The Christian Blogosphere lost one of its finest voices yesterday with the passing of Michael Spencer, The Internet Monk.

I first stumbled across The Internet Monk five years ago while searching for Lenten reading material. I was hooked immediately by his insight and brutal honesty. Roughly the same age, I identified with much of his personal struggles, loss, depression, etc, that he shared with the world. I've been an anonymous lurker there and on the - sometimes more raucous - group blog, Boar's Head Tavern.

Michael Spencer's writing has been influencial in my life since I began trying to get my Christian life back on track again five years ago. He made re-examine matters of faith, the realize what is important and what is superfluous. He got me into reading N T Wright's Surprised By Hope. I and countless other anonymous lurkers are indebt to him. He fought the good fight and finished his race. He kept the faith. (II Timothy 4:7)

My thoughts and prayers are with his family.  

At the place where Jesus was crucified, there was a garden, and in the garden a new tomb, in which no one had ever been laid. Because it was the Jewish day of Preparation and since the tomb was nearby, they laid Jesus there.

John 19:41-42

That day had begun the same as another other day in any other city. It ended with the Son of God dead and buried in a borrowed tomb, secured by Roman guards.

I went to Good Friday service today at Wesley United Methodist Church. The service consisted of reflections from the traditional Stations of the Cross. We remembered:

• The guards, in mock acclaim, affixing to His head a crown of thorns, remembering that thorns, in addition to thistles, were part of the curse to Adam after the Fall, for which he would labor by the sweat of his brow.
• The walk to the place of execution, carrying a cross made from a tree, remembering that our first parents ate of a tree and brought the curse upon our race.
• Jesus falling onto the dusty street, under the weight of His cross, and as a result of the physical torture He endured, remembering that we are dust and unto dust we shall return. 
• The nails piercing His hands and feet, remembering how they were used to preach the gospel, heal the lepers, give sight to the blind and raise the dead.
• The angry mob, hurling insults and abuse for their own amusement; "If You are the Son of God, come down from that cross!", remembering that we probably would have done the same.
• "My God! My God! Why have You forsaken Me?", remembering that we deserve to be forsaken; not Him.

It is too easy to look ahead to Sunday, knowing that the story doesn't end with John 19:42. But it is essential to remember all that was accomplished before that verse. Each time we receive Communion, we are told to "Remember Me", for He knows how easily we forget.

For he bore the sin of many, and made intercession for the transgressors.

- Isaiah 53:12b

Was it for crimes that I had done

He groaned upon the tree?

Amazing pity, grace unknown

And love beyond degree

- Isaac Watts

For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For what I do is not the good I want to do; no, the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing…What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God—through Jesus Christ our Lord!

- Romans 7:18b-19;24-25a

A couple of weeks ago, I was downstairs after morning worship, doing what is expected of all good United Methodist men everywhere do… serving coffee and donuts. The Upbeat One approached the window, selected the standard coffee and then was torn between taking a chocolate covered donut or a jelly-filled (despite my suggestion to go with the always dependable maple-glazed). After observing about a minute of indecisiveness, I quoted Elijah at Mount Carmel, "How long will ye halt between two opinions?"

I don’t remember what the final donut decision was. However, I thought about how this applies to the Lenten exercise. Thinking back to Ash Wednesday, one of the pastor’s sermon points: "What prevents you from taking your Lenten actions?"

A decision regarding which particular donut to take may be reached using the ever reliable "Eenie, Meenie, Mienie, Mo" method. The Lenten journey – not to mention my whole Christian life – is often torn between two masters, God or mammon. It is impossible to serve both. Yet, that is what I always find myself trying to do. I walk upon the high wire, trying to keep my balance lest I fall to ruin. I want to serve Christ, but don’t want to rock the boat and end up serving mammon instead.

(At least I did suceed in avoiding reference to Mary MacGregor's Torn Between Two Lovers (1976) as I didn't care much for the song then and still don't. That one ranks up there with Worst Hits of the '70s) 

The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me...To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, that he might be glorified.  

- Isaiah 61:1,3 

The Christian life is a quandry. We are called to forsake all, and follow Christ, to gain all. We are told not to fret about all of the things we fret about, but to seek first God's kingdom and He will take care of the rest (for we are of more value than birds of the air and flowers of the field). Yet our lives are consumed with hedging our bets and making sure that we have enough. We don't want to do that, but do it just the same. If I were looking for "a crutch", as the world says, I sure wouldn't choose Christianity.

The other day, during our Companions in Christ study group, the Church Lady said that she wished God would give her a progress report. The Prodigal (me) replied, "I think that He has already given me a progress report: 'I do the things I don't want to do, and don't do the things I want to do. O wretched man that I am! Who shall deliver me from the body of this death?' (end of Romans 7). A few laughs from the other participants in my group.

Prior to that, we were discussing whether we were Martha, pre-occupied with entertaining guests, including the Lord, or her sister Mary, sitting and listening to Him. I said that I was definitely Martha. I invent things to keep me occupied because Christ makes me uncomfortable. I think that the Radical (group leader) was even taken aback. No laughs that time.

