Pastor Tommy's Blog

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

  • Checklists - February 20, 2025

    Woe to you, teachers of the law…You give a tenth…But you have neglected the more important matters– justice, mercy and faithfulness. You should have practiced the latter, without neglecting the former. Matthew 23:23


    I really like to make checklists, and then check things off of them. Sometimes, I’ll even add something that I’ve already done to the list so I can check it off. I know, not healthy.


    The thing I like about checklists is, they represent a system of well-defined expectations. If I can just meet those expectations—check off the things on my checklist—I’ve mastered the system. I’ve done what I need to do, so now I can go watch cat videos on Youtube.


    Unfortunately, from this passage of scripture, it doesn’t sound like Jesus is a big fan of the checklist. I mean, that’s what the teachers of the law were doing. The Bible told them to give a tithe and so they did. And then they went and did the 1st Century equivalent of watching cat videos. But Jesus said it’s not that easy. Faith isn’t about just checking off boxes. It’s about love—for God and people—things like justice and mercy and faithfulness. And love doesn’t lend itself to check boxes. Love is a relationship. It’s a matter of the heart.


    Likewise, our giving isn’t a matter of checking things off a list. It isn’t a matter of picking some arbitrary number—5%, 10%–and letting that define what we’re going to give. Instead, as our love for Jesus and one another deepens, our giving should follow suit. As our devotion to Jesus deepens, the earthly things that have been holding our hearts should begin to loosen their hold. In short, a deepening of our faith journey should be accompanied by a deepening of our giving: of our time, our abilities, and our financial resources.


    Which, for people like me who like checklists, can be frustrating. But it’s just the way it is. It’s what love does.


    PRAYER: Loving God. Help me to see my faith as a relationship, not as a checklist. Amen.

  • Running on Rocks - February 13, 2025

    I went on a (for me) long run last Friday. I’m trying to work my way into better running fitness, so I’m trying to keep my runs pretty easy for the time being. Nice and flat and typically on some sort of pavement. I thought I had planned this run to meet just those parameters.


    I massively miscalculated. Instead of a nice, flat, easy run, I ended up having to run about 7 miles of it on a single-track trail. Now, I usually love trails. They lead you right through the middle of God’s creation, they’re usually softer and better on my joints. And that’s how this one started.


    But it didn’t stay that way. Pretty soon, the rocks started to appear. And almost instantly, my nice, comfortable, meditative jog morphed into a virtual hellscape of sharp, ankle-turning, pace-breaking, demon-spawned rock shards. Every once in a while, the trail would even out, beautifully winding between open meadow and oak motte, lulling me into a false sense of peace, only for the rock-knives to resurface in even greater numbers. Did I mention I was wearing slippery road-running shoes and most of the trail was wet? Did I mention that this was an out-and-back run, so when I turned around, I got to do it all over again?


    Like I said, I usually enjoy trails, but after just a few minutes of this torture, I began repeating to myself like a mantra, “I hate this trail, I hate this trial.” Which is strange, because this is a trail I have hiked—and loved—many times before. So, what was the difference?


    There are a number of possibilities. For one, even though I wasn’t running for time, tiptoeing through the rocks resulted in a considerably slower pace than I had been running before, and while that shouldn’t have frustrated me, it did.


    I was also a little scared. I was wearing the wrong shoes, and I’ve been known to twist my ankles while sitting. It took all my attention to keep from getting injured, so I wasn’t able to actually enjoy any of the amazing scenery.


    All of which probably boils down to this: it wasn’t what I was expecting. When I started, I had a picture in my mind of how the run was going to go. This wasn’t it. And I wasn’t able to adjust my expectations to fit the circumstances I found myself in.


    I do that a lot. I think most of us do. I tend to live in my head, dwelling on past mistakes (and infrequent glories) and looking into the future at all of the things on my calendar and to-do list. And if that’s where all of my attention is, it can’t be where I am right now. I’m living everywhere but the right now. And so, the challenges I face today become impediments to the day I thought I was going to have, rather than opportunities to experience what God has in store for me in the day that He has given me.


    Jesus talked about this. He said, “Don’t worry about tomorrow; tomorrow will worry about itself” (Matthew 6:34). Every day is a gift. Right now is a gift, if we can just tear our eyes off of the past and the future long enough to see it and to actually be in it.

  • God Hasn’t Stopped Whistlin’ - February 9, 2025

    I didn’t get to know my granddaddy on my mom’s side very well. He was a smoker and died from emphysema when I was pretty young. But I do remember one of his sayings. Whenever I would come to him with a complaint—like I’d stubbed my toe or skinned my knee—he’d say, “I’ve had worse places on my lip and never quit whistlin’.


    Nowadays I go to God pretty frequently with my complaints. And they’re usually (though not always) a little worse than a skinned knee. I’ve never actually heard God respond the way my granddaddy did, but sometimes I imagine God doing so.


    I mean, God’s been through a lot. God has been there through every war, every genocide, every natural disaster. God has been there every time God’s church twists the Gospel of love and pushes those who might want to meet Him away. God was there when humanity chose religious and political expediency over Himself, and nailed the Word made flesh to a cross.


    God was there when I turned away as a youth, and all the times I have fallen short of what God wants for me since then.


    God has experienced a lot more than chapped lips.


    And yet God has never quit whistlin’. God continues to love us. God continues to love me. Despite everything, God hasn’t given up on me, on us. That’s Grace.

