chappelltemple

It felt a little like watching the odometer turn over in my car.  For when my watch hit “1,461 days” this morning it seemed momentous to me indeed.  Because for four years now—through hurricanes, heat waves, and hotel parking lots—I’ve not missed a single day walking at least five miles, usually six or seven.  And hitting that four-year mark on my streak, going almost 9,000 miles or so now, has been a little like finishing college and earning a bachelor’s degree in walking.

To be sure, it’s only been by the grace of God.  For those that know me well will probably agree that I’m not the most athletic person around and getting up early to walk before the heat comes on does not exactly come naturally to me.  But then the streak too has had a way of self-perpetuating itself, joined by my smart—sometimes smart-aleck–watch, which has taunted me with messages like “You’re usually farther along by now…”

In the end, however, it’s all been a reminder about the power of a habit.  And in that regard, it’s not just our physical health that needs consistency, but it’s our mental, relational and spiritual conditions, as well.  The pandemic, for instance, broke the pattern of physically coming to church for some folks, and they’ve never quite gotten it back.  And others have unfortunately abandoned such spiritual disciplines as spending time in the scriptures with God each day.

Some twenty years ago, however, Eugene Peterson found a time-tested tonic for staying strong in our faith in what he called an “old dog-eared songbook,” that portion of the Psalms, chapters 120-134, known as the Songs of Ascents.  For it’s believed that these fifteen psalms were sung by pilgrims as they ascended the road to Jerusalem to attend the festivals that were held there some three times a year, and similarly, they may have been chanted by the Levite priests who climbed the sacred steps to serve at the Temple itself.

“I lift up my eyes to the mountains,” one of them begins, “where does my help come from?”  And another starts simply by saying, “I rejoiced with those who said to me, ‘Let us go to the house of the LORD.’” And still a third reminds us that “those who trust in the LORD are like Mount Zion which cannot be shaken but endures forever.” They are short passages, to be sure, but all of them are hopeful.  And all of them remind us that we too have been called to be pilgrims in this world, whether we ever actually go up to Jerusalem ourselves or not.

Maybe that’s why Peterson entitled his classic book simply, A Long Obedience in the Same Direction.  For that’s what it takes to faithfully follow the Lord in a frightfully fickle time indeed.  It’s not about running like a graceful gazelle, in fact, but simply about putting one foot in front of the other and plodding on, even when you don’t particularly feel inspired to do so.

Tomorrow morning, thus, I’ll hit the pavement again, though I’m also going to think about some new routines as well for the year ahead.  For though keeping a streak going can be a powerful motivator in itself, remembering just where you are headed can similarly put us on the right track.  And in that respect, a long obedience is not really for just four years… it’s for a lifetime. 

It’s an odd word to modern ears, but it all goes back to the original Roman calendar which divided the year into ten months, beginning with one dedicated to the Roman god of war, Mars.  The days were then counted down in relation to the lunar phase of the moon using three markers:  Kalends, which came with the first phrase or new moon, Nones, denoting the first quarter moon (usually on the fifth or seventh day of the month) and Ides, which marked the full moon, falling either on the 13th or 15th day.  

The Ides of March was thus initially the first full moon of a new year, or March 15.  Romans knew how to party, of course, and so the day was generally celebrated down on the banks of the Tiber River with food, wine, and music. And in the era before the Empire in Rome, the Ides also marked the beginning of a new political year in which the two annually-elected consuls took office as the leaders of the duly constituted Republic.

Not long after changing the calendar, however–modestly naming it after himself, we might note–Julius Caesar also decided to change his own terms of office, becoming the Dictator Perpetuus, or “dictator for life.” And it was that monarchial grasp for power that led a group of Roman senators to try to take their Republic back by stabbing Julius Caesar to death at a meeting of the Senate itself on March 15, 44 B.C.

It’s said that he was stabbed some 23 times, in fact, by over sixty conspirators, but apparently only one of the wounds proved to be the fatal one, giving Caesar ample time to register his shock at the betrayal of even his friend Brutus. And so forever after, at least as envisioned in Shakespeare’s words, a soothsayer’s prophetic warning to Caesar has linked the day with the deed: “Beware the Ides of March.”

Given what has transpired over the past few weeks in the Ukraine, it is now clear that there is another Caesar on the world stage, whose brutality and grasp for power likewise seems to know no bounds.  The task of those who believe thus is to fervently pray that Vladimir Putin will either listen to God, or be dealt with by God who is hearing the cries of His people, not just in Ukraine, but also in Russia which has fallen under Putin’s cruel grasp.

