There are days I don't want to go to church assembly on Sunday morning. Occasionally I've had a draining week at work. At times the weather is gorgeous and I want to play outside. Sometimes there are just people I don't want the "die to myself" experience of sitting in the same room with because he, she, or I have wounded the other. Other times I just doubt faith in the promises of blessing in community and would rather go it alone. And yet, for the most part, I do assemble and am, for the most part, blessed, challenged, and transformed by being the same room with people trying to figure life and love out each week.

Today I want to begin a smattering of ponderings on assembling together to do a couple of things. The exploration is partly selfish in that it will help me flesh out for myself what often, but not always, subconsciously overrides my desires to forsake the assembly. I know for some this may sound like strong or antiquated language. Maybe it is but I may eventually explore why it seems an adequate and realistic notion to discuss when I desire to "forsake the assembly."
 
I also want to explore the topic because there are people with whom I miss being in spiritual community--who have opted out of assembling with saintly sinners for a variety of reasons. Some are likely valid reasons. However, I want to explore the genius of community for myself and for those whom may find it useful in order to reaffirm it for myself and to perhaps welcome others into that experience through one sojourner's eyes. I do NOT, however, desire it to be a guilt trip for myself or others. This doesn't seem helpful in my experience of pastoral and evangelistic ministry. But I also want to explore the possible deficiencies of living a solo life away from some form of assembly Please don't assume I have a specific communal form I'm discussing at this point. I have certain forms of assembly which have resonated more or less with me but that's not yet something I'm exploring.

Finally, I suspect there are some at weekly assemblies who may need an occasional breather from assembling as well as those who've checked out far too long who miss the blessing of showing up in all the potential messiness of the endeavor. Maybe this will give some word to where you are along those lines and what you, and I, can do to have a time of refreshing to that end.

For today, though, the only thing I'll say is that the church is the bride of Christ. You can't love me without loving my wife Rachel. It would be difficult to love Jesus without loving his bride as well. Of course many of us have bride-baggage with the church. An unfair judgment uttered toward us. A confrontation given in a poor spirit. Being taken advantage of by people in powerful positions in church offices. Its clear how that love of his bride plays out isn't always clear because his bride has some ugly moments. And yet it seems no one is more personally aware of or affected by them than her husband Jesus.

This won't likely be a consistently rhythmed series that comes in once a day or week. It will likely come when it can as time or thoughts allow or step forth in my brain. However, I wanted to get the ball rolling today.

For those who know Ronn Rubio, whom you'll see in this video, you'll know when he shares something you listen. At our Fall Creek Falls campfire with our family he shared a Nitty Gritty Dirt Band song called "When its Gone" as a reminder of how fast and fleeting these years are with our children. In compliance with the song this video is an effort to train my eye in paying attention to what so often streams by us with little notice.

Also, the first song is from Coldplay because A. its glorious and B. it helps me see God's glory.

Enjoy if you'd like.

Friends will occasionally say something that has such weight or wit I believe their words deserve a larger audience. While I don't have a pulpit to offer I do have a small virtual platform.

Today I'd like to share that platform with Jenna King, a coworker and friend at Harding Academy. Like me, Jenna spends time in classrooms teaching Middle and High School students the story God is weaving in this world. At our school we also have something called The Bible Ceremony. Coming from public school I was skeptical of this ceremony when I first came. However, after experiencing it I believe its purpose is beautiful and rests within a stream of centuries of men and women passing down an ancient, true, holy, and transformative story--sometimes at great personal cost.

Jenna spoke at the ceremony this year. At the end of her speech I found myself thinking "I would like a lot of people to hear these words." I asked Jenna if I could share her words. She kindly said yes. Read Jenna's words below.

I have had three grandmothers for my entire life- my mom’s mother and my dad’s mother, who have both passed away, and my dad’s stepmother who is still living. My grandmothers each played a huge role in making me who I am today.  What I love about having had three grandmas is that each of them are as different as can be, yet they all have two things in common- They all love Jesus and they are all passionate bakers. Growing up, we would drive to Abilene and visit Gram, Nancy, and Grandma- and all three of those visits involved a lot of messy kitchens and a lot of calories.
 
