I'm Just Happy to Be Here!

I haven't said much about golf during these days of sabbatical, frankly because there are those who imply in their questions that sabbatical may be nothing more than golf. I play when I'm home on a regular schedule, and I play on sabbatical, but at neither time do I play enough.

Two of the great things about playing while on Sabbatical have been the opportunity to play with my son, Logan, who lives in Virginia, and the opportunity to play in wonderful weather. (I missed Houston humidity, but only in the sense that we didn't have it in Virginia, not in the sense that I longed for it.)

Golf often affords you the opportunity to meet folks, and our times to play in Williamsburg were no exceptions. Most of the time, I can say with a straight face, you meet the nicest people on the golf course. Occasionally, you get paired up with a jerk. But it doesn't happen often, and it didn't happen at all while I was in Virginia.

The last day I played in Williamsburg, I met one of the most memorable and inspiring individuals I've ever played with. He didn't hit the ball far, and occasionally he missed it badly. I invited him to feel free to hit from the shorter tees early on in the round, but he refused. He was by himself, and he did not say a word during the entire round.

The starter told me that one of the guys I'd be playing with that day could not speak, but I wasn't sure if that was due to vows of silence, or an injury, or if perhaps he was deaf (often deaf people are uncomfortable speaking, even if they're able to.)

The other twosome and I arrived at the first tee about the same time. We introduced ourselves to one another, and got ready to hit. At the last minute, John drove up. He motioned for us to go ahead, and we did, and then, when it was his turn, John hit his tee shot. Not very far, but we were off. When he made a putt, I gave him a thumbs up. (I still thought, in my ignorance, that he was deaf.) At some point, I went out on a limb and asked him where he was from, and he opened a notebook, and pointed to one of a series of prepared answers to common questions: "I'm John from Philadelphia, PA."

On the back nine, I finally asked about his condition, and he opened his notebook again. He had been diagnosed with ALS, or Lou Gehrig's disease, as it is commonly known, about a year earlier. He said he could not speak or eat. I told him of my friend and wonderful UBC churchman, Don Blevins, who was playing golf in a foursome with me pretty regularly when he was diagnosed with the same condition. I told him how I admired Don, and how Don had used stick-um on his glove to try and hold on to the club, when he could hardly grip at all. I told him I admired him too, for keeping on, keeping on.

At that point, John pulled out a machine, a device that, when he punched in a series of words, and pushed a button, spoke for him. And the machine said, in a typical, computer-generated male voice, "I'm just happy to be here."

When we finished the round, I wished John well, and told him that I would pray that he would have many more good days on the golf course. He nodded. We shook hands, and drove back to the clubhouse.

I'm just happy I had the chance to meet and be with John for a few hours on the golf course.

Care-full-y,
rick

Lieutenant Ben and the USS Dwight D. Eisenhower

Ben Whitehouse was just 14 or 15 when we left Nashville and moved to Houston in 1993. He was one of four children of Don and Nancy Whitehouse, who were an important part of Judson Baptist Church while we served there. Ben's dad, Don, was one of the finest men I ever knew, and it was sad when he passed away, at a very young age. And it was hard for Nancy and their two daughters, Ginny and Donna, and their two sons, Ken and Ben, to go on without him. But Nancy's great strength, and the investment that she and Don had made in their children, enabled them to carry on. All are doing well. Ginny is a professor in Spokane, Donna is an occupational therpist and instructor in Nashville, Ken is a writer/journalist in Nashville, and Ben is a lieutenant J.A.G. in the U.S. Navy, stationed at the Norfolk Naval Base. When Teresa Walters passed on Kay's email, letting friends know of the blog, Ben emailed and invited us to the base. Last Saturday, Logan and Christy and Kay and I drove down to Norfolk and met Lt. Ben.

Ben had served about a year on the USS Theodore Roosevelt, but since the Roosevelt wasn't in port, he made arrangements for us to tour the same-class carrier, the USS Dwight D. Eisenhower. It was undergoing some maintenance, but we met Petty Officer Margaret Bagley, also in the JAG office, and she served as our tour guide on the Double D. And what an incredible, once in a lifetime opportunity it was, to be on a giant ship that launches and lands aircraft, while it's on active duty, and to see it from the viewpoint of two sailors who live, or had lived, on this giant boat, or one just like it.

We saw the hanger bays, 3 large ones, where the ships are below deck when not anchored on the main deck. We saw the giant elevators that move the planes from one deck to another. We climbed ladders and went through heavy metal doors, we walked on the main deck, and saw the tiny quarters where sailors slept below. We walked through the mess hall and the chapel and the library, we saw the catapults that launch the airplanes. And we saw Margaret's office, where legal disputes and criminal acts and acts of misconduct are dealt with, often while at sea.

