Fitness Matters

I “installed” a new coffee maker in our church office Monday. Granted, it was not an event that turned heads or established new social trends, but the “installation” prompts this reflection.

Contrary to my usual practice, I decided to read the unit’s care and maintenance instructions. From those artful clauses I learned dazzling facts: a proper preparation of the charcoal water filter; the value and relative ease of “decalcification;” and keys to better bean storage. (I know: Oooh.)

Here’s the kicker: I read that banal trivia. . . and actually gave a damn! In my PDA I entered dates for the first filter change and vinegar-water decalcification treatment. Not only did I read and follow all label directions, I reorganized the tabletop on which the coffee maker sits, positioning it, the bean grinder, and a few Styrofoam cups in a careful, useful array. Our office coffee area is as presentable now as it has been in years.

Here’s another kicker: That was not my only recent expression of concern for new products. The manufacturer of the treadmill we drug to our living room last week recommends regular maintenance for best and longest equipment performance; appointments for those operations are now also in my PDA. Why, for the first time ever I Googled “treadmill lubricants”! (I know: Oh Oh.)

Readers who know me are chuckling in derisive skepticism by now. They know that, coming from me, concern for coffee pot and treadmill upkeep is either the hallucination of a decaffeinated daydream, or a symptom of an untreated blunt force trauma. I have never displayed the intention or ambition – let alone the ability – to manage such maintenance. This newfound passion won’t last, so think those in-the-know readers.

And they’re probably right, which leads me to the point of this piece that isn’t about gadgets, but rather about our spiritual connections.

• Ever started a new spiritual practice – e.g. Bible reading, prayer, more frequent worship participation – with great excitement, only within the next few months to demote or discard it – I don’t know, because you were busy, or lazy, or simply no longer interested?
• Ever made a commitment to deepen your connection to God, to further or resume your relationship with Jesus, only to lose the thrill, to abandon the cause so quickly that the memory of the day you began your journey was still fresh?

My unnatural interest in treadmill and coffee maker care reminds me of my personal collection of failed spiritual quests:

• Journeys started in good faith, but ending in predictable neglect
• “Decisive” moments when I said the right things, intended the right results, but ultimately failed

Why did I fail? Why was my exuberance such a brief sprint, rather than a long distance run? If my history teaches accurately, I failed because my attention to spiritual health, while in the beginning fanatic, was never fixed. The pattern I chose for my life permitted too many distractions, too many escape routes, too damned many excuses. And because I was not fixed on the result I sought, other behaviors and relationships took precedence.

Was that a good thing? Obviously not. Could I have done anything about it? Was I destined to fall away? It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is what I – and you – do today.

What I – and you – must do today is decide that spiritual health matters.

• How well we know God, matters
• How clearly we see (and follow) the path God has for our lives, matters
• How personally we relate to Jesus, matters
• How often, how seriously we read and try to understand the Bible, matters
• How often, how seriously we pray, matters

In fact, these things matter more than any things. But until we fix them as priorities – until we decide that there is no task more urgent, no one more valuable, no objective more pressing than getting and staying spiritually fit – we will forever be manipulating the perception of our spiritualities:

• Going to church more to be seen and heard than to worship (or perhaps, just to convince ourselves that we still care!)
• Praying only when pressures overwhelm, or someone else speaks the prayer
• Engaging Scripture, not because we read it, but because the church’s worship order included it

All with about as much passion and stamina as I had when I rearranged our coffee server area.


If you come to our church office this week, you will likely approve of the look and functionality of our coffee area. If you visit my living room, you may well be impressed by the neat, clean presentation of our treadmill. But if six months from now you return to either location for a similar review, I make no promises.

Right now I consider myself reasonably spiritually healthy: I read. I pray. I worship. I serve. I care. As for six. . . minutes from now? Well, at least that’s up to me.

Now tell us how you’re coffee’s tasting.


