Tweaking

Tweaking is a word that has come into vogue of late. I use it myself from time-to-time, and last Saturday while working in my yard it came to mind.

I mentioned that it has come into vogue of late. Actually, the word has been around a long time, but it has changed meaning somewhat. I have an old Random House Dictionary of the English Language in my office. It’s big and heavy too, so I only pull it down from the shelf when I really need it. The copyright date is 1967, so it doesn’t have the latest word usage. You know that the dictionary folks add new words and expressions every year. That was in the news just recently.

Well, I looked up the word tweak and found that in 1967 (the year I graduated from high school, by the way) it didn’t mean what it popularly means now. A verb, to tweak is “to seize and pull with a jerk and twist; to pull or pinch the nose of, especially gently.” Today, as I take it, tweak means to adjust or edit or improve, especially when it comes to ideas.

Tweaking an idea is generally a good thing. I say “generally” because I have found it useful – generally – to follow my first instinct. That is true when I am working and my work involves brainstorming, or when I am reading a putt. If I think the golf ball will break to the right and check it out from the other side of the hole and find that, no, it looks from this perspective like it will go to the left, I better read it again. It will inevitably break to the right, just as I read it the first time. In other words, my original ideas, when they have any merit at all, are not usually well-served if I tweak them too much. Still, tweaking an idea has its merit.

Tweaking a friendship is always good. It means you’re paying attention to the relationship, and any care you can give it only makes it better and stronger.

However, tweaking one’s knee is not a good thing, which is what I did Saturday while working in the yard, and started me thinking about all this. When the knee is involved, the 1967 definition is spot on. But, with my August 24 knee replacement coming up, I am fully confident that following extensive physical therapy, that form of tweaking will be a thing of the past.

And that’s a good thing.

Golf and the Kingdom

With apologies to Michael Murphy for the title of this little musing, I spent some time Saturday evening (while cutting the grass) thinking about the more spiritual quality of the game of golf. You see, while I do not get to play golf often (once a week if I’m lucky), I dearly love the game. It has afforded me great pleasure for almost forty years, and a few moments of extreme aggravation. I’ve had the good fortune to play in Scotland, which, as everyone should know, is the birthplace of this crazy game. I’ve yet to develop a full bucket list, the things I want to do before I die, but going back to Caledonia is on it, to be sure. One of the real and true highlights of my life was playing the Old Course at St. Andrews in 2003 with my son Tim.

And you ought to see my study at home. It’s my own personal golf museum. When I am there, studying or working on my sermons, I bask in the glow of my favorite past-time.

I mentioned moments of aggravation. I’m a competitor. Always have been, always will be, and sometimes my biggest competition is... me. Every time I hit the links I think I ought to shoot a record score, which for me would be a 74. Haven’t gotten close to that in a long time, however. In fact, the last couple of years has seen my scoring diminish somewhat. Surely couldn’t have anything to do with the aging process, you think?

So I had a little talk with myself. Last Friday, my good friend Gerry Claybrook and I met over at Hot Springs Village, the Cortez course. Cortez is becoming my favorite 18 of all the Village courses. The last two holes are absolutely gorgeous, some of the most scenic in all of Arkansas. I decided before we started that 1) I would not complain when I hit a bad shot, and I would (did) inevitably hit some bad shots, 2) would not overanalyze how to hit the ball, that I would just hit it, and 3) I would luxuriate in the beautiful weather. A good friend, beautiful course, a whole afternoon with nature... doesn’t get any better than that.

My score, as it turned out, was a few strokes above my handicap. However, my attitude was really close to par, and my enjoyment was a birdie. I came away refreshed and grateful for the opportunity to play. You see, it had been a particularly full week of work, and I needed the time to be away from it.

There may be a lesson in that in regard to my work. I’ve been pressing of late, rather burdened with the desire to build up a church that needs more folk to fill the pews and more bucks to pay for its ministry. I’ve been throwing my shoulder against those issues that keep us from doing this, and I’m beginning to realize that analyzing it and worrying about it has been counterproductive.

