Well Done

Whenever Kay and I go to a steak place, if she orders steak, you can be sure of 2 things: she'll ask that it be cooked well-done, and she'll ask for a bottle of ketchup. Yes, even in the final restaurants, a bottle of ketchup. I try to get the waiter to bring it in a brown paper bag, but people see. I'm sure they do.

The theme of this year’s Chester Brown Hampton Baptist Church Preaching and Worship Conference at the Baptist Theological Seminary at Richmond was, “Let Justice Roll.” And everything about it was well done.

I planned to be on the campus for this first 3 weeks of the sabbatical, with the idea of “taking a class” (the “Wilderness Retreat”, that I wrote of earlier) during the May term at BTSR, and also participating in the preaching and worship event. As far as the conference goes, every element of it was well-done, worthwhile, and helpful in reaching my sabbatical goals. I am so grateful to BTSR for the opportunity to be part of these two events. I cannot think of any better way to begin the sabbatical experience.

The two main presenters were Tony Campolo, and Kate Campbell. Kay and I had the opportunity to hear both of them at the CBF meeting in Charlotte a few years ago. We enjoyed them then, and I loved the opportunity to experience their preaching/story-telling again this week.

Sprinkled throughout the 3 day event were 9 breakout sessions, from which we could choose 3. I attended “Hospitality and Social Justice”, with Dr. Elizabeth Newman, Professor of Theology and Ethics, “Sermon Planning and Preaching Social Justice Texts,” led by Dr. Scott Spencer, Professor of New Testament, and “Pastoral Care and Justice”, with Dr. Daniel G. Bagby, Theodore F. Adams Professor of Pastoral Care, and former pastor of 7th and James Baptist Church in Waco.

Each of these was presented with fresh and biblically-based perspectives on how the church is called to act justly in a world where injustice is so rampant. It was also a lot of fun to meet and talk with professors who have had Logan in their classes. I have to tell you that they all spoke highly of him, and I know what you’re thinking, of course they did, you’re his father, what do you expect? But I believed them anyway.

I enjoyed Kate Campbell and her music when we met her in Charlotte, but now I’m a fan. As she says, you won’t find my music at Lifeway or Christian bookstores, but you will find it at Barnes and Noble under “folk”. It may be folksy, but it often rings of country, and sometimes of jazz, and every now and then, a little rock and a lot of gospel. But her stories make you smile, like “Jesus and Tomatoes Coming Soon”, and she often writes and sings of times when social injustice and racial tension were pervasive in the south, in “Crazy in Alabama”, and “Bus 109”.

Kate has a way of letting the stories tell the story, and her preaching is her song.

Tony Campolo is from Philadelphia, and he presents himself with a strong voice and biting humor (humor when it bites someone else, sarcasm when it hits home). He began with a message called “Becoming Red Letter Christians,” taking off on the biblical publishing practice of sometimes printing the words of Jesus in red. His premise is that the Jesus we follow is often a product of our own values and ideas, and his call is to hear the words of Jesus as they are, not as we think they should be.

Last night Tony spoke on “Living Out the Beatitudes.” He asked, “What do you as a parent want for your children?” And he answered his own question with, “Happiness.” And then he read the beatitudes, and asked, where does Jesus say that happiness is the goal.” His call is to learn to live as Jesus lived, counter to the culture of this world, learning not to take Christ to the poor and the down-and-out, but to embrace Him in the poor, the broken, the disenfranchised, the sick, the despised. It is a powerful message.

Also, throughout the conference, were worship services demonstrating a wide range of styles and practices centered around the worship of God. We began with a liturgical service, followed by Celtic worship, Contemplative Taize’, Contemporary, and ending with emergent church worship. These were all well done, and both challenged and affirmed thinking.

One of the most touching moments of the conference was a plenary session just prior to the last worship service, when Dr. Thomas Graves, outgoing president of BTSR (he's stepping down this month due to serious health issues), from a wheelchair, delivered a powerful story of the history of BTSR (he has been the only president in the school's fifteen year history), and his hopes and dreams for BTSR in the next 15 years. It was very moving. It was my pleasure to convey to him the greetings of UBC's Terry and Angie Reeves, who are the best of friends with President Graves and his wife Wendy. And I say, "Well Done, Thomas Graves." He's been a powerful influence in Baptist life.