Pray with me:
God, I need help setting, then living my priorities. I need help rearranging the look of my life – not for others’ approval, but for my own good. That is, I need help I can’t provide myself. So this prayer is a shout out. I want to know you. I want to understand your plan for my life. I want to experience the joy you promise. Help me fix my heart to pursuing, finding, and staying connected to you. In the name of Jesus, Amen.

Whose Coin Is It, Anyway?

The old saw proscribes mixing religion and politics. Well, that doesn’t mean I can’t write about it.

Whether by plan or evolution, I rarely wax political during sermons, newsletter columns, teaching experiences, or any other aspect of my ministry. Given the value in pastoral settings I give to listening before talking, inviting before invading, my resistance to in-church political discourse shouldn’t surprise me, but it does. It does because at heart I am so thoroughly political, so intensely partisan.

In college I majored in political science and economics. Thirty years ago in a University of Iowa dorm, with Dutch Masters “President” cigars in hand, friends and I planned our future executive branch administration. We filled staff and cabinet positions. We envisioned a bold future. Our imagination sessions were not products of delusion, but evidence of our fascination, closer to preoccupation, with things political.

Today, for nearly fifteen years eligible – by age – for the White House job, I am still infected. I watch political talkfests. I devour partisan political blogs. I cheer or howl in reaction to the most incidental minutia produced in Washington. That media of all forms are now chewing on 2008 presidential election matters is for most people sickeningly similar to the expansion of Christmas earlier and earlier into the calendar; for me, it’s a calorie-free buffet that’s open 24/7.

Yet, I don’t talk about politics in my ministry. More broadly, as a rule I oppose most any mix of the sacred and the secular:

* Prayer in public schools – NO
* The ten commandments in public places – NO
* “In God we trust” on coins – Doesn’t bother me, only because no one notices the slogan
* Removing “one nation under God” from the “Pledge of Allegiance” – A Valid Point

Coming from me, some or all of those “political” positions may surprise you; if so, your surprise validates my claim of self-imposed ecclesipolitical silence (“ecclesipolitical” is my contrived word for the mixing of religion and politics).

Some or all of those “political” positions may also irritate you; if so, your anger underscores the value and rationale for ecclesipolitical silence! When as a pastor I take a firm stand on the eschatological variations latent in Matthew’s Gospel, no one blinks (except, perhaps, in boredom). When as a pastor I take and declare a position on abortion, or the war in Iraq, or immigration, however, once nodding heads jump to attention, their previously slumbering ears focused on every word. No one cares what, or whether, I think about mundane theology; for most people, there’s little at stake. In political matters, the personal investment is far greater, as is the cost of disagreement to a pastor-parishioner relationship.

So, I don’t mix religion and politics. I no more than nod my head and offer issue-neutral hums in response to partisan conversation with those I serve. . . as did Jesus, I figure. The best known scene depicts Jesus dodging the trap of a Pharisee’s question of whether it’s lawful to pay taxes – He says give to Caesar what Caesar deserves; give to God what God deserves. Later, when under arrest and asked by Pilate whether he’s the king of the Jews, Jesus says his kingdom is not of this world (translation: it’s sacred, not secular).

Jesus was anything but silent on issues of modern political consequence such as poverty, marriage, and children. But he gave little guidance about war, and had nothing to say about abortion or homosexuality, issues that divide political parties and faithful followers alike. Thanks for the help, Jesus.

So what do you think? Do you want pastors and other followers of Jesus mingling things sacred and secular? Or should they watch “Meet the Press” before, and only before, they meet their congregations? How “separate” are your church and state? I invite you to use the comments link below to share your thoughts.


Pray with me:
God, in things political as well as faithful, help me understand what matters (and what doesn’t), what’s worth fighting for and fighting about (and what isn’t). Use me as a healing thorn in the side of dysfunctional social and political systems, but also help me more often close my mouth and open my ears when engaging my world, whether sacred or secular. I don’t know how to mix those two; I just know I’m glad you’re God over both. In the name of Jesus, Amen.

Don't Tread Lightly

A burned out motor and my disintegrating physical condition prompted a family decision to purchase a replacement treadmill for our home. Smart move. Easy sell. A hard road.

