home, clothes to wear, and more than enough to eat (just imagine how genuine gratitude could turn around our country’s epidemic of obesity). And, you know what? The more grateful I am, the happier I become.

Earth Day circa 2007

The point of freedom is to use it. --Salman Rushdie

From Earth Day circa 2006 until today we have driven our 2005 Toyota Prius 9295 miles. For that privilege we purchased 214.0 gallons of unleaded gasoline for $577.42. We averaged 45.0 miles per gallon.

How to Succeed

I’m reasonably certain that I’ve posted these thoughts before, but at this troubling time when there doesn’t seem to be a healthy definition of what constitutes success, Ralph Waldo Emerson’s words continue to enlighten:

To laugh often and much,

to win the respect of intelligent people

and the affection of children;

to earn the appreciation of honest critics

and endure the betrayal of false friends;

to appreciate beauty;

to find the best in others;

to leave the world a bit better

whether by a healthy child,

a garden patch, or a

redeemed social condition;

to know even one life

has breathed easier

because you have lived.

This is to have succeeded.

Am I My Brother’s Keeper?

This question serves as the prelude to the parable of the Good Samaritan in Christianity’s New Testament. Believing that it is so widely known in our culture relieves me of having to retell it here so that I might instead focus upon its meaning for our time. The mistake of interpreting the story literally is quite obvious in that hardly any of us traverse the road to Jericho with donkey in hand, and it will be an equally rare occurrence for most of us to find a beaten and robbed stranger at the side of the road. When we understand the parable figuratively, however, a rich lesson unfolds for us pertaining to the many and various excuses we can come up with to harden us against compassion toward suffering in all its forms. We don’t want to get our hands dirty. We don’t want to soil our reputation. We have more important things to do. It isn’t hard for me to rationalize that I have no responsibility for what is happening to others just as long as I am not the direct cause. Tragedies such as the Virginia Tech massacre will continue to occur for as long as we relieve ourselves of the responsibility for recognizing the inner torture of someone like Cho Seung-Hui, for as long as we are indifferent to what goes on in the families and communities from which such persons come. Until the whole of humankind is in harmonious relationship with its Creator, then, yes, we have the moral responsibility to love one another as we have been loved, and that means taking care of our brothers and sisters who are no longer strangers when seen as the children of God that they are.

How Many Times?

Yesterday, I blogged in blissful ignorance of the horrific tragedy that was unfolding in Blacksburg, Virginia. (I want my employer to take note that I apparently am not one of those who spends the entire work day on the Internet.) How easily the words concerning the grandeur of love flowed from my fingers. How painfully I have since tried to identify with all those affected. I am struck that one of evil’s strengths is its immediacy, how truth and love and peace are suddenly wrenched from us as we are inundated by acts of darkness. I do still believe that right is stronger than wrong, the light always dispels darkness, and that goodness ultimately overcomes evil; but that requires faith that is based in eternity rather than in the moment. One of the reporters covering the Virginia Tech massacre observed that until we understand what motivates the perpetrators, there will be ever more of such insanity. At first glance it may seem cruel, but I want the parents who have brought these pathological creatures into the world to be held to account. Only then may we begin to see a reversal of the “sins of the fathers” being visited upon generation after generation. Yes, parents must be held to account in loving ways, but held accountable nonetheless. May God’s healing grace bless all who are suffering.

Getting to Know You...Again

As I review the weekend past I am filled with a deep sense of gratification. From the moment Rachel was born Mary and I became parents for the rest of our lives, but as children grow into adults their parents are likewise challenged to develop a more mature perspective of parenthood. Last Saturday became a daylong conversation for Mary and me that encompassed the past, present, and future. As we draw nearer to the thirty-sixth anniversary of our marriage vows, I find my cup to be overflowing with the love that continues to grow one for the other. Mary is my best audience and my most discerning critic. She demands that I strive for clarity of thought and word that I would otherwise be content to leave hazy and out of focus. She spurs me on to genuine atonement, and I am convinced that it is our mutual recognition that we are one in the Spirit that draws us closer together with each passing day. Proceeding with my hope quest, I give thanks for Mary’s willingness to share her life with me because she makes seeing God in the face of another so real that it strengthens my conviction that someday I will truly find it everywhere I look.

Not So Great Expectations

Howdy, stranger! I’m perceiving you as a child of God, and in return I want you to see me the same way.