Flour, sugar, and copious amounts of chocolate have run through my veins since the day I was born. Although for the first twenty something years of my life I leaned much more heavily on the eating side of things than on the baking side.
 
My deep dive into the world of baking began just after my dad’s mother passed away in 2012. She and I were incredibly close, and in a season of powerful grief, there was something comforting about stepping into the world that she loved. So I began baking as a sort of grief counseling, but the more I did it, the more I fell in love with it. And now, given a day off with no responsibilities and no baby to chase (as rare as those days are), I would most likely choose to spend that day elbow-deep in dough, making a pie for someone I love.
 
As I started baking more and more, I called on my mom and my aunts and my last surviving grandmother to do some digging and to find recipes… and not just recipes, but handwritten, authentic, stained and tattered recipe cards.
 
Within a few weeks, I had a stack of sweet sweet treasures in my hands.
 
Now, I can trace the curve of Gram’s sloppy cursive, I can scratch off the crusted butter and flour from my Grandma’s chocolate chip pie. In a very small way, I can experience a piece of my grandmothers.
 
After several years and way too many pies, I’ve added my own greasy smudges, my own melted chocolate smears, my own tears and bent corners.
 
The reality is, my mom and my aunts could have emailed me a few recipes. I could have called Nancy so that she could read off her less than precise measurements, but I know now, that I would’ve been missing something.
 
I hope my grandmothers’ recipes will collect the grime of many decades of baking. I hope that my daughter will add her own spills and smudges. Because these recipe cards will bear witness to many lifetimes of memories in the kitchen, many days when we all just needed a slice of fudge pie, many recipes that celebrated family joys and offered a shred of comfort at a funeral.
 
Today, my dear 7th graders, you are receiving the sweet words of your Father… Bibles that carry his love, his passions, his character. Scripture isn’t a history book or a compilation of nice sayings, it is the real, true, word of God. Paul tells us in 2 Timothy that all scripture is God-breathed. All scripture is inspired by the creator of all things. It comes from THE source who knows the inner workings of you and the rest of the world in a way we cannot comprehend… Psalm 139 says that he has searched us and knows us- he knows every movement, every thought- and the reality of our known-ness is TOO wonderful and TOO lofty for us to attain.  All of scripture illuminates the will of our Father and calls us to a fuller life lived in Him.  As Mr. Knight said on Monday, scripture is our roadmap and our unfailing GPS that is capable of showing us the way when the roads are dark and twisted and confusing. All of scripture points to the heart of God and paints a picture of a powerful God who is also gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and rich in love.
 
We live in this incredible world where the Bible is always on the phone in your pocket or on the iPad in your backpack. You are quite literally never without the Word of God. And that is a blessing!  But it can be easy to become so accustomed to that fact that we forget that maybe technology isn’t always the answer. Maybe, there is something special about the leather bound, heavy, real deal.
 
As you carry this Bible with you through the years, these words will get underlined, passages will be highlighted, a few corners may get bent and torn, and all of those marks will tell the story of your journey with your Father. These pages will catch your tears when things just aren’t going right, will carry dust from the dirt roads of the country you’ll visit on a mission trip, will walk with you through six years of Bible classes here at Harding, will speak life and truth to you when it seems so hard to find life and truth in our world.
 
I hope and pray that the binding will break on these pristine Bibles, that the silver edges will wear off, that maybe even a few pages will become loose.
 
Psalm 1 says “Blessed is the one who does not walk in step with the wicked, or stand in the way that sinners take or sit in the company of mockers, but whose delight is in the law of the Lord and who meditates on his law day and night.”  So how do we keep ourselves from getting wrapped up in the wrong things? We meditate on the Bible day and night. We don’t “meditate on the law to cram before a Bible test” or “”meditate on the law only when things aren’t going well,” but blessed is the one who seeks the Lord day in and day out. When things are good and bad, when things are exciting or boring. As long as there is a sun in the day and moon in the night, you should be seeking scripture. Blessed is the one turns to the Father’s Word before you turn to your friends or even your parents for help. Blessed is the one who recognizes that scripture isn’t just something to reference, it is something in which you can delight and find joy.
 