First, ordering the thing online was as frustrating an e-commerce experience as I’ve had, essentially because my Internet browsing software wasn’t compatible with the online merchant’s Web site, and because one of the merchant’s customer service agents wasn’t compatible with me. But in the end, to neither their nor my credit, we worked out the purchase.

Sixteen days after finalizing the order, the new treadmill arrived last Friday – all 324 pounds of it. To move the beast from its perch on the truck to the first floor of our home required an ascent of either a snowy hillside or a steep staircase. The delivery driver – the unaccompanied delivery driver – pitched a bit of a fit about his employer’s lack of concern for drivers responsible for such massive pieces, then told me the best he could do was leave it in our garage. The online ordering process guaranteed “inside delivery” of our new equipment; I guess we should have asked inside what.

Saturday was the day to move the monster to its final resting/treading place...our living room. Now, we all have our strengths in life, but strength is not one of mine. So my and Shari’s role in the transfer was to appear to assist, but more accurately, encourage and applaud my stepson Jake’s efforts to pull the thing up the staircase. “This is insane,” said our fitness fanatic housemate of the unit’s weight. He/we persevered, however, yanking and dragging the thing to its new home, along the way taking out one of the windows in our back door.

After assembly – by far the easiest step in this process – I took my first trek; it felt great to know I was back on track (or tread). Spurred on by naive enthusiasm, I walked 30-40 minutes both Saturday and Sunday, using a variety of speed and incline combinations.

Today is Monday. My leg muscles are on strike. They have not announced when (or whether) they will return to work. Chances are I will use the treadmill again tonight – at markedly diminished settings – not because I feel like it, but because I think I have to fight my way back into a fit lifestyle. I covet your prayers.


As you may covet our prayers if you’re fighting your way back into a spiritually fit lifestyle. Do you know the one to which I refer

* The one in which you worship, not because you grew up in a church, but because your life bursts with joy and gratitude to the one who animates your life?

* The one in which you pray, not because someone drummed into you a “Now I lay me down to sleep...” spirituality, but because God is the spiritual parent with whom your heart demands an instant messaging system?

* The one in which you regularly feed your spirit and grow your faith through intentional acts of learning and service?

* The one in which you manage stress, fatigue, and fear by powers and authorities beyond your understanding, but not your reach?

* The one in which you discover that personal meaning and importance have almost nothing to do with yourself, and everything to do with the one to whom you give yourself away?

Most of us have experienced seasons of life when we felt spiritually fit, when our habits, disciplines, and relationships reflected a healthy focus on what matters. But the same number or more of us have also experienced seasons of poor spiritual health, when we knew our thoughts, beliefs, and actions were not rooted in nurturing soil, but rather in weedy, malnourished dust from which evidence of a God-centered life departed long ago. This Express piece is for that latter group.

I tell our new treadmill’s story for those who know they have fallen into spiritual disrepair and want to do something about it. If it’s been a while since you felt connected to God, if Jesus is for you an intriguing but not particularly inspiring character, if your heart aches for more satisfaction than your current life provides, please know there is a way home; you can get fit again. Just don’t expect such fitness to arrive on your terms or to take its place in your life without your efforts.

In fact, getting then staying spiritually fit is very hard work. Occasional workouts will not work out. Quitting in protest of unproductive worship or prayer experiences will complicate, not resolve the problem. As our treadmill cost us time, money, exertion, and floor space, so will your efforts to get spiritually fit cost you time, focus, and sacrifice. If you want to restore your connections to God, you can. Just expect to struggle. Expect your spirit’s muscles to ache. Expect an inner voice to recommend alternative remedies to your spiritual distress. Then expect to have to make a choice.

Tonight I will get back on our new exercise machine, achy, breaky legs and all. The next time I wander a spiritual wilderness, I pray I will act similarly. . . . And I pray I will meet you in the clearing.


