Getting Loose

On Remaining in the United Methodist Church—Prolegomenon and Historical Documents

I put out on YouTube recently, a fairly dense version of my reasons for staying United Methodist.  I intend here to break up that video into five discrete units.

Here is the beginning and a touch on some of the historical standards of the church.  There are four:

• The Standard Sermons of John Wesley
• The Explanatory Notes on the New Testament by John Wesley
• The General Rules of the United Societies, and
• The Articles of Religion

Download ProlegomenonAndDoctrinalStandards

Listlessness

My gosh, I can’t believe it has been five years (to the day, no less).  No one wants tomes; they want sound bites, hence the popularity of Twitter, which is being eclipsed by Snapchat (and now that I sent my youngest son one, he has sworn off that.)

 

Besides having cancer [though I am in an a clinical trial that has a 98% response rate [and yes, the one tumor I could palpate, is smaller than it was two years ago, (which is another way of saying if I were to feel my body for tumors in an average layman kind of a way, I would never notice the one that has gone down so much)], I am presently suffering with acute bronchitis.  It was fairly easy to self-diagnose, but after having gone on for a week, I stopped in to see my physician, and he confirmed what I suspected—shallow breathing, fever, deep hacking cough like you were going to throw up, phlegm that comes from your chest and not your head, fatigue, find it excruciatingly difficult to sleep for any amount of time.  Taking a chest X-RAY, there may be a little pneumonia in one of my lung lobes, but that is not conclusive.

 

I got to thinking, I am glad I am retired so that I have time to be sick.  Now, I am not trying to be Poor, Pitiful Pearl.  I am exceedingly blessed.  I’m in a better place than I would have ever dreamed possible.  But the life of the clergy is exceedingly hard.  No one gets that, till you are in their shoes.

 

A colleague of mine recounted how his nephew fresh out of college has landed a job in which he will make more money than this man made at his last church before retirement.  I grimaced when he said that.  I knew it was true.  And I totally grasp that none of us entered the ministry to make money.  But clergy have incredibly difficult jobs.  Everyone in your congregation, especially on the Monday after Sunday, can tell you how you could have done it better.  Or how you failed to see Aunt Minnie in the hospital and people are all upset.  Or there’s never enough money, and you constantly have your hand out to remind people about giving to the Lord.  Grace is free, but A/C, and lights, and gas all have a price tag, as does building upkeep, as does quality staff.  Or there is a rumor spreading, which is a half-truth (worse than a lie) and you’ve got to try to counter it.  Or you have an off month attendance wise and you begin to feast on your anxieties.  What am I doing wrong?  Why don’t people like me? 

 

I’ve been retired for over 2½ years, and just reading through that list, is like a heart stab.  I’ve not forgotten.  It is a trait, that by and large, clergy are looking for love and affirmation, and all too often, the churches they serve are toxic for them. 

 

What I’m saying to you is this: whether you go to church, or whether you do not, pray for some minister, somewhere.  It will do you good.  When you pass a church, think about the poor pastor trying to keep it all together.  It’s tough.

 

But coaching is tough, and so is being the superintendent of a school system.  It is exceedingly hard to remain self-defined in such highly anxious systems.

 

I think in some ways our society is being envenomed by the political atmosphere through which we are going.  The acrimony, the finger-pointing, the ad hominem arguments, are poisoning.  People that I know personally, take on a nearly scathing, vicious persona on line.  One of my colleagues while being very personally affirmative looks for every single negative article he can post about the current administration.  People are seemingly unable to get loose from their anxieties surrounding the political sphere.  I have cut way back on watching the cable news shows because the constant bombardment of conflict, intrigue, looking for a deep, dark ulterior motive rather than take the Occams Razor solution with any credibility are enervating. 

 

Just recently, I had a 1st cousin, twice removed, post one of the most outrageous, unsubstantiated bits of libel I had ever seen about the death of David Rockefeller.  I took him to task, albeit in a playful way.  I helped him to understand that Rockefeller had given away ½ of his fortune to help others.  I wondered if in any given year, he had given away even $5,000 to help the common good.  Silence.

 

In my current malaise I have been enjoying more simple conversations, just reading and “liking”, (although in a closed clergy group, liturgical concerns still get my dander up),  letting go, and letting the world spin around some.

 

Deborah Sue Thomason

Oh, she was w-a-a-a-a-a-y out of my league. But I had always admired her from afar. She was a cheerleader at Beaumont High. She went to the church I grew up in— Trinity UMC. She sang in our youth choir. For a period of time she was in MYF when Patsy Quested was there and Al Frost and others. She would volunteer as a junior high kid to work with the Vacation Bible School kids in the summer. In 1967 she was the Neches River Festival Queen. But I just found out last night that Debbie Thomason has died.

I do not know all of her claims to fame. What I remember was that she played the part of the girl, Luisa, in the Beaumont Community Players rendition of the Fanastaicks, back in the ‘60's. Until she landed that role, I did not really know that that troupe even existed. It shows you how sheltered I was. The reviews she got were raving. The first play I was in, For Heaven’s Sake, she was in as well.

