Rob Prince's Blog, page 63

A Plea to our Leaders

In 1 Corinthians 11:1, Paul wrote: “Follow my example, as I follow the example of Christ.” Earlier in the same letter to the Corinthians Paul called the believers: “I urge you to imitate me” (1 Corinthians 4:16). Similarly, to the church at Thessalonica, Paul wrote that he and his companions “offer ourselves as a model for you to imitate” (2 Thessalonians 3:9). And the author of Hebrews encouraged the believers to “remember your leaders, who spoke the word of God to you. Consider the outcome of their way of life and imitate their faith” (Hebrew 13:7).

 

All of this to say, as a leader you are to live a life worthy of imitation: in prayer, in love, in service, in attitude, in purity, in giving, in the study of God’s Word, in commitment to building the Kingdom of God.

 

Could you say with Paul to the people in your care: “Follow my example as I follow Christ”? If everyone in your church prayed as much as you, read his or her Bible as much as you, sacrificially gave as much as you, served as much as you; were as friendly to newcomers as much as you, testified of their faith to non believers as much as you—would it be a better, deeper, wider, more dynamic church?

 

I can hear the resistance now: That’s a lot of pressure. I don’t want my life to be under a microscope. I will mess up and I don’t want others to stumble because of me. Two Words: Horse Hockey! Quit hiding behind a spiritually sounding but wimpish leadership reality that say, “Look to Jesus not to me.”  If you are a leader: LEAD!  It’s what you do!  Are you prefect? No. Will you make mistakes; lose your temper; say something or do something dumb? Yes! Yes! Yes!  Still, in our local churches and in our denomination we need leaders who are willing to lead by their example!  

 

Lead in such away that you could tell anyone —imitate my walk with the Lord and follow me as I follow Christ.

Christmas is not about…

Christmas is NOT about…

 

Angels sweetly singing o’re the plains (that sounds almost sacrilegious to say that Christmas is not about Angels?! But it’s not). And it’s not even about…

Bethlehem or Boughs of Holly—fa la la la la la la or

Candy Canes or Candles or Cookies or Christmas Cards or Chestnuts roasting on an open fire (Have you ever roasted a chestnut by an open fire? Marshmallows? Yes. Chestnuts? No.) or

Decorations or dinners or

Elves (sorry, Buddy). Christmas is not about…

Family, friends, Frosty the Snowman, Fruitcake (it’s definitely NOT about Fruitcake. Who eats that stuff?) or Figgy pudding (whatever that is) or

Gifts or Garland or Good King Wenceslas (whoever that guy was) or

Happy Holidays (to any PC police who happen to be reading) or

Icicles or Ivy or

Jingle Bells or Jolly Ol’ St. Nick or

Kris Kringle or the Kids in Girl and boy land who will have a jubilee (I’m not sure where “Girl and Boy land” is and I’m not sure I endorse their “having a jubilee) or a

Little drummer boy or

Magi or Mistletoe or Macy’s or Marshalls or anything that ends in “Mart” (not “K-Mart,” “Steinmart” or “Wal-mart“) or

Nog. Not Egg Nog or any other nog. No Nog (bluck!) or

Ornaments or Over the hill tops and through the woods to Grandmother’s House we go or

Presents or parties or Peppermint Mocha coffee or poinsettias or a partridge in a pear tree or

Quiet moments by the fire or

Ribbon or Reindeer or Rudolph (who technically is a reindeer) or

Snow or stockings or sleigh rides or Stars or Stables or Shepherds or Silver Bells or Santa Claus or

Tinsel or trees (Real or artificial) or

Unwrapping packages or

Visitors from the East bearing gifts of frankincense, gold and myrrh (Why doesn’t myrrh have a vowel?) or

Winter Wonderland or Wreathes or White Elephants or Wassail (Why can’t we just call it cider?) or

Xtra Xtra read all about it—headlines on the internet or

Yule Logs or Yule Tide or Yul Brynner for you Ten Commandment fans (Which isn’t a part of the Christmas story in case you are wondering) or

Zippy the Elf (please forgive me, “Zippy” was the best “Z” word I could come up with)

 

A to Z it’s not about any of those things.

