Don't be afraid, Marcus

It was a busy time of year. Marcus and the other shepherds had returned to herding sheep now that the weather was more predictable. It wasn’t an easy life. It wasn’t the labor that was hard – even a child could learn to corral sheep and build simple stone walls. What was so hard was the loneliness. When it was time to herd sheep, the shepherds left their families and their friends for weeks, sometimes months at a time. Emotionally it could be draining. Sure, there were other shepherds … but Marcus often didn’t see them until the evening, when it was time to rest the sheep. 

Ahh. The nighttime. Marcus was used to it by now, but he first started keeping watch of his family’s sheep, the nighttime is what he feared the most – uncertainty, fear; it’s so unpredictable. Have you ever been afraid of the night? Not this kind of night; it’s beautiful tonight. The kind of night a shepherd might face … when his heart is filled with fear, knowing that an attack of a single wild animal could wreck havoc on an entire flock of sheep, killing some, freeing others. Marcus knew that he and his staff were the only things between chaos and order. It was a burden he feared. He learned to sleep with one eye open, and both ears listening for unusual noises. Throughout the night – almost unconsciously – he slapped a rock with his staff to scare off would-be intruders.

You don’t get much sleep as a shepherd. Sleepless nights. You know about sleepless nights ….

But Marcus love the great outdoors. Shepherding was his life, and he enjoyed it, certainly. The men of his family had always been nomadic shepherds. It’s what he knew. But late at night, eyes wide opened, he wondered if there was something more.

Marcus knew what the others thought of shepherds. Dirty, shifty. Walking through town he knew what folks were doing – guarding their possessions so that he wouldn’t have any chance to steel them. To so many, that’s what shepherds were – thieves and bandits. You couldn’t trust ‘em as far as you could throw ‘em.

Marcus knew he was different. He had bigger plans, bigger ideas. But his plans and ideas didn’t seem to matter much to the town folk. He was a shepherd. And that didn’t amount to much at all. It’s hard to break free from someone’s preconceived notions.

Except that, lately, Marcus had been shepherding in the fields outside of Bethlehem.

It was a choice job. The pay was a little better, and the shepherds – the good ones, at least – felt that they were contributing something to the good of others. For the fields outside of Bethlehem were used to raise sheep for the Temple in Jerusalem, just ten miles away. Every day sheep would be sacrificed in the Temple, and now that the spring Passover was near, more and more sacrifices were being offered – which meant that more and more sheep were needed.

It was a busy time.

Marcus liked being busy. He liked the extra responsibility. He liked the idea that his sheep would become a choice offering to God. It made him feel good. Made him feel a sense of purpose … and everybody wants some kind of purpose in their lives.

But he was tired. Exhausted, really. Too tired to sleep – a million things running through his mind.

One particularly tiring night, Marcus lay in front of the gate where he had corralled his sheep. The sky was clear and pitch black. He heard the noises of the night. The roar of a cat. The low growl of a mountain lion. Marcus was used to the sounds --- he had heard them all of his life – but tonight they made him uneasy. He moved to the inside of the gate. One of the ewes lay down beside him, providing an extra layer of warmth. He looked to the heavens and marveled at the stars. They were brilliant. He began to think again of his future.

Then there was rustling. Marcus jumped to his feet and quickly he scanned the perimeter of the sheep fold. Nothing. But there it was again. The sound of someone walking. He cried out, “Andrew, is that you?” “Benjamin, are you there?” No response. Then he turned, and there in the middle of his fold, surrounded by Marcus’s sheep, was a man dressed in the clothes of a shepherd. Was he a thief?

“What are you doing here?” Marcus yelled, projecting both strength and fear in his voice. “Where did you come from?”

“Do not be afraid, Marcus,” the man said with a gentle, calm voice. “For I bring you good tidings of great joy. For to you, Marcus, to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior who is Christ the Lord.”

Marcus’ jaw dropped. “What’s going on here,” he thought. “Is this a trick?” The stranger looked to the skies … and so did Marcus. And before his very eyes, the stars turned into flashes of brilliant light, brightening up the deep, dark sky.

The stars seemed to dance until they converged together into a single, marvelous display. And then he heard a sound unlike any sound he had ever heard in his life. A chorus, whose words were crystal clear: Glory to God in the highest heaven, and peace to all the earth. 

The chorus lasted for what seemed to be an eternity. He never wanted it to end. The beauty was indescribable. But soon the stars ceased their dancing, and the music drifted into the night. Marcus looked to the man who remained there in his fold, among the sheep, some of which had fallen fast asleep. “Marcus,” he said, “to you is born this day a Savior. To you, Marcus, and to all who live in deep darkness, a Savior is born. The Christ. The King.” Marcus looked to heaven again, then back to the man. But he was gone. There was no trace of his presence. He simply disappeared into the night.

