Personal Reflections

A Faith Worth Passing On…

/ pastorlynnmalone / 2 Comments

This past week, I had the privilege of preaching my mother’s funeral.

There are some moments in life that are too important to keep to yourself.

For those who couldn’t be there… and for those who simply want to remember… I wanted to share what was said.

This isn’t just a message about my mom. It’s a message about the kind of faith that lasts.

Mom’s Funeral Message

I’ve told my congregations before that I was raised at the foot of a Methodist piano. When I said that, the story was usually about me… or my brothers. But today I realize—it was never about us. It was always about Mom. And more than that… it was really about Jesus. In a world that chases platforms and spotlights, Mom chose a piano bench.

Mom’s faith sat on that piano bench—Sunday after Sunday—for over 73 years. She once told me how it all started. Papaw had her taking piano lessons when she was nine years old. Then, one Sunday at Zoar Methodist Church—she had just turned ten—Papaw, who was leading the singing, looked at her and said, “Play.” She’s been playing ever since.

I started trying to name all the churches she played for. In those early days—Zoar and Mt. Pleasant. Later—Frantom Chapel, Concord… and of course, Chatham. And those were just the regular ones. There’s no telling how many times she filled in at other churches along the way.

Seventy-three years… Sunday after Sunday. That’s a lot of showing up.

Now here’s something you may not know. Mom was never very confident in her piano playing. I suppose that’s part of her humility. But she never let a lack of confidence keep her from obedience.

Because she didn’t see it as just playing for a church. She saw it as answering a call.

To my knowledge, she never received a salary from any church. She would occasionally accept a love offering, but she turned most of that back around to the church. For her, that piano bench became an altar. And every note she played was an act of worship.

If you want to understand what that looked like, let me show you.

There was a man in the community—I’ll leave his name out—who had pretty much become a hermit as he got older. For health reasons, he wouldn’t—or maybe couldn’t—leave the house for groceries or medicine. His home had become a mess—cluttered with trash, old rotting food, dogs. It had gotten so bad that eventually, even EMS stopped responding to his calls. Most people had pulled back.

You know who didn’t? Mom didn’t. She kept showing up. She would go to his house. She would take him food. She would help however she could.

And if we’re being honest… some of us didn’t understand it. Some of us probably wondered if he was taking advantage of her. But that didn’t seem to matter to her. She didn’t see him the way others saw him. She saw someone who needed help. And she showed up.

That’s the kind of faith she had. It didn’t wait until it was convenient. It didn’t wait until it was appreciated. It just showed up. The truth is… that kind of life doesn’t come from nowhere. It comes from walking with Jesus. Because if you’ve read the Gospels… you’ve seen that kind of life before.

Jesus said in Matthew 25, “Whatever you did for one of the least of these… you did for me.” I don’t know that Mom ever stood up and quoted that verse. Truth is, I don’t remember her quoting much Scripture at all. She didn’t have to. She lived it. When she showed up at that house… she wasn’t just helping a man in need. She was serving her Savior. That’s how she served.

Her faith also showed up for her family. After Tommy died, Mom started a Saturday morning breakfast tradition. I’m a little jealous that Ben and Shawn got the early years, but I was thrilled when we moved closer and I could join in. I’d rise early and head to Chatham—not for toast and jelly, but for homemade buttermilk biscuits, pancakes, stove-cooked grits with a stick of butter melting on top, scrambled eggs, sausage, and bacon. Real, stick-to-your-ribs food.

We’d gather around the table. Sometimes one of us alone. Sometimes two of us. Sometimes all three. Sometimes with our spouses. Other times with our children. But every time with Mom. Many times Uncle Benny would come down for coffee and a visit. Other times friends and extended family were offered the invitation. Rarely was it ever declined.

Over the years, Mom’s Saturday morning breakfast became legendary. It was the envy of all who knew about it. We’d gather around the table… and there was a sacredness to it. It was rhythm. It was formation. Biscuits and sausage and grits wasn’t just food to Mom. It was glue. Glue that held us together.

Yes, it was glue, but more than that, it was the way she loved us.

She was not an extrovert—and that is an understatement. You would think someone who spent over 25 years serving the public every day as Postmaster would be a strong personality. No. Not Mom. She was perhaps one of the most unassuming people I’ve ever known. But what she did was love deeply and serve greatly, quietly, faithfully.

I’ve known that love my whole life. Vanessa was going through Mom’s things the other day when she came across the bottom third of a loose-leaf sheet of paper folded neatly in a small wooden box. When she unfolded it she saw the words “From Bubba to Mother.” On the right-hand side were these words:

The sea lies peaceful and calm; Your fortune lies upon your palm. There are doctors with all kinds of cures, But no love sweeter than yours.

A simple little poem written by her son. Honestly, I have no memory of ever writing it. But it meant something to her, and now it means something to me. It means the love I knew all my life was real, deep, and abiding. Who keeps a child’s poem on loose-leaf paper for fifty years or more? Mom, that’s who.

Here’s what I’ve come to understand. That kind of love—the kind that makes an altar out of a piano bench, the kind that serves the least of these, the kind that makes glue with biscuits and sausage—that doesn’t just happen. That kind of life is formed over time. It’s formed in quiet moments… in unseen choices… in a steady walk. Because the truth is—Mom didn’t just believe in Jesus. She walked with Him.

That’s the Jesus who shaped her life. And that’s the Jesus who has now received her. Mom’s life wasn’t built on being a good person trying hard. It was built on a Savior who loved her first. A Savior who gave His life for her. A Savior who rose again—so that death would not have the last word. Because of Jesus… this is not goodbye. It’s goodbye for now.

The question that sits quietly in front of all of us today is this: What are we going to do with the life we’ve been given? Because the same Jesus Mom walked with is still calling people to follow Him—to live that same kind of life: A life that shows up… A life that serves… A life that loves.That was her life. Not loud. Not flashy. Simply faithful. In the end, that’s a life that matters.

I’m grateful for the faith she lived…and the Savior who made it possible.