We climbed up to the admiral's deck on the bridge, and we sat in the admiral's chair. (We couldn't help but notice a distinct difference in the decor of this area from the decks below.) We saw the giant ropes that tie the ship while it's docked, and we saw several small boats that are launched from the carrier.

Petty Officer Margaret was a fine host, and Ben knew a lot about the ship. We did get sort-of lost once, but Margaret had her walkie talkie, and we got directions quickly. Margaret has been in the Navy 14 years, and was just married a year ago to a civilian. She's preparing for a new assignment in the Great Lakes area, and is up for a promotion to chief petty officer. We believe she should get it, but we haven't heard from the review board yet, seeking our recommendations.

Ben has completed almost five years of service in the Navy, and is preparing to move on to civilian life soon. It was fun for Kay and me to see him again, but he's not the little kid we remembered from Judson fifteen years ago. He's a fine young man, who has served our country well.

After touring the base, and having lunch with Ben, he also helped us change a tire on the rental car. (What a nice guy!) As we were driving off, Ben called his mom on his cell phone, and Kay got to speak with Nancy for a minute. One mom, telling another mom, what a fine son she has. We are very proud of Ben and all the men and women who serve in the military.

Care-full-y,
rick

Just How Tall Are the Ships?

During my visit to Richmond in May, I had the pleasure of visiting with friends who had been part of UBC family in Houston, and who had moved to Richmond a few years ago. After convincing Rec to really retire, Gilda also convinced him to move to Virginia, where they built a beautiful home in Midlothian near Gilda's son Robert. They actually spend a few weeks a year there, when they're not traveling around the world, or to Texas.

I met them for dinner at a restaurant, and later spent a nice evening in their home, with Rec and Gilda, and with Robert and his wife, Jo Ellen, and the youngest grandchild, baby Adrianna. Gilda prepared a delicious meal, and I had a nice visit with them, around the table. We talked of Robert's business, which involves, among other things, publishing, and they gave me a book that is just being released, called Back From War, that they are very excited about. It is stories of men and women who've served in the military, and how they dealt with life at home after traumatic involvement in conflict on foreign soil.

During the course of the evening, Gilda mentioned that the tall ships were coming to Norfolk, and that they were going down to see them. This would be while Kay and I would be in Williamsburg in June, just an hour away. I must confess that I wasn't as excited about the possibility as Gilda was, but it sounded like a fun thing, and I wanted Kay to have the opportunity to visit with them too.

So last Friday, we drove down to Portsmouth, just across the Elizabeth River from Norfolk, and met Rec and Gilda at the hotel. We scouted out the area, and found a prime location on one of many of the piers where boats are docked on the Portsmouth side, and we waited in Houston-like hot sun for the ships to come in.

While we were waiting, we met Victor. He staked out a spot on the pier near us. Victor, who lives in North Carolina and owns his own catamaran sailboat, asked if we knew if the Gloria, a Columbian tall ship, would be in the procession. We did not. Victor explained that forty years ago he had served on the Gloria while in the Columbian Navy, and he wore his original ship's cap to prove it.

When the ships began to arrive in the harbor, Victor became our very capable tour guide. "Is that a tall ship, Victor?", we would ask. (There were several different kinds of boats that were part of the parade, and we weren't at all sure which were authentic tall ships.) "What country is that flag? Is it difficult to stand up on the ship's mast? How long is that one?" We had many questions, and Victor knew more than any of us, and he loved sharing info with us.

The tall ships were incredibly majestic and beautiful. There are indeed tall, some 200 feet in the air. Though they had to let sails down as they entered the harbour, we could see some of them far out, and with their distinctive rectangular sails billowing in the wind, they are indeed spectacular.

It was a hot day on the pier, and someone's nose and forehead were burned, but it was a beautiful sight. Kay and I left before all of the ships came in, so we're not sure if the Gloria appeared or not, but it was fun to see just how tall the tall ships really are. And it was fun to meet Victor from Columbia, and, oh yeah, to see Rec and Gilda too.

Care-full-y,
rick

Guess Who's Coming to the Pulpit!

After leaving Kay in Austin with her pom-poms and yells, which played a huge roll in the success of Landon’s volleyball team at the USVBA Men’s Nationals, I flew back to Virginia on Saturday, June 2. This time, due to the generous gift of a friend, I’m staying in Williamsburg at a resort called Ford’s Colony. It’s a beautiful, secluded community of residents and vacationers, just a few miles from Colonial Williamsburg. Kay joined me on Monday.

My goal for the two weeks here is to work on a writing project that, in part, has already been written. I’m attempting to collect, refine, sometimes re-write, and often complete the writing of more than 100 “calls to worship” that I’ve used in the last 30 years in churches I’ve served.

