Boots of Change

I’m not a boot guy.  I didn’t grow up on a farm, and I certainly didn’t spend my early years hauling hay or herding cattle.  While my fraternity brothers rocked weathered Justins, I was perfectly content with Birkenstock clogs.

I bought my first pair of boots when I was twenty-three years old, and I remember the comments from some of my good-ole-boy buddies.  ”Man, those things look shiny.  It doesn’t look like they’ve done a day of work.”  ”Those boots will sure look pretty with a pink, button-down Polo.”

To me, my new boots were comfortable, low-maintenance, and as a matter of fact, they DID look good with jeans and a button-down.

Six years later, my original pair of Redwings are well-worn.  Their leather has wrapped itself around my feet.  The one on my left foot has yawned just enough to accommodate my awkward and obviously crooked big toe.  Every so often, someone will toss a compliment their way.  ”I like those things.”  ”Son, that’s a solid pair of boots.”  Some have even asked where they could buy a pair.  Each time, it makes me a little giddy inside.

There are times in our lives when we feel compelled to make changes.  Some changes are subtle, maybe even trivial.  Others are deep, meaningful, and ultimately necessary.  People around us may not comprehend the root, purpose, or significance of the changes.  Deep and real change, however, is not rooted in someone else’s perception.  Change is valuable because we understand the renewal and power that transformation ushers into our lives.

If my boots have a lesson to teach it is that change takes time to grow roots, but sooner than we can imagine, those who have committed to journey with us will appreciate the value of our changes.  And a new group of people will make their way into our lives, and they will not know us for all of the changes we have made.  They will know us for the people we are now.

I wasn’t a boot guy.  Now I am.

Montreat 2009

It’s hard to believe that it’s been two weeks since I have been in Hartsville.  Time really flies up in Montreat!  It has been an amazing past two weeks in this place that stays so close to my heart, no matter how old I get.  I have encountered God in new and inspiring ways and wake each day wondering where God will find me next.  The keynote speaker and her drama team have been wonderful, the preacher sharp and smart, the music team inspiring and talented, and the re-creation team has been the best of any conference I have ever attended.  With leadership being so strong, the conferences have been really good.  It’s not just the leadership that has made these past two weeks so special; it is the young people that flood through these gates each week.  I continue to be surprised and inspired by the young people at these conferences.  Over the past two weeks, it has been a delight to hear their views on the world, God, and their faith.  I have chill bumps each night as I see hundreds of youth lining up to go into worship and keynote.  My eyes fill with tears as I hear and participate with them in worship, praying and singing with them.  I am filled with excitement and energy as I leave worship and keynote with them.

If there has ever been a point where you have worried about the future of the Church, I am here to tell you, the Church will be fine.  The young people that fill these pews, and descend on this place are passionate, smart, and inspiring folks.  They are people who know that the world has to change, and that God is at work in this world calling each of them.  It has been a joy and an honor to be here and to serve the conference the past two weeks.  I want to thank each of you for your support and willingness to my serving here in this place.  If you have never been to Montreat, then I suggest you make plans to come soon.  If you have never been to a youth conference, I would look at the calendar for next year’s conferences!

From April 3, 1968 to January 20, 2009

On April 3, 1968, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. delivered his final public address to a raucous crowd that filled the Mason Temple in Memphis, Tennessee.  King traveled to Memphis to support a strike and lead a protest march for sanitation workers who were pleading with the municipal government for fair and just workers’ rights.

King’s final speech was as eloquent and moving as it was prophetic.  And although the context has changed, Dr. King’s words on justice and unity and freedom are as relevant at this point in human history as they were on that stormy night in Memphis. 

Over the next few days, perhaps weeks, Matthew and I will spend some time reflecting on King’s last sermon, one that continues to shape and reshape our religious and socio-political worldviews.  Given the political happenings of today and the outset of a new presidential administration, we will also, in all likelihood, share some thoughts and hopes for the Obama presidency.

For now, as I watch hundreds of thousands of people crowd onto the Mall in Washington, D.C., I can’t help feeling excitement and pride and anticipation for everything that this day means and the hope that it represents.  I pray that we would respond to the words and challenge that Dr. King spoke of in Memphis, “Let us rise up tonight with a greater readiness. Let us stand with a greater determination. And let us move on in these powerful days, these days of challenge to make America what it ought to be. We have an opportunity to make America a better nation.”

I am thankful for today, and I am hopeful for our country and world.

-DP

Miracles huh.

