There is a very interesting article at the Washington Post on a US Army Chaplain who switched from a Pentecostal denomination to a Wiccan group. He believes Wicca better suits his universalist position and talks about his rejection of the fundamentalism of other Christians (and Muslims). Like many folks, I wonder, “Why Wicca?” Did he check out any of the universalist Pentecostal Churches? I also noticed his attraction to the non-violent tenents of Wicca (although I’m not familiar with this, so I wonder if this is something that is true across the board with Wiccans). You need to watch the video too, I think, to get a feel for this man. This switch wasn’t something that happened overnight.

I started playing the guitar when I was in junior high. In the little town I grew up in, the only folks who played guitar loved both kinds of music: country and western. For several years, I avoided country, bluegrass, and anything similar like the plague. However, I noticed as I started college that many of the songs from these traditions were burned into my brain from my childhood. So, I gave in and started to listen to all the bluegrass and traditional country I could get my hands on. I found that the rich storytelling of much of the music from these traditions really appealed to me. They were home. It wasn’t long before I bought a mandolin and started to learn to play it as well as the guitar. I loved the mandolin and practiced non-stop.

Now, anyone who knows anything about bluegrass music knows that Bill Monroe is the man credited with developing the genre. In addition, he was basically the king of the bluegrass mandolin. I would practice Bill’s techniques and songs for hours and hours. Even watching television, I had a mandolin in my hands. After getting married, my wife came to loathe the mandolin because it was small enough to play in the car as we went on long road trips! During my semi-obsession with this little instrument, I had the strangest dream. I was in the house I grew up in sitting at the kitchen table and on my plate was a human hand that somehow I knew belonged to Bill Monroe. Of course, disgusting and strange as it may sound, I was eating Bill Monroe’s hand. This dream was strange enough to send me to the psychology books about dream analysis, where I found that eating someone in a dream meant you wanted to consume something about them, perhaps their attributes or something else. I interpreted this as meaning I wanted to play like Big Mon so bad that it manifested this way in my dream.

Fast forward five years. I barely touch my mandolin for lack of time, but read something today that triggered this memory. In How (Not) to Speak of God by Peter Rollins, he speaks of consumption, “[Consumption] connotes the act of eating and relates to a way of engaging with someone that seeks to make them into part of our own community (just as eating an animal makes it a part of our own biological structure) (p. 132).” Now, even though this isn’t exactly where Rollins was going, I realized there was a connection between eating Bill Monroe and the Eucharist. We really say that we are partaking of the body and blood of Jesus Christ. Now, when I think of my dream, I’m a little repulsed. However, we’ve heard the language of communion so many times, we forget that it is exactly the same thing. We say we’re eating the body and blood of a person. But, we’re doing it for the same reason. We want to engage Christ in such a way that he becomes a literal part of our community, even the biological community that is our body. We want Christ so bad that we literally partake of his flesh and blood. May God grant us the passion to eat that meal and be reformed, reshaped, and reconstituted by that nourishment more than anything else in the world.

I had an experience outside of Wal-Mart that I’m not sure how to categorize. I had just left my Local Church Leader’s Workshop and still had my suit on. My wife had called, and I was picking up juice and milk for the house. Feeling a tad overdressed, I walked out the door bags in hand. There I was confronted with a young man holding a jar. I couldn’t really make out what it said, and then he said something I barely understood. He was asking for donations for a needy family. I couldn’t help but think he might be more needy than any family he was collecting for, but he also said he was part of a local church in the town. So, I pulled out a few dollars and put them in the jar. He said, “Are you a lawyer?” At this point, I hesitated, thinking a simple no might suffice, but still said, “Nope, I’m a preacher.”

At this, the young man said, “All right! Well then, I have a scripture for you.” He said, “Malachi 2:7,” and proceeded to quote this verse from the King James Version, “For the priest’s lips should keep knowledge, and they should seek the law at his mouth: for he is the messenger of the Lord of hosts.” I said, “Thank you,” and started to walk away, but he continued, “Wait a second, I’ve got another one for you.” He then quoted verbatim from Isaiah 55:10-11, “For as the rain cometh down, and the snow from heaven, and returneth not thither, but watereth the earth, and maketh it bring forth and bud, that it may give seed to the sower, and bread to the eater: So shall my word be that goeth forth out of my mouth: it shall not return unto me void, but it shall accomplish that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it.”

He then said, “Well preacher, you must have another job.” I must have looked confused because he went on, “You know, you have to have something you do to support your ministry.” I thought about my suit again as I told him, “No, I’m a full-time preacher,” to which he replied, “You are sold-out to God, AMEN!” I wondered if he was right as I left and he gave me these parting words, “God bless you man-of-God, God bless you!” And you know what? God did bless me. I thought I was going to minister to this guy, but he astounded me with his memory for Scripture and his passion for my vocation. I’ve had a renewed passion lately too, but I think I could use a little more of what this guy outside of Wal-Mart had. Just think, I could’ve passed myself off as a lawyer, saved a few bucks, and missed out on a special, strange, even sacred, experience.

Now, I’m not sure this is really John Wesley, but we’ll let that slide for the sake of the larger conversation I want to have. I’ve heard all the arguments for wearing a preaching robe. Heck, I even like wearing a preaching robe. However…sometimes I wonder if it is something I prefer rather than something that aids in the translation and communication of the Gospel. I preach in a pretty rural area, and most people outside of the United Methodist churches I serve have never seen someone preach in a robe before. Sometimes I wonder if it is so strange to some of our visitors that it obscures the very preaching of the Gospel and even prevents them from returning. I’ve thought about this from a missional/contextual point of view. If we went to Papua New Guinea, for example, would we wear the traditional dress of a minister or pastor who had preached there for years, or would we drag out our pulpit robes or albs and begin to preach regardless of the local culture? I don’t think any responsible missionary would do that. In the same way, is it presumptuous or culturally insensitive for UM clergy to wear a robe (or alb) in a rural setting where people are more familiar with pastors wearing a nice buisness suit when they preach? Perhaps the value of a robe or alb overcomes any objections. What do you think? These are questions that I care about, and I hope there may some of you who can share your thoughts on this. I know these issues might be different for female clergy – I’d like to hear about that as well.  Any experiences or thoughts you’d like to share?

We’ve been inside quite a bit lately because of the ice-storm and the frigid weather. As a result the kids and their parents have been somewhat stir-crazy! So, the other day I made the kids an indoor tent out of chairs, afghans, and blankets. They absolutely loved going in and out of the “cave.” We had a lot of fun, and now I’m the official cave-builder for our household.