Comments on: You Cannot Be Serious

By: Larry

Larry — Sun, 05 Feb 2012 12:25:39 +0000

Interesting…my first five funerals were either very elderly or strangers who called the church wanting “any pastor.” I too struggled with visiting. Early experiences can shape us, rattle us . . . but fortunately I had a lot of kind mentors. Thanks for sharing your words and journey, Nancy.

By: Nancy Phipps

Nancy Phipps — Sat, 04 Feb 2012 21:54:30 +0000

Makes me think of all the posters and things we see now that say “Really!?!?!” That response can reach a whole range of emotions from good to bad or sad and everything in between. It just depends on where you are on your journey in life. The first three funerals I officiated at were for elderly people, that I had just visited in nursing homes for the first time. I got to a point I didn’t want to go visiting. But we do what we need to do, comfort those that need comforting with words or actions or both. But we do question why. The why? The really? There are many kinds of brokenhearted in this world. I’m a widow, and even though I knew for several years my husband had a terminal illness, I still didn’t deal with the personal situation well. The broken hearted do eventually heal, God lifts us as many times as there are stars (countless), and only God knows how many times that will be. Thank you yet again for putting ideas and ramblings into my head for me to ponder on my faith journey.

By: Larry

Larry — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 05:34:39 +0000

Thanks, Lisa. And also thanks for the Nan C. Merrill poem. Since I hadn’t heard of her (so many writers, so little time!) I will have to look her up. Take care!

By: Lisa Powicke

Lisa Powicke — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 02:44:49 +0000

Couldn’t agree more with your sentiment. Thank you for sharing it.

Was reading Nan C. Merrill’s adaptation of Psalm 147 (from her book, Psalms for Praying) this week in preparation for preaching. Her take on how God reaches out to the wounded, downtrodden caught my attention in an insightful and challenging way…as did your own comments.

…Through Love we are sent to the brokenhearted,
a mutual balm to the soul.
We seek out the downtrodden,
those without shelter or food,
recognizing our own poverty with them.
Those in prison also await willing hearts to visit them,
that forgiveness might free all from bondage….

By: Larry

Larry — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 02:08:23 +0000

You are so right . . . Psalm 116 is worth taking seriously, literally and gratefully!

Thanks for your comments, Ruth. I suspect one of the ways I’ve most frequently gotten myself in trouble is when I claim to know, when I’m Mr. Right. Better to remember . . . I’m not so sure, what do you think, believe, wonder. And then–though tough for me–to listen.

By: Ruth Fitch

Ruth Fitch — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 23:11:46 +0000

It’s a question I’m certainly struggling with; thank you for letting me know I am not alone. Personally I hold as absolutely true (for me) Psalm 116; I guess we can all find something we can say with utter belief somewhere.

A friend at church gave me a DVD called ‘dream heart’ which includes a series of lectures; the first of which (on fundamentalism) argues the case for saying ‘I don’t know!’ Because when we think we have all the answers… we’re usually wrong. Well I know I don’t (have the answers). And I’m trying to interpret the myth because that which is behind the myth is TRUE but the interpretation is sometimes difficult and veiled by culture, language and yes, maybe even gender… I can’t really explain 1 Tim 2:12 to myself in a way that makes me understand or believe it. But we struggle on.

Blessings.

By: Larry

Larry — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 03:21:44 +0000

Wow, Rusty. I say that quietly, humbly and truthfully. Thanks for sharing about Kim and her family . . . about your struggles and your actions. I’ll keep you within my prayers. Simply, thanks for your work, your ministry!

By: Rusty Williams

Rusty Williams — Tue, 24 Jan 2012 19:31:54 +0000

Larry, as is becoming a theme with your weekly blog, the timing of this one hit home – again.
Yeah, I roll my eyes sometimes, and other times I try find ways to stop my ears from bleeding after my inner voice reads aloud a passage that I just don’t get. I’m sure you’ve been tasked – more than once – with the pleasure of trying to explain one of these passages to a group of teenagers who are looking at you for some kind of advice on how to interpret them (and parents who are praying you can make some sense out of it so they don’t have to).
But this week I found myself asking “Why?” I should’ve learned a while ago to stop this questioning, but I’m still human…
Later today, my wife and I will be visiting the home of Kim’s family. Her son is in my youth group and my wife teaches him Sunday school. Kim’s other child is severely handicapped. Kim’s husband left a job as a teacher so he could work nights and take care of this child during the day – when Kim was at work.
Kim died yesterday morning after battle with cancer; her husband called me at 5:00am. She went into the hospital a couple of weeks before Christmas. During her time in the hospital I tried my best to comfort her son and husband, and I visited her (not enough, to be honest with you – and whoever reads this…). Nothing made sense to her son. His question of “Why?” bled into my question of “Why?”
And in a little while my wife and I will go and attempt to be that voice you spoke of, to be the hands you mentioned, to be the ears you wrote about. In the angst leading up to this moment, In didn’t know where to turn for some kind of advice – for some comfort before I even attempt to be a comfort for others.
And I read this. I’ll go; my wife and I will visit because of the opportunity to do so. And it will now be because of a certain optimism – a truth told by a psalmist who had to know at some time in history his words would be questioned by folks like you and me. And yet (sorry, I couldn’t help myself!), he wrote. That kind of optimism is what kept John McEnroe playing as hard as he did, and it’s that kind of optimism that will allow me to call on Kim’s family this afternoon.
And if you asked me earlier today if I would’ve found the inspiration I needed in a blog echoing a certain tennis player, I would’ve said: “You cannot be serious!”
Thank you, Larry!