We were invited over for a pizza party tonight with some of Sarah’s classmates.  It was a different type of party from anything I had ever experienced.  We were instructed to bring topings for our pizza and that the dough and sauce would be provided.  It was a small get together, only about 10 of us.  But, we opened a couple bottles of wine and made pizza.  Each couple had their own toppings, but we ended up sharing all of them and making our pizzas.  It was really quite a good idea I thought.  The night was going well, the food was perfect, the wine good, and the conversation engaging.  It was one of those nights that you try to piece together in words, and I’ve never had ample words to paint the picture well enough.
We were all different, that is from different parts of the country, different nationalities, different sexual orientations, and even different faiths or beliefs all together; but there we were having one of those nights you don’t forget too easily.  Our conversation flowed from politics, work, beliefs or non beliefs, to food.
There had been a protest at the capitol building that day for homosexual rights.  One of the couples was filling us in on the days happenings, and we all cared.  No, really cared, cared that someone somewhere thought they knew how to stop love, or how to not believe in it.  It was almost as if these two women needed a miracle.  They described it in that way, and two of the guys in the corner laughed at the word miracle, and then quickly stopped and said “oh some folks here believe in that”.  I knew they were talking about me, but I had to chuckle, and I had to just grin because there we were in this tiny apartment, vetting our lives to one another, the good the bad, the painful.  There we were, with our own ingredients our own beliefs, gifts, opinions, gathered together living in the same life together.  A miracle huh?  Yeah, I think so to.  It was a miracle, that night, and I believe that night was  Church.

MER

How Can You Be a Christian and a Democrat?

Guest poster, Dillon Sorensen, is a 10th grade student at Houston Christian High School in Houston, Texas.  This soon-to-be 16 year old shows wisdom and thoughtfulness far beyond his years, and we truly appreciate his contribution to Palmetto Perspectives.

I attend a private Christian high school in Houston – creatively named Houston Christian High School. At HCHS, most of the students are white, wealthy, and conservative. The student parking lot is filled with brand new F-150s, Tahoes, and Mustangs.  Every morning at 8:30am, class starts, and sets of iron gates secure the school’s perimeter a half hour later.  The students walk down the halls in their Polo sweaters and Sperry’s, complaining about how much they hate private school, on their way to their next class.  Most HCHS students fail to realize that one of Houston’s poorest communities, primarily made up of Asian and Hispanic immigrants is less than a mile away.

Every year, Houston Christian students are required to take two semesters of Bible class. Old Testament, New Testament, and Apologetics – we study it all. It was about a month ago, in the midst of the election season, that a fellow student in my second period Bible asked, “how can you be a Christian and a Democrat?” She proceeded to say that “Democrats support abortion and gay marriage, and Christians shouldn’t.”

I consider myself to be a fairly open-minded person. Even though I am quite Liberal, I am more than willing to listen to Conservatives. I read progressive blogs and newspapers; yet, I also check out the National Review and occasionally watch Fox News. However, I am not open to the assertion that a Democrat can’t be a Christian.

Ironically, I used to be rather Conservative. In eighth grade, my history teacher was a football coaching, concealed handgun carrying, Michael Savage listening Republican from Mississippi. He talked about how he was a devout Catholic, and couldn’t stand the thought of “the gays” getting married, and hated to see our babies being killed. He said that the wealthy shouldn’t have to give their money away to the lazy poor people who don’t want to work (read: black people). My knowledge of politics was quite limited, but everything he was saying sounded pretty reasonable to me. So, I found myself repeating his political views to my friends and family. It was quite nice actually, because being in Texas, everyone agreed with me and told me how smart I was. I too thought that it was impossible to be a Christian and a Democrat.

For the past two summers, I have been fortunate enough to serve on the Program Team at a large youth conference in Germany. Last summer, during setup week, I was taking some time to pray and familiarize myself with the year’s curriculum. The theme was Blindsight, and we primarily focused on Paul and his letters to the Corinthians.  So, as I was reading my Bible, I came across 2 Corinthians 8:13-15:

“Our desire is not that others might be relieved while you are hard pressed, but that there might be equality. At the present time your plenty will supply what they need, so that in turn their plenty will supply what you need. Then there will be equality, as it is written: “He who gathered much did not have too much, and he who gathered little did not have too little.”

You see, I have always been a Christian. For the past few years, my family has attended church every Sunday morning. I have attended Christian private schools since the fourth grade. I even participated in a confirmation class in the eighth grade. But I didn’t have a relationship with Jesus Christ – until last summer.