I can’t get over that she has died.

She was one of Dean Martin’s Golddiggers and toured with USO. She was a charmer to be very, very sure.

I remember her parents, M. V. and Clarice. They seemed older to me as a child, and perhaps they had her later in life. I never really knew. What I did know was that she was larger than life—energetic, infectious, mesmerizing, coltish, stunning, beautiful, alluring.

I just can’t believe that she is gone.

Good bye, Debbie. I’ll see you down the road.

Big Brother Alive and Well in the Bluegrass State

This is a very thorny issue. There is no black and white. Only shades of gray.

Apparently, the Board of Ordained Ministry (BOM) of the Louisville Area of the United Methodist Church is asking candidates for ministry to "friend" Kelly McDonald, not even on the BOM, in order to engage in "Big Brother" monitoring.

Now, to be fair to the Kentucky Annual Conference’s BOM, apparently a prospective "employer" can indeed ask for a FaceBook password (and other social media of its ilk)—just like they can ask for a psychological exam, testamentary evidence from former employers, a physical exam, etc. Of course, a "prospective employee" is not obligated to provide that password, but then neither is the prospective employer obligated to "hire" said prospective employee.

Of course, though, the BOM of the KY conference could do all sorts of workarounds without blatantly asking for "friending." And there is nothing to stop a person who is a friend, and also not under an obligation of any kind of confidentiality, from printing off what he or she reads in the content of a candidate who posted straying words or anathematized behavior.

Yet, for a prospective "employer" to demand such a thing invites all sorts of negative publicity, such as the attention of the ACLU. My experience is that bishops have an instinctual loathing of lawsuits and most will accommodate to a large degree to avoid one without violating conscience or integrity.

If there are "prospective employees" looking at the Kentucky Annual Conference and do not like what they are being asked to do, there are plenty of other conferences who have no such standard for employment.

It’s as simple as that, and as thorny as that.

Very Powerful

Crazy

"This is crazy! This is crazy! This is crazy! This is crazy!"

That’s what she spoke as I talked to her in the chapel just before the general public was to enter. And indeed, she was right. Her husband of just a few years, dead at 36. So senseless. So stupid. So very crazy.

But that is what an addictive disease can do to you. It can make you act crazy. It can make the lives of the people around you that you love the very most, crazy. And it can come to a stark and senseless end. Way before it should have.

There are just no adequate words to say that will make anything better anytime soon. And some people say the most stupid things in an earnest effort at trying to be helpful, when silence and presence would do so very much more.

But my heart went out to her. Two grade school children whose daddy is gone. And though she may never be able to grasp this, though she will always wonder what she could have done differently, she really did do the absolute very best that she knew how to. She went the second mile. And the third mile. And the fourth mile. And the . . .

Sometimes, things in life are just tragic.

Kathryn

You learn a lot when you go to see someone, and just sit and listen. I love doing that very thing.

I had always known her as Kathryn. She has a rather serious look to her face. I know that she has traveled lots of miles so to speak in her journey of life.  She’ll admit it has been a pretty good one for her many decades.

But when she was much younger, she was Kate or Katie. I found that intriguing. All of a sudden a younger girl appeared who was full of life and activities that involved siblings and cousins—never mind whether they were first or second—they were kin and that is all that mattered.

She’s outlived two of the children she helped to rear. She has outlived two of her husbands, and some days are better than others.

She gets frustrated with her inability to precisely call a name or a date or a place, but the older I get, the more I sympathize.

But what really stunned me was that she was a Beckendorf. And that set of dogs is always related to each other through one way or another. Of course the one I knew the best was Harvey Beckendorf, a fellow clergyman. And then I found out there’s another Beckendorf who is pastoring a church in Beaumont under another name. I felt a kinship with her that I had not previously felt.

She was so appreciative of the visit. It made her day. She said, "You know, you can hardly find anyone anymore who cares about what it was like in days gone by."

But that is not me. I love to hear the stories of days gone by. I find myself, the older I get, ruminating around in my mind decades ago, reliving, dissecting, analyzing, wondering, puzzling about events that I feel certain most everyone else has forgotten about.  But somehow they linger brightly in my mind. Why that is so, I don’t really know.

Farewell

It’s now the night before we are to leave tomorrow.

I have very mixed feelings.  I did not know what this experience would bring me.  I tried to be as open as I knew how to allow to emerge whatever was going to emerge.

I come away with an appreciation for heritage.  In American we think things are old at 50 years.  In the British Isles, you have to get a few hundred years under your belt before you are talking about some serious history.

I have an enhanced appreciation for social conventions and customs.  Having tea is a civilizing process as much as it is taking a break. 

I have learned that you do not always have to be in a hurry at break neck speed.

I have learned that you simply cannot do everything, but you can do some things, and that is sufficient.

