Penn State Prayers

I graduated from the Pennsylvania State University in May of 1997.  My memories of college skip from football games to classrooms to parties to friendships forged there.  The atrocities committed by one of the former football coaches have left me incredibly sad.  I'm not looking for explanations or excuses, but rather I'm saddened by the continual state of sin that pervades an otherwise perfect world.  I have Penn State pride, because I was part of something that was institutional, and full of power--and it was on a massive scale.  Everything, from the cheers at Beaver Stadium, to the challenges of scheduling the right classes, to the connectivity that has been created by that University--everything happened en masse.  You never did anything alone, and so with such a scale always at your fingertips, both the victory and the defeat happened with intensity--and it affected everyone.

I lived in Pittsburgh, PA for 7 years, marveling at the hold the Steelers had (and continue to have) on that entire Western Pennsylvania culture.  If you want to have a conversation with another person in that part of the world, you'd better be able to speak football--at least a little bit.  Passion was defined by your proximity to the game--whether it was a High School Friday Night rivalry, a college noon-day kick-off, or a Sunday afternoon game with the NFL.  And make no mistake about it--whether it's a good season or a throw-away record, when the Steelers lose, the entire town plunges into depression on Monday morning.  The grey sky that shields the sun for months at a time doesn't help the mood.

I do love football, as well as many other sports that distract us from the realities of everyday life that are not so pretty to watch.  So when those everyday realities collide with our escapism, the mix is really distressing.  How can I watch Penn State play football without this awful association now?  How do I enjoy all of the blue and white and the pride it stirs within, without the association that those who have been paid to represent those color combinations have really betrayed so many people, whether out of naivete or simple fear of the consequences?  The ties we have to football, and especially to college football, run much deeper than they probably should.  Just like our professional athletes, these public figures have thrust upon them expectations of behavior that are, quite frankly, unfair--unfair only because they are expectations that negate the possibility of human error.  But as my wife always says, "perception is reality", and so whether the expectations are deserved or not, they become reality.  And that's what makes the pain so much more real--not only that these things were committed by such public figures, but that they all had direct associations with our university, and with our football team.

I have to say that another feeling that accompanies this for me, is that of being alone--if you count being alone with 40,000 within a student body and with nearly 600,000 living alumni.  Unless this was your school, it doesn't have the same association.  While I don't know who wrote it, this letter shows real class from a similar school that went through recent scandal of a very different kind.  In a way that only exists through playful rivalry, I have a new respect for Ohio State after reading this letter of commiseration.

Ultimately, it's only football, and it is just a game.  But the players in that game--and in the University settings which can offer so much and take away just as much--they are people who strive for their best and who can fall down just as hard.  While nothing has come to trial yet, the pain that is yet to be experienced seems inevitable.  I pray for Jerry Sandusky and his illness--inhuman though it seems--a problem that plagues our society in ways we cannot truly know, because so much of the crime is so screamingly silent.  Maybe the the public nature of this scandal will remind us of the deep, deep pain that is spread by pedophilia and sexual predation.  I'll pray for Joe Paterno, Graham Spanier, Tim Curley and Gary Schultz, among others who have probably acted out of panic and fear, hoping that such a horrible situation might just go away.  It never goes away--especially for the victims, as well as for those who have lied to themselves about the crimes they have committed. I'll pray for the families and the abused, who will never have the opportunity to live the lives they led before they were abused, and who must face their own memories each moment.  These things are not easily remedied.

And I hope that, somehow, my school will recover and learn from the revelation that has come in to the light.  Just as it is within the imperfect body called the Church, we do not cease to be Penn State--we still are. . .warts and all.  We just might not be cheering quite so loudly for awhile. 

Stupid things that mean the world . . .

The day after my wife posted a wonderful blog about our son, Liam, wanting a doll, I encountered a scene that concluded with a great deal of frustration.  Upon returning home from a church meeting with both boys in tow, I discovered that our separation anxiety-ridden dog had dismantled Liam's Buzz Lightyear doll to the point of unrecognizable mutilation.  I do hope, for those of you into the CSI shows, that Buzz had dental records.  As my boys sifted through the polyester insulation that once filled Buzz, it was like watching a horror flick where the tantalizing lure of the stuffing helped them see right past the present reality.  Poor Liam never even saw the carcass.

My response was less playful.  And I must apologize to my dog, Heinz.  He was obviously frustrated that we had left him all day and were home for a quick dinner and then left him again.  But through my rage, I wasn't seeing things from his wounded perspective.  I was fightin' mad.  And I'm confident Jesus says, in a number of ways, don't take revenge, but he had hit me where it hurt.  And I don't care, quite frankly, whether it's a doll or anything else--Liam loved that stupid thing--and my stupid dog took that stupid thing away from him and I was as enraged as I can ever remember.  The worst part was thatt the dog did not know why.  Human logic would tell me that his cowering at my rage was because he knew why he was bad, but Cesar Millan will tell you that dogs just aren't that good at putting the sequence together.  They respond to our emotions.  Well, Cesar, I agree--but why was he cowering before I even stepped in the room?

