My Brother’s Keeper

^“Now Cain said to his brother Abel, “Let’s go out to the field.” While they were in the field, Cain attacked his brother Abel and killed him.  Then the Lord said to Cain, “Where is your brother Abel?” “I don’t know,” he replied. “Am I my brother’s keeper?” The Lord said, “What have you done? Listen! Your brother’s blood cries out to me from the ground.” Genesis  4:8–10

My five year old was in the bath tub when he asked his sister to get his boat toy.  She shrugged her shoulder’s and answered, “It’s not my responsibility.”

I called her into her room. She had been doing this on and off for awhile, and every time it grated on me. It was time to have the conversation.

So where do you start in that conversation? With Cain killing Abel and telling God, “I am not my brother’s keeper”? I have noticed that this particular story is left out of all of her children’s Bible story books.  And she wasn’t murdering her brother, she just was being apathetic about helping him.

So I started with the holocaust. Okay, I know that is pretty extreme. But there were many individuals, and nations who were apathetic as World War 2 began. Many people died because of the apathy of others.  After all, it wasn’t their responsibility. I am sure I could have thought of other moments in history as well. The group Sojourners began because Christians were watching the turmoil of civil rights and realized their white churches were saying, “it isn’t our responsibility” and thought the church should be helping those seeking equality. In the story of the Good Samaritan, the hero is the first of four bystanders who took responsibility for the man at the side of the road. But, the first thing that came to my mind were those who died at the hands of evil men because it of a “it isn’t my responsibility” attitude.

But as I am finishing up the lecture, I realize I just made EVERYONE EVERYWHERE her responsibility. That was not right either. So I added a little to this.

“We have to help those who can’t do it themselves.”

Zeke was in the tub, and clearly couldn’t reach his toy. Lydia was inches away. She could have helped. So she should have. That doesn’t mean she has to go get stuff for him when he is perfectly able with same amount of effort to do it himself. It doesn’t mean caring for others trumps her own self care.

But our response should not be, “It isn’t my responsibility.”

So I am curious, how do you teach the next generation to help others in a balanced way? I feel like I am still learning where this line is myself, especially as someone who is often asked to help. It is a fine line to walk, and an important lesson to learn. So how do you do it?

Summer of Blessing: A Personal Testimony

I believe God is always working, always bringing life. Yet there are times, when it seems that all we see and feel is heart break. This last winter was hard time for our family, as we grieved losing the community we moved away from last summer. Though we still stay in contact through Facebook and the occasional text, they make poor substitutes for time together. As the darkest and coldest days came, I found myself constantly praying, pleading with God to bring new life, new friendships into our lives.

As I look back on this summer, I see that God heard that prayer.

One of the friends that we left behind was our dear friend Emmanuel and his family. He was a classmate in seminary, a brilliant man. He was also a refugee from Rwanda, and his church and friends were a vibrant and friendly group of Africans immigrants who had started a small fellowship. It brought our family so much joy connecting our two cultures and finding that we shared the same passion for God’s kingdom. Facebook just isn’t the same as having a barbeque together or going to each other’s church.

This summer, God blessed us here with new international friends in Angel and Claudia. Just as we were blessed through Emmanuel, we have been so blessed to learn more about their culture and to be revived by their passion for God’s kingdom. Though they are not a replacement, they help us in many of the same ways to remember how big God is and what he is capable of, and that we are not part of a dying movement.

Other friendships we had to let go of were those we had with the teenagers of my last church. It is still hard to see their posts on Facebook and not to be there to talk to them in the flesh about what is going on in their lives.The occasional text is not the same as walking home from church to discover a house full of teens in my living room discussing relationships and fantasy football teams. Seeing baby pictures is not the same as holding their babies in my arms and giving them random baby gear we have no use for anymore.

God has blessed us this summer, again, not with replacements, but  with new teens to love and care for.  One of those relationships that have helped heal my heart is that of our wonderful babysitter, who would often sit down and talk with me about life before the kids woke up. She has brought newjoy and purpose to me.  The joy and comfort our kids had in being the youngest in the youth group there has started to shine through as they have found friendship and trust in her and even met her friends. I love ya, girl!Thanks for being part of our family.

This last winter we lost for a short time our wonderful young neighbors. It is so great this summer to have Lyndzy stopping by again, and to be able to count on Lamoine to keep an eye on things when we aren’t around. It made for a lonely spring without you, and it is so great that God brought you back to us!

And probably the most exciting way God has worked this summer, is giving me some women friends. It is something I have been praying for since our arrival. A chance in counter and a move across town has given me a chance to talk about being a mom and being a wife and balancing work in a way I need. I feel warmth in my soul after our times together and hope in the future. I am really starting to love our little corner of town.

 I can’t understand how these relationships have bloomed except to know that God was at work, and brought us together. Thank God for how he hears our prayers and brings people into our lives to make life not just bearable, but joyful. I still miss those we have left behind, but I feel like we are finally settling in and feeling at home. It is not because we know where we are going now, but because we know we have someone to travel with.