But the event that will stay with me for a long time, I think, was a plenary session with Kate Campbell, in which she explained how she had written songs, and how her life story had impacted her writings. Se spoke of how situations in the world, and people she’d met, became part of her music. She stood with just a guitar and sang, and mesmorized me with her melodies and her words.

My favorite of these was a song called, “Well Done, Delmus Jackson.” Kate told of the impression that the black church custodian made on her, even as a little girl. He sat down with her, and talked to her like she was an adult (a real person). He always had time for her. And her dad, the pastor of the church, would speak of him as someone who was faithful and did his work well. Behind the scenes, never wanting credit, “well done, Delmus Jackson.”

Care-fully,
rick

WDJD

Yesterday, I chose to attend a worship service at a church that I’d been warned would probably not be a good fit for me philosophically. I attended worship there anyway because, as I’ve written before, I want to experience a wide range of styles and content in worship. This is one of my sabbatical goals. I want to know what others are doing, because I’m always interested in discovering new ways to help people worship. Worship planning is not my primary area of responsibility at UBC, but Matt does allow me to be part of the team. And worship leadership is my passion.

The service was called “contemporary” in style, which basically means they use a band instead of organ and/or orchestra, and music is led by an ensemble rather than a choir. This is not unlike our Saturday evening worship at UBC. (This particular church had another service at a different hour, one that is said to be more traditional, but I was unable to attend it.)

Though I arrived a little after the start, I must say that the worship was very well done, from a leadership standpoint. I knew the songs and it was easy to sing along. The media support for worship (song texts on screen) was very well done, in terms of preparation as well as operation. There were no surprises here.

But I WAS surprised—when a video tribute to a prominent national TV evangelist who recently passed away, was played at the conclusion of the worship time, and as I would soon discover, at the beginning of the sermon. Again, the video was very well done, and included a clip of the evangelist preaching at the host church.

And then came the big surprise—the entire sermon was built around the TV evangelist. Major points of the sermon were: 1) the evangelist was a workman, which was interpreted to mean, he did things right, which was clarified to be, he interpreted the scripture accurately, which was implied to be, always.

2) The evangelist was a sower of seeds, which was interpreted to be television ministry, which was clarified to be TV ministry that reaches every continent except Antarctica, which implied that this is what the parable of the seeds means—the more seed you sow, the better chance you have of a great harvest. (Jesus was mentioned here as the one who told the parable).

3) The evangelist was a pastor at heart, which was interpreted to be, a caring, family man, which was clarified to be a husband to one wife for almost 57 years (now that’s admirable), and a father who loves his children. This point was illustrated by a story of a time when the preacher was in the evangelist’s office, and the secretary buzzed him with a call from his daughter, and the evangelist said to the preacher, “you take it.” (I missed the point on that one.)

4) The evangelist was an investor, which was interpreted to be his leadership at a Christian University, which was clarified to be his vision of 25,000 students on campus, which the evangelist had projected, just a few months before his death, would happen, according to projections, in 13 years, which was implied accomplished, because the evangelist had the vision. (I know, I had a little trouble with that one, too.)

Now my intention here is not to slam the TV evangelist. I’m sure many believe that he made major contributions to the kingdom. It just seemed to me to be the entire focus of the preaching part of worship.

I was a little confused, in terms of worship, just who the focus was on. Maybe I wasn’t listening with ears to hear, but all I heard was, what did Jerry do?

Care-full-y,

rick

Don't You Know That It Hurts, Hurts So Bad?

Yesterday (Friday), I hit the wall! No, I mean, I literally hit the wall. Actually, it was the cabinet door on the bathroom wall, and it was my head that hit it, and it hurt badly. Not so badly that there was blood, but it hurt. I had no one to whine to, no one to take me into their arms and comfort me, no one to whom I could describe how much it hurt. I felt very alone.

It was the first day that I had no human contact, face to face, with anyone that I know. (I did finally see Bryn Taylor, the registrar at BTSR, whom I met 3 years ago when Kay and I came with Logan and Christy to check out the seminary.) But, I didn’t see Logan—he was busy; Christy is in Houston for Ashley’s graduation and a baby shower; and I didn’t see Rob and Lindsey (who live in the apartment next door) or Dean and Eddie (4 and 3 year olds who live with their parents 2 apartments down). So, last night, I did what anyone in my situation might do; I went to see Spiderman 3—by myself.