Until next time, keep looking up…

Suffering Fools…(and other advice for people my age)

/ pastorlynnmalone / Leave a comment

I haven’t written much lately. I’ve just been too busy. If I’d known that at age 62 I’d be working seven days a week, I might have rethought some things or done some better planning. This is the time of life that one is supposed to be winding down, not ramping up, but ramp up I have, so…

Honestly, what I’ve been reflecting on over the last several weeks is my own mortality. I suppose that’s what we old people do. I don’t really know. I’ve never been old before. It’s kinda’ funny because I don’t really feel old, well except in the morning when I get up, and at night when I go to bed, and the three times during the night (sorry, too much information!)…

I get a lot of windshield time every week (it’s an 80-mile round trip to work). That windshield time is when I do a lot of praying and a lot of thinking. As I’ve been praying and thinking lately, I’ve hit upon several things that I’ve decided I’m not going to do anymore. It simply, at age 62, doesn’t make sense to me to do these things. I thought I’d share them with you, so here goes…

The Five Things I’m Not Going to Do Anymore at My Age

1. Suffer Fools

Yes, I know the Apostle Paul says that we are to “suffer fools gladly” (2 Cor. 11:19), but I also think it was in one of his sarcastic moments that he said it.

The reality is at this age, time is too precious to waste on foolish people. You know the ones I’m talking about–the ones that always only talk about themselves, that think they are the center of the world, that think they’re always right (or that you are always wrong), that are always argumentative, that are always demanding something of others that they don’t offer themselves.

I’m not going to be confrontational. I’m simply going to step away. Peace these days is more important than winning an argument or proving someone wrong, or even calling out foolishness. Honestly, there will have to be a strong urging on the part of the Holy Spirit for me to engage past the surface level of pleasantries before moving on.

2. Care What Other People Think

Okay, so confession time. I spent a lot of time in my past caring what other people thought of me. Perhaps it’s the middle child syndrome that captured me, but I used to cultivate a certain appearance because I thought it was what people expected of me. One of my most important characteristics was trying to meet others expectations, and it all had to do with what they might think about me otherwise.

Yeah, well now that I’m in my 60’s, I’m done with that. Why? Honestly? Because they’re NOT thinking about me! They’re too busy focused on their own lives and worried about their own problems to be worried about me. I suppose it took me all these years to figure that out.

Two passages of scripture come to mind: First is Proverbs 29:25–“It is dangerous to be concerned with what other people think of you, but if you trust in the Lord, you are safe.” And, the Apostle Paul warns the Galatian Christians, “For do I now persuade men, or God? or do I seek to please men? for if I yet pleased men, I should not be the servant of Christ” (Galatians 1:10).

I only care what Christ thinks of me. Will he find me faithful? Oh! And, Vanessa. I care what she thinks of me. Everyone else? Eh!

3. Compare Myself to Others

This third “not-going-to-do” thing is closely related to the second one, but I do believe it stands on its own. I used to compare myself to other preachers. I used to compare my church to other churches. I used to measure my success by the success of others.

Dang! This is more confessional than I thought it would be when I started writing this list down.

Now that I’m in my 60’s, the race is about over. Life is not a competition that I need to win. Hey? If I haven’t won by now, I’m not likely to this late in the game. Of course, it all depends on how one defines winning.

There will always be someone who is better, richer, stronger, younger, better looking (well, maybe not!) than I am. But, I have no way of knowing what is going on in their lives. Their lives could all be a facade. Besides, some wise sage once said, “Comparison destroys contentment.” That sage was correct.

As I think about winning the race, I am reminded of what the writer to the Hebrews wrote to the Church: “let us run with endurance the race God has set before us” (Hebrews 12:1b). Life is not a race that we are in to win. Life is a race we are in simply to finish, and Christ calls us to run with patient endurance all the way to the end.

How do we do that? The writer to the Hebrews tells us that, too: “We do this by keeping our eyes on Jesus, the champion who initiates and perfects our faith” (Hebrews 12:2a). At this age, I just want to be more like Jesus. He’s the only one I’m going to compare myself to because the goal of every believer’s life is to be Christ-like. How do I measure up in that regard?

4. Chase Old Goals

This one is tricky, but let me try to explain it. It used to be that I was extremely goal-oriented, chasing the great job, the big church, moving up the corporate ladder (yes, the church has one of those). For the most part, I achieved all those goals.

The Lord, for some strange reason, chose to bless us beyond measure (He still does, too), and ministry was very good to us. I only hope the ministry He entrusted to me was fruitful, and that all the chasing of those goals was not at the expense of faithfulness.

Now that I’m 62, I can say, “Been there, done that!” And, though I found meaning in the moment, looking back over my life, they just don’t seem that important. What are my new goals? Faithfulness to Jesus and a legacy for my family. Everything I do will be oriented to one of those ends.

I don’t want to come to the end of the race only to hear my Savior say, “Depart from me, you who practice iniquity, for I never knew you” (Matt. 7:23). The longing of my heart is to enter His presence and hear “‘Well done, good and faithful servant; you have been faithful over a few things, I will make you ruler over many things. Enter into the joy of your lord’” (Matt. 25:23).

Yup! That should have been my goal all along. It’s a pity it took me getting to be an old man to figure it out. Praise God I did!

5. Ignore My Health

Man! This one has really hit home over the past year. I went 61 years of my life without medication other than the occasional antibiotic or over-the-counter cold medicine. Now, I’m making regular trips to the pharmacy to keep the medicine cabinet full.

I think most of the issues I’m dealing with are hereditary, but let’s just say I’ve not always been the healthiest guy in the world. Yes, back in 2008 – 2009, I went through a period of weight-loss and health improvement, but it was done with chasing those goals I mentioned earlier in mind. I wanted to look better and feel better so I would have a better chance of hitting those goals.

Now, the goal is to be healthy so I can live longer. I know! None of us are going to live forever, but I would like to at least outlive my dad (who died at 63!). There are still some health-related things I need to deal with, but one thing I have done is take off 25 of the pounds I put back on post-2009. Now, I’ve got a closet full of clothes that are too big! Do not take that as a complaint.

My goal is to have the energy to do the things Vanessa and I should be doing now that we’re at this age. A little travel and a lot of family takes a lot of energy. Healthy lives lend themselves to quality lives. I won’t be ignoring my health nor taking it for granted anymore.

Conclusion

So, there you have the five things I’m not going to do anymore. Perhaps I should have cast them in a more positive light and said “The Five Things I’ve Started Doing at My Age,” but I’m a glass half empty kind of guy (which I should probably stop being at this age), so what ya’ gonna’ do? There may be a few tricks old dogs really can’t learn.

I do, however, believe that I don’t have to suffer fools, nor do I have to care what other people think, nor compare myself to others, nor chase all the old goals I set in life. I also believe that I can no longer ignore my health if I want to have fruitful years ahead.

