the End

Solomon tells us in Ecclesiastes 7:8 that "Better is the end of a thing than its beginning..." Stop and read that again. Better is the end of a thing than its beginning. That statement has been stirring in me for the past few days. Why is a thing's end better than its beginning? What is contained in the beginning and in the end how is that eclipsed by something else? I started to think about the "beginnings" in my life. I began college with great expectation, great hope, great dreams. At its end, 9 years ago, the reality of it fulfillment was quite different than anything I had expected. I entered school pursuing a degree in History Education at Penn State and single. I left engaged to a wonderful woman who had become my best friend, with a degree in Religion and Biblical Studies, in Lynchburg, VA on a different course altogether. Soon after (7 weeks to be exact) I entered into marriage with great joy, great hope, great expectations. Nearly 9 years later, we find ourselves about a million miles from where we thought we'd be, doing something quite different than we ever imagined. A few years ago I entered Seminary with great hope, great expectations, great dreams. Last Friday, I completed my coursework and finished my degree. And today, the end, is truly better than the beginning, like it always is. But why?

At the outset of a "thing" the exhilaration of trying something new, the anxiety of the unknown, and the optimism of the unfamiliar all combine to create an environment drenched in hope. Starting something is a hopeful exercise, isn't it? No one begins something so that it blows up in their faces and leaves them worse off than they were before. We launch ourselves into something new, pregnant with excitement and expectations, with the hope that what we finish will be rewarding and satisfying and, most of all, worth the effort. And it almost always is, isn't it? At the end of thing, you have the blessing of retrospection. And looking back is sweet - you see the turns, course correction, the hand of God weaving through the storyline of what was. You see firsthand the benefits felt along this journey, you notice the critical points when it all could have unraveled, and you marvel in the Sovereign grace of Providence that kept you on course. And the end is truly better than the beginning.

But, as I continued to think about it, it became clear to me that you can't linger too long at that scenic overlook, because you only get to exist in a state of "finish" for a short time and something else awaits. To be sure, the end is fun and a sense of accomplishment in enjoyable, but o so quickly you are pulled into another thing's beginning. As I was reminded in the late 90's "every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end." So, in light of all that, what is my point here? Enjoy the end of a thing. It truly is a joyous thing. It is available to those select few who had the patience and endurance to stay the course. But don't get hung up there too long. There's more new beginnings into which we will launch ourselves. There are more "ends" to be attained, more hope, more dreams, more expectations to be pursued. I can only imagine the joy and satisfaction that await us at the end of our current "things." Friends, stay the course. Finish well. The end is better than the beginning. Solomon says so...

friends like these

I think everyone needs to have a group of friends who are completely different from you. People who don't look like you, think like you, act like you, but still, for some unknown reason, love you nonetheless.

Earlier this week I had the privilege of sitting down with some of our church members who are in quite a different stage of life than I find myself in. I taught a Bible study for our "seniors" on the subject of prayer and received much more of a blessing than I could have given. I spent nearly 90 minutes with some of the most encouraging and supportive members of our congregation. We talked about prayer, and by that I mean I asked them questions and tried to stay quiet long enough to soak up their insight and wisdom.

I wish you could have been there with us, listening to them explain the benefits that God provides them through regular and also sporadic prayer times. To hear their stories of wrestling with God for a long season only to be told "no;" of interceding for prodigal sons and finally seeing a breakthrough; of being woken up in the middle of the night so overwhelmed by a particular burden and committing themselves to prayer for the remainder of the night; of being so thankful for the gracious provision of our God - all of it was wonderfully encouraging.

We shared personal reflections, patterns and habits that aid us and also some that hinder us. And I left that meeting blessed - thankful for the living contribution that a previous generation continues to make in my life, my family, my ministry, and proud of our church that we are still a place that ministers to the young, the old, and everyone in between. It is my personal conviction that a truly healthy church will look like a truly healthy family, with generational inter-connectedness. That, by God's grace, is what I see happening in our midst at Temple, and for that, I am quite thankful. I am honored to call them my friends. I think everyone should have friends like these.

