Internal Combustion

I see myself as one of the few "anti-bloggers." I have many friends (mostly acquaintances) who write frequent blog posts with much to say, with many words, and with more wisdom, expertise and authority than I could possibly muster. Perhaps I find myself with different motivations. Blogging (now a cultural verb) helps me, through trial and error to learn to convey thoughts with fewer words. (Good thing, I suppose. This makes my own mother, the former English teacher happy.) I also write to prove, a least to myself that I am not an expert in my field.

In the ongoing process of my own "sanctification" (a Bible word for "maturing as a follower of Jesus") it is clear to all I am not yet a finished product. Therefore, my blog posts are intended to be more about my learning than what I may think I already know. (I know, this sounds like post-modern angst.) This is my attempt to again fillet my soul by electronic medium. I hereby submit to you only the latest example, under a possible sub heading of "Don't Be Like Mike!"

I was assigned to be the band teacher at TMHS the first three days of this week. I figured I could fake my way through jazz band, wind ensemble, song writing, concert band and the history of rock and roll. I hearkened back on my own history in school band/s, a few college classes and my own wits. Admittedly I had a blast. Once the kids knew "Mr. Mike" was indeed serious about conducting rehearsals (or making them write papers on song writing or the history of rock and roll) they bought in. They all made it easy for me. It helped when I told them at the onset of what I knew...and what I didn't know (or had left behind in the annuls of time.) But here's what I didn't see coming...

I didn't know the school district is short of subs. On Monday, after showing up for "0" Period only to find out they don't meet on Mondays (gurr), I actually found myself responsible for two classrooms; my band room, and the choir/strings/Spanish/health class next door. It was chaos, (double gurr?) On Tuesday, again due to said sub shortage I devoted my two "prep" periods to covering morning P.E. classes, both teaming with adolescent humanity. (And, yes, we had an injury...which happens every single time I have a P.E. class. I am consistent.) The DVD player in the band room decided not to function that afternoon, so I was forced to resort to Plan B (fake it) mode.

By Wednesday I harbored two extremes; optimistic and accommodating externally, while seething internally (where the real 'me' resides.) I found myself ready to tell anyone willing to listen of how the school, school district and the world-wide educational system (if there is such a thing) were against me.

However, and before I got irreparably too deep into any of those conversations I had a God moment. And what I heard, if not audibly was, "Stop and think, you fool!" (My words, not necessarily God's.) And what I realized then and now is, all of it was parcel to my own sanctification. These experiences were going to do one of two things: break me of my pride, or break any positive reputation at the school I may have in the "bank." I came home that day, chastised and newly reformed.

So today I wrote my children (as I do each week) and told them what I'm now telling you: my ongoing sanctification is not yet complete. I got it wrong, very wrong, as self-pity almost always is. My internal was out of joint and my external wasn't far behind.

There you have it. That's what I learned already this week. Pity, I may have to re-learn it all again if it doesn't stick this time around.

Oh, and I see I've also botched the word limit on this post.

Expectations Management

This week has been dominated by chaos. Sleep has been a misnomer. Slowing down to actually chew my food a myth. Yesterday I had the new experience of conducting two high school classes, at the same time. Whoever wrote that syrupy "serenity prayer" is apparently living on a planet other than the one I inhabit.

But here on a rainy Friday it's "Alaska Day," (our very independent State's version of the 4th.) Alaska Day means no school, so today and for the first time in a while I am afforded time and opportunity to reflect on the past week. In so doing I've landed on two related realities;

In truth, my week wasn't all that bad. I evidently just chose to make chaos my world view. Secondly, it really wasn't schedule or people demands that caused my sense of chaos, it was my own expectations. Now, if you will, allow me to get philosophical.

The line between desires and expectations is thin. Our personal desires quickly morph into expectations when left unchecked. Desires almost always require and thus hope for the cooperation of events and other people, while expectations demand that same cooperation. But what, if anything does all this prove?

In my camp we call these desires-slash-expectations "idols." Anything that isn't directed to God is therefore an idol. If my idol is "power," I will busy myself trying to avoid failure and humiliation, at the price of always feeling responsible if not angry. If my idol is "comfort," I will endeavor to avoid any/all stresses even if it results in "nothing ventured, nothing gained." If my chosen idol is "control," I will work to mitigate against uncertainty at the price of incessant worry. And if my idol is "affirmation," I will do whatever necessary to up my approval rating and avoid the pain of rejection, ultimately resulting in slavery to the desires and expectations of other people.

So what I saw and experienced as chaos this week was essentially trumped up. I saw things the way I wanted to see them...as threats to my idols; as roadblocks on my way to expectations management.

Even pastors, especially this one needs to remember that idols are made up, though the idolatry is for real. And this is why repentance is a step toward freedom...even in the midst of self-perceived chaos.

The Price of Unity

I went to a gathering of area pastors yesterday. First time for me. Mentally attaching faces to names (and church buildings) was delightful.

I didn't know I was stepping into initiation traditions. There was no overt hazing. I didn't have to stand on a chair and sing my college fight song. But I was assigned duty to bring the devotional next month. It was also mandated that I will be the speaker at the city-wide Thanksgiving's Eve service. It's how they welcome the new guy, I guess.

I was blessed with the humility and heart for the city evidenced by each guy in the room. One guy made the point of saying, "When the Apostle Paul wrote letters to various churches, he wrote to the believers in that city. Those letters made no real mention of individual fellowships, denominational alliances or doctrinal distinctives between readers." This same guy went on to say that if true today, then we...the guys around yesterday's table...would be the elders the Apostle would have held up to particular responsibility as shepherds for our city. This resonated with me.

We had but two action items. We quickly and efficiently planned both next month's gathering, and the Thanksgiving's Eve service. The remaining time was devoted to hearing about and praying for each other; not as rival pastors but as brothers. A wounded but joyful brotherhood. And I was blessed to see how no one was territorial. No one campaigned for pole position. It hit me that a lot of good can come when no one is concerned over who gets the credit.

Truth be told, every church pastor has stories of pastors gatherings in their respective histories and prior cities; some a delight, and others not so much. At worst, pastors gatherings
can resemble a collection of bantam roosters pecking at each other in the barnyard. Or maybe more like a five year high school reunion where some of the alums still maintain a sparkling view of their own prowess and potential.

But at best it's just a group of guys who love Jesus, love their wives and kids, love the city, and even dare to love the other churches in town. Like knowing we're all on the same team. The price of unity.

(Thanks, Pat Costello for the cool photo.)