This is the next little discovery I’ve made as I toy with the idea of reframing my worldview. The ethic of mutual reciprocity (i.e. the Golden Rule) is so easily distorted to “treat me as I want to be treated.” It is so easy to make love conditional, which in effect makes it un-love because true love is unconditional. So how do I deal with my preconceived expectation that because I’m going to treat other people as I want to be treated that they are going to treat me that way in return? For as little as I understand about the law of attraction (The Secret) it does seem to me that such “wrong” thinking might truly interfere with the principle’s functionality. “Blessed are you when others shall curse and revile you for behaving like I have asked you to.” Forgive the liberal paraphrase of gospel, but I’m beginning to wonder if this is what Jesus was talking about. If I decide to treat Osama bin Laden with the same respect and dignity that I wish to be accorded to myself, I cannot let that intention be thwarted when he doesn’t receive it in the way I expect him to. He may well respond in a violent and destructive way, but that only leaves me with the choice of lowering myself to his level or of being faithful to my belief that there is a better, higher way. Jesus, Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jr.; each paid the ultimate price for being true to their convictions, and they may have been able to do so with the transcendent understanding that the ultimate reward justifies the cost.

Reprogramming My Default

I’m addressing my remarks today to that great IT desk in the sky. As I have embarked upon my quest to accentuate the positive I’ve discovered a disquieting fact about myself: I default to the negative. This is an embarrassing admission to make, but I do so anyway in the hope that the reader may either identify with my dilemma, or, better yet, teach me how to reset my default to the positive. Perhaps an example will serve to better explain what I am saying. As I walked from the parking garage to the building in which I work (alas, I can no longer truthfully say that I have an office) I observed this monstrosity of a female assuming the most unflattering of poses right outside the entrance. Cigarette perched smack dab in the middle of her jowly jaws, she appeared to be opening mail. After my initial revulsion (the default) I had to intentionally remind myself of my newly made promise to see God in every face I meet. This isn’t going to be easy! But with better than a half-day’s reflection on the matter I have realized that much of what I perceive does default to negative or derogatory interpretation. I for some reason find it easier to dwell upon what an idiot George W. Bush is, and this detracts me from focusing upon what a ray of hope Barak Obama is on the political scene. If I understand the law of attraction at all correctly, then I am going to need to reprogram my default. This is going to require some powerful discipline and visioning, a task that may be made all the harder by what M. Scott Peck refers to as the spiritual entropy that must ever be resisted by intention.

Hope Quest

I am undertaking a huge personal reformation! I believe that hope ultimately triumphs over despair, but such belief requires an actualizing faith. I am challenging myself to see the face of God in every person I meet, which, I suppose, sounds easy enough until I encounter that a$$&%#e (it really is true, isn’t it, that as long as the first and last letters are correct that our mind fills in the rest?) that just cut me off in my daily commute. The only way of keeping the charge to love my enemy from seeming utterly absurd is to identify my Creator as hers or his, as well, and to grow in my understanding that any attempt to destroy my enemy will ultimately destroy a part of me in the process. Under a number of different labels, I’ve been studying this metaphysical law of attraction for a number of years now, and I may have ripened to a spiritual awareness that informs me that further study is not what is needed, but that living it, practicing it is. I will always be grateful to Dr. Donald Messer for articulating an emphasis upon orthopraxis versus orthodoxy. As I turn my vision in this direction I am realizing that I am going to have to give up much of what I consider important because it attracts my attention away from rather than toward genuine hopefulness. Stay tuned; it ought to be an interesting journey.

Do You Want to Know a Secret?

It must have been 1963 that Rob and I made a pact to be best friends forever. That commitment has weathered time and space. Rob recently sent Mary and me a DVD, The Secret, which we viewed together yesterday. The secret is: the law of attraction. I am impressed by the production, and as I called Rob to thank him he observed that it reveals profound spiritual truths without ever once mentioning religion. For as much of my life as I devoted to organized religion, I had to agree that the institution(s) has become more of an obstacle than an aid to spiritual growth and development. Sad to say, it is probably time to accept the language of science as being more informative than the language of religion and theology simply because the latter have become so corrupted by unexamined dogma and belief. Faith is bolstered by truth, and science’s objective, testable, quest for truth is speaking to today’s contemporary mind in meaningful ways that traditional religion no longer can. The age of metaphysics (my introduction was through Ernest Holmes’ Science of Mind) may well be at hand whereby the “Abba” of Jesus and the E=mc² of Einstein are understood to be speaking of the same thing: God!

Easter circa 2007

I believe in resurrection. This does not mean that I believe in The Resurrection.

Hope transcends empty wishing when it is grounded in the knowledge that goodness is genuinely stronger than evil, that right will always prevail over wrong, and that justice ultimately overrules injustice.