Needless to say, if there is a realm called Infinity, Buzz is finally beyond it.  Because we love our children and because we continue to try and show this love to them in tangible, meaningful ways, we won't succumb to the temptation to go out and buy every single gift we think we should.  But this one, because of the need for healing, will likely be replaced in the near future.  As Liam was placed into his crib he started to say, "Buzz. . .Buzz. . . "  Thanks, son.  Break my heart a bit more, please.  I had to tell him that I was going to look for him and see if I could find him.  I knew where to look. . .somewhere beyond infinity.

We love you, Liam.  And we will always do what we can to show you so.  As for you, Heinz?  Not so much right now.  Talk to me in the morning.

AND I PAID RETAIL!!!!

Blessed Christmas

Joy amidst some sadness characterizes the start of this Christmas season in 2010.  It has been an overwhelming year, and on this night before the Eve of Christmas, I'm feeling every bit of it.  Parenthood is exhausting.  Ministry is exhausting.  Family struggles are exhausting.  Roller-coaster days of emotion, the stress of culminating events, the schedule that doesn't yield--it can all be draining.  Yet, I am not discouraged.  I'm not burnt-out (not even remotely).  I'm not unhappy (quite the contrary).  I'm not in disbelief (I believe more strongly than ever before).

The best part of my life these days continues to be my family.  Kelly, now happy in a new job, provides amazing support for me in the relentless call that God places on those who work in the church.  The fact that she also works in a church makes this much easier.  My boys bring me more joy than I can find words to express.  It's not that every moment is bliss--hardly true.  When they are tired, they wear me out.  And I've lost my patience too many times with them. . .even today.  But they are such wonderful additions to my life that they have become part of what defines me.  I would do anything for them.

Our ministry has proven challenging this past year, more than I ever expected.  There are no regrets, but we've tackled a building project--something that will try the most tested pastor.  Yet, we are on our way and the process is full of hope.  We've changed many staff people, we have endeavored into new areas of mission, and we have pushed the limits as we know them.  And in this final week of Advent, we have said goodbye to four people within our church community.  Death is especially hard this time of year, while we are so focused on preparing for new life.  Yet, there is no better time to proclaim the gospel than at the Advent of Jesus.

There is so much for which to be grateful, and even amidst the sorrow of death, divorce, broken relationships, of lost faith, of vengeful spirits, of hopeless cynics--even when we are dog-tired, I'm full of joy today.  I think tomorrow looks just as good.

Take Me By the Heart

 My brother wrote a song in honor of our wedding called "By Heart".  It starts with the lyrics, "Take me by the  heart, then we can start our lives together". . .I had no idea how much the heart would be part of my past week's experiences.  All in all, everything is fine, but a trip to the ER and then even (one) night's stay in a hospital is enough to give one perspective.  I'm at the hospital all the time, and I probably visit Brandon Regional more than any.  It is 1/2 mile from the church, and I've been to all sections of it.  It didn't occur to me that I might at some point be there as a patient.

  After a few days fighting what was diagnosed as strep throat (and I believe it was), I began to feel some pressure in my chest, shoulders, neck, head and arms.  If it was coming and going, I probably would have done nothing about it, but it was not subsiding, so I drove myself to an urgent care place.  But it was after 10pm and few of them are open late.  So it was off to the ER.  When you mention anything with the word "chest" you have a golden ticket to the front of the line.  EKG, chest x-ray, start the IV (thanks--"Dusty the paramedic"), some children's aspirin, then eventually some morphine, some nitro paste, and something to help the nausea.  I must have met 15-20 different people through my stay, all very nice and caring.  Our local hospital doesn't always get the best reputation compared to some neighboring care centers, but they've done well by us with two children born, and now an overnight stay by yours truly.

  With elevated troponins (heart enzymes), the signs pointed to heart attack, but I wasn't a candidate with history, age, etc.  Other things can cause these high levels, which essentially show that the heart is in distress.  In my case it was the ongoing fight against strep that had started to affect this lower area of my upper body.  I had a heart catheterization at 9 am and it revealed healthy arteries.  A Echocardiogram revealed no fluid buildup.  Pericarditis (inflamation of the sac surrounding the heart) was the diagnosis, attributed to my strep infection.  Treatment includes some ibuprofen to control the inflamation.  I don't know if my body was so run-down that I was more susceptible to this infection than usual, but it really did attack more severely than I thought it had.  I'm grateful for those who took care of me, and especially for Kelly, who managed to balance the need to be a mother and a wife all at the same time.

