Pastor Tommy's Blog

You can access Pastor Tommy's past blogs from 2024 here.

  • Pulling Weeds - January 17, 2025

    I’m trying to get the Bermuda grass out of my yard. Now, I’m pretty sure the yard didn’t start out as Bermuda, but over the years, with watering restrictions and the slow deterioration of the sprinkler system, most of the St. Augustine has died off. In the meantime, the coastal Bermuda from our neighbor’s yard has slowly migrated over to ours.


    Last year I sowed some wildflower seeds in the front yard, in large part to reduce our dependence on having to water in light of current and future water limitations. Of course, it rained almost constantly until about mid-June. The flowers did great, but because we held off on mowing to allow the flowers to seed out, it became apparent just how thoroughly and how far the coastal had encroached.


    So now, I’m trying to get rid of the “weeds.” I can’t use herbicide because 1) it’s poison; and 2) it would kill everything else. So, I’m trying to get rid of the weeds by hand. Now, I know some of you are laughing right now. And you’re probably right. It’s impossible to eradicate Bermuda once it’s established. Who knows how many millions of seeds are just waiting to sprout. And even if there weren’t any seeds, even the tiniest bit of root left behind will grow a new plant. But I’m still going to try.


    And here’s my plan. Instead of trying to do it all at once, I’m clearing just a little bit, every day. And I figure even if I manage to do the whole yard before the growing season starts back up, a lot of the weeds will grow back from the seeds and roots. So, I’m planning on doing the same thing next year, hoping that my work from this year will make it quicker and easier. And then I’ll do the same thing the next year, and the year after that, maybe forever (or at least as long as I’m here), with the hope that each time, the flowers will come back stronger, and the weeds will be fewer.


    And I think that’s kind of how it is in our faith lives. At least in mine. I find that slow and steady does actually tend to win the race. Instead of tying my spiritual health to one big worship experience a week (or, in my past life, every few weeks), I try to make sure and spend some time every day—even if some day’s it’s just a little—getting close to God in study, devotion, meditation, and prayer. Now, of course, some days I forget or, more often, I decide I just don’t have time. And those days tend to be my bad days. But since it’s not a huge obligation, and since I’m trying to do it every day, I don’t feel crushed or hopeless if I miss a day. I just acknowledge it, ask for forgiveness (which I know I’ve already got) and move on to the next day.


    And my hope is much the same as with my front yard. I don’t expect miracles (although sometimes they happen). I don’t expect to suddenly become Mother Teresa. I just hope to gradually become more who I was created to be. And I don’t expect that I’ll ever be completely done. Especially given my starting point, there’s always going to be room to grow. But I do expect to grow; to mature, so that next year I’ll be a little closer, and the year after that, and the year after that.


    Of course, there’s a part of me that wishes it didn’t work like that. I wish I could magically transform my yard into a wildflower utopia. I wish I could suddenly become a saint. And, of course, God can do anything. But that’s not where I’m putting my hope. I’m putting my hope in the little, daily victories.


    Now, back to clearing the weeds.

  • Happy New Year - January 2, 2025

    We’ve just entered a new year. We have an opportunity to reflect on the year that’s passed, and to anticipate the one that’s ahead. It’s a weird time; an in-between time. The trendy churchy term for it is “liminal space:” a transitional phase of being in-between what was and what is to come.


    I think the reason the church (or at least my United Methodist tribe) has latched on to a term for this in-between-ness is because it’s the reality we’re living in. With the disaffiliation of so many formerly United Methodist churches over the last several years, our denominational reality is different. We can’t go back to the way things were, and yet we don’t have a clear understanding of what our future looks like.


    On top of (or maybe as a part of) this is our overall cultural shift to a post-Christendom world. Whether we like it or not, Sundays (and Wednesday nights) are no longer off-limits for non-church-related activities. Youth sports meets and tournaments are all weekend affairs, usually somewhere far, far away. Fewer people are being raised in the church and, given what many experienced growing up in the church, as well as the reduced social pressure to participate in church, many who were raised in a faith tradition see no reason to continue. The church can no longer rely on people just showing up on Sundays at the church-house because it’s what everyone does.