Called to the Lencas

 The following is my articles for this month's newsletter. I want to share this one a little broader.

As I sit down to write this Chronicle, it has been two days back from our trip to Honduras, so the Lencas are still central in my heart and head.

One of our leader’s goals for this trip was to prepare all of us first timers to lead trips in the future. And there are plenty of projects for us to help with. Finishing the guest house, adding indoor plumbing, adding tanks for water and engineering runoff into those tanks…I could go on and on. But more than any of these things, there is one thing that must be a priority for our church. That is what I would like to begin to talk to you about.

Pastors Angel and Claudia are deeply called to serve the Lencas. Claudia initially felt this calling, and you just look into this woman’s eyes and can feel her love and respect for these people. She is an amazing cook and loves these children as if they were from her own body. She leads the women, mentoring and teaching them to care for their families. And when she sings, the birds stop to listen. And you couldn’t ask for a better set of gifts in a man to work with Lencas than Angel has. A skilled welder by trade, this man can fix just about anything that breaks. He can play guitar and preach, but even more so he has a humbleness that draws men to learn from him. Their respect for the Lenca culture shines through in all they do.

Currently, Angel and Claudia ride a motorbike 4 hours up to El Pinar on Fridays and back down to their home in the capital city on Mondays. This makes for a complicated life, a split life. It also limits their ministry to Saturdays and Sundays. They do a lot with those 2 days…they teach 95 kids in 3 classes on Saturday. Some of these kids travel by foot as far as 3 hours away. Then on Sunday, they lead worship services. But it is only 2 days. Claudia and Angel’s major goal is to train leaders and missionaries among the Lencas. Angel would like to eventually start teaching his trades to the Lenca men. But all they have to do this is 2 days a week. 2 days! The Lencas need their leadership more than 2 days a week.

We can build and engineer all we want on that mountain, but the biggest resource we can give them isn’t buildings, it’s Angel and Claudia full time. To give up their jobs in the capital and live full time among the Lencas, Angel and Claudia would need a salary of $600 a month. Every month. It’s not a one time gift. It would be harder than building. But the most important things are never the easiest things.

I shared with our team, and I share with you, I don’t know how to get Angel and Claudia on that mountain full time. I just know it is what needs done. So I am praying that God will make a way for Angel and Claudia, and that somehow he will use us in the process.

Equality in Missions

“We are all the same, We are all different.”                   Team Member, Honduras Mission Trip

            One of the deepest learnings of our group in Honduras, was that people are people no matter what culture or class they are from. 

Kids are shy with strangers. They like to be tickled. They climb trees and howl like coyotes. There are some that stay back to help the  80-year-old up the mountain and lead the others. Kids everywhere get restless sitting in long church services. 

And adults, though we are different are the same. We take pride in our work and skills. We laugh about passing gas. We try to make things better with the resources we have. We struggle in our marriages, and in using our gifts. We grieve. We celebrate. 

Those are some of the lessons we learn in visiting other cultures. That though we are different, we are the same. When we go to serve in another culture we grow by seeing not only the joy but the struggles of those we go to serve. 

And that is why it seems a little unfair to me that mission trips go only one way between our church in La Fontaine and our sister church among the Lencas. They only go from us to them. We don’t share how our church struggles, we just share our resources. 

If I were them, I would not know how frustrating ministry can be in the United States. I wouldn’t know about the cultural shifts that have happened, and that millennials are missing from most churches. I wouldn’t know that every year here, churches struggle to provide vital ministries like VBS, not because of finances, but because we can’t get enough adult volunteers. And because I wouldn’t know these things, I wouldn’t pray for God’s presence and work among those in churches like La Fontaine. 

As we worked on a building that will be used for economic development, I couldn’t help thinking about the Trustees meetings and the projects back home. I thought about our parsonage garage roof that will need replaced in the next few years, and the old things stored in the rafters that need cleaned out. As I met the kids, I couldn’t help but wonder about our VBS program still in limbo. I couldn’t help but think, what if Hondurans came to the US for a mission trip? Even more than what could get done, what if we actually were equals…not those who had everything to offer, but those humbled by receiving? I shared this dream of mine with Pastor Jorge Pinto, and he immediately saw the beauty in switching it up. 

So, what would it take to make this happen on our end? Well, just as Nick and I had to raise money to go to Honduras, we would have to raise money to get Hondurans here.  This is really the biggest hurdle. Then comes the fun stuff. Feeding and housing them here. And projects to do here.Who would come and when.

So this is me putting out feelers. 

Who thinks this is an idea worth trying? 

Who would be willing to put money on it?

Annual Conference- Guest Post by Rev. Mark Dicken

This week I will being headed to Annual Conference, where we will vote on delegates to General and Jurisdictional Conference. Important Stuff! As we prepare for this task, I read these remarks from Pastor Mark Dicken:

"In the classic movie Casablanca, after Rick shoots Major Strasser, Captain Renault instructs his officers, “Round up the usual suspects.” Later this is embellished when Renault says: “Realizing the importance of this case, my men are rounding up twice the usual number of suspects.”