 

Christmas IS about Jesus.

 

Period.

 

The end.

Merry Christmas from Rob and Karla

December 2015

The Princes: Our Annual Christmas Letter and 30 Carols too.

(There are 30 Christmas carols in our informative little prose below. Enjoy.)

In Michigan with no snow on the ground, no one is saying, it’s beginning to look at lot like Christmas. Which has caused Rob to repeatedly exclaim: “Let it snow. Let it snow. Let is snow!” in hopes that soon the mornings will be frosty. The Snowman will be built because here comes Santa Claus! Christmas time is here and so is the time to recap our year for our family and friends.

Our 2015 included some wonderful trips but none through Pennsylvania. We did not go through O big town of Pittsburgh or O little town of Bethlehem. Instead we went to Maine, Boston and Cooperstown (via our car not a sleigh ride); a mission trip to Panama where surprisingly no one told us “Feliz Navidad” (probably because we were there in March not December); and go tell it on the mountain, Blaire’s graduation from MidAmerica Nazarene University!

Speaking of Alex and Blaire, they are still living in Kansas even though we’ve been wishing they would say, “I’ll be home for Christmas with a moving truck and my favorite things.“ Alex is working for Northwestern Mutual hoping to earn some Silver. Bells ring when babies are born at KUMed and nurse Blaire gives care in the Mommy/Baby unit. They have two dogs and no matter how many requests Karla has made to Santa, baby or babies are not yet in the plans. Grand-dogs will have to do.

We are happy when our phones jingle. Bells ringing end the silent night and I ask Karla, “Do you hear what I hear? It must be Ben calling from Olivet.” Our junior business major worked in the summer for non-profit Forge Flint where youth groups would be up on the house top repairing a dilapidated building. Ben is also dating Madison from Peoria, Illinois. He is becoming a responsible man that has left us asking, “What child is this?”

Karla spends much of her time caring for her folks. You may recall that last year Mary fell down a flight of stairs and it looked like grandma got run over by a reindeer. While she is doing much better, Arling’s constant wandering has left us asking her mom in Yoda-like fashion, “Mary, did you know that dad is not on the deck, the halls walking he is!” Arling and Mary (married for 54 years) are managing through Arling’s Alzheimer’s, still Karla has not come from Brookdale Assisted Living saying, “I saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.” Every day is a new adventure, which Karla handles with incredible grace.

Rob has been offering the invite, “O come all ye Faithful and even to the not-so-faithful please come to Flint Central.” The church is doing great and his two-year pastoral review went well. As he walks the corridors of Central church he has said, “I wonder as I wander what new good things God has for us?”

With no snow, it looks like we will have a green and not a White Christmas. But the news doesn’t have to make you blue. Christmas isn’t about a color. It’s all about sweet little Jesus boy, born away in a manger and came so that we could experience real joy. To the world and to our friends we hope you have yourself a merry little Christmas!

Rob and Karla

My Two Cents on the Split in the Church of the Nazarene Chatter (one pastor’s perspective)

I read a blog this week about a possible split within the Church of the Nazarene and how we might avoid it. It was an interesting read, but honestly I don’t think there will be a “split.” At least there will not be a church split in the traditional sense. By that I mean “Party A” gets mad at “Party B” storms off and starts a new church or movement. Quite frankly, I don’t see a united, passionate storming off by anyone or any group on the right or left of most issues in the Church of the Nazarene. I think church splits on a general church level make for interesting conversation but have little groundswell momentum.

Instead I think what has been happening and what continues to happen is the silent but deadly evaporation of church people into the unknown world of church hoppers, church shoppers, drop-outters and sleeper-inners. We have people leaving because they don’t see the passion and the relevancy of the church. They are leaving because after years of being “silo-ed” into their age group gatherings, they have zero connection to the greater church body. We have people leaving because they fail to see a church captivated by a mission and vision. They are leaving because churches are no longer acting like the Bride of Christ, but look more like the two-timing girl friend of Jesus (we like him sometimes, when it’s convenient).

