A Question For the Church

 About 25 years ago I was approached by a minister at my church who had a proposal for me to consider. He said that he thought I would make a great Sunday School teacher for a class of rambunctious 9th grade boys. I looked at him like he had two heads and tried not to laugh. To his credit he was honest with me about the challenges that this particular group of delinquents would present since they had run off their two previous teachers. I then offered what I believed to be a mic drop, conversation ender—Gary, you’ve got the wrong guy. I really don’t like teenagers.

Gary didn’t bat an eye. His response was…That’s ok. Would you at least take a couple days to pray about it? And if you don’t have any love for teenagers, just ask God to give you some.

I told him I would—with no intention of actually praying about it—because that’s what you do when a really nice guy asks you to. The problem was that after that conversation I couldn’t get the thing out of my mind. So, against my better judgment, I prayed about it.

To make a long and pretty cool story short, That conversation led to a ten year run of working with teenagers and another four years with college students at my church, one of the most gratifying experiences of my life. So, what’s the point of telling you all this? Its simple.

Be careful what you pray for.

I went from a guy who couldn’t stand humans in the 13-19 year old range to a guy who began to understand them, and have tremendous empathy for them…almost overnight. It was truly a miraculous thing. Now…to be transparent here, as soon as my 14 year run was over I kinda went back to not being crazy about them again, although at least now I don’t dislike them. It’s hard to explain.

But I’ve been thinking about this experience a lot lately because of something that’s been bothering me for the past five years or so. No matter how I try to word this, it will run the risk of landing poorly with many of the people who read this blog, but when I look around me these days I see a giant empty space in the church where love used to be.

I have always been in the habit of asking myself difficult questions. I always question my motives and attitudes about things, trying to find dishonesty and hypocrisy. When I do I often find plenty of both. I don’t make this admission glibly…it is a serious defect in my character that needs constant work.

So, one of the questions I wish the church would ask itself is this: What are we known for? In other words, when people outside the church think about us, what would they say is our defining characteristic?

Jesus gives us the answer in John chapter13 verses 34-35 when he says:

A new commandment I give unto you, That you love one another; as I have loved you, that you also love one another. By this shall all men know that you are my disciples, If you have love one to another.

Many of you are members of churches where love is often on display. My church is full of very loving people who demonstrate their love in countless ways. Are we perfect in this regard? Absolutely not. We all have weak spots, people who are difficult to love. But to belong to a church where people love you is a tremendous blessing.

But is this what the church is known for? Any fair minded person would have to admit that no, this is not the first word that pops into most people’s minds when the topic of church comes up. I would suggest that we are mostly known for:

- judgment

- politics

- scandal

- What we’re against

If one were to travel back in time, say 150 years or so, and ask this same question—What is the church known for—You might have gotten answers like these:

- founding universities 

- building hospitals 

- establishing the YMCA and the Salvation Army

This is not to say that the church in other eras was without serious issues. Many churches were staunch supporters of slavery, in other times many churches were more supportive of Bull Conner than Martin Luther King. The church, made up as it is of flawed human beings is never an accurate reflection of the teachings of our founder. Far from it, but I believe that today might be the farthest that we have strayed from the words of Jesus found in the Gospel of John.

This is also not some kind of milk toast call for watering down the clear commands of scripture when it comes to how we live our lives. Yes, there are things that the church needs to stand against and unapologetically so. But it is possible to love people even when you don’t love everything they do. Jesus loved us in spite of our rebellion and disobedience, despite our self centered pursuits. Surely, we can learn to love people who don’t agree with us, right? If a 42 year old man who couldn't stand teenagers could be given a deep and abiding love for them just because he asked God for it, anything is possible.

Right?

Putting on My Socks

 Yesterday morning I was getting dressed for church. Pam had just stepped in the shower. I sat down in a rocking chair in the bedroom where I discovered that I could not bend over far enough to put on my socks.