A few years ago, a member of the church to which I was appointed described the people at various fund-raising events in the community as “the usual suspects.” He was describing that community’s tendency to call on the same people for the same purpose for each civic and charitable effort.
I am concerned that The United Methodist Church in general and the Indiana Conference in particular is too prone to rounding up the usual suspects when it comes to leadership and decision-making, especially when it comes to electing delegates to General and Jurisdictional Conference.

Let me explain myself.

I have been a delegate to 2 General Conferences, the last in 2012 in Tampa, and 3 Jurisdictional Conferences. I left Tampa so disgusted and disheartened. We wasted millions of dollars and accomplished practically nothing. I realized generations of General Conference delegates, myself included, had created a Book of Discipline so complicated that common sense and sound faith had little place in our denomination that believes it can legislate itself into revival. I also realized that our denomination had become so polarized over the issues associated with human sexuality that the people at the poles were viewing everything through that single-issue lens and, therefore, were unwilling and unable to seek common ground with those on the other side on any issue lest they show vulnerability when the sexuality issues came up for a vote.
I’m pretty sure I smelled some backroom deals that resulted in subtle manipulation of the agenda. I firmly believed I saw complicity between some bishops serving as presiding officers and delegates who reveled in tying General Conference in procedural notes designed to let the air out of the basketball like the late Dean Smith’s 4-corner offense running out the clock.

I also noticed something else.

The leaders of these polar and polarizing groups were old – both those that claimed the mantle of evangelical renewal and those who wore the rainbow mantle of progressive inclusiveness. They had been fighting the fight since 1972. Not only were they battle-hardened, their offensive and defensive tactics were set in stone. The distrust level was palpable and lamentable.

And I no longer want to be any kind of a participant in such unholy conferencing.
I realize that The Methodist Church in which I was confirmed and The United Methodist Church in which I was ordained no longer exist – at least in terms of the church I thought I was committing my life and service to. My retirement is not imminent, but it is not all that distant either. In many respects I am a dinosaur up to my nostrils in the tar pit. I need to trust clergy and lay persons who will be leading the church in the next couple of decades to do just that.

So, I am not willing to serve as a delegate in 2016. If nominated, I will not run. If elected, I will not serve.
I do, however, encourage my sisters and brothers in the Indiana Conference to resist rounding up the usual suspects to send to General Conference in Portland and Jurisdictional Conference in Peoria. Realizing the importance of the issues before these conferences, I encourage us to avoid rounding up double the usual number of suspects even.

I once promised a bishop that I would not advocate a system in which people would be urged to not vote for specific persons, so I will attempt to walk that line. In the spirit of encouragement, I encourage us to elect delegates who will have to live with the consequences of their decisions for the next 15-25 years. I encourage us to vote for lay and clergy delegates who are under 50 years of age. I encourage us to vote for delegates who have only been to one General or Jurisdictional Conference previously and, presumably, are not as jaded and cynical as veteran warhorses like me. I encourage us to be diligent in our voting all the way through the delegates to Jurisdictional Conference as the Indiana Conference will be getting a new bishop and, frankly, the episcopal talent pool in the North Central Jurisdiction is scarily shallow.

I implore those who are willing to serve as delegates to be clear about why they want to serve this way, what they see as the big issues facing our church and their ideas for addressing those issues. And, yes, for my younger clergy colleagues this means engaging in that process many of you label distasteful called “church politics.” You’ll need to get over this if you want to get in on the decision-making. Trust me, General and Jurisdictional Conferences are highly political processes which, at times, will have only a thin veneer of religion over them.

It is someone else’s turn.
I tried my best.
I am sorry my peers and I could not do better.
I will pray, politic and vote that others will do better in 2016 and beyond."


Thank you, Mark for looking in another direction this year. I hope we as a denomination can better hear the voices across the board. That is why I will do my best to help vote for "4 under 40." We need voices at all different levels to move forward. 

My Dog Hates Mother's Day

Henrietta isn’t quite herself today. She usually keeps up with our two boy dogs easily, but today she hung her head a little lower during the morning ritual. I think it might be because today is Mother’s Day.

See, Henrietta never knew her mother.  She was taken away when she was just a pup. She swore that she would do better when it was her turn. But, she was so young when the pups came. And then the storm came, and she got lost, unable to find her way back home. Her pups didn’t even have her until they were completely weaned. And now, she couldn’t have more pups even if she wanted to.  It’s a lot be reminded of on a rainy Mother’s Day.

That’s why I snuggled up with her this afternoon. I thanked her for cuddling with my kids when they are sick, with protecting them with vigilance when strangers come around, and playing with them in the sprinklers every summer. I thanked her for those times when I feel like a disappointment to my kids, and how she wags her tail and reminds me that I’m doing okay. I reminded her that her past life is in the past, and she has been found.  That each day, she can do something small for her new family. She sat with me as the rain came down, and she knew she would be safe.

And I gave her some cheese. And wished her a Happy Mother’s Day.