My friend Harry Wooten, who was Minister of Music at Judson Baptist in Nashville while I was there in the late 70’s, was the first to encourage me to develop this form of worship invitation or set-up, using a theme or an idea to help congregants focus on the purpose of the worship service. We tried to come up with a new name for it, and the best we could do was “opening sentences.” At UBC, we just call them “calls to worship”, or preparation of the Word, or we call them nothing at all.

So far, after two days in Williamsburg, I’ve written only blogs. But I’m still hopeful.

Although I wasn’t happy to leave the volleyball tournament before its completion, I was thrilled when I found out that the Logie Bear, smarter than the average seminarian, would be preaching at New Journey Church the morning after I arrived in Virginia. I made my way to New Journey last Sunday, where Logan serves as youth minister, in Midlothian, Virginia.

Though he’s preached at least one other time in his church here, I knew that Logan would be nervous (who wasn’t, and isn’t, still today?), but he assured me that it wouldn’t bother him for me to be there. He took a preaching class at BTSR not too long ago, and he took a class called Narrative Preaching in May term, last month. (While I was at BTSR, he was preaching in the class, but he suggested, very nicely, that I not sit in on that one. After all he was being graded.)

I can’t adequately communicate how impressed I was with what Logan did last Sunday. He was well-prepared, obviously having spent a lot of time in exegesis of the passage and in thoughtful writing. He spoke on Jesus’ parable of the man who invited his friends to a party, and when they came up with lame excuses for not attending, he invited the outcasts of society. Logan called the sermon, “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner”, and he concluded with a great application of the passage to the mission of this church plant that’s now meeting in an elementary school.

Logan and Christy have been in Richmond now for two and a half years, and he will graduate from BTSR in May, 2008. God has obviously used this time, and Logan has worked hard to learn. He is becoming a pastor/minister, and he’s working with God to surprise us all—again! Wow! Way to go, Logue!

Care-full-y,
Rick

One Pass--Great Set--Yeah!

Since 1994, Kay and I have been traveling regularly, first across town, and eventually across the country, to see the boys play in volleyball tournaments. Because young men like Sean Carter and Tony Charles and others, volunteered to coach club teams for boys at Clear Lake High School, opportunities came for Landon and Logan to find their niche in volleyball.

So from 1994 to 2000, first with Landon and then with Landon and Logan, Kay and I spent Saturdays in YMCAs, schools, and wherever a net could be put up in buildings, watching volleyball tournaments. Play, sit, ref, play, sit, play, play, sit, ref, hope we make the play-offs, single –elimination, win-it-all, get your T-shirt and maybe a trophy, and head home—sometimes from Dallas, often from San Antonio, and every now and then, from the other side of Houston. And for five summers, vacations were built around junior nationals tournaments—in New Orleans, in Denver, in Reno, and in other exotic locations. We loved it.

And when the boys found an outstanding club volleyball program for men at Texas A&M, it was close enough that we could go to College Station, or UT, Sam Houston, or UTSA, and on most weekends in the Spring, and a few in the fall, we would watch as the Aggies played, sat, reffed, sat, played, sat, played, played, hoped they made the play-offs, and tried to find a place to have dinner at 11 o’clock. Then Kay and I drove back to Houston. And on Spring Break, we traveled to the University of Arizona, or U Cal, for college tournaments, and to Reno (again), Charlotte, Columbus, Ohio, Dallas, and Kansas City for NIRSA nationals, which included college and university club teams from all over the country. (In Dallas, we came close to the finals, and Landon was named to the second team All-American team. In Columbus, Logan was MVP and the Aggies’ second team won Divison III national title.) And Kay and I loved it.

School teams are behind us now, and Logan has pretty much retired from the sport, but Lando the Setter and Team Captain lives on—now playing on a men’s team made up of former Aggies, a Longhorn and one or two others. They call themselves NEXT, because they want to be THE next team to dominate Texas men’s volleyball.

Last week, before leaving for Virginia on the second leg of the sabbatical, Kay and I traveled to Austin for the Men’s Nationals of USA Volleyball. NEXT was seeded very high, and because the tournament was on home soil, and because every year is the same, Landon believed his team had a chance in the AA division. On Wednesday and Thursday, they won their pool play with 4 wins and 1 (very close) loss. On Friday, a win in a challenge match with a team from New York City (Long Island) put them in the gold division (in position to win it all). In their first match, they were outplayed by Top Shelf, (which put them in the loser’s bracket of the double elimination play), but they came back and won match number 2. On Friday, they faced a tough road, playing often against difficult teams. But on Saturday, they won at 8 am, again at 10:10, and at 12:20, they came face-to-face with Top Shelf again, the team that had knocked them down to the losers’ bracket the day before. They played their hearts out and beat them in 2. And that win took them to the finals with Benchwarmers--a chance to win the AA Nationals title. They lost the first game, but came back to win the second, and found themselves down 12 to 14 in the 15 point third game. They couldn’t pull it out, but wow, what a finish. And so close.