Breaking Trail

Today I had the glorious Northeast privilege of taking my kids sledding in about 2 feet of snow. We were visiting my parents and I couldn't wait to get them out on those hills that I used to love as a kid. The conditions were perfect for creating a wild ride sure to scare the mess out of any otherwise normal 3 and 5 year old. What a time - bundling up, snowpants, ski jackets, mittens, hats (definitely looked like Ralphie's little brother in A Christmas Story- "I can't put my arms down."). We hit the hills fast and furious, but were unprepared for what awaited us. The massive snowfalls in Southeast PA the past couple of weeks had left ample snow for a great sledding run, but the lack of little ones at my parents' home had left the snow untouched. My kids couldn't move in the stuff. They were standing waist deep in snow and unable to put one foot in front of the other. They were unsteady and falling; overwhelmed by the difficulty; overcome by the resistance. I realized rather quickly that this could turn bad on me. A cold and unhappy 3-year old is no pleasant experience, and I just knew that if they could make it up the hill and if we could get the snow to cooperate they would have a great time. Just like I used to. The cold air rushing past their heads, the reckless and out-of-control feeling as they approached speeds too fast for any pre-schooler, the rush of bailing off a sled into 2 feet of snow and the euphoria of looking up the hill and seeing how far they'd come---they had to see it for themselves, had to experience it, had to taste it. I just knew that if I could get them there they would feel it too. But all this snow was slowing them down, hindering their progress, robbing them of this great experience. So what to do?

I ran down the hill and got in front of them and started to "break" the trail. I took small but forceful steps with my huge size 12 boots and started to give them a place to stand, a stable place to move around. The snow was deeper than I perceived and the hill was bigger than I had remembered and the work was exhausting. Slowly, methodically, intentionally, I plugged away up the hill, creating a small but maneuverable place for the kids to walk, ensuring that our sledding experience would not be in vain, that they would be able to continue to move up and down the hill without great distress, and at last we made it up. I was spent. My heart was pounding, my chest was burning, my legs felt like jell-o, and I just collapsed into the snow. After some recovery time, we all jumped back on the sled and raced down the hill again, faster and farther than before and started up the hill again. Each time we did, I took the lead, I stamped down the snow, I broke the trail, I gave them a place to walk. Just follow Daddy, we'll get there - I promise. What an amazing day.

As I was thinking about the day (sitting on a heating pad, with my feet propped up), I saw a lot of life parallels from my sledding experience with my kids. So often, as a husband, as a father, as a pastor, I have tasted and seen something that I want others to see. I have been given a glimpse of what is "not yet" and am tasked with the job of guiding others to it. It is the blessing and burden of leading - you get to see it first, but then you must help share it, whatever the cost. My desire for my kids to experience the joy of sledding (like I used to) drove me to waste myself breaking the trail, to sacrifice comfort and energy and ease in order to see it come to fruition. Successful parenting is selfless work. Successful marriages are selfless marriages. Successful pastoring is selfless pastoring. All of them require the grit and determination to press toward the mark, even when it has not yet been realized, even when it costs us, even when it is uncomfortable, and even when (as my 5-year old wanted to) those behind us ask to turn back. These callings (that we all share) are not for the faint of heart or those short on endurance. The only way they (whoever "they" are that you lead) will ever see and experience what we have seen and experienced, is if we're willing to pay the price to guide them to it. Dads, moms, leaders - break the trail, lead well, give those behind a firm place to stand.

snapshots and sabbath

Yesterday I took a "Sabbath" rest from my roles at our church. It has been a busy few weeks with preaching, teaching, counseling, moving into a new facility, launching a new seminary course, not to mention a teething 5-month old and family juggling as well...it was much needed. Rather than attend our regular worship service my family and I had the joy of visiting one of our church plants nearby to worship with our "extended family" and see what God is doing in the heart of Amsterdam, NY. What a joy it was! The scene was set as we drove past closed-down factories, past enormous brick facades that told tales of a bygone era of prosperity for this city, and directly into the belly of this beast . As we approached Crossroads Community Church, which meets in the old (Old is not the appropriate term - ancient/archaic/oooooolllld) YMCA, we were surprised to find ourselves driving past 4 other houses of worship. At each one, a handful of cars sat in the parking lot, the buildings were in disrepair, the congregations were clearly not thriving, and these churches, quite honestly, are on life support. And then we rounded the corner at the Old YMCA and couldn't find a place to park. We walked toward the front door and saw couples, young and old, families, people of every different ethnicity and social class streaming into the building. We gathered for worship in a packed out old gymnasium, celebrated the living Christ, and pondered Spiritual Gifts as Pastor Scott Baldwin delivered a powerful and honest sermon on the gifting of the Body. 6 people responded in faith to the gospel's message, they took a love offering to meet the needs of one of their own, there was a huge pile of produce and bread in the back for anyone in need, and for over an hour after the service ended, no one wanted to leave as they ate, talked, prayed, counseled, and generally enjoyed the fellowship they share.