We can’t fix all the problems in the Church of the Nazarene, but we can make Central Church a place that looks more like the Bride of Christ. Central church does NOT have to accept those ingredients that create a death mix for the church. How? We stick to our priorities. Connecting with God means our worship is alive, vibrant and intent on making disciples; Connecting to Each Other calls for us to be inter-generational and aware that the people sitting along side of us are important no matter their gender, age, color or political affiliation; Connecting to our Community screams for us to be relevant on Bristol Road, in Flint Township and Genesee County. Our neighbors need to know we love them! And Connecting to the World says we are not alone on this spinning globe, but we have a responsibility to be Christ’s ambassadors “to the end of the earth.”

Listen, I have no interest in being the two-timing girlfriend of Jesus. Let’s look and act like the Bride of Christ! Join me in praying for our church and the days ahead.

Terrorism destroys; Jesus restores

Our next door neighbor growing up was Mr. Bilow. (I don’t remember his first name. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t “Mister.”). I don’t know remember a lot about him. I was just a kid. But I do remember that Mr. Bilow restored old cars. Tow trucks would drag broken down jalopies into his driveway; Mr. Bilow would push the car into his garage, and then he would begin to work. In many ways, Mr. Bilow was an artist. Cars would enter his garage as a rusty, ugly bucket of bolts and leave his garage as a gleaming, restored vintage automobile. Mr. Bilow looked at those broken down vehicles and saw what they could become.

That’s how I want to be. Not with cars, but as I view our world. I long to see Christ restore the whole earth. I want to look at the broken systems and misappropriated ideologies and see what could happen when God’s Kingdom comes on earth as it is in heaven.

Last weekend’s horrid events in France reminded me again how broken our world has become. When terrorists indiscriminately destroy and kill, I still want my focus to be on the One who declares, “I am making all things new” (Revelation 21:5). When everything within me wants to run in fear, I need to be reminded that God tells us over and over in his Word, “Fear Not!” (Truth: 365 times the Bible says, “Fear not.” Coincidence? Maybe. Or maybe God wants us remember every day of the year, even on days when terrorists wreak their havoc: FEAR NOT).

Like Mr. Bilow looking at a broken down Chevy and seeing a hot rod, I want to look at the world not through the terrorist’s evil agenda and blurred vision but through a God sized lens and imagine the possibilities of what could happen when people of God roll up our sleeves and get to the work of offering our world God sized solutions. Paul reminded a handful of believers in a thoroughly pagan culture in Thessalonica that “Our gospel came to you not simply with words but also with power, with the Holy Spirit and deep conviction.” (1 Thessalonians 1:5) Our world doesn’t need more words. The talking heads on the news channels give us plenty of words. What our world needs is a lived out Gospel message that has power, the Holy Spirit and a deep conviction. What our world is dying for is the dynamic, creative, transformative work of the Holy Spirit empowering us to love even our enemies and offering a better way to our broken down, fearful culture.

What rust and age destroyed, Mr. Bilow restored.

What sin and evildoers attempt to destroy, Jesus restores. Fear Not!

You might need a Spiritual Renewal Week if…

… The last time you read a Bible verse it was on a Christmas card.

… “Rub a dub dub, thanks for the grub” was your most recent prayer.

… You bought earplugs for yourself for “Pastor Appreciation Month.”

… You started a petition drive for: “No Tithe November”

… Your co-workers refer to you as “The mean guy with an attitude.”

… Your most “spiritual” exercise on Sundays is taking a “Nazarene Nap.”

… Criticism is your spiritual gift.

… By showing up on Christmas Eve, you’ll double your church attendance for the year.

… You’ve learned the hard way that “Passing of the Peace” is not the time to grab the usher’s toupee and tell him to “Go Deep.”

… When you are compared to Oscar the Grouch, most people think the green puppet is a tad friendlier.

… You can recite the last dozen Detroit Lions football coaches, but can’t recall the twelve disciples’ names.

…The last time you shared your faith– it was to a full service Standard Oil gas station attendant as he filled your Chevy Vega gas tank and washed your windshield.

… In the friendship registers you sign in under the alias, “Mr. Noah It-all.”

… You’ve spent an entire sermon humming to yourself “99 Bottle of Beer on the Wall.”