  On this day when we are remembering the events of 9/11, with swirling escapades of Koran burning, in a world that has both become smaller and more divided, my gratitude is a bit closer to the heart today--for health, family, and as I'm interrupted in finishing this--for little boys who take the initiative to poop on the potty.   We have to go to McDonald's.  Gotta love it!

Strep by Strep

So, I had every intention of a wonderful Labor Day weekend.  I was going to fly to Pittsburgh, reunite with my family, surprise my friends as Kelly and I joined them for a few nights in remote Pennsylvania, and then some family time over the holiday before we all returned to Florida together.  What happened instead was that I left the church early on Thursday because I wasn't feeling well.  I prepared to leave, got the house closed off, dogs boarded, headed to the airport, and through two flights really started to feel worse.  I reunited with the family, had dinner, and Kelly and I headed off to surprise my friends.  Still feeling worse.

When we got there I just wanted to crawl in bed, and so I did.  Got up for about 3 hours on Saturday, and after lunch went back to bed as my friends sat in the other room laughing and reminiscing.  I felt very far away.  That afternoon, after realizing that I had spent the past 21 out of 24 hours in bed, Kelly asked if we should head back.  I reluctantly said we should.  So I bade farewell to my buddies, got in the car and headed back to her parents house.  That night I was up every two hours, shivering and never getting even close to comfortable.  I didn't sleep, and I didn't feel very well.  I really wasn't enjoying Labor Day weekend at all.  I almost felt as though I shouldn't have come.

Sunday I got myself to a walk-in and even though the quick-strep test came back negative, the PA thought I was in the margin of error.  Amoxicillin, lots of liquids, and rest.  I was starting to feel well enough for a 6 hour day with the boys and family, enough to salvage some of the dream weekend.  I think my Labors were catching up with me.  Kelly was disappointed, I was distraught, and we just felt an opportunity missed.  Only now am I thankful for the chance to get away and see my family again, or that I really did relish seeing my friends, even for a few minutes.  I trust there will be other opportunities and better times. 

Grief

My article from September #1 edition of The Happenings--FPC newsletter.

Dear Friends,
Back to school again! As we move into the Fall season, and as I notice the lack of Fall weather we are used to in the north, it’s refreshing to see these new beginnings of a school year. As usual, it sneaks up on us and causes us to utter those words, “Back to school already?” I’m still recovering from the Spring. What happened to Summer? Ah, the cycle of life continues.

Today, as I write this, my little baby is turning 3 years old. At the same time, I’m grieving a very sad loss of some of our Pittsburgh friends. Their son died in the middle of the night over the weekend, due to a freak health problem that no one could have foreseen. He was 7 years old. As a parent, I am feeling the gut-wrenching response in a whole new way. And the more I watch my own children grow, the more painful news like this seems to hit me. I cannot imagine the position of those parents, but I can see the pain that might be inflicted if it were my own that were taken from me at such an age. Death is not easy, it is not ever expected, and even when we know the time has come—rarely is it experienced with grace. As a pastor I get to watch families go through that process—a privilege to be able to stand alongside the dying and those they leave behind. But no level of preparation, solid theology, or counseling can make the emotions change. People need to grieve, they need closure, they need acceptance. Ignoring these realities is not helpful, but often saying words that are meant to comfort are not helpful either. And as I think about the response that we have as social, relational beings, the best we can hope to do for those who grieve is simply be present.

In the moments of death and the moments that follow, I think the greatest need of those who are grieving is to know that they are not alone. It is a state of loneliness, a time of vulnerability, a place of huge questions. But in the state that most find themselves, no answers will suffice. It is emotion that demands the response and the emotion does not seek a rational answer. The emotion of grief only wants to know that it is not alone.
In the benchmarks that are reached by each person as he/she grows up, moments of the past must die, just as moments of the present and future are born. Today is also the first day of school for many around here. Parents are both joyful and grieving. Their little ones are beginning kindergarten, but their baby-hood has come to a close. A world of emotions once again floods the life cycle. But when we baptize our little ones we are acknowledging that they really aren’t ours. We are recognizing that they are God’s more so than any possession we might keep. And maybe it’s a way to let go, or a way to cope when they are suddenly taken from this life, but it’s also entrusting to God’s care the ones who mean so very much to us. And we don’t have to live without faith in the darkest times because we have acknowledged that we have not only entrusted, but we have also trusted. God will take care, God knows more than we can know, and it really is going to be okay. God’s peace for the journey. . .

Peace, Love, Hope and Joy,
Tim

New floors

. . . but here's a look at some of our new flooring and many hours of work to give our home a new, functional feel. We're really pleased with what we've done and even though there's still some finishing work remaining, and even though I'm not taking this on as a new career, it was a great learning experience, we saved a lot of money, and we love the result.