Yes friends, nothing quite says good morning, old man like the inability to dress yourself. I sat there for a minute trying different techniques for putting socks on but none of them worked. So…what to do? I could just sit there and wait for Pam to get out of the shower but that seemed too pathetic. I eventually decided that I would do some stretching and try to limber up my ailing back which had the effect of adding an extra inch to my bending over capability, just enough to allow me to successful complete my sock installation. The entire process took nearly five minutes.

When I told Pam of my sock experience she made the following bland assertion: “You know that this happens to you every fall, right?”

I was not, in fact, aware of any such thing. Of course I knew that this wasn’t the first time I haven’t been able to put my socks on, but I hadn’t connected the phenomenon to the calendar. But my wife has a knack for remembering important things, while my memory is limited almost exclusively to worthless trivia. She went on to explain that every Fall when I begin the weeks long job of getting up the leaves in my yard, my back begins its rebellion with a series of painful spasms. As soon as she says this I know that she is right. Over the past four or five days I have filled 24 forty-two gallon bags with leaves, the first installment of the over fifty such bags I will fill before the last of them are gone. 

She then made the perfectly reasonable suggestion that perhaps I should farm this job out to the professionals, by which she means—anyone but me.

She is right, of course. A bad back doesn’t mix well with leaf removal. 

The problem is that although I complain about it every year, the truth is I enjoy getting up the leaves. The weather has finally gotten cooler, its as beautiful outsides as it ever gets, and there is an enormous sense of accomplishment when you finish and see the beautiful green grass of your lawn and the impressive line of black bags lining the fence. It’s a marvelous feeling.

But then suddenly you can’t put on your socks. You limp around for several days afterwards tentatively, hoping and praying that your back doesn’t seize up and throw you on the ground.

Me: But Hon…look at that beautiful stack of black bags!! 

Pam: …..eyeroll….

My Conflicted Election Day

 The only good thing about Election Day is the blessed relief we will all now get from the relentless attack ads that have bombarded us from every communication medium for the past month. Whether you’re watching TV, listening to the radio or scrolling online, they’re everywhere warning me about the pending end of civilization if so and so gets elected. Of course, they’ve been warning me for the past forty years or so…and we are still here.

The past several election cycles I have faced a dilemma. I wake up each Election Day vowing to skip it, my patience with the process having been exhausted, my tolerance for accomplishment-free career strivers at an end. Why in the name of all that is holy should I reward any of these morons with the validation of a vote?

But then I will read a post by someone waxing poetic about democracy and the privilege we have that much of the world longs for. I hear reminders of the sacrifices made by prior generational heroes who fought and died for these first principles. Of course they are right. I consider voting but one of many civic duties, paying taxes, obeying the law and volunteering as the others. But our politicians and our current climate of buffoonery make voting so freaking difficult.

So…I will drag myself over to Short Pump Elementary School, make my way past the last minute campaign volunteers handing out sample ballots, marveling at their enthusiasm. I will waltz right in since there won’t be a line—it’s not just me, people. I will identify myself by handing my driver’s license to an elderly woman who will verify that I am who I say I am. How, on earth can this be controversial? Then I will enter the little semi-private half-booth where I will begin examining my meager choices. Do I vote for the crazy woman or the insufferably condescending one? Do I vote for the guy who wants to deny raped women abortions or the woman who wants to defund the police and can’t tell me what a woman is? These are just a few of the many horrifying accusations I have seen and heard leveled at the men and women on this ballot over the past 30 days…exactly the sort of thing that makes you want to fly the flag and thank God you live in America…right?

I will stand there in my befuddled state trying to make serious choices between ridiculous candidates. I don’t even know how many races are to be decided. I know the big three but there are others that I am not as familiar with. I will do my best to muster the internal fortitude required to cast a vote. I’m sure something will come to me. Probably won’t vote in all the races. There’s no law against being selective. I’m sure there will be at least one of those question votes in there somewhere—“Should the citizens of Henrico County fund a brand new Casino where Deep Run Park currently is located by selling bonds?”—or something like that.

