I’m glad to see that I’m not the only one who does not understand the difference.
Someday, I’ll share my own experience of growing up loving baseball. It was sparked by my older brother taking me to Crosley Field to see the Cincinnati Reds play when I was not yet five.
Those of you who share a love for this game will appreciate this reflection by a man who normally is passionate about stats and the theory of the game.
When I watch games today, I obsess about game theory, managerial decisions, and advanced statistical evaluations. Today, I saw the game through the lens of my childhood once again. The Rays fell behind early, but instead of lamenting about batting average on balls in play, we cheerfully partook in chants of “Let’s Go Rays!” and “Charge”. We bought cotton candy, and cracker jacks, and sang “Take Me Out to the Ballgame”. I watched my daughter light up dancing in the aisle between innings and cheerfully doing her batter introductions. For the first time I was able to appreciate Raymond and the Rays Team through the eyes of my daughter. I witnessed how they brought the game to life for a three year-old. Balloon makers in the concourse and kiddie games made a nice mid-game break to recharge my daughter’s patience battery. Finally when the game was over after an hour’s wait, I was able to run alongside my daughter around the base path following the game as she positively was glowing. It’s been a long time since I’ve noticed so little detail about a game, yet I can’t remember having so much fun (Game 7 of the ALCS not withstanding).
It strikes me in reading this, that just about any passion we bear into adulthood was sparked by someone around us passing on that passion to us when we were young. (For a secondary witness, this.) We who are older, take note.
Time is moving faster than I am right now. Following my last Sunday at Hope Presbyterian Church in Bradenton, Florida, we walked with our daughter through her graduation from high school and hosted an open house for her attended by over 60 people.
At the same time, we played host to our son and daughter-in-law who are between residences, and to a friend from Los Angeles. Then for a week, we had the absolute delight of camping a week in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park with family and friends (at the end, 35 people at one point or another).
Immediately thereafter, I took part in the wedding of a dear friend. And NOW we can concentrate on packing up our house to ready it for the move to Oviedo and my new pastorate at Covenant Presbyterian Church.
Warning to parishioners of that church: Your new pastor is functioning right now at about 20% brain energy. Prepare for him to be a bit sluggish upon arrival!
In a presbyterian church, new pastors are installed in a solemn ceremony overseen by representatives of other local churches, that is, by the ‘presbytery’. The installation service represents a new relationship between pastor and church, and for both something of a new beginning. I’m really excited about this, and would love for any who are readers of this blog who happen to be in or near Oviedo to join us for this service.
The service is scheduled for 5:00 PM, Sunday, June 6, and will be held in the chapel of Reformed Theological Seminary (map below). I’m thrilled that most (if not all) of my children will be able to be there and I’m excited by the possibilities that this new opportunity represents. I hope to see many of you.
When I met with the Presbytery of Central Florida to handle some details of my transfer there, the devotion for the morning came from a little book called The Jesus Storybook Bible.
It may seem odd that a gathering of presbyterian leaders was brought together by a reading from a children’s book of Bible stories, but that only speaks of the profound simplicity of the book. The particular story which was read was reverently and carefully told with a clear allusion to how the hopes of the story are fulfilled by Jesus. Hence the book’s subtitle: “Every Story Whispers His Name”.
Soon after, I ordered a copy of the book, and Wednesday night we read together as a family a story from it. We could have started at the beginning, with creation, but I flipped randomly and decided to begin by reading the chapter in which where Jesus contrasts sincere prayer with boastful public prayer and introduces the Lord’s Prayer. The first sentence hooked me:
In those days there were some Extra-Super-Holy People (at least that’s what they though), and they were called “Pharisees.”
How can you not love a book like this?
The book is written by Sally Lloyd-Jones who acknowledges her indebtedness to Tim Keller. It is wonderfully illustrated by someone who goes by the name Jago.
A good take on why I stopped watching several years ago.
As far as pastors’ wives go, I have a good one. I always thank God for her.
A month ago when this column was published in the local newspaper I heard from several pastors thanking me for the content. Consistent with their stories was something like this, “My wife saw this in the paper and clipped it out for me.”
I could not help but notice is that it was a wife looking out for her husband. Which then impelled me to put down in writing some thoughts about pastors’ wives which I have found consistent over the years.
Here is the link to the article. But since the link will not remain active, I am posting the content below.
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A friend who speaks at conferences in all kinds of churches used to tell me that pastoring the local church was the hardest job in the world. I don’t know. Those trying to contain the gulf oil spill might put up a good counter-argument, as might many others.
Recently he told me that he had changed his mind and elevated single motherhood to the top spot. We note with honor such women this Mother’s Day weekend. This is a wise adjustment.
Married male pastors, however, know they can’t lay claim to second place. That ‘honor’ belongs to the often thankless role assumed by their wives.
The ‘job’ of pastor’s wife comes with no job description, no pay, and plenty of unwritten expectations from church and husband. She is to lead, teach, and be outgoing. She is to do anything and be at everything. And she is to have perfect children.
Some avoid these expectations, but there is a weight she carries that cannot be avoided.
When pastors struggle with pastoral issues, it is the wife who watches, often helplessly. When he comes home enveloped in the dark cloud of concern for the flock, she sees. Concern for confidentiality prevents his letting her in. She can do nothing.
When others aim criticism at her husband, the arrows strike her heart, too. Other wives might find comfort in the body of the church, a balm often denied the pastor’s wife, who cannot share with other women her concern for her husband.
When someone leaves a church, the pastor is often the focus of that decision. Though those leaving may maintain relationships with others in the church, the pastor is often cut off. The wife becomes collateral damage and can grow fearful of pouring her heart into the next relationship for fear of it being crushed all over again. Many minister out of a broken heart.
Her role is not all heartache. There is much joy. Even those capping oil wells get to go for a swim in exotic waters. Most pastor’s wives would not change ‘jobs’ for another. So don’t cry for her. Pray for her.
Love her. Encourage her.
This may not be the hardest job in the world, or even the second. But if there is a list of unseen and under-appreciated jobs, “pastor’s wife” will certainly lurk about the top.
Please know that I am still alive.
Transition will make this blog very slow for the next couple of months. I hope you are all patient with me and that I still have readers when I get back into a normal, or semi-normal, routine.
Thanks!
My nominee for the Commercial of the Year.
Saw this while watching a Modern Marvels broadcast on chile peppers, also worth watching.
In A Faith Worth Sharing
Some want to rush in and confront others with the gospel without taking the time to build a relationship of trust. Others are wonderful at building relationships, but never take the next step and lovingly confront their friends with the claims of Christ. I have been guilty of both mistakes. This is when we learn what prayer is all about. As we pray, the Holy Spirit gives us what we need: the right combination of love and boldness as we share with others the words of life.
Ouch.
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I just ran across a couple of helpful quick thoughts on evangelism from Justin Taylor to complement the above, both on his blog Between Two Worlds. I encourage you to check out this and this. For some reflection on a contrasting view, see this.
You gotta love minor league baseball and Will Ferrell.
(Relevant part of video is the first fifty seconds or so. Thanks to the Bradenton Marauders for the link.)