How about you? Are there any things you’re not doing now that you’re older? Or if you’re one of those “younger” folks still out there chasing dreams, is there anything on this list that struck a nerve? I’d love to hear back from any of you. Leave your comments below.

Until next time (whenever that might be), keep looking up…

Reflection and Realignment, Part 2: The Advantages of Bi-vocational Ministry

/ pastorlynnmalone / Leave a comment

I shared in last week’s blog the challenges I’ve faced after a year in this new season of bi-vocational ministry. Lest you think the past year has been nothing but challenges, I will share some positive aspects I’ve experienced as a bi-vocational pastor.

There are some personal advantages I’ve noted, but also some advantages for the congregation (or at least I see them as advantages). As I started writing my list, I thought I might divide them into personal and congregational, but I discovered they really work in tandem, so I’ll just make one list.

Many years ago, while I was serving as a District Superintendent with the United Methodist Church, I wrote a blog praising the efforts of bi-vocational pastors (read it here). Having now served a year in that same capacity, little did I know just what a sacrifice those guys and girls were making. That’s not to pat myself on the back, but to acknowledge my own failure to give proper respect and gratitude to those who paved the way before me.

Freedom

The first advantage I’ve noted personally is freedom. What do I mean? I mean when I’m dealing with a difficult passage that challenges the congregation, I feel a particular freedom to be more direct in my preaching–to say the hard thing, the challenging thing, to question their assumptions–because my livelihood is not dependent on the paycheck I receive from the congregation.

I’m not saying that I’ve pulled my punches in the past, but I am confessing that I might not have always been as challenging in every aspect of preaching (or leadership) because of who I might offend. Knowing that my livelihood was dependent on the congregation was always in the back of my mind. Call me a coward, but I know I’m not the only pastor who may or may not have done likewise.

I can tell you, personally, I’ve experienced a greater freedom in my preaching as a bi-vocational pastor. I believe that to be an advantage for the congregation as well.

Perspective

I certainly view my role with a new perspective. I get to see more of what the laity see week-in and week-out. The laity get up and go to work every day and we (and by “we” I mean clergy) expect them to have a devotional life and volunteer at the church. I never knew how challenging that was, and I see that challenge as a positive outcome of bi-vocational ministry. As a pastor, laity and clergy are now on the same playing field.

You mean you want me to work 40 – 50 (or sometimes 60) hours a week, raise a family, keep a home, volunteer in the community AND lead a bible study, teach a Sunday school and serve on the church board in addition to attending worship every Sunday and reading the Bible for 30 minutes a day? Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I do. But, I’m doing it, too, so…

Mission Engagement

This one is a no-brainer. Going to a “real” job every day puts me smack dab in the middle of the mission field. It affords me a very unique opportunity to engage the mission field and evangelize every day. I see people in my secular job that I might likely never see if I were in full-time ministry.

Now, do I always take advantage of the opportunity? Well, that’s a conversation for another blog post, but the opportunity exists, nonetheless.

Avoids Isolation

Let me make another confession: When I was in full-time ministry, I tended to isolate myself from the secular world. It was actually fairly easy to do. Always in the office. Making hospital calls. Going to church meetings. Attending denominational functions. Traveling to Christian conferences. Hanging out with other clergy. There was no (or very little) contact with the “real” world. We clergy could easily develop our own “ivory tower” syndrome, just from a religious perspective instead of an academic one.

Secular employment gets me out of the religious bubble that clergy can sometimes live in, and that’s an advantage for both clergy and the congregation.

Financial Freedom

Okay, so I don’t know if “freedom” is the correct word for what I’m trying to communicate. I didn’t take the pastoral position because I needed the money. The Lord has blessed us in our business, so I’m not talking about that aspect of it, but I will say that a part-time salary for many bi-vocational clergy serves as a means to financial security.

I know many retired pastors who supplement their retirement income by serving a congregation. I also know some bi-vocational pastors who use their church income to increase their generosity.

For the congregation as well, a bi-vocational pastor allows them to have a pastor when they otherwise might not be able to afford it. Technically, one might argue that if a congregation can’t afford a pastor, are they legitimately a congregation, but I would argue that the early church couldn’t afford clergy either. There are many, many small congregations that are making a significant Kingdom impact. I pray Haughton Methodist is one of them. Having a bi-vocational pastor frees congregational resources to be directed toward evangelism and outreach.

Leadership

Being a bi-vocational pastor has forced me to rely on laity for getting things done in the congregation. This is an advantage for me and for the congregation. I have had to “let go” of some aspects of congregational leadership, and as a former full-time clergy, this has forced me to deal with my own control issues. Of course, I now have control issues as a small-business owner, so am I really dealing with it on a spiritual level? That notwithstanding, it has definitely been an advantage in ministry.

Likewise, the laity has, of necessity, had to embrace leadership responsibility in the life of the congregation that having a full-time pastor may not have allowed. A healthier and more biblical leadership structure is developing in the life of our congregation as a result. That can only be a positive thing.

Strategic Conversations

By my count, that’s twice as many advantages to the challenges I noted last week. I guess that means I’m doubly blessed by serving in a bi-vocational role. Seriously though, I honestly believe the advantages far outweigh the challenges of bi-vocational ministry. I also believe more clergy and more congregations should explore God’s call to see where He might be leading them. Might bi-vocational ministry become an intentional strategy to enhance ministry and build the Kingdom?

I’d love to hear your answer to that question. Hit me in the comments with your thoughts.

Until next time, keep looking up…

Reflection and Realignment: The Challenges of Bi-vocational Ministry

/ pastorlynnmalone / 2 Comments

Last week was the one-year anniversary serving as “Pastor” of Haughton Methodist Church. I put the title pastor in quotes because most days I don’t really feel like their pastor. I feel more like their Sunday preacher. Please understand, that’s not a reflection on the congregation. It is a reflection on me.

The anniversary gave me pause to reflect on a year of bi-vocational pastoral work. The time of reflection helped me identify some challenges I’ve faced. I share them here as a means of personal processing, acknowledging that my reflection may actually be helpful to other bi-vocational ministers, or to those considering bi-vocational ministry.

Don’t worry! It’s not going to be a long, drawn out blog. I don’t have that much time (I’m a bi-vocational pastor, after all!), and you won’t take the time to read a long post.