Marcus found himself in a daze. Was this a dream? Am I going crazy? But from across the fields walked the other shepherds, Andrew and Benjamin. Silently they approached Marcus, the same look of fear and awe upon their faces. The three shared the exact same story. As if it were part of a carefully crafted script, they herded their sheep into a common fold, and asked one of the young boys to keep watch while the three made their way to Bethlehem. They didn’t need directions. Instinct guided them to a shepherd’s cave on the outskirts of town. Inside lay a tiny baby, cuddled in the arms of his mother.

The words were still ringing in Marcus’s ears: “To you, Marcus, is born a Savior who is Christ. The King.”

The young shepherd’s heart was filled with more joy than he had ever imagined. He returned to his fold, ran to the place where the angel had stood. He knelt down while the sheep crowded in. Some fell asleep at his feet. Others watched the young man cry tears of joy. For he knew that his life had been changed forever.

But Marcus’ story doesn’t end there. Many years later, Marcus was again tending sheep in the fields of Bethlehem, carefully and prayerfully raising them up for the ritual sacrifice. It was his duty, yes. But it had become his purpose … his honor.

One Friday, early afternoon, the skies turned a frightening shade of black. Rain scorched the earth, thunder roared from above, the flash of lightening pierced the dark. The sheep were so afraid, bleating and running to one another.

Another shepherd appeared. “The Romans are executing again,” he said. “Who is it?” Marcus asked.  “It’s that man some people call teacher. I’ve heard others call him Lord. It was a matter of time before Pilate had had enough. Those crazy prophets.”

A flash of lightening. And then Marcus saw again what had frightened him so many years ago. A man, there in the middle of his fold, kneeling, the sheep gathered all around. They were suddenly and mysteriously comforted despite the rain, despite the crash of thunder.

The man looked up at Marcus. “Do not be afraid,” he said, a look of profound calm on his face.

“Who are you?” Marcus asked, although deep within, he knew.

“I am the way, the truth, and the life,” he said.

Then Marcus, too, fell to his knees and gave praise to the great Lamb of God, born that night long ago near the shepherd’s fields of Bethlehem, and sacrificed that day for him … and for all people.

_____________

Rhodes Woolly 2007

Dating and the call process

Searching for a new pastor is a delicate process. Scanning the country to nd that “right” person can take me and exhaust a lot of energy.

It feels like a combination of dating, searching for a college, and taking the final exam for Marketing 101 ... all wrapped into what we affectionately name “the call process.”

My call to St. John’s began with a phone call from a guy named Franco. I was standing in my kitchen, just back from a night of VBS. “Franco?” I thought. Thus our dating game began.

You sealed the deal when I walked into the interview in the old library and you ordered chicken wings and Cheerwine. Preston Mitchell, wearing shorts and flip flops, looked at my nice (new, I think) blue suit and said, “Um, you’re sorta overdressed.” Brilliant marketing. I was smitten.

I never imagined our latest call process would take us to West Fargo, North Dakota. It was a blind date of sorts. In the middle of the summer, the Synod office gave us Laura’s name and said that she and her husband might be ready for a transition when he graduated from college in mid-December. We had hoped for an earlier date, but we kept her name on the list.

As weeks then months passed by, we kept returning to Laura’s name, finally deciding to give her a call. I could tell in the first few minutes of conversation that she was someone we needed to pursue. Smart, eager, inquisitive, funny — all the personality traits we were hoping for.

The rest is history, I suppose. Knowing how important it is that we find a team player, we scheduled a conference call with members of our staff. It didn’t take long before they gave their go-ahead. Next was a conference call with the Call Committee. It was supposed to be a Skype conversation, but, well, technology eluded us. Regardless, the Call Committee was smitten. Laura was the first and only candidate we scheduled for a live interview with the Committee and Council. She, her husband, and daughter were invited to Salisbury the weekend of Nov. 5, All Saints Sunday.

I’m sorry if this all feels like it’s wrapped in a cloak of secrecy, but a call process has to respect an element of discretion. Laura and family arrived on Thursday and swept through four and a half days of dinners, drop ins, a tour of the city/county, worship, and two interviews. When they flew home on Monday they were exhausted ... but felt the same way I felt after my chicken wings and Cheerwine interview. “This just might work out,” they (and we) thought.

And here we are. I hope you’ll take the chance to read as much as you can about Pastor Laura. She brings enormous gifts to the art of ministry and, we believe, will make a terrific addition to our team. She has our full recommendation.