I have been intimately connected with this church for 4 1/2 years now, from the dreaming stages where 2 guys and their families sensed the call of God to do something crazy they had never considered before, to the first meetings in a real building (without heat, a polished assembly space, kids' spaces, etc.), to slow steps along the way building the church, enhancing the facility, guiding people to the risen Christ. I get to visit every few months and when I do, I feel like the loving uncle who just so happens to live too far away to see his nieces and nephews. So every time I do, all I can see is incredible growth and development. I have watched Crossroads grow in snapshots for the last 4 1/2 years and I am so proud of Scott and Scott and the church they have sacrificed to build, so proud of my church for sacrificially supporting them, and so excited to see what God will do in the future.

What a wonderful Lord's Day. All that, and I didn't have to "do" anything - I got to ride to church in one vehicle (hasn't happened in about a decade), I got to sit down and read the bulletin and talk to some people around me, I got to worship next to my wife without having to look after anything - what a freeing day. I took a cue from my favorite hippie and stopped being a pastor for a day and enjoyed just being a child of God. Thank you Temple, for your flexibility with us, and thank you God, for the great friends at Crossroads.

I blinked and it was gone

I had a wonderful opportunity recently. I attended the wedding of a wonderful young couple for whom I have tremendous love and respect and it just so happened that this ceremony was about 10 hours away from where I make my home in Upstate NY. So off I went. For 10 hours driving all by myself (something that is rare for a guy with a family of 5) I made my way to the Shenendoah Valley. And so I occupied my time with, among other things, focused prayer. Don't let me mislead you, I also listened to the Eagles game and found a great radio station that played nothing but my beloved mid-90's grunge and let's be honest there is nothing like some good Pearl Jam and Foo Fighters to soften a road trip.

I had known the groom for just about 10 years and started to remind myself of what God had been doing in his life and prayed for him as he embarked on this wonderful new chapter. And then I was blown away to realize that a whole decade had passed since we had first met. I started to prayerfully, thankfully remember step-by-step the seasons of my own life and how they had unfolded over the past ten years. What a journey that was. College and uncertainty about the "call," the obligatory college heartbreak, finding the woman of my dreams (losing her) and by God's grace getting a second chance, engagement and marriage, early struggles (financial, emotional, spiritual), my first youth ministry and all the successes and failures that are part of a 23-year old pastor's life. To reflect on the carnage of poor decision making, immaturity, pride was humbling. To see victory in other areas was exhilirating. Remembering the purchase of our first car, first home, first (and only) dog. The news that we were expecting (earth-shattering), the beautiful gift of our first born. The struggle of faith to trust God to meet needs as Amanda quit her job to stay home and then the beauty of watching him supply our needs through nothing less than miracles. To see God's movement and tension give way to His clear leadership. A move to upstate NY to start fresh, a great season of victory in a new ministry, the refining and unveiling of giftedness. More failures, more struggles, more lessons learned the hard way. Great victory over crippling struggles. Two more children, both boys. Uncertainty about my own future rearing its head again and being settled with a new "call" and new passions. All of it has happened in the last 10 years and so much more.

And the crazy part is not all that happened (through our family and in the ministries we serve and the people we love and the God who is so gracious with us). The crazy part is that it seems like just yesterday I was sitting in front of the E. Carter Glass Mansion in Lynchburg, VA, asking God to take my life, dreams, and future, and do something beautiful with it. The crazy part is that I blinked and it was all gone. Our lives truly are a mist, a vapor. They appear one moment and are gone the next. As I reflected on all that God has done, I was forced to look with hopeful expectation to what He has yet to do in me, in my family, in my church, in the Kingdom. And I was brought to a point of humble request - God, let me live today in light of eternity. Let what I give myself to today matter for You and Your Kingdom. We have so little time. Don't waste it.

pain in the offering

Last Friday morning, Tyson Lane Woody (age 2) said goodbye to this world and all of its pain and suffering, brokenness and illness. On Saturday evening, a host of worshippers said goodbye to Tyson, celebrating not only the life of one of the strongest fighters we have ever encountered, but also the God of all comfort, who gives and takes away, who carries us through dark valleys and leads us beside still waters, and by his grace, restores our souls. They don't prepare you for this stuff in college. Nothing prepares you for any of this. The funeral service of a 2-year-old cancer victim just feels out of sorts - something is not right here. And yet it was because God, by His grace and plan had ordained and allowed all the events to occur just as they had, for a purpose yet to be seen. I looked into the broken eyes of one of my closest friends - I saw the pain, I saw the hurt, I saw the mourning and grief, but behind that I saw something deeper, something truer, something at his core that spoke to me that it was indeed well with his soul. His faith in his God has not wavered. His trust in Christ has not diminished. His heart for the glory of God is anything but weakened. In fact, I would surmise that, at this moment, he is closer than ever to God, dependent upon his grace to survive day to day, looking with hopeful expectation to His return.