… When asked to name your favorite hymn, you replied, “Hotel California.”

… The only time you were the first person to Sunday School, you broke into a cold sweat and thought: RAPTURE!

Or more seriously, you might need a Spiritual Renewal Week if it’s time to re-invigorate your soul and spend some quality time with the Lord. You might need a Spiritual renewal if it seems your spiritual tank is empty; your marriage is rocky; life is overwhelming; and you’re tired or just plain cranky. You might need a Spiritual Renewal if like the psalmist you are asking: Will you not revive us again, that your people may rejoice in you? (Psalm 85:6)

The Witch of Rosslyn Street vs. The Jesus of Wailea Court

On the street where I lived as a child, a family from a different religion than us did not celebrate any holidays, including Halloween. Their house was always dark on Halloween. No lights. No activity. No free candy.   And because of that (and based on no other facts) the kids in my neighborhood referred to the lady of the house as the “Witch of Rosslyn Street.” I don’t think she was a witch. I never saw her broom or boiling caldron. In fact, she might have been a very nice person, but since she didn’t pass out candy to the trick-or-treaters we labeled her as a Halloween version of Ebenezer Scrooge.   For the children on Rosslyn Street, the man and wife were cruel, greedy candy misers. Unfair? Yes. But that’s how they were viewed.

Why remember the “Witch on Rosslyn Street”? I read a book a while back titled: un-christian. The authors did extensive research and interviewed lots of non-church going, non-believing young adults. The results were disturbing to say the least. Most viewed Christians as judgmental (87%), hypocritical (85%), old fashioned (78%), out of touch with reality (72%) and insensitive (70%). I’ve got to tell you I don’t want to be considered any of those things, but like it or not too often that’s how a large portion of our society views Christians. To many folks, we are the “Witch on Rosslyn Street!”

There’s only one way to change such attitudes. It’s showing our non-Christian friends and neighbors that Christians can be real, sincere, loving, kind, non-judgmental, relevant, and authentic. How do we do that?

One small way is to use events like Halloween to change their attitudes. Halloween is the only day all year when my neighbors come to my door. I don’t have to seek them out. They come to me. In Kansas, usually Halloween nights were crisp and just a little chilly. I would place our portable fire pit in the front yard, grab some lawn chairs and a bucket of candy. Karla and I proceeded to greet the children as they came to our house. I met and talked to more neighbors in that one evening than any other time all year. I would wear a Michigan jacket (big surprise) and discovered that many in my Kansas neighborhood held various opinions concerning the Wolverines. Many parents warmed up by the fire pit and as they did we talked and laughed and enjoyed the evening. It was always a good night.

If the Michigan weather cooperates, I plan on doing something similar this Halloween.

If I am going to make a difference on Wailea Court, then I have to get to know my neighbors. I have to talk to them and engage in life with them. They need to see that I am not judgmental, insensitive and all those other undesirable traits. The way to change misperceptions, prevailing opinions and undesirable outcomes is show love and kindness one person at a time.

Do you remember what Jesus said when the question arose about his hanging out with the sinners instead of the saints? He said, “Who needs a doctor: the healthy or the sick? Go figure out what this Scripture means: ‘I’m after mercy, not religion.’ I’m here to invite outsiders, not coddle insiders.” (Matthew 9:12 The Message). If I can be so bold, I believe that Jesus would be handing out mini snicker bars and getting to know his neighbors too. You see if we are going to be serious about transforming our society (seeing God’s Kingdom come to earth as it is in Heaven) then we must be in our neighborhoods sharing life with our neighbors.

I don’t want to be “The Witch of Wailea Court” but I do hope to be “The Jesus on Wailea Court.”

Honoring a dad with Alzheimer’s Disease

Karla’s dad has Alzheimer’s disease. Alzheimer’s stinks (I’m tempted to use a stronger expletive, but my mom would probably wash my mouth out with soap as soon as I stepped through the Pearly Gates if I did).