But now it is Lent. We traditionally take stock, try to shed those things that turn us into Martha and keep us from being Mary. (Martha definitely has a place in all of us...but so does Mary). For the next forty days, we work to shed those things; to find a more meaningful relationship with Christ. And we are not alone, for He is our fellow traveler.

My Lenten devotional reading this year is from Ignatius of Loyola. The book is arranged such that his conversion takes place over the first fourteen days. One the first day, Ignatius recalls how the providence of God set him aside (wounded in battle), though he didn't realize it. But that is when his life was taken hold of. That was his "Aha!" moment.

That what I look for, not just during Lent, but every day...the "Aha!" moment. Those are the moments when we see God.

Lent is our annual exercise of letting go of the things that keep up from seeing God. That's the paradox of the Christian's life. We have to let go in order to take hold.

...as unknown yet well-known, as dying yet behold, we live; as punished yet not put to death, as sorrowful yet always rejoicing, as poor yet making many rich, as having nothing yet possessing all things.

- II Corinthians 6:9,10

Lenten exercises for Ash Wednesday asked the following:

• What blocks you from serving others through Christ?
• Recall the joy of a time when you did.

The first are the things I struggle to protect, such as time, money and leisure. The second is the joy that I experience when I set aside the first. Unlike our government and our mutual fund managers, this is the bottom line according to St. Francis of Assisi:

I am a frequent reader of Michael Spencer (internetmonk), since stumbling across his blog quite a few years ago. His message is honest, practical, challenging and often sobering and poignant. Spencer was recently diagnosed with cancer. His guest host, Chaplain Mike, posted this recent iMonk gem, There's Always a Day Before, written only few short months ago. This is possibly one of my favorite iMonk posts and weighs heavily on my mind as I remember my days before.

I first met Jim in Mr. McDermott’s Tenth Grade creative writing class, shortly after his family had moved to Acton, Massachusetts from Nebraska. Mr. McDermott, who whistled the “s” in every word containing an “s”, gave us our first homework assignment, which consisted of writing a properly constructed sentence. During the next class, Mr. McDermott took one of the papers and with glistening eyes, proudly remarked at what an outstanding example of writing that sentence was. It was an unforgettable piece of prose.

“As I rounded the bend, my heart was filled with anticipation when I saw the lake.”

Our class remained in stunned silence while Mr. McDermott exulted in the blessedness of having the next John Updike as one of his very own students. The sentence, of course, was Jim’s. I scornfully mocked the absurdity of his writing prowess. And after a brief exchange of words, we became immediate friends.

Years later, while we were hiking down Borestone Mountain, near his family’s property in Maine, Jim pointed out “the bend” and “the lake”, my heart filled with the anticipation of the moment. After all of this time, that moment is not lost on me.

Also not lost are the memories of the way Jim would click his heels together, flash a smile and gently bow when making introductions (“A pleasure to meet you Sir/Ma’am”). We worked together at McDonald’s, rode in his Corvair or my Beetle. Once, we performed a trumpet accompaniment for Dad’s youth choir. We set up playground equipment on the roof of the Conant Street Elemetary School in the middle of the night, after work. Jim frightened me beyond measure in the cockpit of a Cessna 150 while he performed acrobatic stunts that he was neither trained nor qualified for. We spent many days and nights at the family camp, Lazy Beaver, in Maine. To reciprocate, I invited Jim-the-shaggy-civilian to sleep in the 2nd Radio Battalion barracks at Camp LeJeune one night while he was driving home from Florida. When I completed my four years of active duty, we got a nice two-bedroom apartment in Cambridge. I have a treasure trove of those memories.

We lost touch over the years. But we eventually reconnected about fifteen years ago when Jim was working in Lowell, Massachusetts and I in Woburn. Although a bit on the gray side, he was still the same Jim, still greeting me with the same clicking heels, flashing smile, gently bowing, “Charles, my boy!” Our paths had been remarkably similar. We both married on June 25, 1983. We were both divorced. Our ex-wives birthdays are both June 27th. We laughed and complained and promised to keep in touch. I regret that we didn’t follow through on that last one. I guess we always expected that our paths would cross again.

I received word last week that Jim passed away unexpectedly on Thursday afternoon, October 15th at the much-too-young age of 52. To say that I am stunned and saddened would be an immense understatement. Besides his parents, Jim leaves behind four children, four grand-children, his sisters Lee and Sue, and brothers, Joe, Scott and John...and countless friends. He is gone too soon. Jim's memorial service was held this afternoon in Haddonfield, New Jersey. The weather was not cooperative enough for me to make the 540-mile roundtrip. Instead, I am writing this remembrance, inspired by that one masterful, albeit absurd, sentence, written over thirty-seven years ago, that launched our friendship. I hope this would have obtained Mr. McDermott’s imprimatur.