As I continued to worship, pray, and read, I learned a lot about Jesus. I learned that Jesus took care of the poor, the elderly, and the orphaned. I learned that Jesus valued equality. I learned that Jesus wasn’t a proponent of war. I learned that Jesus would never sit back and watch genocide happen all over the World. I learned that every life is sacred in the eyes of Jesus. I learned that Jesus would want the students of Houston Christian High School to help the impoverished Houstonians living and working outside of its iron gates.

If Jesus were living in the United States today, would he be a Democrat? I doubt it. Would he be a Republican? Probably not. In fact, I think his voter registration card would say “Independent.”

Nonetheless, Jesus would understand that it is possible to be a Christian and a Democrat.

-Dillon Sorenson

Reflections on Isaiah 2:4

Isaiah 2: 4

I’ve become a news junkie.  I blamed it on the election for as long as I could.  I wanted to stay up to date with one of the most important elections in history, and now I want to stay up  on all the news about the team being assembled.  The truth is I was a junkie long before the election came, for whatever reason I have to know what’s going on all over the globe.  I read the Washington Post, NY Times, CNN, BBC, NPR, and the list goes on and on.  Most of the time the news folks do a great job at reporting non news.  The sad part of it all is that I can watch the news while eating my bowl of cereal in the morning.  It should make me sick to my stomach, and I shouldn’t be able to eat.  Images of tanks rolling in, road side bombs going off, child soldiers with AK-47’s, and planes flying dropping bombs.  Somewhere in the midst of it all, we have become immune to the horror of reality that is the rest of the world.  When I say we, I mean me.
How I long for nations to “beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks.”  Hell, I’m ready for our country to pull it’s troops.  I’m ready for us to build schools instead of bombs, I’m ready for their to be transparency in government.  That’s the news junkie side of me anyway.  The truth of the matter is, that I want us to see each other as we truly are.  I want us to see the people that we raise swords against, I want us to in the words of David LaMotte “see the whites in their eyes.” No more war, no more bombs!  Please.  No seriously, please.  No more.  Because God says so, and honestly because that’s how you live as a community.  You don’t need guns in the community, and you sure as hell don’t need bombs.  Enough is enough.

Albany. No, not New York. Texas.

A few weeks ago, I sat in a deer blind for the better part of two days with a man that I barely know.  In a past life, he was a Texas A&M fraternity guy, whose life, like most college-aged guys, revolved around beer, college football, and only occasionally, class.  In another, he was a successful investor, wildly successful, in fact and with success came perks.  He was a member of one of the most exclusive country clubs in Houston, and he routinely rubbed elbows with other movers and shakers in the Bayou City: CEOs and oil guys and professional athletes.  In the latest installment of Trey Little’s life, he is the solo pastor of a Presbyterian Church in the small, west Texas town of Albany (population: less than two thousand people).

In July of this year, rising 7^th and 8^th graders from Grace Presbyterian Church, the church that I serve in Houston, boarded a bus bound for Albany, Texas.  For many of the students, it was the first time that they had embarked on a mission trip, and the air on the bus was thick with anxiety, excitement, and the smell of sunflower seeds and Axe body spray.  My first real assignment as the Seminary Intern at Grace was to give the nightly talks on the Albany mission trip, so while I was not guilty in regard to the Axe-stench that filled the bus, I completely owned a sort of nervous excitement.

Two interstates, one state highway, and twenty-some-odd country towns later, we were greeted in Albany by a man named Trey.  With a southeast-Texas drawl, Trey explained that he was the pastor of Matthews Memorial Presbyterian Church, and that he and his congregation would be taking care of us during our time in west Texas.  We spent the next week worshipping, sharing meals, and working with members of Matthews Memorial.  We made-over the town park with a few coats of fresh paint, and we prepared an old house, across the street from the church, to serve a nursery for the young families of MMPC.  For those few days, we were honored guest in the town of Albany, old family friends coming home for a visit.  We were one group.  Not two church groups trying to occupy the same space, but one group, bent on hard work, laughter, and prayer, and Trey was the catalyst.  He and his team organized the work projects, meal times, hayrides, and trips to the snow cone hut.  The low rumble of his diesel pick-up became the background music of our mission trip.  It promised trips to the pool after long days of work and breezy rides back to the high school to clean up before supper.

And while the entire trip was special, particularly the opportunity to preach on a nightly basis to some incredibly insightful and caring young people, the purpose of my internship is to learn, to soak up knowledge, and I am happy to say that most of the teaching that took place that week came courtesy of a fraternity guy, turned bonds salesman, turned Presbyterian pastor.  With eagerness and amazement, I watched a pastor live out the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  And with reckless openness and love, Trey taught those 7^th and 8^th graders what it meant to be a servant of Christ and empowered them to live lives of faithfulness.  He taught them lessons of kindness and humility and humor and a whole host of other things that words fall woefully short in describing.  But, trust me, it was something to see.