I’m not really complaining. It’s that lack of noise that I wrote of earlier when I arrived in Richmond. It’s what I’m looking for on this sabbatical. It’s what I found on the Wilderness Retreat. It’s quiet. It’s reflective. It’s driving me nuts! No, not really. If you know me, you know I’m not exactly a social butterfly. I like being alone—for a while. And then I like being with people—for a while. And then I like being alone.

So as I complete 2 weeks of sabbaticalling (yes, I know it’s not a word), I thank God for opportunities I had to get to know the BTSR students on the Wilderness Retreat. I’m also thankful for some wonderful times of bread-breaking and play that I’ve had with Logan and Christy this week, and I’m looking forward to some days with Landon at the end of the month. I’m thankful for the opportunity to meet some of the students who live on campus at BTSR, and to see in person those staff and faculty who helped me with the arrangements for this visit. I mentioned Bryn Taylor. She and Dr. Kim Siegenthaler, as well as Dr. Stephen Brachlow and Sandra Washington, were very helpful, and I’ve enjoyed seeing them and visiting with them, after many email conversations.

But I’m also grateful for quiet times, alone times, sitting in this apartment, or wandering the grounds of Maymont, or walking the campus at BTSR. And I loved the times of silence and fasting that we did for hours at a time on the Wilderness Retreat. These have been times to think about very little other than the beauty and majesty of God. They’ve been times to think about nothing, and time to do things that I don’t normally get to do, like walk and sit, and pray and walk, and walk and sit, and pray and walk some more. This is very good.

I am so grateful for people like you, who carry on the work of pastoral care ministry, who take care of the things that I normally take care of, those who are there for the UBC family, and those who are there for Kay. And most of all, I'm thankful for Kay, whom I love more than any of you, who takes out the garbage and gets the mail and mows the grass and . . . surely there's something else that I usually do. Thanks to all who make this possible, even though you weren’t around to rub my bruised head.

After 2 days of being alone, I met up with Logan tonight and we went to see the Braves and the Yankees. No, not those Braves and Yankees. I’m talking about the Richmond Braves and the Scranton/Wilkes-Barre Yankees, AAA franchises of the respective major league teams. (Some of you know that I have a tomahawk in my office, and I've been known to do a little chopping at Astros games.) It was a fun night out. A little noisy, but very exciting, even though the Braves lost 5-4.

Maybe I can learn to build a flow of quiet-noise-quiet-noise into my real life. Nah! Probably not. But it’s worth a try.

Next week, I’ll be participating in a preaching conference here at BTSR. It should be noisy enough.

Care-full-y,
rick

In the Eye of the Beholder

Beauty is all around me. And, sometimes I see it in the simplest of things, such as a black-and-white picture of a not-quite-developed human being—beautiful because it’s the first time we’ve seen her distinguishable features, and beautiful, because, she’s my granddaughter.

Having grown up in Alabama, and having spent most of my adult life in Kentucky and Tennessee, I most often find natural beauty in hills and flowers, and in mountains and trees. My fondest teenage memories are from summer camp experiences spent at Ridgecrest Baptist Conference Center, nestled in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains just outside Asheville, North Carolina. And I found that same beauty in the places we’ve lived, rolling hills of Kentucky and Tennessee, especially in the fall, when the leaves of the trees were vibrant reds and yellows, oranges and greens.

Shortly after I moved to Houston, while on one of UBC’s mission-building experiences on the Navajo reservation in New Mexico, I was visiting with the pastor of Living Springs Church. We were sitting on a rock not far from the spring of water for which the church was named, and the pastor spoke of a trip he had made to Alabama, at the invitation of a church that had been out one summer to help Living Springs. Excitedly, I asked, “Didn’t you just love it?” And his response was quick and matter-of-factly, “Not really.”


“You didn’t like the big trees, and the lush, rolling green hills,” I asked. “Nope,” he replied, “couldn’t see the sky.” And I was reminded again that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Virginia, where I’ve been for almost two weeks, and Richmond, where I’ve spent most of my time, is a beautiful place—TO ME! It has all the things that make a place beautiful—TO ME!. The weather has been phenomenal, with warm days soothed by cool breezes, a little rain, mostly in the evenings, and very pleasant, cool nights.