If I were Putin, however, I think I might take a lesson from history on this Ides of March 2022 as to what eventually happens to all dictators.  For the phrase which some have attributed to Brutus (though he probably never actually said it) is nonetheless true: Sic Semper Tyrannis.  Thus Always to Tyrants.

It’s long been my practice to write a new poem for each Advent season.  With the experiences of 2021 still fresh in all of our minds, here’s my effort for this year:

In days of cheer and days of fear

The Lord is always ever near.

And so when time its fullness came,

One arrived to bear the Name.

So sacred it could not be spoken

By those whose lives the Law had broken.

For sin had cast its awful spell

But then came God to make us well.

He stepped into the world He made,

And in a manger He was laid,

The Word Made Flesh, Incarnate Love

Sent from the Godhead up above.

To bring us joy, increase our peace,

Till all our strivings one day cease,

And fears without, within, may pass

As we look on His face at last.

For long ago a child was born

Upon that blessed Christmas morn,

He came to earth with us to dwell,

Jesus, our Emmanuel.

(As we come to the 400th anniversary of the first Thanksgiving in 1621, I have updated one of my earliest posts from nine years ago to reflect on just how amazing the journey of those Pilgrims truly was.)

Despite the old saying, getting there is often not half the fun at all. For while everyone knows at least some version of the story, what is often forgotten is that most of the Separatists who came to America to establish a religious colony here didn’t actually start in England at all. Rather, they began their historic voyage in Holland, where many had fled because of opposition to their religious beliefs in their homeland. Leaving the rest of their congregation and even their weeping and praying pastor behind, they boarded a ship called the Speedwell in Delfthaven, Holland, on July 22, 1620, sailing for four days to Southampton, England, where they met up with a companion ship called the Mayflower which had just come down from London.

That ship had a number of other passengers from England whom the Pilgrims did not really know–some were friends and others, simply investors that had become interested in the voyage while the Pilgrims had been doing an early version of crowd-sourcing to raise enough money for it. Like a lot of other church fundraising projects, however, the Pilgrims fell a bit short of meeting all of the expenses, and so they had to sell off most of their oil and butter–the only real assets they had–before they could leave Southampton.

They shoved off for America on August 5, but they only got a short way into the English Channel before being forced to land at Dartmouth (the English town, not the American college) because the Speedwell had sprung a leak. It took a couple of weeks to fix the ship, but on August 24, 1620, they finally started back on their voyage. And this time they got nearly 300 miles from Lands End in Cornwall out into the Atlantic before the Speedwell began to take on water once more.

They turned back again, thus, landing in Plymouth where it was finally determined that the Speedwell was not seaworthy enough to make the clearly dangerous cross-Atlantic voyage, and that further repairs would push them well beyond the safe season for sailing. At that point, twenty passengers had already had their fill of adventure and decided to just go back home. But the remaining dozen or so passengers and cargo were transferred from the Speedwell over to the somewhat larger Mayflower, which finally put out to sea by itself on September 6 with 102 passengers on board, three of whom were pregnant women, along with a crew of about 30.

Despite the overcrowding, the first half of the trip went well, with good winds and weather. One of the pregnant women, Elizabeth Hopkins, had her baby, whom they named Oceanus. But the smooth sailing came to an end about a month into the voyage when the little ship–just 25 feet wide and 106 feet long–was hit by so many storms and crosswinds that it began to leak as well. One of the main beams of the ship bowed and cracked, and they had to use a great iron screw to try to raise it back into place. Five of the passengers on board, including a young boy named William Button, died before they ever reached shore.

Finally, however, after going some 2,750 miles at an average speed of just two miles an hour, they spotted a spit of land which turned out to be Cape Cod. And there, on November 11, 1620, they finally landed, settling in for a hard winter in which 45 more of the original 102 passengers perished. It’s no wonder thus that when the survivors finished their first full year they were ready to give thanks in that celebrated feast with the Native Americans who had helped them make it that far.

But whatever happened to the Speedwell, you may wonder? Back in England it was repaired and fifteen years later, in 1635, it finally made the trip to Virginia with 59 people on board, including the owner and captain of that ship, a man named John Thomas Chappell. I know of him because he was one of my direct ancestors. Indeed, some will say that he set the family pattern when he missed sailing into history with the Mayflower, and in some ways, we’ve all been missing the boat ever since.

On the other hand, maybe it’s not so much about getting into the history books as it is simply being faithful to whatever task that God may place before you. For if your life has ever seemed like a rocky voyage, you’ve probably figured out that in the end, it’s all pure grace anyway. Whatever journey in life we may be on, in fact, the only thing that really matters is that we get there with God through grace. Our sails may split and our mast may creak and even break. Just like on the Mayflower, and later in the new colony, some will die but others will be born. And as was the case with the Speedwell, we may not get to our destination just exactly when we were planning to.