Easter dawns every morning that is filled with a hope that is unfettered by doubt or anguish. Such hope is realized when the love of our Creator fills our consciousness in spite of the obstacles we mindlessly set before it. Such hope is realized when we allow that love to redeem us from the darkness of selfishness. Such hope is realized when we discover that true sustenance graciously comes to us from the One who gives us life.

May such blessed hope be ours today and every day to come.

Happy Birthday, Mom!

Epilogue (part iii)

Good Friday

Treacherous best describes my final days at Las Vegas Trinity United Methodist Church. Preceding the last charge/church conference I ever attended, Bishop William Dew literally commanded me to meet with him in his Phoenix office. The mandate was communicated by District Superintendent Thomas Mattick who was also to attend, and who informed me that, even though the bishop was ordering me to fly down and back, it would be at my own expense. Michael Downing (I discovered later) was already “staying with friends” in Phoenix in order to facilitate his preemptive tattling. To this day I do not know what Michael’s political connection to the conference hierarchy was, but its existence became increasingly evident as the course of events unfolded.

Much against my wishes, the Trinity Staff-Parish Relations Committee—now totally disgusted with Downing—sent a representative, Jerry Stewart, to meet with Bishop Dew. Stewart’s assignment was to inform the bishop of the S-PRC’s complete dissatisfaction with Downing and its desire to have me appointed as Trinity’s sole pastor. Such naiveté probably amused Dew, but his condescending retort to Stewart apparently gave no hint of that. Stewart reported back to the S-PRC a shaken man, still in shock at having been told by Dew that he didn’t “give a damn” about what Trinity wanted. I could have counseled the committee that to directly challenge the bishop’s authority would be counterproductive, but Downing had already thrown down the gauntlet and they ignorantly overreacted.

At our audience with Dew he ordered Downing and me to shape up and at least give the appearance of getting along until we would each be appointed elsewhere at the upcoming session of the annual conference in June. Dew clarified that Downing was the senior pastor, that I was the associate pastor, and that his word with regard to this subject was final. While unpleasant, the meeting to this point was justified. What I will never know is what transpired between Dew, Mattick and Downing during the next hour that I was dismissed to wait in the lobby. For all intents and purposes I was in Mattick’s custody, having no way of catching a return flight to Las Vegas until he escorted me.

Downing returned to Trinity with the knowledge that he was on the S-PRC’s “hit list” and this ironically put him in the same camp as Linda Petty and Raymond Barnes. I can only surmise that Dew had also communicated through Mattick to Preston Howard that his complicity with Smith, Altman, Petty, and now Downing, was reason enough for him to have a vested interest in the quick and dirty suppression of the local revolt. Yet another church conference was called for some frivolous reason that masked its true purpose of serving as a forum for Michael’s supporters who now included some of the very people he had been trying to fire.

As mentioned earlier, a district superintendent presides at a church conference. When the D.S. cannot—or will not—be present, he appoints an Elder other than the pastor-in-charge to serve instead. I had always understood this polity to essentially serve to protect parishioners from an autocratic pastor, but Downing and Mattick put an entirely different spin to it. For reasons unknown, Mattick was unable to attend the conference he had authorized, and the Reverend Dan Morley of neighboring Desert Spring UMC was designated to officiate.

I honestly cannot remember the single issue for which the charge conference was convened (a textbook example of repression, I’m sure) but the “official” business took all of ten minutes to complete. At that point, Morley adjourned the session, yielded the floor to Preston Howard, and took a seat next to Francine Greene at the back of the sanctuary. For the next forty-five minutes Downing’s select railed against me for having conspired with the S-PRC to oust Downing, Petty, and Barnes. In the presence of my wife and daughters I was libeled and slandered in ways I never believed possible, especially in The United Methodist Church. Michael sat quietly at the front of the sanctuary as one after another “witnesses” did the talking for him.

Although I was the alleged ringleader, members of the S-PRC were not spared the attack. Had not the evidence against Rick Altman been so overwhelming at the time of his dismissal, I’m sure that we would have stood accused of all his misdoings, as well. Instead, Linda Petty gave a tearful testimony of how she was actually afraid to come to the office for fear of my violent behavior, while others testified to the heresy I had been espousing to young and old alike. Incredibly hurtful accusations were hurled at members of the S-PRC as well as “traitorous” council and committee members who had been openly involved in the process of trying to address Trinity’s pastoral crisis.