Once I’m done, I’ll slip past the kind gentlemen handing out I VOTED stickers. I won’t take one. No point in bringing attention to such an embarrassment. The words of the late great P.J. O’Rourke come to mind, “Don’t Vote!! It only encourages the bastards.”

Please don’t misunderstand. I love America. I consider myself lucky to have been born here. I believe in our first principles and am proud of our history and all we have accomplished. But we are also a hot mess at the moment. Despite the great lengths our politicians go every election year to depress and dismay us, we still abide not because of them but in spite of them.

Game Seven

 There will be a game seven tonight and I am here for it. After 5 weeks of post-season baseball, it will come down to one game for all the marbles. Neither of my teams will be playing but it doesn’t matter. I’ve never been particularly fond of either the Dodgers or the Blue Jays. It doesn’t matter. I am 100% invested in this game because it is the ultimate example of the beauty and romance that is baseball. 

As far as a rooting interest goes I will be pulling hard for the Blue Jays for a variety of reasons. First of all, I kinda despise the Dodgers, not the actual players—many of whom are really good guys who are easy to like—but rather I dislike how they are run as a franchise. They buy up stars all over the place then rest them half the year so they will be ready for the post season. They are perfectly willing to pay a guy 30 million a year and let him rest half the season. Very few other teams could afford to do that. Plus there’s the whole celebrity-sightings at the game which make me want to vomit.

Then there are the Blue Jays who in ordinary times I would completely ignore. They have a handful of very good players, but mostly it’s a roster filled with unknowns. The fact that they have taken the mighty Dodgers to a game seven is quite remarkable. But the real reason I will be pulling for them is because…well, they’re Canadian. In normal times, this would be an insurmountable obstacle for me, Canadian teams always having seemed vaguely inappropriate. But this year, I figure we owe our friends north of the border something for the shitty way we have treated them lately, from punitive tariffs to bellicose nonsense about making them our 51st state. I mean what have these people ever done to us to deserve such disrespect? All they have ever been are great and peaceful neighbors, not to mention being a constant example to Americans of what proper manners looks like. So there’s that.

So, tonight I will be watching. I will be texting back and forth with my son, my sister and amazingly—my wife—who has shown an interest all the way from Columbia. I will have the privilege of watching the best baseball player I have ever seen—Shohei Ohtani, pitching against my personal favorite baseball player of all time—Max Scherzer. Ohtani is at the peak of his immense powers, Max is running on fumes at the end of his Hall of Fame career. Ohtani might be the nicest, most agreeable super star in the history of sport. Max is a bit crazy, with a mixture of talent and tenacity that feels combustible, volatile to the point of madness—which makes him imminently watchable.

There will be many potential heroes besides the two pitchers. Vladdy Guerrero is the Blue Jays best player and so much fun to watch. George Springer is playing on pure guts, every swing of his bat sending him grimacing in pain either around the bases or back to the dugout. But with the Blue Jays it might be one of their nobodies—Lukes, Varsho, Barger, Clement—all guys I had never even heard of before this post season. For the Dodgers and their 350 million dollar payroll of All-Stars, it could be any one of them. But as a lifelong baseball fan I would bet on the hero being someone off the bench, an afterthought member of the roster…because that’s the romance of baseball.

No matter the outcome of the game one thing is for sure…melancholy will follow.

Every year it’s the same thing. After the euphoria of the World Series dies down I am reminded that there will be no more baseball for four long months. I will be denied the daily box score, the way the slow pace of the season helps me calibrate my life to its rhythm. I will lose the special connection that baseball gives me with my son. No matter how far away he is, baseball brings us together.

So after tonight I will begin counting the days until spring training. But tonight? Tonight is the most wonderful night of the year.

Game Seven of the World Series.

What I Have Learned in Retirement….so far.