Pray with me:
God, there are days when I am hungry for you; the other days I starve for you. May my need for you be matched by my desire for you. May my need from you meet your provision for me. Invite me to your table. Show me my place. Be my God. In the name of Jesus, Amen.

A Shout Out!

I interrupt this blog to offer a word of thanks.

People calling themselves Anonymous and Thomas (between the two, I’m thinking “Thomas” is the alias) have broken the digital shrink wrap that encased the “Comments” link on The Bill Express; each has commented on the most recent entry, “A Harsh Winter.”

I encourage you to read their comments, not only for their historical significance – How often do we get to be the first at anything? – but also because they reflect the thoughtful, even confessional conversation I hope the Express will prompt.

You may also comment on their comments. There is no rule that says your contributions to the Express have to follow the course my words chart. Inspired (or maddened, or mystified, or. . .) by someone’s response to a posting? Tell us! The “blogosphere” is by design an unruly world; it will survive, even welcome your entry. And remember, you may always comment anonymously.

Thanks to you both, Thomas and Anonymous.

Bill



p.s. If you’re the one in a million who cares whether I will comment on the comments people submit, the answer is yes. . . when I have something to add. I haven’t figured out the nuances of how or when, but look for my reactions in a comments section near you.

A Harsh Winter

My morning drive to work most days includes a flip across the car radio’s preset buttons, one of which is tuned to a frequency recently claimed by a (very) conservative Christian radio station. Music is the predominant component of the station’s rather scant programming. . . very bad music. . . make that atrocious music. My God, how awful that stuff is! Why it’s so bad that I . . . . Anyway, I don’t like it.

On a recent drive to the church I ventured into the offending station’s air space, heard its elevator-style rendition of some old song I never liked to begin with, then initiated my usual self-righteous rant. . . until for some reason I started thinking about the song’s writers, performers, recorders, and fans. For those people that song wasn’t a musical misstep or mess of mediocrity; it was rather a testament of faith, a declaration of praise, and a song of hope. It was for them whatever it was for them, but it surely was not for them what it was for me; and that reality gave me pause.

It reminded me of a moment during the recent Christmas season when on an evening drive Shari and I came across a residence whose only seasonal lighting decoration was a single row of large single color bulbs strung from one corner of the garage’s face to the other. That’s all there was. No other lights on the house, or even on the street corner the house occupied.

I thought it silly to go to the trouble of hanging such mediocre lighting, and expressed my sentiment through a snickering cackle of a laugh. Shari quickly corrected my editorial, reminding me that perhaps the residents could not afford other decoration.

It was a valuable lesson her reminder taught, but not one with which I was unfamiliar. During a drive through an economically challenged part of our community a few years ago I saw a house whose exterior was deeply scarred by the effects of time and disrepair. My reaction then was not to smirk or to wax self-righteous. Rather, when I saw a light on in what could have been the living room I thought, that’s someone’s home.

So I understood the lesson when I passed by the worn-out house. Shari reminded me of the lesson when we saw the single strand of Christmas lights. But somehow I forgot what I had learned as I listened to a song I disliked. I am quite the work.


This piece is not about my forgetfulness, though it could be. I use my failings to remind you not to mimic them. There are within the rainbow we call humanity opinions you won’t like, politics you’ll think appalling, music you’ll find laughable, attitudes you’ll deem ill-grounded, and statements of faith you’ll judge harsh and judgmental. Get over it. Whether you like it or not, most people – make that all people – are not like you. No one sees the world the way you do or hears the radio the way I do. About the best you and I can hope for is that those who observe our ways, means, and lifestyles will be no more childish in their assessments than we are in ours.

Jesus said, “Stop judging others, and you will not be judged.” I think what he meant was, if you don’t like the music, shut up and change the station.


Pray with me:
God, help me remember that the world is not destined to be my way, or his way, or her way; it’s destined to be your way. When I look critically, think harshly, or judge too quickly about others, put me in my place, then guide me to a healthier, more spiritual place. Teach me, remind me, and when necessary, scold me back to faithfulness. In the name of Jesus, Amen.