When the venomous assault was finally over, Jim Rogers, chairman of the S-PRC, stepped to the microphone and resigned. In what I believe was an unprecedented move with regard to a local United Methodist church, every member of the S-PRC that was present followed Jim’s lead. Hoping to awaken from this nightmare, I gathered Mary, Rachel and Rebecca to my side and dazedly headed for the exit. Francine came up to us and said that she could not believe what she had just witnessed, and that as chairperson of the District Committee on Ordained Ministry she was going to lodge a complaint with the District Superintendent for the blatant and flagrant violations of church discipline that Downing and Morley had allowed to take place (Greene has since left the Desert Southwest to reenter the parish ministry in Iowa).

Once the initial shock subsided, I reluctantly accepted that I no longer had a future in The United Methodist Church. Through a litany of errors (both mine and others’) I was no longer “welcome” in the Nebraska or Desert Southwest conferences, and I was thoroughly disillusioned by the realities that had shattered any respect for what I once regarded as “my church.” Feeling a deep sense of responsibility for the other victims, I accepted what in retrospect was an ill conceived request to minister to an independent, non-denominational congregation to be formed from others who also felt alienated from Trinity.

Still the loyal Methodist, I knew that I could not engage in such an enterprise while still ordained in The United Methodist Church. So it was that I arranged a meeting with Mattick at which I surrendered my credentials. He disingenuously told me about his own sabbatical from the ministry in order to get his head on straight (did I remember to report that Mattick was on his second or third wife?), and in his glad-handed style that was second only to Downing’s he suggested that I not let the door slam me in the ass on the way out of his office. I received the perfunctory call from Dew expressing his regret over my decision, but wanting me to know that I was leaving the conference in good standing should I ever decide to return. (John Cox had been exiled to Winslow, Arizona for his shortcomings so I could only imagine what kind of hellhole Dew would have gleefully condemned our family to.)

I was free to celebrate my forty-ninth birthday without the church of which I had been a member for thirty-seven years. The Trinity congregation gave us a three month grace period to remain in the parsonage while we looked for new housing, although Mattick attempted to evict the family upon learning that about thirty of us had gathered after business hours in a borrowed mortgage loan office to conduct a Tuesday evening worship service. Another attorney in the Trinity congregation, Richard Jost, in concert with the Board of Trustees, informed Mattick that he was way out of bounds and assuaged our panic with the assurance that we had the originally promised deadline to move out. (Downing never did move into the parsonage; it is my understanding that Mattick arranged to have a newly appointed pastor and his family live there as they attempted to start a new church.)

So, now you have it. Now you know why I am no longer an ordained United Methodist minister. Now you know why, because I was fortunate enough to have been befriended by the Clark County District Attorney, Stewart Bell (a charter member of the experiment eventually known as La Madre Faith Community), I have been working as a case manager for the D.A.’s Family Support Division (Stew knew that I could work a four-ten schedule at DAFS which would leave my Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays free to develop the new congregation). La Madre closed its doors at the end of 2001, and so I have spent the last six years with no formal religious ties. Having literally been born into the church, it has been eye-opening for me to join the ranks of ordinary human beings who are seemingly blind to the often sinister inner workings of organized religion. Dew has retired from the episcopacy. Upon completion of his term as District Superintendent Mattick gave himself Desert Spring UMC. Downing remained at Trinity until he was finally able to legitimize his youngest son’s in-state tuition via an appointment to Chandler, Arizona.

On this Good Friday, it is incomprehensible to me how to pray as the Christ did from the cross, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they are doing.” I still have much to learn.

Epilogue (part ii)

Maundy Thursday

Michael Downing was/is a spoiled brat. His personal immaturity and professional inexperience combined to create temper tantrums that didn’t go unnoticed by a congregation already reeling from the Smith/Altman/Petty scandal. Nudged on by his wife, Nancy, Michael’s obsession with “being the boss” bordered on maniacal. This particularly affected—in a negative way—his relationship with the Staff-Parish Relations Committee. Michael became increasingly insistent upon salary and benefits befitting his senior pastor status, and it really didn’t matter to him that he was pressing these issues while the Administrative Council was attempting to put Trinity’s criminally abused finances back in order.

Housing ironically became the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. When the Downing family first arrived in Las Vegas they had the church pay premium for a rental (this interestingly enough was another of Rick Altman’s insider deals) while they looked over the housing market. Again, a mark of prestige among United Methodist clergy is to own their own homes, a practice wholly in contradiction to the disciplinary requirement of being itinerate. Because Trinity’s parsonage was regarded as housing for the associate pastor, it had fallen into disrepair that even the renovation required following the Cox trashing didn’t completely correct. The Downings finally settled on a new home built by one of Michael’s new “buds” (Downing’s recruitment of new members was always underscored by some sort of personal advantage) and he hit the finance committee with a maximum housing allowance to pay the mortgage.