Giant trees cover the landscape, so even when it’s a little warm, shade is not far away. And the May flowers are gorgeous.

Maymont is a getaway in the city. A natural preserve near the James River, it covers acres and acres of land, and it is filled with gardens of roses, waterfalls, exotic plants, birds and other wildlife. I took my Hardees dinner (man, I wish we had the thickburgers in Houston) and sat in the open fields of Maymont last evening, taking in the beauty of God’s creation. And then I walked through glorious rose gardens, and exotic Japanese gardens, by noisy waterfalls surrounded by giant trees that swayed in the cool breeze of evening. It sounds so weak to say it, but it was beautiful!

The other beauty in Richmond is, in my eye, the architecture, particularly houses and churches. Many of these have stood for more than 100 years, and maybe some, I would guess, for almost 200 years.

Earlier yesterday, I walked in an area near Boulevard and Broad, and saw some of these old houses and churches up close. Many of these are offices now (often for attorneys, I noticed), and some are apartment buildings, but they still have that beauty of character of an age long-gone. For some people, and I’m sure for those who live here, old means worn-out, in need of repair, and failing. But for me, there is beauty in this old city. Maybe growing old isn’t as bad as I once thought.

Care-full-y,
rick

99&44 1/100's % SURE

A bonus of sabbatical has been the wonderful opportunity to spend some time with Logan and Christy while here in Richmond. Logan is taking Narrative Preaching during the May term at BTSR, where I’m staying while in town.

I’ve enjoyed several meals with them since I got back from the Wilderness Retreat, and I’ve hung out at the apartment, mostly to wash clothes (I’m trying very hard not to wear out my welcome). Tonight I met them at the park and sat with Christy as Logan and others from New Journey Church played softball, and tomorrow, Logie and I are going to finally hit the golf ball.

But the "mother" of all opportunities came yesterday morning when I got to go with the "mother and daddy" to the doctor’s office for the “tell-tale” ultrasound. (This is the one that reveals the gender. And, since they didn’t do this kind of thing routinely when the boys were inside Kay, this was my first time, even if it is as a grandfather.)

Needless to say, I was pretty excited, but I managed to keep my enthusiasm in check (and you know how hard that is for me). I feel sure I was also resented by 2 g-mothers-to-be back in Houston, though they would not let on that there were any hard feelings about my being present.

Since Logie had a class this morning, I drove out to the apartment and picked Christy up, and we made our way to the hospital where Christy’s doctor has offices. Logan came on as soon as he could, and got there just in time. The two of them went back into the ultrasound room, and I sat in the lobby, hoping I’d get the call. (I was only allowed to go with the understanding that one other person is allowed back there, and Logan seemed insistent that he should be the one. But they did agree to ask if a wandering grandfather from Houston might come in for a minute. There were no guarantees.) I sat and waited, and read my book.

After a half hour or so, Logie came out and gave me the nod. They were going to let me in. And so I saw her—yes, she’s a girl. And I saw clear absence of that which, by its absence, lets them know that she’s a girl. And I saw her heart beating fast, and her arms flailing, and her back arching. Christy said she was “popping” her back like Logan pops his back.

I didn’t cry. That was a little later. But I did laugh really loud, if only on the inside, because Logan and Christy were so surprised, and their faces showed it. When the technician said she was 99% sure it was a girl, Logan and Christy had to deal with the fact that they previously, for whatever reason, had been 99% sure it was a boy. And girl, were they wrong!

After Christy consulted with her doctor, and learned that everything is “go” for launch on September 29, we celebrated over lunch, throwing out many useless girl names, and wondering who she will look like, and what she will be like. It was pretty magic for this G-DADDY-to-be. It was a very special day.

Lovingly, for Seed-sie,
rick

Extreme Worship

One of my goals for sabbatical is to experience a wide range of worship styles. Last Sunday, I worshipped with New Journey Church, where Logan is Minister to Youth. And I had a great time worshipping in a contemporary style, led by worship band and praise team, with the preaching of Darrell Boggs. I wrote previously of my admiration for the congregation that performs an elaborate set-up every week in an elementary school for worship and Bible Study.