Just Deserts

One of my spiritual disciplines is daily time with the Bible (Well, the truth of late has probably been closer to a bit less than daily, but who’s confessing?). This week I am reading in the Old Testament book of Daniel, known for its lions’ den, fiery furnace, and apocalyptic visions. Tuesday’s reading, however, was nothing so fantastic or imaginative as those.

A section of the fourth chapter of Daniel reports the confession of a king of Babylonia named Nebuchadnezzar. In a poignant soliloquy, the king describes a walk atop the roof of his palace during which he surveys the land over which he rules. The sights before him prompt this arrogant pronouncement:

“Just look at this great city of Babylon! I, by my own mighty power, have built this beautiful city as my royal residence and as an expression of my royal splendor.'”

God drives some sense into King EgoRunAmok via a trip to and life amidst the wilderness. Upon humility’s successful advance, Nebuchadnezzar voices his new learning:

"After this time had passed, I, Nebuchadnezzar, looked up to heaven. My sanity returned, and I praised and worshiped the Most High and honored the one who lives forever.”

Do you hear that? The king says he was insane! His only sin was egotism: He thought too much of himself, of his accomplishments and his role in them. Many – especially politicians – would say, “I got a little full of myself. I got a bit carried away. I’ll do better the next metropolis I build.” But this repentant king says, “I went insane.”


I hope I remember Nebuchadnezzar’s example the next time I get a little full of myself, the next time I get a bit carried away with my role in whatever good comes of my life. The next time I seek out appreciation, soak in applause, or sop up someone’s kind assessment, I hope I promptly see myself strolling atop that moment’s fragile rooftop. And before the roof collapses, before I am removed from my lofty position and redeployed to the everyday debris that more accurately depicts my life during its ego-centric sojourns, I hope I fall to my knees, raise my heads and hands to heaven, and beg for sanity’s return.

May my remaining days stay within a whisper’s distance of the truth that there isn't anything about my life that is good because of me. There is MUCH that is good – don’t get me wrong – it’s just that I have nothing to do with it.

I realized long ago the fruitlessness of self-importance. Not until now, however, did I have its fitting synonym: insanity.


. . . . I was going to ask about your sanity, but I figure it’s your palace. . . and God knows where to find you.


Pray with me:
There are times when I am an insane person, God. Just insane. Not by medical diagnosis, but by personal choice. I hope this isn't one of those times, but if it is, consider these words a confession. If this isn't one of those times, consider this a preview of coming attractions. When you have to take me down from the artificial heights, use whatever force you deem necessary. Just make sure it works; I’m not too crazy about the wilderness, either. In the name of Jesus, who knew a thing or two about life’s deserts, Amen.

Wouldn't You Like to Get Away?

A simple game I play on my PDA offers me daily reminders of the importance of time away.

The game’s objective is to clear the screen of blocks adorned with various designs. Move blocks of matching designs together, and they disappear.

The game’s rules and board layouts make for challenges of varying degrees. Some boards clear via a collection of moves that I identify almost instantly. Other boards look easy, but prove otherwise. Some boards seem impossible.

It’s the impossible boards to which I react with predictable impatience. After six or eight valiant attempts, I invariably power down my device or switch to another application, huffing and fuming frustration as I do. “This one can’t be done!” I cry, many times in a hushed but audible scream.

But often, something changes when I return to the game after a few minutes away. It happens frequently that after a break – most times, only a moment or two; rarely hours or days – I look at a puzzling board and see the solution. As if someone switched on the hallway light midway through a wall-hugging, middle-of-the-night journey to the kitchen, the right course lies in plain sight. A few taps of the screen, and I’m on to the next puzzle. Without the interruption I would probably have found the solution. . . eventually. . . but only after too much time and countless expletives. Getting away is good for me.


What situation has you frustrated at the moment? What problem seems too vexing, too daunting, too out of your reach to solve? Might you benefit from a power down, or a switch to something else for a time? Who knows, perhaps after a break the hallway light will also switch on for you.