When a methamphetamine lab was busted across the street from the parsonage, I once again found myself having to fend for my family’s welfare. The property was a liability to the church, and it seemed logical that what was good for the goose should also be good for the gander. I approached Michael and the S-PRC with the idea of selling the parsonage and allowing the associate to also utilize the conference’s prescribed housing allowance to purchase a home. Everyone was in agreement that this would be the way to proceed until Tom Mattick got involved. As District Superintendent, Mattick (himself a homeowner) chose to arbitrarily enforce a technicality that every parish must have a parsonage. I’m sure that he never anticipated Trinity’s response.

Since it was being forced to provide a parsonage, the S-PRC, Board of Trustees, and Administrative Council decided that it should be of a quality suitable for the senior pastor. Downing, of course, had no intentions of giving up his new house, and countered with a proposal that the church purchase a new house directly across the street from his. To say the least, I and the rest of the congregation was flabbergasted! Michael was convincing even the unconvinced that he would stop at nothing in his quest for absolute control over Trinity. In spite of Downing’s wishes, the Administrative Council formed an ad hoc committee to search for a new parsonage, and the one they settled on was truly amazing! With four bedrooms and a three-car garage, the Ampere property selected would be unsurpassed in comparison to any parsonage in the conference. And because Downing wouldn’t budge on the issue of owning his own house, guess who moved into the new parsonage?

An already agitated Downing became a mean-spirited, angry little boy in a man’s body as the Trinity congregation used the new parsonage as an expression of the parity they intended for its two pastors. Whether or not it conformed to disciplinary polity, Trinity wanted an equitable co-pastorate. Indeed, as Michael’s temper tantrums became more vindictively aimed at those who dared challenge his seniority (that, as I have already explained, was only nominal) there was a growing sentiment—especially on the S-PRC—that Trinity really only needed (and could only afford) one pastor. Being his own worst enemy in so many ways, Downing became understandably infuriated as a significant portion of the congregation began for the first time to voice out loud that they wanted the Bishop to appoint him elsewhere and to retain me as their sole pastor.

Epilogue (part i)

Palm Sunday

Let me begin with a couple of recent journal entries (unedited):

07.03.16
There is something I should have given up for Lent but did not. To publicly share what it is does not presently seem to me to serve any larger good, but what may be of benefit to others is to learn that it is possible to be midway through a process only to discover that it is failing to meet the desired objective. If such is actually the case, then this may require a correction which can be as radical as changing course completely in order to head in the opposite direction. It is my understanding that this is the literal meaning of “repent”.

07.03.23
Repentance is a principal source of hope. To realize that I am not preordained to a static fate opens the door to genuine volition, and with choice comes the possibility of change. The hope of the Christ is revealed in the Divine’s omnipresent availability for relationship that transcends even mortal sin. So, just because I don’t get it right the first time does not deny me the opportunity to keep trying until I do. The only thing that can prevent me striving for perfect relationship is my belief that it cannot be done.

It is time for me to finish this justification of surrendering my credentials to The United Methodist Church. Just as I must be careful not to leave those who have been sharing this journey of faith with me feeling shortchanged, so I must be faithful to my intention to experience this Holy Week as one of healing and renewal. There are many sordid details of the Trinity nightmare yet unreported, but having learned early on from my mother that “discretion is the better part of valor” (only by referring to Barlett’s Familiar Quotations did I discover that she was introducing me to Shakespeare: “The better part of valor is discretion.” Henry IV, Part I, V, iv, 120) I must now determine which will serve some beneficial purpose by being told and which will best be served by being forgiven and forgotten.

Among the elements of the Christ’s passion is betrayal, and to relate the betrayal that I experienced at the hands of William Dew, Thomas Mattick, and Michael Downing may be the most appropriate means by which to summarize the manifestation of “evil” that expressed itself through Las Vegas Trinity UMC (friend/colleague/counselor Francine Greene, under special appointment to the Nevada Mental Health Center located adjacent to Trinity, repeatedly described the church to which her conference membership was related as “an evil place”).

Downing was just as apt to schedule a charge/church conference as he was a more appropriate local administrative council meeting. The charge conference is normally an annual affair over which the district superintendent presides and at which the local church budget (apportionments included) and various work area reports are approved. But Michael knew that by the presence of the D.S. there was at least the impression that the clout of the annual conference lent greater finality to any decisions that might be made (i.e. an action approved at a charge conference carries more weight than an action approved only at the local church level). I still don’t know why Mattick was so accommodating of Downing’s eccentricity, but Tom convened at least three charge conferences during my final 18 months at Trinity.