But the ultimate decision is yours, dear friends. In the ELCA, a call is extended only after a congregation has had a chance to vote on the candidate. That opportunity is next Sunday, Dec. 3 at 10:30 in the sanctuary. Later this week, you’ll receive the compensation package our Finance and Personnel committees have put together. They fully reflect the Synod’s guidelines for pastors with five years experience. If a call is extended and accepted, Pastor Laura Henrik would begin her work at St. John’s in early January.

It’s been a delicate process, to be sure. But I’m so thankful to know that the Holy Spirit has been active through it all.

A request: We began this process in prayers for discernment. Let’s continue with those same prayers: that the Holy Spirit might guide us and the candidate He has chosen into a place of discovery and relationship.

So that we’ll all be smitten with one another.


Blessings to you and yours this wonderful me of year. 

Partying like it's 1517

500th anniversaries don't come around often, and we have certainly taken full advantage of this one.

This year's commemoration of the Reformation has enabled us to partner with local historians, the Salisbury Symphony, Piedmont Players, The Landesbuhnen Sachsen, and the the Ensembles Nobiles, both from Saxony, Germany, birthplace of the Reformation. 

Appropriately our schedule of events concludes with a Lutheran-Catholic dialog with Sacred Heart Church, beginning in November. The dialog will explore our commonalities and our differences, using the recently published “Declaration on the Way” as our guide. The Declaration is the product of 50 years of conversation among Lutherans and Catholics. The highlight is a list of common practices and theological statements that draw us together as one. 

With Father John Eckert outside of Koko Java

Father John Eckert and I are looking forward to the dialog. We’ve enjoyed meeting these last few months to explore ways that our two congregations can grow together in the spirit of love and common purpose. We’ll begin November 14 at St. John’s, meet at Sacred Heart on December 5, and conclude with a covered dish dinner and worship service on January 9, also at Sacred Heart. Joining us on Nov 14 will be Gary Freeze, history professor at Catawba, sharing information about Lutheran and Catholic origins in North Carolina. Joining us on Dec 5 will be professors from Lenoir-Rhyne and Belmont Abby to discuss the future of Lutheran-Catholic dialog. 

It’s important to note that we very carefully avoid using the word “celebration” in connection to the Reformation. It’s a commemoration — the commemoration of an event that ultimately, and necessarily, divided the church. If there is any celebration at all, it’s in the way the church is finding common ground by taking seriously Jesus’ prayer that we might all be “one”  (John 17:22). 

Thank you for your attention, enthusiasm, and attendance during this Reformation500 year. I sure hope to see you at the play in October, our Reformation500 worship event on October 29, and for the Lutheran-Catholic dialog. 

Blessings to you and your family. What a privilege to be partners in ministry. 

  

Tragedy Saturation

Hurricane Irma hits Ft. Lauderdale

It's been a bizarre few weeks. First Hurricane Harvey, then Hurricane Irma with Jose close behind. In the middle of all that, we commemorated the 16th anniversary of 9-11 and heard the devastating report of a magnitude 8.1 earthquake in Mexico, the largest to hit our southern neighbor in over a century. Understandably, disasters and tragic events have occupied headlines for nearly three weeks.

With multiple 24 hour news networks and a Weather Channel that profits off of bad weather, it's no wonder that we've been saturated with tragic news. Jim Contore has become a household name, and Facebook is blowing up with videos of on-site reporters being blown away by 100 mph winds.   

There's much to be said of the news coverage. No doubt lives were saved because adequate notice of the hurricane's potential impact was given. Thousands more were prepared in ways they may never have considered. Thankfully the attention has encouraged an outpouring of support from around the world, raising millions of dollars for necessary relief efforts. 

As thankful as I am for all the coverage, I wonder if I've become saturated. The emotional part of my brain can only process so much tragedy before I become numb or, worse, disinterested. And having given so much attention to Harvey and Irma, do I have the emotional capacity to care about Mexico's earthquake or fires out West or whatever else CNN tells me I should be concerned about?  

On days like these I appeal to scripture. In particular Psalm 46 comes to mind as a powerful reminder of God's determination to bring order from chaos. May it be our prayer for these rather tumultuous times: 

O God, you are our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change,
though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea;
though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble with its tumult. 

You are in the midst of the city, therefore it shall not be moved; 

You will help when the morning dawns.
The LORD of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. 

Peace to you and yours. 

Needed: Another Miriam

Two of our high school youth on mission in Guatemala

I’m in the early stages of study for our upcoming sermon series entitled “We Can’t Stay Here: the life and times of Moses.” I’ve always loved the book of Exodus, and this series gives us another chance to dive deeply into a story that is of immeasurable importance in our journey of faith. 

