It is early Sunday morning. I love the early morning hours. They are the best time for me to pray, reflect, read and give thanks. Sometimes I write. Sometimes I don’t. Trust me. Coffee is better at 4:00 a.m., than at 8:00 a.m.

This morning is different than most mornings. It is different, first, because I’m breathing different air than usual. Vanessa and I were able to slip away to Hot Springs, AR for a little R & R over the holiday weekend.

I’m drinking coffee in a rented house. I tell you, this Vrbo thing is nice. You can actually rent someone’s home when you’re on vacation! As nice as it is, I’m not sure I could rent my home to perfect strangers. Seriously, someone you don’t know poking around in your personal space? A bit frightening to me, but here I am doing it in someone else’s home. Go figure?

As I reflect this Sunday morning, I am reflecting again on how fleeting life is. Even these moments of reflection seem to be fleeting, too.

It is different, secondly, because I am holding a tension between sorrow and joy this morning. Not that there isn’t always some sorrow and some joy resident in our lives, but this morning the contrast is particularly striking.

The Paradox of Life and Death

The news is filled with reports from the hill country of Texas and the flash flooding from the Guadalupe River. The sudden loss of life. The tragedy of families searching for loved ones. The tales of heroism. The heart-break to hear of little girls missing in the midst of it all. My heart is broken for those little girls and their families, and also for the Camp Mystic staff who was responsible for their safety. These past two mornings have beef filled with prayer for all of them. Those prayers continue this morning.

In the midst of the deep sorrow, I am also experiencing deep joy at having a few hours to connect (re-connect) with our daughters. Kelsey and her husband, Matt, spent a couple of nights with us here in Hot Springs, and Brittney and our grandson, Lincoln spent yesterday and last night with us. They are our little girls, and I am grateful (eternally so) that we’ve not experienced the horror of losing one of them. While my heart sinks at what I sense those families in Texas are experiencing, I give thanks to the good Lord for our children and the blessings He has poured out on our family.

The devil wants to make me feel guilty for being so grateful, but I refuse to succumb to his tactics. We hold life and death in tension constantly, and this morning is no different. As the Book of Common Prayer (and the Methodist funeral liturgy) reminds us:

In the midst of life, we are in death; From whom can we seek our help?

The answer, of course, is that we find our help in the name of the Lord. As challenging as it sometimes is to do, I hold the tension between life and death by grace and with gratitude, trusting that the Lord will give us strength to face whatever life brings our way.

Missing Annual Conference

I’m also reflecting this morning on Annual Conference. Yeah, I know right? But I must be missing Annual Conference. I’ve had two dreams this week that I was Annual Conference. It’s probably because my Facebook newsfeed has been filled with former colleagues who were attending Annual Conference, and who have been sharing their “new appointments” on their Facebook pages. That reality has brought both good and bad memories. Again, with the paradox (irony?) that is life.

I must say that I haven’t missed Annual Conference very much since I surrendered my credentials in the United Methodist Church. I’ll admit that first June in 2020 was different, but it would have been different anyway because of a little thing called Covid. Beginning in 2021, though, I connected with the Evangelical Methodist Church, and have attended their iteration of Annual Conference since then…until this year.

Due to circumstances beyond my control (that whole life and death thing again), I was unable to attend this year’s “Journey” session. I missed Annual Conference, literally. I suppose, through my subconscious, I’m missing it figuratively, too.

What do I miss? I miss the collegiality. I miss the friendships. I miss the fellowship. I miss the laughter over meals shared. I miss the worship. I miss the singing. I miss the work of Annual Conference. I miss the slipping away to the book store (or to the mall, or the coffee shop, or the golf course, or wherever) when there was a boring report session. Yes, there is much I miss about Annual Conference. The quiet mornings of this weekend have been moments of reflection on that loss.

The quiet mornings of this weekend have also brought me joy as I’ve reflected on the goodness of God since I left the United Methodist Church in 2019. It was a pain-staking decision to surrender my credentials that year, but let’s just say there are many actions the denomination has taken since that time that have affirmed our decision.

There were other options open to me in 2019, one of which was the path of “retirement.” Honestly, if I’m asked by someone now about my situation, and I don’t want to get involved in a whole conversation, I will simply say, “I retired.” It’s easier than having to go through a long explanation about “surrendering orders,” and all that.

Choosing to Quit

Yup! I quit! Call me a quitter if you want, but the reality is I didn’t quit ministry. I simply quit the United Methodist Church. (If we’re being honest, the UMC left me long before I left it.) I had no idea if it was the right decision then, but time has proven that it was a course-correction in my faith journey, and for that course-correction, I give thanks.

Had I chosen to “retire” in the UMC, I would now be limited by the same Annual Conference (that I loved so dearly) as to where I could preach the Gospel, or even attend as a worshipper. If a family member passed away, and that person’s funeral was in a congregation that disaffiliated from the UMC, I couldn’t (with integrity) participate in their funeral without fear of punishment (financially held hostage would be a better characterization). I’m not always sure what Jesus would do, but in that case, I’m pretty sure.

Yeah, I know…sour grapes and all that. I shouldn’t be chewing gum that I’ve chewed before, but the reflections of this weekend have been a reminder of the tensions in life. I’ve been both filled with sorrow and filled with joy…filled with grief and filled with anticipation…filled with heartache and filled with gratitude. In the midst of it all, there is grace–God’s grace. It is only by His grace that the tension is bearable.

So, I’m just going to hold on to Him. Won’t you join me?

Until next time, keep looking up…