Yesterday, I visited a service of worship which was unlike any I’d ever visited before. The River Road Church, Baptist, in Richmond is a congregation of highly educated, typically affluent folks, located west of downtown Richmond on River Road. Some would say (with some disdain) that RRC,B is high church. I would say they are definitely more liturgical than any Baptist Church that I’m aware of, but the worship was so well-led and orchestrated, and for me, it was a powerful encounter of the God that transcends all styles and forms.

I’m well aware that this is not the “way to go” for most, and I can’t say for sure that I would find it meaningful week in and week out, but I want to share some of the ways that the elements of worship, and particularly the liturgical rhythm of movement and flow, helped me yesterday to see God.

Even if this ancient form of worship doesn’t “float your boat”, you surely would be impressed by the beauty and style of the sanctuary at River Road. On entering the elegant and tastefully decorated center of worship, one’s eyes are immediately drawn to the end of a split chancel, pointing to a magnificent stained glass window, in bright and deep shades of blue. I’m guessing that the chancel is 1/3 as long as the congregational pew area. The choir sits on both sides, facing in, and below the window is the altar table, with 4 tall candles on bronze pedestals, surrounding a simple bronze-looking cross. The lecturn to the right is used for scripture reading and prayer, and the “pulpit”, elevated high above to the left, has a winding staircase for access (this is one of many places that reveals that I am liturgically challenged, as I'm sure it has a name other than pulpit).

The music, of course, is led by the organist on pipe organ, and since there’s not a piece of carpet or material in the décor, music resounds from the walls and fills the room completely,. There was no solo, and no one “got in the way” of one's view of the cross while singing.

One of the things that impressed me about the style was the use of the candles to mark the beginning and the conclusion of worship. A young man in robe entered and ceremoniously, but not pretentiously, lit the altar candles at the back of the chancel, and this marked the “entrance” of God. It was a way, at least for me, to acknowledge that everything that happened after that, happened with an awareness that God was present. At the end of the service, after the benediction, the flames were, again ceremoniously, extinguished, and only then did we leave the room.

I was also very aware of the offering, and though I did not give on this particular Sunday in this particular service, I felt I was part of it. For as the ushers came forward, after receiving the offering, plates were passed to two of the pastors, who then carried them toward the back of the chancel, and the choir facing inward turned with them as they walked by, turning to the cross on the altar table. On reaching the altar, and still facing it, the pastors lifted the plates above their heads, as the choir and congregation sang, “Praise God from whom all blessings flow.”

The last thing I would mention is the baby dedication. It was in the middle of the service, and there were three baby boys who were brought by parents. What impressed me was the attention and time given to this very personal element of worship. It was a distraction, for me, from congregational worship, and at the same time, it was a wonderful affirmation of the responsibility of parent and church in the nurture and admonition of children. Each family chose a “life verse” for their child, and that verse was read by an Associate Pastor as the child was presented. And then, in the middle of this great worship experience, the Sr. Pastor took each child, one at a time, of course, and talked to him, and introduced him to the church. Perhaps most impressive, was the fact that this high experience of worship was “allowed” to be interrupted by kids, just as Jesus asked his disciples to let little ones “interrupt” him.

I know this type of worship isn’t for everyone, just as New Journey’s worship isn’t for everyone. But for me, it was a powerful experience in which I encountered the God who is Lord of Life, and Lord of all. And I believe what was presented to him last Sunday at River Road Church was our “highest” worship for his “utmost” praise.

AMEN!
rick

They've a Story to Tell!

Everyone has a story. And this group of students is full of it—I mean, full of interesting stories, some of which brought them to this place, and some that are still being written. I’m speaking of the BTSR students I had the privilege of spending the last four days with at the Wilderness Retreat.

Take Robin. Someone, please take Robin. Wow, what a wonderful person she is! And what a dream this woman has! She senses God calling her to establish a place of retreat and refuge, where anyone can go to find rest and spiritual healing from whatever ails them. And it’s a big dream. A corporate exec for years, Robin came to BTSR to pursue what she believes is a real God-given vision for a place of spiritual wellness. And her love for animals and God’s natural creation is a big part of that dream.

And then there’s Lindsey. She was part of CBF Global Service Corps in Germany for two years, where she met her soon-to-be husband. She developed a real heart for ministry to dancers and strippers, and is part of a team that visits a local club regularly, reaching out to the women who work there. And though her desire to serve in ministry isn’t exactly what her family believes, as a woman, she should do, she’s following God’s call and seeking to understand what it all means in terms of her vocation.