Landon is the setter and captain of the team. Kay and I were talking today, and she spoke of how proud she was of the Lando-matic—his leadership, his determination, and his skills. I didn’t get to see the action on Saturday, but I did get to see the action on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, and on . . . I-don’t-know-how-many, surely more than 100 matches of exciting power volleyball. And I concur with Kay, Landon is a great setter, a fantastic team captain and coach, a respected volleyball teacher, and someone who knows the game as well as anyone. But most of all, he’s a good person, who has a mission in life, and who follows his call to serve on that mission for the kingdom of God every day. Way to go, Lando!

Care-full-y,
Rick

No Place Like Home . . . Group

Being in Richmond for almost three weeks—spending time on the Wilderness Retreat, living on the campus of the Baptist Theological Seminary at Richmond, and participating in the Worship and Preaching Conference led by Tony Campola and Kate Campbell—was a rich and fulfilling time for me as I began the sabbatical. But I have to confess, when I arrived in Houston on Thursday, May 24, it was very good to be home again. And two days later, I was able to have dinner with my Life Team, a group of folks who’ve been meeting together on a fairly regular basis for almost three years now. The group was kind enough to schedule a meeting while I was in town, and it was fun sharing my experiences with them, and hearing what’s going on in their lives, too.

We first came together during UBC’s Forty Days of Purpose back in the Fall of 2004. We had little in common, and some of us didn’t even know each other. We are young, middle-aged, and then there’s Bill and Linda and Kay and me. And though we came from different places, we seem to have found a sense of community as we’ve shared life together now for almost three years.

It was really good to spend an evening with Kyle and Debbie, Patrick and Chris, Wendy and Brian, Linda and Bill, and of course, Kay. And on this evening, Jason and Christy and Cooper and Cade joined us. We often eat together (as we did on this evening), usually pray together, and more than likely end up talking about what’s going on in our lives. And on this evening, the group acted interested as I told stories of what I’d been doing while on Sabbatical.

It was good to be home again. And it’s always good to have a group who are like family, in the best sense of that word. If you don’t have a community of faith that you meet with regularly and share life together, you ought to find one or start one. Who knows? You might need to go home sometime yourself.

Care-full-y,
rick

The Church Called "Church"

Ecclesia is the Greek word for church. On Sunday morning, May 26, while in Houston, I worshipped with the Ecclesia church on Taft (they don't say Ecclesia Church--that would be like saying Church Church). I found the service to be warm, very relaxed, and extremely worshipful, for me.

At noon, I met Kay and the Creeches for lunch, and Robert asked me if I felt out of place there. Thinking that he was referring to the fact that I may have been the only one there not in jeans, I commented that I was quite comfortable in an open-collared shirt. Then I realized that he was alluding to the fact that most of the people there are under 30, and many are early 20’s. Okay, I may have felt a little old, but that’s happening in lots of places these days.

Expressions through art are an important part of Ecclesia, and on entering the well-done, warehouse-like facility (through the coffee shop), you find some interesting artwork done by congregants, I think, on the walls of the worship center.

On this Sunday, the worship at Ecclesia was led by a young man and a young woman, each on acoustic guitar. They were good musicians, and very good worship leaders. There were readings, and prayers (Ecclesia combines casual music with a “formal” sounding liturgy, at times), and a video that portrayed two children, one black and the other white, interacting as friends just having fun. Though the video never mentioned Ecclesia activities, it was used to encourage folks to help out with kids’ summer activities at Ecclesia. It was also very well done.

Chris Seay, the pastor and lead elder of Ecclesia, brought the message, an intro to the life of the Apostle Paul. One of the signatures of emergent church worship is interactive elements that allow worshippers to participate in some concrete expression of their encounter with God. On this day, we were given paper and pencil, and during the sermon, Chris invited us to draw the apostle Paul as we “know” him. I can't show you my picture (it's not much to show), but I portrayed Paul speaking with a raised fist, and pointing to his audience. This is how I view him, a strong orator who didn’t mince words with his listeners.

At the conclusion of the service, we were invited to participate in communion, by coming forward and taking a piece of bread and dipping it in the cup (a practice known as intinction). After the benediction, guests were invited to try some new coffee that they’d recently gotten, from some country in Europe or South America or . . . I really can’t remember because I don’t do coffee. We were told that all we had to do to get the coffee was to go by a table and act like we’re interested in Ecclesia. Another table in the other corner at back was a place where we could fill out a card and light a candle and become a part of the Ecclesia fellowship.

I slipped out without lighting a candle or drinking a cup of coffee, though the thought of one of those did enter my mind. (If you’re interested, find out more about Ecclesia at ecclesiahouston.org.)

Care-full-y,

rick