    As I look back on this last year, there were definitely some good times. As I face the reality that I’m not getting any younger, there’s a part of me that would like to just freeze time—maybe just replay 2024. But I know that isn’t how it works. The good old days are just that: old. Yet, as an active participant in my faith tradition, I feel the constant temptation to try and turn back the clock to the “good ol’ days;” to somehow force things to be the way they were.


    The fact is, I don’t like uncertainty. I don’t like not knowing what the future holds. I would like to be able to engage in long-range planning for the future of my church based on the assumption I can just project the past into the future. But, like the investment disclaimers say, past performance is no guarantee of future returns. And that is especially true right now in the church.


    But, as uncomfortable as all this is, I’m not sure it’s entirely bad … or even at all bad. For one thing, I’m not sure there really is such a thing as “the good ol’ days.” Christianity started out as a counter-cultural movement opposed to the evil, injustice, and oppression of the governing politics and religion of the day. The marriage of religion and political power that characterized Christendom in the global West for the last few hundred years was antithetical to Christianity’s origin, and the loving servant-hood of its originator.

    The fact is, the past is the past, and there’s no going back. And I’m not sure that’s a bad thing. It’s also a fact that the future is uncertain. It is going to involve a lot of change; maybe changing what it means to be the church. And that’s going to involve some work. But, again, maybe that’s not such a bad thing.


    God knows what the future holds. I certainly don’t. So, I guess in this new year, I’ll just have to trust in that, and do my best to remain faithful to whatever God’s calling me to do to help make it happen. How about you?

  • Thief - January 9, 2025

    Thief!


    My dog Buster Ruth is a thief. Whenever I leave our bedroom door open, he will sneak in (and I do mean sneak) and steal a pair of socks. If there aren’t any socks, he’ll find some other article of clothing lying on the floor which, at least on my side of the room, is pretty easy.


    It works the same way with the pantry. If the door is left even the slightest bit ajar, he’ll get in there. For some reason, he really likes the freeze-dried mushrooms and tomatoes. Same for the recycling. If we let the recycling can get too full, especially with cardboard, he’ll pull some out. The otherr night, we left the doors under the sinks open to keep the pipes from freezing. Yesterday afternoon, I found several packages of wet-wipes, a scouring pad, and an assortment of cleaning products missing.


    And here’s the interesting thing. He takes all of these things to the same place, right outside our back door. I said he was a thief, I didn’t say he was a smart one. And even more interesting, except for the cardboard, which he chews into a million tiny, impossible-to-clean-up pieces, he leaves everything intact. He apparently just enjoys the act of absconding with stuff.


    Which reminds me of me. Much of my early life was dedicated to seeing how much I could get away with. I’m not proud of it, but I spent my whole junior year of high school grounded. My senior year would probably have been the same, but I think I finally just wore my parents down.


    And I think most of us do something similar with our heavenly Parent. I know I still do. We know the rules. Jesus was very clear, and they’re pretty simple: love God and love people. Yet we play all kinds of games in our heads to get around them. Like the guy in the Gospels, we ask God, “who is my neighbor,” desperately hoping it isn’t the obnoxious neighbor who starts up the leaf blower at 6:00 AM, or the guy who cut me off in traffic last week, or the person starving to death on the other side of the world. We think, “maybe if I do it just this once, no one will notice; it will be ok.”


    Unfortunately (or fortunately), unlike my parents—who never did figure out everything I did to push the boundaries—God knows. And God grieves. He grieves for the same reason our earthly parents grieve when we do stupid things. The rules aren’t just random, made-up things foisted upon us to make our lives miserable. They are there for our own good. In the case of God’s rules, they actually tell us who we are and help us to live out that true identity as beloved children created in the image of a God whose very essence is love.


    And so, as I was returning the cleaning products to their proper place, and cleaning up the last of the cardboard, I tried explaining all of this to Buster. And his response was pretty much like mine to God: that vacant, 1,000 yard stare. But at least when I was done, Buster licked my hand. Do you think he gets it better than me?