  • Rolling Around - January 30, 2025

    I write about my dog Ginger Ruth a lot. She’s smart, sweet, goofy and wonderful. But she does have this one slightly annoying habit. She loves to roll in stinky stuff. Whenever we go for a walk, she will inevitably zero in on the worst-smelling thing she can find, and roll all around in it. Sometimes it’s a rotten banana peel, sometimes a squished toad. More than once, it’s been a partially decomposed animal. But whatever it is, it stinks. And, as a result, she stinks. As I said, she has a lot of good qualities, but personal hygiene isn’t among them.


    Of course, Ginger Ruth isn’t alone in doing this. Her predecessor, Piper Ruth, would do the same thing, although not with the same frequency or gusto. Her “brother” Buster Ruth … well, as the commercial says, he doesn’t always roll around in dead animals, but when he does, they’re really, really dead. I guess dogs are programmed to mask their scent so their prey will think they’re being stalked by rotten bananas. And while this may be handy in the wild, it’s not so great in the neighborhood … or the house.


    I know people who are a lot like Ginger Ruth. I’m one of them; people who are doing just fine till they get a sniff of that special thing and bolt off to it. For some people it’s alcohol or drugs, for some it’s worry, for some it’s approval, for some it’s obsession over money or work, for some, it’s chocolate chip cookies. For me, it is or has been pretty much all of those things at one time or another. We know that stuff stinks. And, unlike Ginger Ruth, we also know that stuff is going go make us (and those around us) miserable. But we bolt off anyway. We can’t seem to stop ourselves. So why do we do that?


    I think we do it for some of the same reason Ginger Ruth rolls in rotten banana peels and squished toads: it’s in our nature. I believe we are born with a lack. The French philosopher Paschal called it a God-shaped hole in the soul. We sense that emptiness and our natural, instinctive reaction is to try to fill it by ourselves—with drugs, power, money, worry, acclaim, work, other people, chocolate chip cookies. And, I think we figure out pretty quickly that while some of those things might seem to fill the void for a while, none of them ever lasts. The emptiness always comes back. But we can’t seem to help ourselves. We realize the best we can ever really do is to distract ourselves, but we figure that’s at least something. So, we do—we fill up our days with music and noise and activity worry and more activity and more worry. We obsess over our health or our kids or our house or our jobs, all the while hoping against hope that the void will go away, or at least be shut up for a while. We roll around in a bunch of stuff that, if we could look at it from God’s perspective, just stinks. And we get the stink all over us.


    But, unlike dogs, that’s not how God created us to live. God knows, and in our better moments we know as well, that the God-shaped hole can only really be filled one way, and that’s with God—by giving up our efforts, by shutting of the noise, by stopping with the attempts at distraction—by sitting in the silence and inviting God in.


    I would like to say this is an easy thing to do. And, in one sense, it is. It’s as easy as saying “yes” to a direct, loving, eternal relationship with God made possible through Jesus. But for the vast majority of us, it doesn’t end there, because regardless of what we might believe in our heads, we’ve got a lifetime of bad habits to break. We’ve got a lifetime of rolling around in smelly stuff to undo if we’re going to really live in God’s love; if we’re going to live the sort of lives we were created to live. And the hard truth is that this takes work. It takes discipline. It means taking seriously spiritual practices like prayer and silence and service to allow God to conform us over time into the image of Jesus.


    I suppose I could break Ginger Ruth from the habit of rolling in bad-smelling stuff, but she enjoys it sooo much. I suppose if Ginger somehow realized what she was doing was causing problems and asked me to help her stop, I would. But it wouldn’t be a quick process. It would take effort and patience on both our parts.

    Thankfully, God doesn’t want to let us go. God is calling to each one of us right now and inviting us, offering to help every one of us that’s willing to try. We’ve just got to be willing to ask, and to try . . . and then, to put in the work.

  • Taking Down the Lights - January 23, 2025

    I’m taking down the Christmas lights. Well, not at this moment. I mean, it’s 25 degrees out there and I’m not crazy. But I have been taking them down ever since Epiphany. And as I was doing so yesterday, on my tiptoes with one foot on a tree branch and the other on a slightly unstable ladder, I reflected on the fact that taking down the lights isn’t nearly as fun as putting them up.


    Not that either occupation is especially thrilling. But when I’m putting the lights up, I’m anticipating the final result. I’m anticipating the beauty. I’m anticipating the symbolic light in the darkness. I’m excited.


    On the other hand, when I’m taking the lights down, all I’m anticipating is eventually being done. I’m anticipating getting to lug several large storage containers up another ladder and into the attic. It’s pretty much a drag.


    As a matter of fact, the whole Christmas season can be the same way if I let it. I love the anticipation of the presents, the food, the time with family … and of course, celebrating Jesus’ birth. But sometimes when it’s done, I’m like, “That’s it?”


    And, to tell you the truth, a lot of the time that’s how I live my life: anywhere but in the present. I spend a lot of time anticipating and planning for things. Some I’m excited about and some I’d just as soon not be involved with. I put a lot of energy and time into the preparation; a lot of myself. And then, when it’s over, well … it’s over. Time to move on to the next thing. Time to clean up. Time to put away the boxes (or the files, or the excitement) and move on to the next thing.


    That’s not how it’s supposed to be. Jesus was pretty clear in the Sermon on the Mount that we shouldn’t be worrying about (or for that matter glorifying) tomorrow. It’ll take care of itself. There’s plenty for us to experience right now, today (Matthew 6:24). It’s called living in the present and it isn’t just a Jesus thing. Most authentic faith traditions recommend it.


    And when you think about it, there’s one very good reason. Right now is all we’ve got. That’s the way time works. The past is gone and the future may or may not come and if it does, we have no idea what it’s actually going to bring. So, whether the lights are still waiting to be taken down, let’s live in right now.

  • 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?

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  • 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?