And there, in the midst of the grief and worship, the joy and the pain, I saw one of the most powerful things I have ever witnessed. The worship team and congregation were singing "How Great is Our God," most of them through heavy tears and with an equally heavy, but expectant heart. The entire Woody/McClure family and extended families were gathered together singing praises to God in the midst of their valley. During the middle of the song, the verse breaks into a powerful refrain: "You give and take away, you give and take away. My heart will choose to say Blessed be Your name." As we were caught up in that moment, singing to the God who gave and who had also taken, I looked down and saw Carson, Jeremy's 5-year old son, playing on the floor staring up wide-eyed as his entire family (and specifically his grandfathers and his daddy) were immersed in worshipping the God that they loved despite the pain. I wept. What an indelible image is forever ingrained in that young man's heart and mind - that in the darkest season of his young life the men and women in his family were rallied around the God of all comfort, lifting their voices as an act of sacrificial worship, even when pain was present in the offering.

I went to VA this past weekend to hold up the faithful arms of a brother in the Lord as he said goodbye to his precious son. I went with the intention to minister. I came home changed because of their testimony of faith, the sustaining grace of the Lord Jesus, and the hope we have in the Resurrection of Christ - that the grave has indeed been swallowed up in victory, and that death has lost its sting because Christ has won the victory for us. Amen.

Today I am praying for sustaining grace for one of the most amazing families I have ever been privileged to know. Please do the same.

Dorothy, Kansas, Timelessness...

Watched the Wizard of Oz with my kids the other day. Classic holiday viewing. I couldn't help but think back to watching the same movie with my mom and dad when I was a kid. Then, I thought about the fact that my mom sat with my grandmother and watched the same movie when she was young. Then, I checked the date of production and was blown away to see that the film was released in 1939. For those of you keeping track, that's 70 years ago! Before the Second World War, before the Cold War, before the Holocaust was public knowledge, before the tumultuous 60's, before the explosion of Rock and Roll, before the Cuban Missile Crisis, before so much of what has marked us. Fresh on the heels of Depression-era catastrophe this movie was released. Then I began to ponder all who had seen that movie in the theaters. Men and women who, like my grandparents, visited the local theaters in the late 30's as teenagers and enjoyed the very first color pictures in moving film. The men who sacrificed their lives on D-Day and the resulting conflicts in Europe, Asia, and Africa. I wonder how many of them had watched Dorothy's trek through Oz, nestled in next to their girlfriends in their hometown theater. And then I wondered how many more years families, like mine, would snuggle up on a couch during the holiday season in their pajamas and for, a couple of hours, be caught up in a classic story, journeying down the Yellow Brick Road with Dorothy and her rag-tag band of companions. How many more little girls will dream of going "Somewhere Over the Rainbow?"

Then my mind began to drift again - this time away from Kansas and Oz and the Emerald City; away from Dorothy and her rambling band of ineptitude to other far away places and timeless stories - tales of Creation out of nothing, of a Good garden, a beautiful Paradise, a tempting and crafty nemesis in the form of a serpent, of a Fall, a Curse, and glorious restoration. Timeless stories of another rag-tag band of inept pilgrims and strangers - men like Abraham, Isaac, Jacob (all of whom turned their courses and followed God), wandering through strange places, growing and developing along the way. I thought of heroes of a bygone era - men like Noah, Moses, Joshua, Caleb, women like Ruth, Naomi, Esther. I was caught up in stories of roving Apostles and missionaries, carrying the glorious gospel of Jesus to the ends of the earth, facing persecution, trial, beatings, death; these men were those whom the author of Hebrews described as men of whom the world was not worthy. How many countless thousands, millions have enjoyed these tales together, drawing encouragement and hope for their pilgrim-esque, wandering lives? How many of past eras have also enjoyed fellowship with God through His Son, having their paths lit by His word? How timeless is this faith that we are privileged to be caught up in. Truly, there is more to this family of God, than my mere "three score and ten" years allotted to me! Truly, we are part of something much larger than we can ever imagine. Truly, we are not in Kansas anymore. May we today draw encouragement and confidence from the legacies, heritage, and example of our "cloud of witnesses." May we be reminded that, although our lives feel somewhat unstable at times, we are tethered to a timeless community of faith in the Risen Son of God, to men and women who for all time have been recklessly wandering along their own "yellow brick road," as pilgrims and strangers in their worlds, and we are rooted and grounded in an Eternal God.

All that from a pretty farm girl, and her little dog, too.