One of the themes we’ll wrestle with is the remarkable sense of irony throughout the book of Exodus. Think about the first two chapters alone, when God uses five women to save Israel from the brutality of Pharaoh, eventually saving Moses, a slave’s baby, from sure and certain death. Of particular note is his young sister, Miriam, who went to the river that day armed with a plan that would deliver all of Israel.

Irony and surprise is everyone. 

We’re facing some challenges these days, aren’t we? Nationally, sure; but I’m thinking mostly about the challenges we face as a community. 

Last Friday night I had dinner with the retired police commander of Hickory who asked, “What’s going on in Salisbury?”

There’s no doubt that Salisbury has elements of being that quintessential Southern town described in a “Bury Home Companion.” The  lovely sense of home, the rich appreciation of history, and the beauty of culture surround us in Salisbury. 

But so does the sound of gunfire and the daily reminder that local drug addiction has taken a heavy, heavy toll.

Irony. 

One of the things I love most about Exodus is the way God surprises us over and over again, using the most unexpected of people to do remarkably liberating things. 

Who are we to suggest that God might not be ready to do the same thing here in Salisbury? Might God be preparing unexpected persons to rise up and be messengers of liberation and peace? One never knows. 

One thing I’ve noticed about Salisbury is that we tend to go to the same people over and over again for answers, contributions, and leadership. No doubt, many of these folks have been incredibly wise and generous over the years. 

But as I look into the future, I find myself praying that God might be preparing someone like Miriam to be the next source of inspiration. 

I wonder who that could be. Might it be you? Might it be someone you currently mentor? One never knows. 

Another thing I’ve learned over the years: don’t underestimate the power of young people. And don’t question God’s use of Divine Irony to bring hope and inspiration to people living in darkness. 

So, what do we do in challenging times like these?

Here’s a suggestion: like Miriam, let’s imagine a future that is filled with hope and possibility for all, not just a few.

And like Miriam, let’s dare to let God use us — yes, us — as his agents of hope for this weary world.

As ironic and surprising as that may be. 

on Charlottesville 2017

It's 2017 and I find it hard to believe that we're still battling with neo-Nazis and white supremacists. How is it possible that the vitriol and tired rhetoric of a rather unintelligent group of extremists seems to have captured our attention again?

Take last weekend's hatred and bigotry on display in Charlottesville. Their stated intent was/is to undermine the fabric of civil society through the use of ignorance, fear, and violence. Front and center were small clans of extremists from throughout the country who are loaded down with anger and hatred. It's time to start calling it what it is: racially motivated domestic terrorism.

I wish we could do a control-alt-delete and wipe them from our collective memory banks. Sadly, it's not that easy. 

How are Christians to respond? First, make no excuses or political justification for the evil that was on display. Jesus tells us to "love our neighbor" without restriction. Why is that hard to understand? 

Secondly, we should heed Paul's advice in Romans 12:21 when he writes: "Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good." 

Third, come to the Table. I'm serious. The Lord's Table is a potent reminder/symbol of how inescapably we are bound to Christ and to each other, no matter how many other differences we embody. There is no room for prejudice or racism or hatred at the Lord's Table, only a common movement to hold out empty hands and say, "We are nothing, O Lord, without you." 

The world desperately needs us (you and me) to bear witness to God's love, grace, justice, and mercy. We need not stand idly by, but give rise to Martin Luther King's cry to turn our "thin words into thick action." 

Without our determined response, friends, we'll see more of the same. Let's do our best to put an end to this nonsense by bearing Christ's light in this darkened world. Who's with me? 

Lake Lure

Last Sunday after church we sprinted to Lake Lure, to a little cabin my parents built years ago -- a favorite place for respite and regrouping. 

One thing I love most about Lake Lure is the absence of TV and internet. Sure, we all glanced at our phones/email/texts/social media every now and then, but for the most part we don't have access ...... which opens the door to things like books, old movies, and, gasp, conversation. 

Since Carter and Matt were gone for the summer and would be returning to college this weekend, we knew that this was the only chance we'd have to all be together. It was great to reconnect and hear all the stories of summers well-spent. Before we knew it, moments had turned to hours and the afternoon had become the evening. We certainly didn't tell all the stories there were to tell, but we heard lots of highlights ... and lots of funny tales. 

I joked that by the end of that first night, my rear end had left a permanent imprint on the outdoor couch. (Sorry about that, mom!) But I can't think of a better way to unwind and reconnect with the most important things in life. 

A blessed gift from God was the gift of rest. When he invited us into the joy of work, it's interesting that he does so on the 8th day of creation, AFTER we are fully rested (the 7th day). We work from our rest, not the other way around. 

I hope this summer has afforded you the opportunity to rest, regroup, reflect and enjoy time with those you love. Know that God has enjoyed that time with you, fully present in your presence with one another. 

See you around the neighborhood, my friends :)