It’s just a thought.


Pray with me:
God, after creating the heavens and the earth you took a day to rest. If you needed a break, surely we do, too. Help us unhook, turn off, power down, or simply get away now and then. And then open our eyes to see the way, your way through the puzzles of life. In the name of Jesus, Amen.

Light of the World

There was a major power outage on Avenue of the Cities in Moline Tuesday (the Avenue is a major thoroughfare through town, for readers unfamiliar to our metroplex).

As I drove the congested street, inching along a car length at a time as vehicles ahead of me rolled in careful sequence through newly created 4-way stops, I saw numerous businesses with handmade signs pasted to storefronts informing customers of unforeseen closures.

As the paralyzed car pile progressed eastward with snail-like momentum, I also noticed how barren the Avenue seemed. Sidewalks, usually dotted with home-bound school students and other pedestrians, empty and lifeless. Restaurants, service companies, businesses small and not so small, unlit and locked-tight for the day. The more I looked, the more I noticed how little there was to notice (save the tail lights of the vehicle in front of me that somehow kept pace with my Ford’s blistering 3 mph).

Then, in the distance, light dawned. There, a quarter-mile and a hundred cars ahead of me, I saw a working stoplight, parking lot lamps burning bright, and the buzz of civilian traffic much more reflective of that piece of the afternoon. The limits of the outage’s reach neared.

Once I made it to the stoplight, traffic eased, as did my unease with the street I had just traveled. Rarely had I experienced so telling an example of the difference between the lit and the unlit, between life and no life, between energy and outage.


Ever entered a room full of lifeless people? People unhappy with, disgruntled by, or disconnected from meaning and purpose? Ever been around someone whose teeming lifelessness affected your own spirit?

If so, do you remember what it felt like to leave their presence then discover the company of a party, or at least of someone with an expression about his or her face? Do you remember how different and better it felt to be around life?

We need to be aware of what end of the Avenue our lives are on through the day. People driving by us will enjoy their journey far more if we stay connected to our power supply.

Perhaps we can adapt the motel chain’s slogan: World, in my life, I will leave the light on for you.


Pray with me:
God, the prophet Isaiah said people who walked in darkness have seen a great light. Thanks for letting us be those people. Help us see and reflect the light of Jesus, however unlit appear the roads along which our lives take us. Amen.

Bill

The First of Many

Welcome to the first of what I expect will be many weekly (or, on occasion, weakly) reflections.

The rules for the BillExpress differ from those of the other principal communication methods I employ in ministry:

In sermons, divine word speaks to specific congregational/theological need; I write so as to speak to a corporate identity called a church. BillExpress pieces will address the spiritual journey from my lived-in shoes and well-worn, less often revealed confessional; that is, from a perspective common to the larger community.

In newsletter columns, the primary constraint is word count. Our publication process expects me to fill, but not expand beyond one page (whether I have anything to say or not!). BillExpress pieces will speak their mind then shut up, whether that’s done with 25 words or 500.

My vision for the Express is a more personal conversation with my — and I pray, your — faith life. I hope these pieces will use everyday experiences to spice, strengthen, and, when necessary, disrupt our relationships with the God revealed so surprisingly in a little child named Jesus.

But I don’t want to be the only person talking — or, at least I don’t need to be the only person talking. To protect the identities of the people receiving the e-mail versions of the Express, I will send them out as blind carbon copies. But I will also post all pieces on this “YBU Blog.” Here, you may add your comment to any piece, past or present, and in so doing invite or contribute to a larger conversation. Plus, you never know who might stumble onto the blog from a Google search!

So welcome to the BillExpress. Enjoy the ride.

Pray with me:
God of every journey, accompany us on this one. Give us direction, and if we’re not open to direction, at lead help us find and value the rest areas along the way. We so need to trust you as the Lord of our every road. In the name of Jesus we pray, Amen.

Bill





NOTE: If you want receive the e-mailed Express, send a request to ybubill@yahoo.com.