Defining Terms

First, I should define the term “bi-vocational pastor.” It’s really self-defining, but just in case, a bi-vocational pastor is one who works a full-time job in addition to serving as the pastor of a local congregation.

I intentionally use the term bi-vocational “pastor” because it is a specific calling within the Church. Here’s the reality–every believer is called to ministry. That means every believer is a “bi-vocational minister,” but not every believer is called to be a “bi-vocational pastor.” Make sense?

Why a “bi-vocational pastor”? One reason is the financial aspect. There are many (and by “many,” I mean a LOT!) of small churches across the country-side that lack the resources to pay a full-time pastor. This is the primary reason for bi-vocational pastors.

However, there are some pastors who feel God’s call to both the marketplace and the Church, so bi-vocational ministry affords them the opportunity to fulfill both callings. There are other reasons, too, but I said this wasn’t going to be a long blog, so…

Why am I a bi-vocational pastor? I am a bi-vocational pastor because when I stepped out of a full-time ministry role, I did not step out of God’s calling to preach the Gospel. When I left vocational ministry in 2019, I wasn’t completely sure what the Lord was calling me to, but I was entirely sure it wasn’t to full-time ministry.

Seasons of Transition

Early in the transition, I thought perhaps this new calling was for simple “pulpit supply.” I’d scratch that itch to preach by filling in for other pastors. Yeah? No! That wasn’t it.

Not long after I stepped away from a full-time role, a congregation called asking me to “fill in” for a period of time. That fill-in role turned into a two-and-half year interim situation. I’m certain the Lord called us there for that season, but I also felt the Spirit’s nudge that the season was over. (Absolutely WONDERFUL congregation, by the way!)

After another couple of interim stints in congregations, I thought the Lord’s call might be lived out in that way. After all, interim pastor is a legitimate need of the Church, and there are pastors specifically trained for such ministry (I’m not one of them, though), but because I wasn’t trained in that ministry, I didn’t have the expertise (nor the time) to lead the congregations in the work necessary to prepare for their next pastor.

Haughton Methodist Church has been different, though. I felt (feel?) called to settle in and be their pastor–their bi-vocational pastor. That calling brought a different mindset to ministry for me, and I suppose it is that mindset that has caused this week of reflection. It might also have to do with the fact that I got another year older this week, so there’s that! Anyway, let me get to the challenges I’ve faced.

1. Time Management and Overload

Margin matters, and as a bi-vocational pastor, I’m finding little margin in my life. Family gets crowded out and rest is sporadic, at best. The most concerning part is that personal spiritual renewal is almost non-existent (dare I confess that?).

That leads to mental and emotional fatigue. My grandfather, who was a businessman, worked all day, went home and vegged out in front of the television. I now know why he did that. He was tired! I often find myself doing the same thing. Many days when I get home I just want to do something totally mindless and that wastes a lot of time.

2. Limited Ministry Opportunities

I know the congregation needs new ministries. I know that I need to be discipling leaders and I know I need to be present in community outreach. There’s that time thing, though. It is difficult to discern and communicate a vision for the congregation while keeping the plates of family, work and ministry spinning. Not an excuse, just a reality.

The only way I know to overcome this reality is to rely on the laity of the congregation. I’ve got some of the best at Haughton, that’s for sure, but laity still need leadership.

3. Identity and Calling Tension

I confess that I wrestle with a “less-than” feeling when compared to my full-time clergy colleagues. I honestly don’t know why because I’m certain the Lord called me away from that. Perhaps it’s that I fear others perceive me as “less-than,” and that is my real problem. I’ve always struggled with what others think of me. Yes, there is more spiritual work I need to do if I’m still worried about what other people think of me.

I’ve tried to figure out who I am in this new season. Am I a pastor who owns a business, or am I a business owner who also pastors? It’s a perplexing question. How I answer the question determines how I set my priorities. I seem to answer it differently on different days, and I can’t think that’s a good thing.

Blessings Abound

These are just three of the challenges I’ve reflected on over the past week or so. There are probably a dozen others, but this post is already too long. Lest anyone think the past year has been all challenges, you would be incorrect. There have been far more blessings, and counting those blessings is one way I’ve managed the challenges. I’ll save those blessings to share for another blog post.

In the meantime, please pray for the congregation at Haughton Methodist Church. Oh, and pray for me, too. We both could use the prayers…and you could probably use the practice.

Until next time, keep looking up…

The Hardest Day…

/ pastorlynnmalone / 3 Comments

I’m nigh onto 62 years-old. It is not hyperbole when I say that Wednesday, September 3, 2025, was the hardest day of my life.

I will not go into detail (details only matter to criminal investigators and gossips), but September 3rd was the hardest day of my life because we had the funeral for my 22 year-old grandson, Kobyn Adam (read his full obituary here). He died under tragic circumstances on Saturday, August 30, 2025.

I suppose my writing this blog is a way of processing my own grief. Pastors aren’t the greatest at grieving. We often have the mindset that we’re supposed to be strong for those who are grieving, so we put on our game face and go to work (or at least that’s what this pastor has done in the past). I really shouldn’t be so flippant to say that pastors have a “game face.” Rather, it is the power of the Holy Spirit that gives us strength to do the hard work of ministry in difficult times.

I will say that the power of the Holy Spirit gave me the strength to get through the hardest day of my life. I chose to preach the message for Kobyn’s funeral. My friend and colleague, Rev. Lamar Oliver, was gracious enough to make the drive to Morgan City to assist with the service. Rev. Oliver served as pastor of Pharr Chapel Church after I was appointed elsewhere and my son and his family continued to attend there. I don’t know that I could have made it through the entire service alone, so I’m grateful for Rev. Oliver’s help and friendship.

So many people asked me, “Why are you preaching the funeral?” or, “How are you able to do that?” The answer to the first question is because I wouldn’t trust the task to anyone else. That’s probably a result of my own insecurities but I simply didn’t believe there was anyone else who would do the job adequately.

The answer to the second question is because when people don’t know what to do they do what they know. I simply didn’t know what else to do, so I did what I know–I preached. Actually, the real answer to the second question is by the grace of God and the power of the Holy Spirit.

I know I should have taken a step back. I know in my mind that I should have had a few days to just be “Poppy,” and gone through the grieving process with my wife, my son and the rest of the family. I know that in my mind. I just couldn’t convince my heart. In my heart, I had to preach…because, well…when you don’t know what to do…you do what you know…

Unfortunately, I’m feeling a little guilty now because I wasn’t more attentive to my family and I didn’t ask what THEY needed during this time. Should I have taken that step back and just been Poppy to them? Is that what they needed? I suppose even for pastors the default is for self-preservation. I needed to preach for me. I NEEDED to do that for Kobyn.