I read somewhere that a friend will visit you when you’re in jail. A good friend will bail you out. A great friend will be sitting in the cell with you saying, “Damn! That was a great time! Let’s do it again!”

Jim Tatem belonged to that last category.

Eventually, time claims everything and everyone in its path. Even Mount Rushmore - which may well be among the last shreds of evidence that mankind ever existed - will be eroded away by wind, water and ice over the course of time.

The barn at the old Bigalk farm was no exception. I was saddened to hear of its demise during a fierce windstorm on July 25th. The view of the towering old red barn, while approaching the farm on the gravel road from the north, was among the grandest on earth. I never tired of seeing it. It was like looking at heaven. As kids and well into adulthood, we never tired of the site of it, nor of that distinctive smell of nearly a century's worth of hay, livestock and sparrow droppings. Now it, along with the old Lincoln School and a lot of people that I loved remain only in old photos, videos and my memory.

When Arvid moved off of the farm in 1995, I took an old veterinary calendar (1953) from the wall along with a horseshoe. The calendar hangs in my shed in the backyard; the horseshoe hangs above my workbench in the basement. They are monuments of my past. They aren't immune to the passage of time, but for now they are my guarded treasures. When I look at them, I can think back, remember and smile.

It all reminds me of how transitory and fragile life is. Only God is unchanged by time. Psalm 90 comes to mind. 

Lord, you have been our dwelling place
       throughout all generations.

Before the mountains were born
       or you brought forth the earth and the world,
       from everlasting to everlasting you are God.

You turn men back to dust,
       saying, "Return to dust, O sons of men."

For a thousand years in your sight
       are like a day that has just gone by,
       or like a watch in the night.

- Psalm 90:1-4  

Haven't felt like posting in a while...until now. 

My Mom had always kept boxes of "treasures" for all of us kids, highlights of our development from young kids into irresponsible adults. Eventually she thinned the treasures down such they would fit snuggly in an 8x11 manilla envelope. I opened that envelope today after having it shipped with a bunch of other stuff from Arkansas.

She had her reasons for keeping the stuff. I'm glad she kept this one. It made me smile.

 Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus: 
 Who, being in very nature God,
      did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, 
 but made himself nothing,
      taking the very nature of a servant,
      being made in human likeness. 
 And being found in appearance as a man,
      he humbled himself
      and became obedient to death—
         even death on a cross!
- Philippians 2:1-8

The theme that we, the congregation of Epworth United Methodist Church, undertook for Lent, beginning on Ash Wednesday was the "Journey of the Heart"; the sinful heart, the searching heart, the loyal heart, the hidden heart, the loving heart and the wounded heart. The following is a summary of notes that I took during the Sunday sermons (with the exception of one when I was in Fort Myers). 

We are not naturally inclined to search for God and for his purpose. On the contrary we are predisposed to rebel, to create gods of our own design. That is the sinful heart.

The searching heart (Mark 1:9-15) is in every one. The disciples telling Jesus that "Everyone is searching for you" is not a bunch of hyperbole. We are all searching for "something". Perhaps it is purpose and a sense of fulfillment. We are searching for Christ, but reject the notion as too simplistic, an insult to our intelligence and self-sufficiency. We are too sophisticated. We are inclined to settle for the comfortable illusion instead of an uncomfortable truth.

The loyal heart (Mark 8:31-38) picks up the cross as that is what it takes to follow the Lord. In picking up the cross, we have to let go of something else; we can't carry both. We can't hedge our bets just in case it doesn't work out in our favor. Also, the cross isn't a sickness or relationship problem. Those are burdens. A cross may well be our helping another with their burden, such as someone in a shelter or hospital. It is bringing comfort to the afflicted.

The loving heart (Psalm 107) is remembering God's purpose for us and confessing our sin of forgetfullness. The Israelite were blessed. God took care of them. They forgot God and fell into trouble. Then they remembered and called out to Him again. It's that way with us. There is the illustration of The Lion King. Things were good then got bad. So he ran away and chums up with Timon and Pumba. Hakuna Matata. Life is good. He forgot, until reminded by those he ran away from, Nala and Rafiki. When we forget and drift away, the loving heart of a dear friend reaches out to us and reminds us of where we are supposed to be going. It's an "A ha!" moment. We "pay it forward" so to speak.

The broken heart (Psalm 51) is what God looks for. Brokenness is only half of the story. After all, doesn't God entrust the treasure of the gospel to fragile earthen vessels (II Corinthians 4:8)? And wasn't Christ broken for us? That is what we recall when we take Holy Communion. Broken doesn't require fixing.

And finally, we witness during Holy Week, just how impatient we are as a people. On Sunday we shout "Hosanna!". By Friday the call is to "Crucify Him". The procession of Palm Sunday led to a cross and a tomb by week's end. That is a tremendous inconsistency.

But we want our lives to be consistent, not just from Palm Sunday to Easter, nor just during Lent, but all of the time. We want to find God's purpose for us, to be those earthen vessels that He uses. We want to "have the same attitude as was in Christ Jesus".