And I was really glad to meet someone who’s not too far behind me in the age thing. Ralph Stocks and his family are CBF missionaries in Hungary, reaching out to Gypsies who live in and around Budapest. He’s been working on his degree at BTSR for a while now, and came to Richmond primarily to be part of the Wilderness Retreat. He invited me to the gym yesterday to shoot some hoops, but he didn’t tell me until we were there that he’s a high school basketball coach, too. Okay, so he beat up on me, but I am 8 or 9 years older than he is.

I had a couple of nice visits with Jerusha, a young Indian woman who’s expecting her and her husband’s first child in late summer. She shared a little of her family, and her love for her dad, who passed away 3 years ago. And she spoke of how her dad will now live on in her child. And, can you believe it, she’s counting on her husband to pick out a name for the baby. Now that’s trust.

Danielle will graduate in a couple of weeks, and is beginning a new job in ministry at a church in Franklin, Virginia. She’s getting ready to move, and she spoke of the difficulty of leaving behind—not a great church group, but a wonderful set of friends whom she works with, and to whom she also ministers. As she named her friends, who all have their struggles, and who haven’t really found faith to stand on yet, she said, “I hate to leave the best job I’ve ever had.” Wow! This job she refers to is in a restaurant, and as a server, I think. But the relationships have been what it’s all about for her.

And there was Tom, who turned “50” while we were there, and the twenty-and-thirty-somethings gave him a really hard time. But what a great spirit he had, a compassionate soul, who shared his bottled water frequently with those of us who didn’t think about bringing cases of water for ourselves, much less for others. And as Tom knows, climbing mountains makes you thirsty, especially after 50—ugh!

I loved visiting with Emmanuel from Ghana. We talked mostly while walking up the “55o” incline from the dining hall to the lodge where we stayed. I think he was listed as Ema, and most of the students referred to him as Emi, or something like that. I could only call him Emmanuel. As we climbed that “70o” incline to Ukrops, he shared stories of difficulty with family in Ghana, of losing unborn babies, and eventually one just a few days after birth. And then his family came apart. He shared the grief of not being able to give his mother a grandchild—Emi’s an only, and the difficulty of being so far from family. But he’s committed to ministry and to what God has for him here in the states. And he’s the only person I know who can ride a bike up that “85o incline of a road.


I had a chance to visit with Lynn, who battles with great courage some pretty serious health issues. We talked of the difficulty that it is to find the right fit with a job after seminary—she’s also graduating in a few days. And I shared with her that it was 3 months after graduation from seminary that I got my first job. With such determination to serve, her strong desire, and her faith that God is calling her, I know she’ll find a place to serve.

There were others—Christine and Elizabeth, both very fine speakers who preach with boldness and courage; Donna, who has a gentle spirit, who couldn’t wait to get home to her family, who loves God and serves with humility and grace; Barbara, on crutches and with foot-in-a-boot the first few days because someone at church dropped a computer on her foot the Sunday before we arrived at Crossroads. And I must mention Jimmy and Frank, who may actually be older than me--Jimmy, who asked me if I thought there was a church out there who would hire him without pay, and Frank, the ex-Chicago cop, who's seeking new ways to serve the God that he loves.

I didn’t get to hear everyone’s story—just bits and pieces of others. But I left Wilderness Retreat with a new hope for the future, so impressed with these men and women who are preparing to serve in and through the church in ministry, many of whom are leaving now to walk the path of vocational ministry. I thank God for the opportunity to share those four days with such outstanding, dedicated ministers of the gospel.

Care-full-y,
rick

My Kind of Wilderness

The Wilderness is lush, green Virginia mountains—probably just the foothills of the Appalachians, but to someone who’s been in the flatlands of Texas for the past 14 years, they look a lot like mountains (and they climb JUST like mountains). Retreat is the Crossroads Camp and Conference Center, located about 2 hours west of Richmond. Beautiful doesn’t begin to convey the essence of this “wilderness”.

Wilderness Retreat is a class offered during the May term at Baptist Theological Seminary at Richmond. I told the UBC family that it just sounded sabbatically, and now I know it is sabbatically, in every sense of that non-word. And so I began my sabbatical experience as a “foreign exchange student” that they welcomed and accepted without much obvious difficulty.