If we stay the course, however, and stay in love with God and in love with those around us, we will get there, I believe. For the truth is that it’s not the pace but the race that matters as we run with perseverance the course that has been marked out for us (Hebrews 12.1) Or to put it another way, the operative words for us as not “speed well” but “God speed.”

Just keep your eyes on the real Captain of our Faith. (Hint: his name isn’t Chappell.)

(The following appeared in this blog on September 11, 2018. I have updated it and share it again as we mark the twentieth anniversary of a solemn day indeed.)

I suspect that all of us over the age of 25 can well remember where we were when the first reports began to crackle over the radio.  I had just dropped my wife off to teach for the day, in fact, and was headed back to my office when I heard the news of a terrible plane accident involving the World Trade Center in New York.

It sounded awful, to be sure, but when I got home and turned on the television it was even worse.  For it wasn’t an accident at all, but a deliberate attack, confirmed when a second plane crashed into the second of those twin towers.  Meanwhile, at her school near NASA, Julie noticed that Air Force fighter jets had been scrambled and were buzzing loudly overhead.  And as the hours wore on, the full enormity began to flow over all of us as well.  For September 11, 2001, was not just a day to remember, but a day that changed America forever.

If you’ve been on a plane recently, for instance, you will know just how much air travel morphed after that fateful day.  For even with TSA Pre-Check—and there was no TSA before 9/11—it’s still much tighter. So no matter where you are going—to a conference, on a vacation, to see your grandchildren, or to meet old friends—no matter how hopeful or excited you may—there’s still that slight tingle of anxiety when you go through the line, isn’t there, still that reminder that our security in this world is never quite completely guaranteed.  For indeed, we never really know when we too may be called to eternity, just as the people who got on those planes twenty years ago had no idea that it would be the last day of their lives on this earth either.

Likewise, that moment changed how we view good and evil, I think.  For on 9/11 whatever innocence about humankind that we might still have had, whatever fancied ideas about the world that we might have yet indulged, whatever comfort we might have felt in our denial of the power of bad things to affect us, we were inextricably reminded that there is something very wrong in the world. Indeed, evil once more reared its ugly head and stared us down, face to face.  For what 9/11 revealed is that evil not only exists–the “mystery of iniquity” as St. Paul called it in 1 Thessalonians 2.7—but that we live in conflict with spiritual forces of wickedness that are pledged to destroy us.

But what 9/11 also taught us was that even in the presence of pain and poignancy, of turmoil and tragedy, God is with us as well.  For in the words of 1 Corinthians 15, we have not believed in vain, our faith is not futile, and it is not only for this life that we have hope in Christ at all. Such is not to minimize the fact that almost 3000 people died in the 9/11 attacks, of course, and countless more had their lives forever altered by the loss of their loved ones.  But the hope we have is that God knew every one of them by name—just as He knows us– and eternal life did not end that day for any of them.  For centuries ago, the tragedy of the cross was followed by the triumph of the empty tomb. And the good news is, it still is.

On this weekend of remembrance, take a moment to reflect back on where you were that morning that changed America.  But just as importantly, ask yourself as well just where you are today when it comes to God. For if He isn’t your real security in life, the truth is, you haven’t got any at all.

It was a Selection Sunday like none before it.  For in addition to the sixty-four college basketball teams that were chosen on March 14 to compete in the championship tournament, four additional teams were tapped by the NCAA to serve as potential “alternates” should any of those in the schedule have to drop out because of a Covid-19 outbreak.  And though that didn’t happen with the first team that had to forfeit on only the second day, the plan is still that there will be no re-ordering of the brackets should another health disqualification occur.  So if even a top-seed team cannot play at the last minute, their spot may go to an alternate that wasn’t even invited to the Big Dance in the first place.

Centuries ago, however, “Selection Day” meant something else to the ancient Hebrews.  For according to Exodus 12.3, on the tenth day of the first month of Nisan (usually March to April sometime according to the Gregorian calendar), every Jewish male was instructed to pick out a lamb that would be the right size for his household to eat at Passover.  And if a household was too small, they were instructed to join with another family and form what we might call in the language of our day, a Passover Pod.

Israelites could choose either a lamb or a goat, but the law of Moses specified that the animal in question should be a one-year old male without blemish or defect.  Oddly enough, however, families often took the animal which they had selected into their homes or campsite until the fourteenth day of Nisan when they would be killed and eaten that evening for the Passover meal. 