So, I’m going to quite complaining and will take what life and ministry and work – and golf – will give me. Anybody interested in a game?

My friend Bill Leonard, at Wake Forest, spoke in Houston recently at the luncheon sponsored by Associated Baptist Press. I didn’t get to go, due to financial constraints, but his remarks have been posted in various Baptist periodicals, reported by Robert Dilday and Ken Camp. Some of them really struck a chord with me. See if they do with you as well, especially if you have at least some Baptist sympathies…

• Baptist denominational systems across the U.S. are in transition and being redefined, spawning a number of issues that are complicating and clouding the Baptist landscape.
• The once-formidable Baptist presence in the U.S. retains its significant numerical dominance, but the demographics reflect a denomination in decline, torn by internal controversies on one side and mega-church competition on the other, held together by an aging constituency, faltering finances and turbulent identity crises.

Why?

• Cultural transitions are now “normative” in Baptist communities.
• Openness to unfamiliar cultures is increasing.
• Denominational adherence matters less and less to religious Americans.
• Moderate Baptist groups, e.g. the Alliance of Baptists, the Cooperative Baptist Fellowship, and Texas Baptists Committed, have reached a numerical and financial plateau.
• Baptist churches are renegotiating their “Baptistness.”
• Baptists under the age of 45 are unfamiliar with intact denominational systems.
Then Bill says, and I completely agree with his findings, that developments in evangelism and theology of salvation have left “many Baptists uncertain as to what conversion means, how it is experienced and what is the most effective means for declaring the gospel.”

Bill is not one just to delineate the problems and not offer solutions. He says we must…

• Recast our idea of religious pluralism and how to engage it. We must “ask what we mean by the nature of our witness and the tone of our voice.”
• Respond to the connectionalism of media… that reconnects old communities and facilitates new ones.
• Learn to live out a “responsibility of the minority.”
“We have an opportunity,” he says, “to recover a lost witness in a society where our voice may not be privileged but it must be heard, where we rediscover the power of witness in a society… that pays less and less attention.”

If you would like to read Robert’s and Ken’s article, you will find it at http://www.abpnews.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=4204&Itemid=53

Pastoring a congregation that consistently struggles with identity, purpose and the need to recast its witness in the community, I find the issues Bill speaks of to be not only in my front yard but right in my face. Folks, it’s a new day in being followers of Jesus and doing it within the Baptist framework. I definitely invite responses.

And I promise my next entry to be lighter in tone.

My brother Steve flew into town Thursday night, along with his eldest of three boys, Jason. Though they were here only a couple of days, we had a great time being with them. They had come to see Mom, who is in a local nursing home. She’s had some health problems of late, and Steve, who lives just outside the D.C. beltway in Virginia, is about to leave for Israel and Greece on a sabbatical. So, it was good for him to come and see her.

Jason had not spent much time in Little Rock, so we hurriedly took in the sights. Steve has implanted a healthy dose of history in his boys, and one thing I’ve noticed over the years as I’ve seen them grow up is a strong sense of connection with their Arkansas roots. Raised largely in Maryland, they don’t sound like Arkies, but they certainly appreciate their dad’s native state. They sense that it’s in their blood as well, and that’s good.

So Friday night found us – there were six of us, including Janet and me, and Tim, our son, and his wife Kathryn – in our Kia Sedona sauntering all over town chasing the sunlight and trying to get in as many of our local sites as light would allow. Just as the darkness began to win, we were standing in front of Central High School. Jason, who is a federal probation officer in Baltimore (and carries the badge to prove it) was mesmerized by the school’s architectural beauty.

As we stood there, a Cadillac Escalade pulled up behind us. Out came a young woman of African-American descent and three younger girls. One of the girls, we would soon find out, is a rising senior at Central. The driver of the car identified herself as an ’89 alum, visiting from St. Louis. We talked about the Central legacy. I informed her that the 1957 student body president, now a local attorney, is a member of my church, and that the student council president in ’57 was the son of PHBC’s pastor at the time.