Alzheimer’s occasionally has robbed Arling of his sweet gentle spirit and has robbed Karla and her family of the intelligent and innovative man they once knew. All of us want to age with grace and dignity, Alzheimer’s is robbing him of that ability. We all want to know and be known; Alzheimer’s has robbed him of that too. Alzheimer’s is a dirty rotten thief (See the above soapy comments on my reluctance to use stronger adjectives).

I’ve been around a lot of sick folks through my years, and I can tell you there are not many diseases worse than Alzheimer’s. It’s horrible. If you have had a loved one with this terrible illness you know what I am saying is true.

Tuesday night, following our church board meeting and a long day, as soon as I arrived home, the memory care home where my father-in-law stays called to say he was being taken to the hospital. There had been an incident at the facility and he needed to see a doctor.

The ambulance and Karla and I arrived at the hospital at the same time. At this point, Arling was back to his “normal” state. It was late. Everybody was tired. The crowded, noisy emergency room was not a happy place. But tests needed to be run to make sure all was “normal” before he could return to the care facility. Nearly four hours later, the emergency room docs concluded that Arling’s behavior was the effects of Alzheimer’s. We already knew that.

Here’s what I didn’t know (well I knew it, but I was reminded again): I watched with a renewed appreciation and admiration as I saw Karla care for her dad. She was patient and kind. She tried to explain the happenings even when her dad didn’t always comprehend the explanations or the procedures. She was respectful and considerate. I saw her living into the words of the Ten Commandments to “Honor your father and mother.” I wish my boys could have witnessed their mom caring so tenderly for her dad. I wish you could have too.

It is easy to honor one’s parents when everything is great and all are blessed by them; it’s a totally other commitment to honor your father and mother when you aren’t always sure that they even know your name. I was thankful to witness Karla living and loving into Jesus command: As I have loved you, so you must love one another. (John 13:34). My parents are in heaven (my mom with her bar of soap), but if your parents are on the sunny side of the grave don’t reduce honoring them to Mother and Fathers’ days. Treat them with dignity even if the situation is less than perfect. Karla taught me that important lesson again this week!Al

Pastor Skills didn’t make me an expert at Water’s Edge Camp

Yesterday was “Pastor’s Day” at Water’s Edge campground. Upon perusing the list of available activities at the camp I was convinced because of my pastoral experiences I would be an expert at a number of them. Below is a list of the activities and why I thought I’d be displaying my particular set of skills developed over 25 years of pastoral ministry (and in parenthesis why I wasn’t quite prepared).

High Ropes Course: Living by faith on a tight church budget and praying that tithes given would match bills received has made me an expert in “Hanging from a thread” (In reality the High Ropes Course is a high flying adventure of zip lining from station to station. No knowledge of church budgets is required).

Climbing wall: “Getting over” the occasional unkind statement; a less-than-encouraging email concerning the cross placement in the sanctuary; or an exiting parishioner’s not so “constructive” criticism has developed a tough pastoral skin.   (The Climbing Wall is a 25-foot test of strength and endurance that concludes with a sense of accomplishment upon reaching the top. No one shouts “that’s not the way we‘ve done it in the past” or posts on Facebook why they are now attending the Baptist Climbing Wall; instead the camp workers encourage your upward goal!)

Canoeing: I’ve been “up a creek without a paddle” so many times sometimes I forget I had a paddle in the first place. (Canoeing the shimmering waters of Sandy Bottom Lake is a serene and enjoyable experience. Paddles are included.).

Paint Ball: Avoiding pot shots about not enough hymns sung makes even an out-of-shape pastor nimble and quick. (The only shots fired in this pretend battle experience are colorful balls of paint from friends whose goal is bragging rights around the campfire before singing the non-hymn Kumbaya.)

Waterslide: I can plunge feet first into deep theological debates with the best of them (The Water Slide is a slippery 30-foot plummet into the cool refreshing waters of the lake formerly known as “the boy’s lake.” A thorough knowledge of the differences between John Calvin and John Wesley’s theory of atonement does not enhance the waterslide experience.)

Blob: The Monday Morning feeling I have after a belly flop of a Sunday sermon. (The Blob is a fun water activity where one is propelled laughing and screaming into the lake. Preaching a terrible sermon is not a prerequisite for the Blob at Water’s Edge Camp).