Dr. Stephen Brachlow was the professor, and there were about 25 of us “in the class.” I thought I’d be the longest commuter, but Ralph Stocks beat me out on that one. He came from Budapest, Hungary, where he and his wife are CBF missionaries.

The class is a collection of phenomenal people, all at different places, preparing to serve in ministry wherever God leads. Several are graduating in a few weeks, some are looking for jobs, some have jobs, and some just want to keep learning. At least 3 are getting married this summer, and at least 2 (not the same 2 of the 3 getting married) are having babies this year.

They talk of MIE’s (missions immersion experiences), internships, theology class, summer missions, and churches they serve. They mention people they seek to reach, and dreams they have for the future. They’re a pretty special group of people, and I count it a real privilege to have spent the last 4 days worshipping, praying, laughing, and listening with them.

Much of our time was spent in reading the sayings from the 4th and 5th century desert abbas and ammas . We used Henri J.M. Nouwen’s book, “Desert Wisdom”, and Laura Swan’s book, “The Forgotten Desert Mothers.” Three times each day we participated in the daily office of prayer, using Gregorian-like chants to read the scripture in the morning, at mid-day, and in the evening. There were several gatherings to hear more about the lifestyles and writings of the desert ammas and abbas. Afternoons were free—for reading, resting, hiking, praying, or whatever we would choose in the spirit of “retreat”. We also debriefed each day in small and large groups

And then there were the blocks of silence—long blocks of silence, that sometimes extended through mealtimes, and often began in the evening and continued through the morning. And on Thursday came the finale’—Fasting and the Great Silence. It actually began on Wednesday evening, so it was 24 hours of fasting, and almost all of that in silence. We concluded this afternoon with a silent Lord’s supper.

Silence is a hard thing to do—really hard for some of us, and not so easy for all of us. Sometimes it was draining, sometimes it was invigorating. Sometimes we heard things we may not have heard had we not been silent—like the rushing mountain stream, or the crunching of bacon, or the voice of God. It was new and different for most of us, but I saw value in it—if for no other reason, just to shut-up and let someone else speak.

Wilderness Retreat was a very good thing. Maybe just a taste of the ascetic life, but a great lesson in beginning the day listening to God, and finding HIS grace when the day is done.

Thanks, Dr. Brachlow and fellow students, for pointing me toward a new path that follows the living streams of God’s grace.

Care-full-y,
rick

RevRickC

If you’re reading today, there might be as many as 3 or 4 of you now—that assumes my wife and my mother are included. But you may be wondering about the goofy name I gave to the blog—see rick rev!

I have to tell you that naming this thing was a big deal to me. You see, I put a lot of stock in words. Some people, like my friend Matt, put a lot of stock in feelings that words convey. I should pay more attention to that. But for me, it’s the meaning of the words. So I choose them very carefully, sometimes painfully, looking for just the right thing to say, and I say it, and it’s gone, and in 30 minutes, no one remembers the word I chose, they just remember how it made them feel, if they remember any thing at all. See, Matt was right.

So choosing a name for the blog was a big deal.

For a long time, I’ve used revrick as a username, if it’s still available when I’m setting up some internet account. (You’d be surprised how many revricks there are out there. I was!) So when revrick wasn’t available, I’ve used several variations on it, including revrickc.

No one calls me Rev Rick, though Joy Deason does call me Pastor Rick. She’s a funny lady. I did use it as a title, after I was ordained and deserving of it. But titles have never been very important to me. (I’m always amused by those who introduce themselves by their titles—hello, this is Bro. Robert, or this is Dr. Bob.) That reminds me of a call I got one time from someone who wanted to convince me that he was a good friend of Robert Creech. And when he told me that he was a very good friend of Dr. Bob Creech, I knew just how close they were—NOT!) But I digress.


Anyway, it’s kind of a fun thing to me, to use the title revrick. So I just did a little variation on revrickc, to become see rick rev. You know rev, like, do his thing, and rev, like rev up for sabbatical get down.

You know, the more I write, the less it seems to make sense, and certainly, the less it seems to matter. Anyway, maybe you and my mother and my wife will remember it now—seerickrev.