I have learned on the whole how polite the English people are to each other, and how effusive they are in greeting one another.  I have also experienced their generosity—not in just a monetary way, but also of their time.  Time has always been extraordinarily precious to me, and they willingly share it with you.  That is a luxury that stupefies me.  I need to learn that lesson better than I have.

I have learned how very different the polities and customs are of the Methodist cousins across the sea.  I can see that the United Methodist Church operates far closer to how the Church of England does things, than to how British Methodism does things.

I remember thinking as I walked around from time to time that I may be seeing people who are distantly related to me.  I have roots in England with the Gifford and Anderson and Taylor names.

I have learned how differently at times we use the same language.

I have also learned that I want to come back some day and experience more than I possibly could on this trip.  Maybe get into Scotland and Ireland and France as well.

 I have loved the weather as much as these people may want to complain.  At least it was not 100° F with 100% humidity like Houston.  I think our entire range in England was 78° maximum, and 48° minimum!

I will never, ever, ever forget these wonderful English.

Cool, Clear

Two comments about the water here in Ealing.

This has to be, by far, the hardest water
I have ever come into contact that is used on a regular basis.  It is so hard, that scaling forms in water heaters so easily, and in electric percolators, and even in clean tea cups.  I just have never seen its equal anywhere.

The second thing is the water pressure. 
 It is by far greater than I have ever experienced in any household.  I love that part of it.

Shantini

She pronounces it SHAWN-t^e-knee’, and I went to take communion to her 90-year-old mother.  Florence was deeply appreciative.  Shantini had been in church last Sunday, but did not want to “bother” me with a request to bring the sacrament to her mom, because I was leaving in just a few days.

 

And so she was very surprised when I unexpectedly showed up on her doorstep.

 

She was very gracious, accommodating, and in a few minutes was able to help her mother down the steps for communion.  We all used the Methodist Worship Book for I had brought three copies with me, and we went through the service for Holy Communion in a home.

 

Afterwards Shantini and I got into a very interesting discussion about Sri Lanka, as that is the family home grounds.  Well, while it may be called Sri Lanka (a Sinhalese name), for hundreds of years, it was called Ceylon.  The island (off the SE coast of India), is beautiful, but after having gained independence from England, the two predominant ethnic groups began to undergo civil turmoil.  The Tamils who tended to be the more educated, and who coalesced in the north and east, had been the ruling class for hundreds of years.  But at independence, the Sinhalese became rulers by sheer force of numbers of ballots at the ballot box, and things began to change precipitously.  Ceylon was thrown out, and Sri Lanka (a Sinhalese name) took its place.  One day, a decree was suddenly made that the Tamil language could no longer be spoken, and overnight most, if not all, Tamil students were kicked out of universities.  The world’s first suicide bombers made their appearance in Sri Lanka. 

 

I had no idea about the turmoil, and wished I had made Shantini’s acquaintance much earlier in my stay to glean more of her perspective.  Shantini’s mother kept interrupting her narrative telling her in Tamil that I was a busy man and had other things to do besides learning this piece of obscure history.  But I loved it, and I thirsted for more of the Shantini's story.  Who knows?  Maybe she might have taught me a little of their alphabet--a very distinctive lettering that I've not seen elsewhere.

 

On another day, Shantini took my partner and me through the Southall section of Ealing—it is like the “Little India” section of London.  There one can find a Punjab flavour of India, that very multi-cultural country, and the Southall section conveys a representative flavour of that part.  As an example, here is the largest Sikh temple outside of India in Southall.   While in Southall, we got some mango,tea, and spices.   

 

Shantini was most gracious, accommodating, and had a very infectious smile and a winsome personality.

Between 3 & 5 p.m.

We went to an afternoon tea.  It was everything I had ever thought it might be.  Ours started at 3:30 p.m.

Ken and Hazel took us to a 4 star hotel at Runnymede.   Now you Americans, without double clicking on the name, do you remember what happened there?

As you can see in the pic, we got hot tea, (well . . . Ken got coffee), sugar, milk, four kinds of finger sandwiches (the requisite cucumber, egg & cress, smoked salmon, and ham), jam, clotted cream, scones, fruit cake (but not like the American kind), strawberry tarts, etc.  There was so much, we just couldn’t eat it all.  But it was a proper English afternoon tea.  However, they admitted hardly anyone does this anymore.  Times have changed.

That happens to be a pic of Hazel.  Guess what she does?  She teaches IT in college to adults who think they might be hopelessly lost in ever being able to use a computer!

After having a wonderful time at this venue and even going outside to look at the Thames which flows just at the edge of this property, we motored around and went to the town of Windsor.  We drove by the castle, and it turned out that the queen was there, for her flag was flying.  I had to get back, though, for I had an impending meeting to attend at the Rotary.  I was so sorry to disappoint her Majesty’s request for an audience.

I can’t get over being in a land with so much history and tradition.  Here we think a building is old at 50 years.  Some of these buildings are hundreds of years old and in excellent repair.