My bad! It’s not about me and what I need. In my grief, I lost sight of that fact and perhaps I was not as helpful to my family as I should have been. I can only repent and pray the Lord gives me clarity and strength should anything like this ever happen again (God forbid!), to help me focus on the right things and not my own personal need, but on the needs of others (especially those closest to me).

Oh well! What’s done is done and it can’t be undone. My prayer is that I was adequate to the task.

One thing I know for sure: It was providential (no, I’m not Calvinist) that our church (Haughton Methodist Church) was reading through the book of Job during this time. Reading through Job gave me the foundation for the message I preached during the service.

I include the message I preached for Kobyn below for one reason: a person who attended the service reached out to me after the service. She said she had lost her daughter tragically 24 years prior and that my words were the healing she needed after 24 years. I was humbled, honored and blessed by her sentiment, and I took it as affirmation that preaching Kobyn’s service was the correct choice.

No, actually, I’m still not sure it was the correct choice. It could just be that the Good Lord took the lemons I gave Him and made lemonade out of them. He does seem to do that so often. Either way, the words were healing for someone. I include them here so that they might be healing to others who are grieving.

Kobyn’s Funeral Message

I remember the day Kobyn was born. We were standing in the hospital hallway. We could hear all the rustling in the labor and delivery room. Vanessa was so giddy. We heard the first cries of a newborn baby and Vanessa started jumping up and down. She couldn’t wait to see this little guy and to put her arms around him. The smile on her face when they finally brought him out—well, it is indescribable. It was sheer joy! All I saw was a round head—just like mine! That was the first day this guy brought joy to our lives. He’s been bringing joy to us ever since.

The older Kobyn got, the more he looked like me. It wasn’t long until I started calling him “Mini-me” because as an infant and a toddler it was a little uncanny how much he favored my baby pictures. I thought, “Well, he’s going to be a fine- looking young man!” As he grew into adulthood, the similarities faded a bit, but I was still correct—he is a fine-looking young man! Even though he was a young man, I still sometimes referred to him as “Mini-me.”   

I remember Vanessa and me driving, literally all the way across the state of Louisiana to watch his first football game. He was so little. I thought to myself, “He’s gonna’ get killed out there.” Well, he survived, but it didn’t take him too many seasons of football and soccer to realize he wasn’t going to be an athlete. Music became his passion, and just like everything else he ever tried, he excelled at that, too.

I remember the day I baptized this kid. Talk about bringing a Poppy joy. And confirmation, too. I watched as this kiddo gave His musical talents to his local youth group as a member of the praise band. I’d go to youth group on Sunday evenings just to hear he and Kade lead in worship. Oh, the insufferable youth group games one had to endure just to get to worship, but it is one of the ways this guy continued to bring joy into our lives.

I could stand here all day and recount memories I have of Kobyn. You don’t want to be here that long. Besides, you have your own memories that are special. I encourage you to hold those memories close. Those memories are one way the Lord gives us to grieve the loss we feel today and there is great grace and not a little therapy that comes in remembering. 

I will especially remember one very special connection Kobyn and I shared. During a very difficult time in both of our lives, when we were separated by distance and didn’t get to see a lot of each other, we stayed connected through the game of chess. He loved to play chess. He was teaching his cousin Skyler to play chess and checkers…but anyway…he had me download a chess game on my phone, created me an account, and we played chess together online. Games would take weeks at a time. He almost always prevailed—he relished in beating Poppy at chess. It brought me great joy to lose to him over and over again.

For all the joy this kiddo brought me through the years, like you, I’m struggling to find any joy today. I am asking the same question you are asking—“Why?” Honestly, I’m not finding any answers.

I can’t think of the question “Why?’ without thinking of the man named Job in the Old Testament. I’m not going to read a lot of scripture from that Old Testament book because it’s just too long but let me give you the Lynn paraphrase: The Bible says Job was a good and righteous man. He lived with integrity and had a deep reverence for God.

I won’t go deeply into the details—I’ll trust you will read it for yourself—suffice it to say that even though Job was a good, just and upright person, tragedy came his way. Through absolutely no fault of his own he lost every one of his children through tragic circumstances. He was a rich man, too, but tragedy stole his riches, as well. Job’s tragic loss—which he couldn’t understand—caused him to ask the question “Why?”

As I’ve read the book of Job over the last week, I counted at least 20 times that Job asked God the “Why?” question. And, each time he asked the question (some would argue it was 25 times—but those were more implied questions than direct questions) he didn’t get an answer. All he got were platitudes from friends. What he got from God? Silence.

That’s how we feel, too. We’ve asked a thousand times over the last five days, “Why?” and we’ve not heard the Lord answer the question once. It makes us angry, and that’s okay. It’s okay to be angry with God. He can handle it. He’s not going to get mad at us for anger in our grief, but He’s still not likely to answer our questions.

What I realized as I read through Job again is that the story of Job in the Bible is not a story about Job’s suffering through the tragic losses in his life, but rather it is a story about Job’s faith through the tragic losses of his life. Even though Job had a lot of questions for God, he never lost his faith IN God. Just as with Job, the story of our lives are meant to be stories of faith. Will our faith bring us through this tragedy? That’s the question for this hour on this day.

No, I haven’t heard any answers to my questions. Job suffered, and for 35 chapters he poured his heart out to God as he listened to the platitudes of family and friends. Finally, all God does is ask Job some very pointed questions: “Where were you when I laid out the foundations of the universe? Can you make it rain?” Like Job, we ask God the hard questions of why, and like Job, God doesn’t answer us in any way that seems reasonable to us.

Why doesn’t He answer? Two reasons I can think of. First, knowing the answer would not make the burden any less hard to bear. Explanations are intellectual, passive and touch only our minds. Suffering is physical, active and God acted by suffering in His Son, Jesus, to deal with the issue of sin, evil and suffering in the world.

Second, God doesn’t answer because we are incapable of comprehending the answer. We simply cannot see how God uses the ordinary (or extraordinary) circumstances of our daily lives to effect redemption, but that doesn’t mean God isn’t doing it. We can’t see the grand sweep of eternity, nor can we see God’s plan for creation or even for our own lives—as long or short as they may be.