Another car drove up, this one parking in front of us. It had Florida tags, but obviously was a rental since the young woman who was driving said she lived in Virginia. She too was African-American and a Central alum, and when Steve heard she was from Virginia they immediately started the “What do we have in common?” game. After all, that’s a favorite pastime here in Arkansas where the degrees of separation don’t number six, they’re .5.

It was finally dark and time to go. But before we did, an amazing thing happened. The six of us, the four in the Escalade, the three in the rental… sensing that we had so quickly bonded, began to exchange hugs all around. Not artificially or forced, but spontaneously and warmly. The thought of it, even now, brings tears to my eyes. Yes, we’ve got a long way to go, but look how far we’ve come.

Ralph Brodie, the ’57 student body president, was in church the following Sunday morning, as he is so faithfully. After worship, I told him what happened on the front sidewalk of Central High last Friday night, and told him that he was, in no small part, responsible. It’s been a hard lesson to learn, not only to get along with those who do not look just like us, but to appreciate them and affirm them as well. And we’re learning still. But it reminds me of a prayer I once heard…

Lord, I ain’t what I want to be.
Lord, I ain’t what I’m going to be.
But, Lord, thank you that I’m not what I used to be.
Amen.

Familiarity doesn’t always breed contempt. It just breeds... well, familiarity. One time when driving down Michigan Avenue in Dunedin, Florida, where we lived from 1986 to 1991, I noticed a barn set off from the road on my left. “When did they put that barn there?” I asked myself. Obviously, it had been there all along. I just hadn’t noticed it. I had seen it, but hadn’t made note of it. There is a difference, you know. Familiarity.

Earlier this week, as I walked in to the church office, I noticed the entryway, an entryway I’ve been accessing almost every day for the last thirteen years. It was dark and rather dreary. I suppose the lighting fixtures are straight from the 50's when the building was erected. They certainly look like it. As I walked up the four steps to the office level, aided by a homemade bannister constructed of old pipe with the paint chipping off, I noticed the tables in the hallway holding boxes. Some were empty and others held educational literature, I think. Regardless, it looked junky. There were unused choir chairs lining another part of the hallway under the window. An old school desk was being used for the cups that accompany the water fountain. In the office the conduit which hides (?) our Internet wiring had fallen down from the bulkhead... months ago!

Suddenly it dawned on me. Because of my familiarity with the place, I hadn’t noticed how junky and unkempt it had become. What if I were a visitor and I was seeing all this for the first time? What would my impression be? I didn’t like the answer.

So, we’re sprucing up the place. Bringing all this to the staff’s attention, I said I wanted to begin a fix-up campaign, starting with our office area. To Jim Munns, our minister of music and administration, that’s like offering a bone to a hungry dog. He just loves to move the furniture. One day later he’s already all over it. Good.

That got me to thinking. I know, I know, that’s a dangerous thought in itself, but bear with me. Are there other things in life that could stand some attention? I once preached a sermon entitled, “Reading the Bible as if for the First Time.” What if we did other things as if we were seeing or experiencing them the first time?

• Driving a car
• Kissing your spouse
• Going to a movie
• Grocery shopping
• Listening to a friend (notice I did not say “talking to a friend”)
• Eating a meal with your family or friends
• Walking through your neighborhood and greeting those who share the street with you
• Counting how many smiles you get in one day
• Going to church

You may want to add some things yourself. How refreshing life would be if we tried to experience things as if it were the first time. I’m going to give it a try. How about you?

Got an e-mail one day from our church pianist, who doubles as a tough prosecutor with the DA’s office. Her mom had fallen some time during the night and broke her wrist. When we talked, Melanie’s mother had just come out of surgery, which negated a planned surgery for which she was scheduled this week down the street at UAMS.

When Melanie wrote to say her mother was safely out of surgery, I wrote her a response which basically said this...

I don’t consider your parents old, but you need to get ready. When the folks start to age, it introduces a whole new set of dynamics to your life. I’ve noticed that as couples establish careers before having their babies, that the average age of new parents continues to go up. What are the repercussions, other than the obvious?