 I’m ten months in to my retirement which is long enough to have learned some things about my new life. Since I know many people who will be joining me in retirement over the next few years I thought I might list a few of the most interesting things I’ve learned since January 1st…in no particular order.

* I now for the first time fully understand the famous quip from Violet Crawley in Downton Abbey—What is a weekend?? Weekends no longer carry the cache they used to, and this is a very good thing because it has had the effect of rendering every day equally capable of enchantment, wonder and discovery. Of course, this has always been so, it’s just that now I finally recognize this truth. When I was working, days like Tuesday and Thursday got pigeonholed by the calendar as days to endure rather than celebrate. Now, Tuesday might wind up being as delightful as any other. What a gift.

* I now no longer feel compelled to shave every day. When you run an investment business it won’t do to show up to a meeting with a client with a five day growth. The thing is I have always hated shaving. It was something that I resented being forced to do. But now shaving is always a game time decision. I shave when the mood strikes me, which feels like an unexpected bonus.

* I had no idea how much I crave routine until I retired. When I worked each day, each week and each month was at least partially scripted. There were things that I needed to check off my list, things that had to be done by a certain time. To suddenly be released from this script was a bit troubling. So…I improvised. I quickly established new daily habits—exercises, a walking regimen, and morning visits to Hope Cafe (my new unofficial office). This structure has helped form new routines, a new rhythm.

* I must confess that I’ve never been a big prayer guy. I know this might sound odd coming from a Christian but it’s the truth. Yes, I pray, but it’s never been a huge priority and I’ve never gotten in to any sort of specific “prayer closet” thing. Most of my prayers come in one or two sentences as I’m out walking when someone or something comes to mind. But now, with my new freedom I feel more inclined to pray for people. Maybe it’s because I feel so incredibly blessed and lucky at this stage of my life that praying for others, especially those who are struggling seems like a necessity rather than some guilt-ridden obligation.

That’s all I’ve got so far, but I’m sure I will learn more as time goes by. After all, when you stop learning you might as well stop living.

The Greatest Gift

 I freely admit that I have lost all objectivity where my grandson is concerned. It has gotten to the point where I am unable to think dispassionately about him, having completely lost perspective and the ability to think critically. This is no doubt a result of him being my first grandchild, and just having spent an entire week with him, observing him at every point in his day and watching him dominate every room he enters.

But this little boy is the greatest gift I’ve ever received. Although his parents still think they have no idea what they’re doing, what I see is a boy who is healthy, happy, safe, and loved…and so stinkin’ adorable I can hardly stand it…

The Violence in Columbia, SC is off the Charts

 As many of you know, I’m what some people would call manically committed to my workout routines. I have to get my five mile walks in at least 4 days a week, no matter where I happen to be. So while I’m in Columbia, this means heading out each morning through some mildly sketchy neighborhoods. I must say, I have been taken aback at the level of crime that is running rampant through this city.

Just a couple of days ago I was out for a walk when out of nowhere I was set upon with a violin, a clarinet, and a French Horn—in what was clearly an orchestrated attack!

But that’s not the half of it. Yesterday came news that thieves had broken in to the police station in Earlwood—just up the road from us, and stolen both of their toilets! On the news tonight I heard that they are searching for clues but right now they have…nothing to go on.

If that’s not enough, there was a breaking news report just a few minutes ago that the police headquarters of all of Columbia was hit by thieves overnight who jacked up all the police cruisers in the parking lot, stole all the wheels and left the cruisers on cinderblocks. The police are working…tirelessly…to catch whoever was responsible but are distracted by the Vick’s Vapor Rub truck which overturned on Interstate 20 between Columbia and Darlington. Although the Police first announced that there would be…no congestion… for at least eight hours, that time has passed.

Alright, its getting crazy now—-literally as I was typing that last paragraph, we heard another report of a man over in Five Points who was shot with a starter’s pistol, then beaten half to death with a relay baton. Police think it may have been…race related.

So, the lesson for all of you—stay away from Columbia!!