Why would they do so?  In part it may have been for the family to have time to carefully examine the animal and make certain it had no disqualifying marks.  For the thousands of pilgrims who came to Jerusalem for the required festival would more than likely not have brought their own livestock with them.  Instead, upon entering the city, they would simply have made their way to the market place to pick a lamb from the flocks that the Sadducees, ever mindful of the business end of the Temple, had thoughtfully bred and raised for purchase.

But the custom perhaps had another purpose as well, namely, allowing observant Jews to more closely bond with the lamb that was to be offered up as a sacrifice for their own sins.  For clearly, knowing the sacrifice personally couldn’t help but make it far more impactful.

All of which makes the Holy Week story even more intriguing.  For if you do the math, what jumps out is that as the Passover lamb was killed on the Thursday of that festival that means that Jesus arrived into Jerusalem not just on what we’ve come to call Palm Sunday four days earlier, but specifically on “Lamb Selection Day.”  And by doing so, the message He sent was fairly plain:  “I am the Passover Lamb that can save you, so choose me!”  Then as if to follow up, Jesus came to the Temple every day that week so that everyone interested could carefully look Him over and hear His claims.

It’s no wonder thus that the apostle Paul told the Corinthians that “Christ, our Passover Lamb, has been sacrificed” (1 Corinthians 5.7) and the unknown composer of the Book of Hebrews similarly proclaimed that “Christ was sacrificed once to take away the sins of many” (Hebrews 9.28).  Even at the very beginning of His public ministry, his cousin John the Baptist recognized who Jesus was when he saw Jesus passing by and told his own disciples, “Behold, the Lamb of God!” (John 1.36)  And still later, the apostle Peter reminded others that they were indeed “redeemed with the precious blood of Christ, a lamb without blemish or spot.” (1 Peter 1.19).

It makes me wonder a bit, thus, if in addition to waving palms each year at the beginning of Holy Week, we might just want to consider checking out the livestock as well on Palm Sunday. For even without an actual sheep or a goat to inspect, the days ahead are truly an appropriate time to come face to face with the claims and character of the Christ.

Never mind therefore how unprecedented this year’s NCAA March Madness with its teams in waiting is; when Jesus showed up on that ancient Lamb Selection Day in Jerusalem, it was clearly a moment that changed the entire world.  What’s more, in those days between His Triumphal Entry and arrest, the “Final Four” came to have a very different meaning indeed.

(This post appears as well in the Spring issue of the Christ Church Community magazine.)

Like the spring that is quickly coming to South Texas, it’s a welcome sign indeed.  For when the official announcement was made earlier this week of the formation of a new Wesleyan denomination, the Global Methodist Church, it signaled all kinds of possibilities for those looking for a way out of the convictional and conversational cul-de-sac in which our church has long been circling.  And as a life-long Methodist, I couldn’t be more excited and pleased to see such a solution at last.

Predictably, of course, some immediately characterized the move as one-dimensional.  NBC News, for instance, headlined their story by proclaiming that “United Methodist Conservatives Detail Breakaway Plans Over Gay Inclusion.”  And others have already taken to Twitter to falsely suggest that the planned denomination will be discriminatory not just to those in the LGBTQ community, but to women in ministry and anyone who has a sniff of a social conscience.

None of that is true, however.  In the proposed polity, in fact, there is no reference at all to homosexuality, only an affirmation of the traditional understanding of marriage that is supported by the scriptural witness.  Rather, the emerging church will be “called to inclusiveness,” which is defined as “openness, acceptance, and support that enables all persons to participate in the spiritual life of the Church and its service to the community and the world.”  Or in other words, everyone will be welcome.

Likewise, anyone who speaks Methodist will quickly discover that they will be fluent in the new denomination as well.  Particularly as it relates to local congregations, many of the organizational features of the UMC are a part of the Global Methodist Church, though without much of the bloated bureaucracy on top. The new Book of Doctrines and Disciplines, for instance, is dramatically shorter than the UMC version, coming in around 100 pages rather than nine times that amount. And as the name suggests, it also has more emphasis on doctrine, by the way.

On the other hand, there are other changes that are perhaps long overdue. Bishops will no longer be elected for life but will serve defined terms with a twelve-year maximum before retiring or returning to serve as a pastor or other elder.  Along with giving oversight to the church, their primary task will be to guard, transmit, teach and proclaim the apostolic faith as it is expressed in Scripture and tradition from a Wesleyan perspective.

In turn, congregations will have more say in who comes to serve as their clergy, as well as full control of their own property without a Sword of Damocles-like Trust Clause dangling over their heads.  And pastors will neither be guaranteed an appointment nor face a mandatory retirement age.  Like everyone else, they’ll need to earn the trust of others by being effective and accountable servants of Christ.