Receiving no answer leads us to believe that God is absent. Job certainly thought so (Job 23: 8-9)– “But if I go to the east, he is not there; if I go to the west, I do not find him. 9 When he is at work in the north, I do not see him; when he turns to the south, I catch no glimpse of him.”

Trust me when I tell you this: God is not absent. He is at work through this. If He seems absent, perhaps He is, as an old Catholic nun told me, so close that we can’t see Him. I believe with all my heart that He was present with Kobyn Saturday morning, holding him and loving him with a love deeper than the deepest sea. And I believe that He is present with us now loving us in the same way—even though in this moment He seems so silent and so distant.

I agree with the Apostle Paul who reminds us in Romans 8 that there is nothing in life or in death that will ever separate us from God’s love in Jesus Christ, His Son. Nothing can separate us. If I believed it before Saturday I have to believe it now—that’s what faith is—and our stories, like Job’s, are meant to be stories of faith.

Our stories are meant to be stories of faith because God has chosen us to be participants with Him in the redemption of His creation. Literally, from cover to cover, the Bible is about God restoring His creation, and God chose us to be participants in that restoration. We participate by faith.

God sent His son, Jesus Christ, to die on the cross. God entered the world, limiting Himself to time and space, and when He did, He played by the same rules we play by. He suffered and died. A man as Jesus was, full of grace and compassion, so willing to give Himself in service to the world, it made no sense for the world to kill him. It was in his suffering and death that the world finds its redemption, and it is in his suffering and death that we are called to be participants by faith in God’s eternal plan.

Yes, I know, that doesn’t answer the questions we’re still asking but it’s all I’ve got.

So, what next? Let me offer three brief responses that will hopefully enable us to take another step in redeeming our circumstances. First, grieve—deeply. It’s okay. Grief is as human an emotion as joy. I recall King David in 2 Samuel 18 who lost a son through quite tragic circumstances. In his grief, he wished he could have traded his life for his son’s. We can’t, even though in our grief, we sure would like to. Grieve with deep grief. It’s natural. Don’t wallow in it, but go through it with faith.

That’s the second thing we must do—trust. If I believed God was a good, loving, kind and just God before Saturday, then I have to believe that He is still just as good, loving, kind and just today. He is the same yesterday, today and forever. He didn’t change because our circumstances did. Kobyn is in the hands of the God who loves him and who loves us. By faith, I’m trusting in Him to get us through this.

Finally, we need to serve. Remember, the Lord is calling us to participate with Him in the redemption of all creation. There are others who have walked this same journey. There are others who will soon walk this journey. Statistics tell the tale of a rising mental health crisis, especially among young men. If we would find any redemption in this tragedy, let us become advocates for all those who struggle with mental health issues. Let us walk with others through their grief so that they might find hope in Jesus Christ.

God has redeemed and is redeeming the world through suffering—first His Son’s, and now through ours. Will we participate with Him by our faith?

Many friends have reached out to me over the last several days. One word that has been used several times is “remarkable.” They said, “Kobyn was a remarkable young man.” I corrected them, “Kobyn IS a remarkable young man.” Let us never refer to those we love who die in the Lord in the past tense. He is alive, maybe more alive than he’s ever been. I believe that!

So, I’ll miss you, buddy, but I know where you are. I know I’ll see you soon. Fly high, Mini Me, and rest well until that day. Poppy loves you now and always! Amen!

Conclusion

Perhaps someone else will find the words healing. They have helped me along in my own grief as I’ve read over them at least four times in the past week. The answers to the “Why?” question is still not clear and may never be, but I’m trusting the Lord to get us through…perhaps one blog post at a time.

Until next time, keep looking up…

A Stroll Down Memory Lane…

/ pastorlynnmalone / Leave a comment

Due to some unforeseen circumstances, Vanessa and I took a flying trip to Morgan City, LA on Saturday. Morgan City’s Pharr Chapel United Methodist Church was the first congregation we served after I graduated from seminary in 1998. The unexpected trip became a stroll down memory lane for both of us as we rode around town reminding ourselves of our time there.

As best I recall, I haven’t been back to Morgan City since August 2013–almost exactly 12 years ago. I returned then for the funeral of a prominent member of the congregation who passed away. His name was “Boogie” Hamilton.

“Boogie” was a great guy. He was a local pharmacist who owned the Standard Drug Co., of Morgan City. As best I can remember, Standard Drugs was a family business that Boogie took over from his dad.

We drove by Standard Drugs yesterday (it was at the end of 8th St. right in front of Morgan City High School. It looked like it was no longer Standard Drugs. I know he sold the business to a fellow pharmacist when he decided it was time to retire, but that was what seems like a long time ago.

Boogie was faithful to Pharr Chapel. He was the “head usher” at the 8:30 a.m., worship service. He was always there on time to get things ready for the service and to line up those who would assist him with ushering for the day.

Better still, Boogie was a guy who took care of his pastor. Well, I can’t speak for all his pastors through the years, but I can certainly speak for this one. At least once a month, Boogie would call me up and treat me to lunch at one of the popular seafood restaurants. Knowing my love for catfish, also about once a month, he would show up at the church or the parsonage with five pounds of fresh catfish filets caught right out of the Atchafalaya River.

I know they were fresh caught catfish because I know where he got them. He got them (most of the time) from Lester Duvall, who was also a member of the congregation. Lester was a commercial fisherman. Lester, on several occasions, took me with him down the Atchafalaya to run his fish traps. I suppose he wanted me to see the lifestyle of the fishermen of the region. I never left a trip with Lester without some fresh catfish.

Boogie was also the guy who kept his ear to the ground for me. Boogie was such a long-time, prominent member of the congregation that if something was afoot, or if someone was upset, or if something needed to be addressed, he was the first to know. He was also (generally) the first to let the pastor know. He would always pass along that information quickly and without judgment on the situation. He just needed the pastor to know, so he made sure I did.

We drove by the church at 517 Federal Avenue. The congregation has cared for the facility very well. The “old” parsonage, that sat directly in front of the educational building on Federal Avenue is gone. It served as a rent house when I was pastor there. I never thought it was a good idea for a congregation to be in the rental business, but I was a young pastor fresh out of seminary, so I can honestly confess I wasn’t savvy enough to know how to approach that battle. It’s good to see one of my subsequent colleagues was savvy enough to accomplish that task.

