Shame on me

Sunday went well, I thought. I made it through class with only a small puddle forming beneath me. And my voice only cracked and faded a few times. I can only pray that my words were heard but now only time will tell if they are heeded.

It was odd. The whole thing. Last class. Same kids. Familiar surroundings. Regular time slot. A passionate voice sharing his last words with a group of teens he has called his own for over 13 years. I imagine that 90% plus of the kids in the room could not even remember the name of the youth minister who preceded me. I must have a tremendous influence on these kids. Some weren't even born when I arrived here. I changed their diapers. They've puked on my shoulder and peed in my lap. Surely they are listening to me! Its my last day, for heaven's sake. Right?!

I know this may sound really grandiose, but I'll risk it. I felt like I got a shot at feeling a little like Jesus for just a moment. I was trying with al my might to convince the gathered group to sign on to the "Great Adventure" and they looked at me like I was just a few fries short of a Happy Meal. I poured out the Gospel News that changes everything with what I felt was the eternal undying passion of God and they looked like I was reading yesterday's news in monotone.

Lord, I am soooooo sorry. I can't even begin to fathom what it must have been for you on those days. I'm such a wiener, I complain about everything.

On a lighter note; I watched Evan Almighty today (twice). Its much more a family movie than Bruce Almighty with its sexual innuendo and rawer humor. While still a stretch to absorb all the stuff in the flick, I was still struck with one unavoidable lesson. I can not imagine what life must have been like for Noah as he labored for years to build the Ark when it had never rained. The ridicule, and jeering must have been immense.

So many have done so much to provide me an easier path for my faith. May I find the strength to plow a path for those who might follow me on this journey.

One last post ...

Tomorrow will be my last official Sunday as a youth minister. I don't know where to start with my feelings or thoughts. Emotionally I feel somewhat stable, in control, and all the right things, I think. Inside I also feel very fragile. Really ready to break. So much of what is to be done is still undone. Lives that still cry out. Unfinished business. Incomplete projects. Lessons to be taught. Lessons to be learned.

Tomorrow will be less than all I want it to be. I must face that fact. I want everyone here to know Jesus, to respond to Jesus, to be changed by Jesus. That sounds either terribly selfish or self promoting, but is not intended that way.

I'm reminded of a scene from a favorite movie of mine (Monty Python and the Holy Grail). A man with a cart is roaming the medieval streets collecting the bodies, found recently dead. He cries out, "bring out your dead" and strikes his gong as he manages his cart of corpses through the street. A man emerges from a home carrying an elderly man calling to the man with the cart. The elderly man is obviously not dead, and protesting loudly, "I ain't dead, yet".

I feel like I have so much left to give. I hope to continue in my "not dead, yet" state for a long time to come.

To quote my elderly friend from the movie one more time, "I'm feeling better. I think I'll go for a walk!"

Roll in the carts

I was thrilled to be asked to the communion devotional at UCC yesterday. I had been planning what I wanted to do for many months. Being the Sunday that we changed our clocks or "fall back" an hour just made it better.

Communion is a time of remembering and of reflection. I wanted to invite the gathered group to take a litte extra time to decipher the meanings of communion. I would have liked to have prepared four carts for the ocassion. Each would have been loaded with hot loaves of freshly baked bread. I would have left them in the back foyer to intice us deeply into an anticipatted moment. Also there would have been pitcher after pitcher of grape juice or some really fine wine still corked in its bottles (I'm not a partaker, but I would have loved to have had a "fine wine" (do they cork, wine?) In any case, instead of the guys coming to the front, they would have entered from the back ala' fight attendants and begun to serve each row with a steaming fresh loaf of bread and a freshly poured glass of fine wine.

Its not about the leaven in the bread, nor about the fermentation of the wine. Its about the time required to partake of these hugely significant representations of our Lord.

I wanted us to take time to ponder, like at a coffee shop sitting with a friend. talking about important, significant issues and putting the world and its trouble behind us.

I wanted to commune … not just partake.