What’s more, as the name implies, the new denomination has been designed to be truly global in character, with male and female leaders from Africa, Europe, Russia, and Asia already involved in its formation.  And it promises to be bold in its witness to the world both in words and in actions, with the largest part of its reduced apportionments (roughly half of the current amounts) going to missions and church planting.

So what’s not to like?  In a word, change.  But then even a cursory look at the history of Methodism will show that our movement has undergone numerous shifts and realignments since it first emerged almost three centuries ago.  The United Methodist Church itself, for instance, is only 53 years old.  In many ways, thus, the Global Methodist Church simply represents a fresh expression of the Wesleyan spirit that long ago changed the world and we believe can do so once again.

Many long discussions are yet to come, of course, and a lot depends upon how and when the UMC General Conference is finally able to convene.  And every local congregation and annual conference will need to have serious conversations as to where they are most comfortable and called. But after a laborious and hard winter—both weather-wise and in the church which I’ve long loved and served—I’m taking the emergence of the new Global Methodist Church as a definite sign of spring indeed.  

            Or as the Lord long ago expressed it through the prophet Isaiah, “Behold, I am about to do something new… do you not see it?” 

(Full disclosure here:  It was my privilege to serve as a member of the writing team of the new Book of Doctrines and Discipline.  To read the entire book, or to find out more about the new denomination, visit www.globalmethodist.org.)

It wasn’t exactly how we planned.  But then again, few things have been in this decade so far.  Just within the past few years, for instance, we’ve had numerous “hundred year” floods, a once-in-a-century pandemic, and just since Sunday, we’ve had record low temperatures, some of which we haven’t seen for 121 years in this part of Texas.  So all in all, we’ve probably heard the word “unprecedented” an unprecedented number of times.

Still, until the winter storm hit, we had cleverly planned how to impose ashes in a socially distanced manner, using individual Q-tips to mark the sign of the cross on the foreheads of the faithful, even while faithfully masked ourselves.  What we hadn’t planned on was the loss of power and pipes busting in the church building, creating if not streams in the desert at least rivulets in the hallways.

All of which raised the question of “How do you do Ash Wednesday without, well, ashes?”  Oh, I know that the practice itself is not actually Biblical.  Jesus never spoke about it, nor did He or the disciples ever observe it.  And the early church didn’t do so either, until a pope named Gregory the Great started the tradition in the sixth century, and even then, it took another four hundred years before the term “Ash Wednesday” came into use, when a different pope with the oddly modern sounding name of Urban began to call it that.  But we might note that the reformers such as Luther and Calvin still weren’t exactly keen on the idea.

To be clear, the Bible does talk about ashes sometimes.  Mordecai is said to have put on sackcloth and ashes when he found out about the plot by Haman to kill all the Jews.  And when poor old Job repented, he did so in dust and ashes as well, just as Jeremiah similarly told his people to put on sackcloth and roll in ashes as a sign of their contrition.  Ashes thus were both a symbol of repentance and a reminder of our mortality and thus, our dependence upon God for the gift of life itself.  But given all that’s happened in recent times, some might ask, does anyone really need yet another unwelcome reminder that life is fragile?

And the answer is, “yes.”  For Lent is meant to trigger both our repentance and our renewed rejection of whatever habits or attitudes we may have fallen into that are not worthy of the gospel of Jesus.  It’s a bit like the French expression:  recular pour mieux sauter, “step back in order to jump farther.”  Indeed, that’s the heart of Ash Wednesday, with or without ashes, carne or con carne, if you will, as we would say here in South Texas.  For the ashes are just an outward sign that we are ready for a re-set of our relationship with Christ.  And it all begins with that simple reminder:  Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.

Oh, I get it, trust me.  This has been a trying time indeed, especially for the millions here in Texas who have literally been left out in the cold for several days without power and heat and sometimes water.  And if we have one more “unprecedented” or “once every century” event it may just send all of us over the edge.  But then perhaps that’s all the more reason to “step back” from that edge in order to take a better leap of faith forward during the Lenten season ahead.  For maybe wearing the ashes visibly is not nearly as important as actually remembering who we are supposed to be as the children of God.  For even without physically marking our foreheads, we can still remember that we are dust and repent and believe the gospel. 

I have a feeling that God will see that sign of the cross that no one else can.  And maybe no one else needs to this year.

(Taken from a video Lenten message delivered on Ash Wednesday.  To watch the full message, visit christchurchsl.org or log on at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yYgyGiCZtrg&feature=youtu.be)