After two days of hunting, Trey and I hiked out of that deer blind just before sundown.  Leaning against his pick-up, we drank a few beers and watched the sun melt into the west Texas hills above Albany.   In the silence of that late autumn evening, all I could think about were the expectations that I carried onto that bus in the Grace Presbyterian Church parking lot some 5 months prior.

I went to Albany, Texas in July because it was part of my internship…my job.  And I was supposed to learn about leading a mission trip and building relationships with young people and giving talks, and I did.  But I learned a whole lot more.  I learned what genuine hospitality sounds like – what it feels like.  And I learned what it looks like when a church truly lives as a community.  I learned that a man who owns a 40,000 acres farm can love Jesus just as much as a man who’s taken a vow of poverty.  And I learned about courage: to leave a job, a hometown, and a way of life in order to respond to God’s call.  I am better off for all that I have learned from the people of Albany.  And I am blessed to say that my teachers were the people of a small, west Texas town and the congregation of a small church in that town and the pastor of that congregation.  His name is Trey.

-DP

 

Stepping out

Last spring, I took a class entitled Youth and Preaching that focused on what it meant to develop and preach sermons to young people.  My professor, Anna Carter Florence, a renowned preacher in her own right, spent the better part of four months forcing her students to examine and reexamine what it meant to read scripture and preach sermons that were relevant to young people.  Part of her strategy for molding our class into a group of pastors who actually cared about youth was to assign free-writing exercises.  We were asked to write a few short stories and a few pieces of poetry mostly about what it meant to be a young person, but more than anything else, she asked us to be open and honest, thoughful and free in our writing.  In a way, Professor Florence asked us to travel back in time, to a place where the innocence and freedom of youth would give each of us permission to write frankly and authentically about life and faith in God.

I stayed a few minutes after class on a day that we all shared poems about the intimacy and beauty of Christ’s birth, just to tell Anna about how important the writing assignments had been to me.  How they had challenged me, made me more vulnerable, and maybe, just maybe, helped me become a better preacher.  I described to her this new need that I felt to write, to put my thoughts and emotions into words, and to put those words into print either through writing them in my journal or typing them on my keyboard.  I told her how I could not believe that I hadn’t turned to writing earlier and how I had so many things that I wanted to write down; thoughts and musings that I wanted to keep a record of.  I think that she could feel the excitement in my voice, the unfiltered joy that comes from discovering something brand new about yourself, and she stood there listening to me and smiling.  She said, “We all get to that point, David.  The point where we have to compose our thoughts and take all of the things that are floating around in our head and put them on paper.  We all get to the point where we have to write.”  It was so obvious, so logical, but it was really important for me to hear.  That afternoon, Professor Florence gave me permission to write and to examine myself and the world in a new way.

Over the last few weeks, the idea of blogging has been on my mind, but honestly, I knew that I didn’t want to step out on my own.  As God would have it, one of my best friends felt the same inclination, so Matthew and I decided to start this writing experiment.  On one level, this blog is a way for him and I to share our experiences with one another.  Good friends, a couple states away from each other, keeping in touch through written words.  On another level, this blog is a way for both of us to share, in a public way, what it means to be young men pursuing God and calls to ministry.  I am confident that this experiment will be, at times, awkward and lacking.  My grammar and punctuation will leave much to be desired, but I am confident in promising one thing: the reflections that you read here will be honest.  They will be written from places of openess and sincerity and even, vulnerability.  Some entry will lack perspective, others humor, still others will be chalked full of both.

This morning, I read a portion of Cold Tangerines(a very good book) where the author, Shauna Niequist, gives an honest self-assessment.  She writes, “When I am at my best, I can see and think and feel at a deep level, and when I am at my worst, I’m a tap-dancing, tipsy show-off, with funny stories and hand gestures and painfully little else.”  I see myself in her words, so I hope that in this blog the former shines through more than the latter, but I won’t make any promises.  Thanks to Cameron, for assuring me that I had stories and experiences worth writing about; Dillon, for promising to read this blog before it was even created; and Matthew, for stepping out with me.

Here’s to writing…for pleasure, reflection, and growth.

-DP

The Beginning

Blogs seem to be all too trendy these days, and admittedly the decision to create this blog was not without great consideration.  The truth of the matter is that we, David and myself, hope that this blog will be a place in which we can share some of our reflections about the world around us, life, and God.