We drove by the “new” parsonage (which is now actually the “old” parsonage) at 3013 Carrol Drive. We spent three years in that home. I’ll say it was one of the finest parsonages we have lived in through our years of vocational ministry.

The parsonage was a block off Lake Palourde, and a half a block from the levee of the swamp. We remembered the golden lab we rescued from the local pound. Shadow would jump the fence in our back yard and make his way to the swamp. We were forever looking for him. No matter what I did to the fence, he was able to jump over it or climb it to get out. Animal Control even picked him up a few times before we could find him. We ended up rehoming him before we left Morgan City.

Pharr Chapel was/is a great congregation. We had fruitful ministry there. Morgan City is/was a great place to call home. Unfortunately, it is also the only appointment that we requested a move from. It absolutely has nothing to do with the congregation or the community. We loved both. It had to do with family.

We were raising four children, and without going into detail, suffice it to say we were being challenged in our parenting skills. We thought a move closer to family might be helpful to our situation and better for our family. As it turns out, that wasn’t exactly the case, and our move from Morgan City remains one of the biggest regrets of my time in vocational ministry.

For all the good memories this stroll down memory lane evoked, there are a few regrets that surfaced, too. First, there is the regret of leaving fruitful ministry. The congregation was growing. Our faith community was thriving and reaching out into the community.

I was deeply involved in the community, as well. I served on the hospital ethics board and I was the go-to pastor for the two local funeral homes when they had a death and the family had no church connection. By my count, I officiated 37 funerals in the 36 months I pastored in Morgan City. It was in Morgan City that I developed a deep appreciation for the liturgy for funerals. When one performs more funerals for people you didn’t know than for ones you did, the liturgy becomes your friend.

In addition, the local radio station was located directly across the alley behind the church. I became friends with the owner, and through that friendship, became the color analyst for the Morgan City High School football games. Who knows? I could have been the next Vin Scully or Pat Summerall.

Next, I regret leaving (and subsequently not maintaining) the strong friendships we developed in our three short years there. I’ve already mentioned two that were meaningful to me, but there were others that were meaningful to both Vanessa and me together. There were several couples in the congregation who were at the same life stage as us. Our friendship just clicked. We shared Sunday school together. We shared meals together. We shared social functions together. We shared birthdays together. Vanessa even shared work together with two of them. We were, by my account, great friends.

I don’t know why those friendships diminished so through the years. Well, of course I do. First, time does that to all our relationships. We can add distance to that equation, too. We moved five hours away. Five hours is a long way when we were at the life stage (all of us) we were in. Of course, not long after we moved, Morgan City received an evacuation notice for an incoming hurricane. A group of those friends landed with us for two days in our new appointment. It was a fantastic time. Good friends, indeed!

I also want to lay part of the blame on the “system” of the United Methodist Church. It used to be (I don’t know if it still is) that it was drilled into pastors that when you leave a congregation, you leave a congregation. You don’t go back for any reason. You give the new pastor an opportunity to become the congregation’s pastor. Being the good company man I was, I sought to fulfill that expectation to the fullest extent.

I refused calls to officiate both weddings and funerals. I didn’t engage myself in conversations with former church members when they were upset that the new pastor didn’t do things the same way I did. Oh yes, there were the occasional calls back to friends, and the Christmas cards and what not, but the friendships withered. I know I wasn’t intentional in maintaining them.

Of course, the same can be said for every congregation we’ve served. Looking back over our years in vocational ministry, I regret not maintaining the relationships better after we departed. That’s on me. I’ve learned through the years that my wanting to “leave” a congregation well stemmed from my own insecurities about being perceived as a good “company man.”

This stroll down memory lane has taught me that relationships are more important than that. To have friends, we have to be a friend. I don’t think I’ve been a very good friend through the years. Oh, I have lots and lots of acquaintances, but very few friends. That, too, is on me.

We’ve never served a bad appointment in vocational ministry. I say that without equivocation. We’ve been blessed by every congregation…every last one. Each of them has been great in its own way, and I am proud (if a follower of Jesus can be proud) to have served each one. With that qualifier, I’ll say Morgan City/Pharr Chapel is absolutely at the top of the list.

Yeah, I’m probably getting myself in trouble with this blog, so I’ll just go ahead and beg forgiveness from all the other congregations I’ve served. This stroll down memory lane has challenged me to be more direct in building and maintaining friendships.

I’ve also come to realize that we pastors don’t need to be quite so insecure. You don’t want to return for fear of interfering with the new pastor? Get over yourself. Go back. Be in ministry to your friends. In the big picture, they won’t remember you for the friendship you developed. They’ll remember you didn’t minister to them in their time of need.

You don’t want a former pastor returning to the congregation you’re now pastoring? Ha! Get over yourself. You’re not the end all and be all of pastors. Give it time and extend the invitation to former pastors when requested. It’s the greatest ministry you can offer someone in their time of need–to affirm the relationship of a trusted friend. Besides, you’ll develop your own relationships that you won’t want to leave behind. It’ll be okay.

A lot of people will disagree with the two previous statements, but that’s okay. I’m old enough and secure enough now to not care. I’m going to be intentional in building friendships and maintaining relationships in the years I have left.

I’m grateful for the stroll down memory lane that Vanessa and I enjoyed yesterday.

Until next time, keep looking up…

Reflections, Course-Corrections and Deep Gratitude…

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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…

Some Days Just be that Way…

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Did you ever have one of those days? You know? One of those days when you’re afraid to ask, “What can happen next?” Yeah! Friday was one of those days for me. I won’t bore you with all the details. Suffice it to say, I was glad when Friday was over. I swear, I thought it had to be Friday, the 13th!

Paul’s Bad Day

The Apostle Paul and his traveling companion, Silas, had one of those days, too. Actually, according to the Book of Acts and Paul’s own epistles, he had many of those days, but so do we. I’m thinking of one day in particular, though. It’s found in Acts 16.

Paul and Silas were minding their own business just preaching the Gospel headed to a prayer meeting in a town called Philippi when a demon-possessed slave girl begins following them shouting, “These men are servants of the Most High God, and they have come to tell you how to be saved” (Acts 16:17). I’d say that makes for a bad day.

Now, that wouldn’t generally be problematic except that the slave girl was persistent in her proclamation (day after day, the text says) until Paul finally tired of hearing her. He rebuked the evil spirit and commanded it to come out of the girl (Acts 16: 18).