Thanks Dr. Gardner, Rev. Rob Lewis and the Eastern Michigan District Camp team, you made a great pastor’s day even if I wasn’t an expert in any of the activities!

What Softball taught me about Phonies

Lesson learned this week: This old guy should not be playing softball. Some old guys can still play. I am not one of them.

On Monday, I went to see Ben play softball for one of Central Church’s teams. They were missing a few players for one reason or another (For example, Justin Shonamon was absent because of the birth of his first child, Mackenzie, the day before the game. “A lame excuse!” said all softball seam-heads just prior to being smacked with a diaper bag by their wives.). When the game time arrived, seven ball players were present. Eight able bodied men are required to start the game. Ten players are needed to fill every position.

I had thrown my glove in the back of the car, just in case Ben wanted to play catch before the game. Truth be told, I was secretly (and stupidly) hoping this scenario might happen. In my deluded dream the headline in this Sunday’s worship folder would read: Pastor Rob’s Softball Skills Save the Day as Central Beats the Baptists!

 The team needed players and Tedd Selby (another dad who happened to be at the ball game) and I were called into duty.

I have not played softball in eleven years. Tedd said he hadn’t played in a long time too. I have no reason to doubt Tedd’s account of when he last played, but I’m pretty sure ten years prior Tedd was a better athlete than yours truly, because playing softball for him was like “riding a bike.” He picked up a borrowed glove and played like a champ at first base. The Tigers may be calling him to replace Miguel Cabrera while the all-star is on the disabled list.

They won’t be calling me.

Wearing my Sperry deck shoes, a polo shirt and walking shorts, I was not in softball ready attire. Sadly, my “uniform” was not my only deficiency.

The team tried to “hide” me at second base. It didn’t work. The first ball hit to me was a little pop up that I cleanly caught and promptly fell head over heels (aka “the beginning the of the end of my softball career comeback”). Another ball went through my legs. Another pop up caused me to fall upside down AGAIN, but I didn’t catch that one. Thankfully the “been-to-a-few-too-many-potlucks” runner on first base thought even a blind nun should have caught that ball and wasn’t running toward second. When it became obvious that I didn’t catch it, his slow as molasses lumber toward second base allowed me to find the ball on the ground, pray a quick prayer of blessing upon my sluggish Baptist brother and weakly toss the softball toward second base. The “runner” was out. No thanks to my fielding, throwing or praying skills.

If my fielding was terrible, my batting was worse. On the first pitch to me I took a mighty swing and missed! This is slow pitch softball. It wasn’t Justin Verlander blistering in 94 mph heaters on the mound. It was some Sunday School teacher from the Baptist church tossing the ball underhand. On another at bat I hit the ball to deep shortstop. To get thrown out the shortstop would either have a rocket of an arm or the runner would be comatose. The shortstop’s arm was not a cannon, but I was out. To say, I am slower than a snail using a walker is an insult to the snails of the world.

Other than not looking like a ball player, not fielding like a ball player, not throwing like a ball player, not running like a ball player and not hitting like a ball player, I did great.

One didn’t have to know softball (read: Karla) to come to her conclusion: “Hey old guy, maybe checkers is more your speed.” My body has been telling me the same things ever since Monday night.

Why confess my less than stellar return to the softball field?

I wasn’t fooling anyone. Likewise, I know people who try to pass themselves off as somebody they are not too. Usually phonies don’t fool anyone (other than themselves) at least not for long. Paul’s instructions were simple: If anyone thinks they are something when they are not, they deceive themselves. Each one should test their own actions. (Galatians 6:3-4) The old cliché is generally true: Your sins will find you out. I was exposed as an over-the-hill, out of shape softball wanna-be. When other phonies’ sins are revealed sometimes the consequences are much deeper and much more painful (than my sore-from-softball bones).

My Point: let’s keep it real (on the softball field and in life). No need to be a fake superstar or a phony follower of Jesus. Remember we believers are all sinners saved by grace. Not perfect. Not always together. Just regular people trying (with God’s help) to love Jesus, love people and (from now on for me at least) not embarrass ourselves on the softball field.