One is that the gap between taking care of the little ones and then taking care of Mom and Dad is shortened considerably. So, these adults go quickly from one set of pressures to another. Both are intense and stressful, and both are very much real.

Seems to me this could be a good teaching point for churches... that we could assist people in understanding these dynamics and help in dealing with them from a redemptive standpoint. My generation, the Boomers, got married right out of college, if not before. When I became a father just before turning 24, I felt like I was an old father. Now, my son is 31 and he and his wife have yet to start their family. So he’s going to go from changing his baby’s diaper to changing mine! Well, in a manner of speaking anyway (I hope).

Being the only one available geographically, I am the principal son (of three) to see to my mother’s direct needs. Even though she is in a local nursing home, there is much responsibility in seeing that her care is administered appropriately. As I mentioned, my younger child is 31, leaving me a considerable time frame between the years I had the responsibility of taking care of his needs and then doing the same for my mom.

Just musing, but it seems that of just these kinds of things is the real stuff of life.

This past school year I mentored each Tuesday afternoon at the Pulaski Heights Middle School, a couple of blocks from the church. Due to the traffic chaos that comes when school is letting out, I found it easier to walk than drive. And besides, two blocks? Come on, even an old guy needing a knee replacement can handle that.

For several weeks there was a lot of street construction going on in our neighborhood. City crews had the streets torn up, and a huge back hoe was digging dirt from beneath Cedar Street at a furious pace. One day, on my sojourn to the school, I turned left on Lee to head down the hill to the school and found that several round PVC pipes had been laid along the sidewalk, making it difficult to traverse. We’re an old section of town, and sometimes the sidewalks and streets are difficult anyway, due to their age. It’s made even worse with these obstructions getting in the way.

My mentee, as usual, didn’t stay for the after-school program. Near the end it became something of a habit for him. I can’t imagine why. After all, why shouldn’t an old white guy hit it off with a twelve year-old African-American boy? We have so much in common! Anyway, I came back earlier than anticipated. This time, I decided to walk up Lee on the other side of the street, and as I did I spied a boy walking home from school. He was using one of the PVC pipes as a balancing beam. What I saw as an obstacle, he considered a toy, an opportunity to practice his athletic skills.

There’s a lesson in that, to be sure. An obvious one is that youth looks upon life with a different set of eyes. Yes, one day that eleven or twelve year-old may be facing knee replacement himself, and will grumble when obstacles are put in his way. But not now. Now, he sees life as a dance... to be enjoyed rather than cursed.

Could it be that Jesus had something like that in mind when he talked about accepting the kingdom of heaven as a child? Wouldn’t be surprised.

Monday, March 30, 2009

I read recently (I think it was in a recent issue of The Christian Century) that neuro-psychologists have determined that several weeks of brushing one’s teeth with the non-dominant hand will lead to an increased level of self-discipline. Hmm. Evidently, there is some kind of synapse-connection that sends sub-conscious messages through the brain, which is, I take it, the center of one’s self-determination.

So, believe it or not, I’m giving it a try. I’ve got some issues on the forefront that will require all the self-discipline I can muster. I’ve just decided that this summer I will finally have that knee replacement. I’ve thought about it for years and have kept putting it off. In June I celebrated (?) my 60th year on this planet, and while joint replacements don’t last for an eternity, they are getting better all the time. So, I’ve decided to bite the bullet and get ’er done.

Earlier in July I took office as president-elect of Little Rock’s Downtown Rotary Club (Club 99). I’ve had several planning sessions with Sarah Spencer, who just assumed the presidency and chaired the nomination committee that asked me to do this. What a terrific person she is! And a great leader too. We made a covenant that we will form a true partnership and will work together to make our club better during these difficult economic times. This responsibility will require a lot of work and extra time on my part.

On of our deacons warned me not to let this take away from my work at Pulaski Heights Baptist. I assured her I would not allow that to happen, though I wonder if my golf handicap will suffer. Maybe with a new knee it will be better too. A new knee and perhaps a little more self-discipline... Couldn’t hurt.

I just wonder if my teeth will be cleaner.