Now, here’s the rub: the slave-girl was the property of a couple of guys who were making money off her ability to divine the future. Paul’s exorcism cost them money, so they went to the leaders of Philippi and brought charges against Paul and Silas. I’d say that makes for a bad day.

From Bad to Worse

It was a day that would get worse. The city officials ordered Paul and Silas stripped, beaten and thrown in prison. So, it goes from bad to worse–once in prison, they were ordered to be put in the inner dungeon and their feet be clamped in stocks (Acts 16: 22 – 24). Didn’t want these guys to escape.

But wait! The day gets even worse! Around midnight (v. 25), there was an earthquake (not unusual for the city of Philippi, but still–today? Really?). Don’t ask, “What else could go wrong?” You might just find out! The day, for Paul and Silas, was definitely “one of those days” you’d as soon forget.

Actually, though, it was an unforgettable day, but for reasons other than all that made it a bad day. It became a day of transformation, and perhaps the best day in the life of a family in Philippi–the jailer who was tasked with guarding Paul and Silas in prison.

A Transformative Day

What made it a transformative day in the jailer’s life? I think it started with Paul’s and Silas’s faith. Paul and Silas had a faithful attitude in their lives. On a day when adversity slapped them hard in the face, Paul and Silas chose to go to church. Well, they didn’t actually “go” to church. They chose to “have” church in prison. They chose to pray and sing hymns in the face of their adversity (Acts 16: 25).

Paul and Silas chose to live in the hope they had in Jesus Christ. I guess they lived what Zig Ziglar would subsequently teach–“Attitude determines altitude.” When faced with adversity, we can exhibit hope, or we can exhibit hopelessness. Paul and Silas chose hope.

Now, by adversity, I’m not talking about the kind of adversity football and baseball coaches talk about. When you’re down by a touchdown, or when you’re a couple of runs down in the bottom of the ninth inning, that’s not adversity. It’s a game. Yes, you can show spunk and exhibit grit and determination, but a win or a loss is not generally going to impact the course of history. Pulling out a win is not overcoming adversity, Coach.

Adversity is hearing the news, “You’ve got cancer.” Or worse, “Your child has cancer.” That’s adversity!

Adversity is hearing the news, “You’re position is being phased out. We won’t need you anymore.”

Adversity is hearing, “I want a divorce.”

Adversity is losing a child.

Adversity is losing a home.

Adversity is being wrongfully accused.

Adversity is…well, you get the idea.

Here’s the thing, though. Adversity is a fact of life. Though we seek to avoid it desperately, it always rears its ugly head, and usually at the least convenient times. That’s because life isn’t fair, nor is life certain. Unexpected circumstances can bring adversity into our lives, or our own bad choices can bring adversity into our lives. Even the actions of others can (intentionally or unintentionally) cause us to face adversity.

Certainly, Paul and Silas did nothing to warrant their place in prison. The actions of others placed them there. Yet, they chose the hope of their faith over the hopelessness and injustice of their circumstances.

My friends, I’ve said all that to say this–May our first reaction in the face of adversity be to sing the Doxology:

“Praise God from whom all blessings flow. Praise Him all creatures here below. Praise Him about ye heavenly hosts. Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost.”

Praise is transformative. For us…and, for others.

Yup! Some days just be that way. Friday was one for me. You know what, though. It’s Sunday! I survived.

Whatever we’re going through, we will make it through. Paul and Silas did. So will we!

Until next time, keep looking up…

Random Randomness Randomly Recorded…

/ pastorlynnmalone / 3 Comments

First, Happy Father’s Day! I hope all the fathers who read my blog have the best day ever. As a father myself, I can honestly say we don’t need a gift from our children today. Please realize that YOU are the gift. Your presence, your hug. your love, your wellness are all that matters to your dad. Give him those gifts and you’ll make his day.

I hit upon an amazing idea this week: ban all drive-thru windows. As I was sitting in a drive-thru (for an insufferably long time), I thought about how much fuel is wasted every day by us waiting in drive-thru lines. Not only that, but actually having to get out and go in to an establishment would help all of us with our personal interaction skills. If we want to save the planet, let’s start here.

All the world’s problems cannot be summarized by a meme. Meme’s simply reflect the shallow thinking most of our leaders utilize to make decisions. Just as our problems can’t be summarized by memes, neither can they be solved by them.

Solving the world’s problems takes hard work. No one wants to work hard anymore. Heck! No one wants to work, period. Everyone wants success, but everyone wants success handed to them. 98% of success is just showing up everyday.

Speaking of hard work: Moving is hard work. I don’t care if you’re moving from one room to another, it’s still moving and I hate it. I’m grateful I have the opportunity to do it, but I still hate it. Talk about cognitive dissonance!

I think it’s perfectly okay to celebrate the 250th birthday of the U. S. Army, even if the planned celebration happens to fall on a certain terribly despised person’s birthday. I am grateful for the U. S. Army, and for the men and women who have sacrificed for our nation. Why not celebrate such a momentous occasion?

I’m also reminded that the terribly despised person mentioned above is only despised by less than half the country. That means that more than half the country doesn’t despise him. We can’t live our lives mad at half the nation.

My statement of the above probably just angered some of you who read this blog. It’s okay to be angry with me. What’s not okay is for you to vilify me or demonize me. That’s what is wrong with our culture today.

Democrats and Republicans appear to be living on two different planets. What’s worse is there is no communication capability between the two planets.

Social media is the anti-Christ!

Why don’t we turn off social media and sit down over a cup of coffee and talk to each other about our hopes and dreams, our families, our future, our faith? We might make a little progress toward a better future.

I was reminded by social media that it is Annual Conference season. I miss Annual Conference (oh! how I make myself laugh sometimes!)! What I miss is the relationships that Annual Conference fosters. I didn’t get to attend a “Journey” session (Annual Conference) for my own denomination this year. I need some good, old-fashioned collegiality right now.

I might have more collegiality if I were a bit more collegial myself.

I’ve determined that I need saving everyday. Preaching on Paul’s conversion this week reminds me that even good, righteous holy people need Jesus. I’m the chief among them. I’m also reminded that I can be so busy doing God’s work that I fail to realize that doing God’s work and doing God’s will are not always the same thing.

Folks, we need to pray for Israel and Iran. People dying is never a good thing.

I suppose that’s enough randomness for one day. Happy Father’s Day! Oh, wait! I said that already.

Until next time, keep looking up…