Care-full-y,
Rick

I threw in a few more Richmond pictures—one of the administration building and one of the library at the Baptist Theological Seminary at Richmond, and one of the James River (breathtaking, in person).

You Thought It Was Hard to Get Ready for Church!

Day 2 of Sabbatical started in church. Okay, it started a little before that, you know, getting ready for church. But church today is a little different from Sunday morning UBC, a lot like Saturday night UBC. And, church today is the New Journey Church, a church plant about 3 ½ years old, in Midlothian, Virginia—a church plant that struggles, but a church that's full of wonderful people who care.

And you thought you have a hard time getting ready for church! Every Sunday morning, a crew of folks drives to the elementary school and meets up with the guy who drives the truck that pulls the trailer that has everything you need to do church inside. There’s a big metal container labeled welcome center, and others full of electronic sound equipment, video equipment, and of course, band instruments and more electronic equipment. The chairs are already inside, but carts have to be pulled out, and every chair has to be set up. And that’s just for worship.


Back on the trailer, there’s a children’s program box, and preschool equipment containers, and toys and other stuff—lots of stuff. And every Sunday morning, it’s all unloaded and pushed inside, unpacked, and used for Bible Study small groups, and for worship. And then it’s all packed up, and rolled back out. Without complaint, or at least without audible complaint. Or at least, without audible complaint on site.

You have to admire people who do this. These are people who believe in what they’re doing, who believe it’s worthwhile, who believe it’s the right thing. But you also have to wonder if we were put in the same position, would we do that, and keep doing that, and then do it again?


I mean, we complain if someone else hasn’t set things up the way we want them set up—never mind that someone else does it. But I couldn’t help but stand back and admire the New Journey Church (yes, I did help stack a few chairs). After all, I met many of them, and everyone I met told me how much they loved their minister of youth, who also happens to be my son, Logan. These people are great!

Care-full-y,
rick

Bring on the NOISE--or not!

With apologies to Jeff Foxworthy—you might be on sabbatical if you miss noise. Or, you might be on sabbatical if you’re writing your first blog at 56 years, 11 months, and 13 days of age. Or here’s one more—you might be on sabbatical if you’re eating Little Debbie cakes for dinner.

I sat in my rental car outside Kraemer Hall at the Baptist Theological Seminary in Richmond, Virginia, yesterday afternoon, waiting for a call from Lindsey. She would have the key to the apartment in married student housing that BTSR had so graciously made available to me during my stay at the seminary. It was raining outside, and I couldn’t help but notice how very quiet it was. I opened the car door to listen to nothing.

Lindsey and Rob are first year students from Charlotte. After visiting with them for a while, they showed me to the apartment, and I began to unload my stuff. And then I heard it again—nothing. I couldn’t create much noise, since there is no TV or radio in the apartment. I brought some electronic means of making noise, but for some reason, I didn’t want to. It was nice.

I later picked up my son and daughter-in-law, Logan and Christy (Logan is a full-time student at BTSR), and after going to dinner, I brought them by to check out the new digs. “How can you survive without a TV for 3 weeks?”, Christy asked, with a tinge of disbelief on her lips. “Oh I’ll be fine”, I replied, thinking to myself, ‘how will I survive?’

My life is full of noise, and I’m not talking about Kay. I’m talking about TVs and radios, and ipods and dvds, and yes, people, too. I’m talking about preachers and teachers, and lawn mowers and vacuum cleaners. (Now I’m not saying all noise is bad—had you rather hear anything more than the noise-canceling noise of a 22 inch Lawn Boy?) But I’m ready to give it a shot, using a silencer, of course, and see how it feels.


Tomorrow, I leave for the Wilderness Retreat, a class I’m taking that’s held at a conference center in the Virginia mountains about 2 ½ hours from Richmond. Quoting Professor Brachlow, "we will follow a leisurely pace during the retreat, framing the day with morning, noon, and evening prayer, which will include 'chanting' the Psalms in a basic Gregorian style that is rooted in the practice of 4th Century Egyptian Christianity. Preserving time for communal silence was also a key part of fourth century desert spirituality. So come prepared to observe large blocks of silence at set times, including at several of the meals.” Wow! By Thursday night when I return to the seminary campus, I may be in the apartment shaking the cereal box and playing musical spoons just to hear a little racket.

Care-full-y,
rick