Blessed is the one who allows the Word of God to build up a little grime from afternoons poring over this love letter from your father, from many days when all you need is a Word from God, from seeking scriptures to celebrate family joys or to offer a shred of comfort at a funeral.
 
My recipe cards will carry with them the legacy of my grandmothers and my family- not by hiding them in a scrapbook or tucking them away in a box, but by weaving them into my life and the lives of my children and grandchildren. Your Bible will carry with the legacy of God in your life, not by sticking it on a bookshelf or losing it in your locker, but by weaving the Word of God into every facet of your life. May you seek God’s Word first, before all else and before anyone else. May you seek God’s Word often, day in and day out. And may these pages one day show the story of a life that was deeply, passionately, completely rooted in the Word of God.
 

Like many of you I haven't slept well the last couple of days. 

My wife and I got a new-to-us car a couple of months ago. One of the small repairs we needed to make on the car was a rear light out. We drove the car for at least two weeks before making our way to a shop for an oil change and light repair. I thought nothing of it at the time but now that rear light means a great deal in light of the last two days.

I'm a white male married to a white woman with two adorable children who, as you could probably guess, are white. 

While I was driving around Memphis where I live I occasionally hoped no policeman would pull me over and give me the annoyance of a citation for the light. Not once, however, did it cross my mind that a rear light out could lead to a cop pulling me over and then to me being shot and killed...with a small child in the car while streaming on Facebook. 

However, its clear for black men and women in America this is now a real and pressing concern. It’s scary. It’s gut wrenching. And, if we remain silent, the next death may be our fault.

Now, before I go further and you say "We don't know what happened before that video began live feed on Facebook" or “The evidence regarding Alton Sterling is not clear and comprehensive in what was happening,” let me say this. It is clear in light of all things considered and the growing list of police related shootings growing we can say that the grand narrative of shootings show black people are clearly at greater danger than others in police interactions. If Alton Sterling and Philando Castile don't say it, maybe Eric Garner, Tamir Rice, Sandra Brown, and the chorus of others whose blood cries out can build to a strong enough crescendo in your heart to consider there is a systemic error that vomits out the lost lives of men and women whose greatest crime is wearing a skin tone that is black. There is also an insurmountable amount of research data to support this.

That said, what in the world do we do if we are white? Whether acknowledged or not we sit in some form of systemic privilege in which our fear of a busted back light is the annoyance of a ticket rather than the fear of a bullet. How do we love our neighbor who is unsafe because they have a way better tan than you or I?

I don't know all the answers. I may know very few of them in fact. However, Luke told a story about Paul the apostle in his account we know as Acts of the Apostles where Luke had been arrested in Philippi. He had healed a girl whom had a spirit which caused her to tell the future. Some men were exploiting her abilities for their profit and so Paul's healing caused them to lose money. Paul was arrested and then flogged and beaten at those men’s behest. 

As the story goes he was eventually set free and even halted the soldier who held him in prison from suicide. When Paul was released he preached good news into the soldiers life which convicted him and led to repentance and change of heart and lordship. 

The strangest part of the story, however, is when Paul is told he is free to go. He refuses to go. Here are his own words for his reason: “They beat us publicly without a trial, even though we are Roman citizens, and threw us into prison. And now do they want to get rid of us quietly? No! Let them come themselves and escort us out.”

Paul did not expect the magistrates to act as people who shared his faith (they didn't) but did expect them to act as people who treated fellow citizens with dignity. He expected a trial if accused, a proper arrest for a citizen and not a flogging, and ultimately an apology when those things didn't happen.

Luckily for Paul he survived his arrest. He wasn't shot four times in the arm, choked to death, or had his flogging placed on social media for the world to discuss. 

However, Paul knew he had dignity and expected to be treated with such.

So what can we learn? What can we do? 

1. Call your local representatives and speak up if there is a racial injustice in your area. You have dignity and you can speak up for those whose dignity is being demeaned or exploited. It’s not just that you "can speak up" it’s that you MUST if you are aware of an abuse of power!

2. If you are white like me, acknowledge that the system stacks cards in the favor of white safety and success more so than for POC. At this point if you don't believe that I doubt I'll convince you otherwise and we can part ways. However, for those who know it to be true and haven't said anything because your family, friends, or coworkers may not agree, the day for silence has passed. Too many people are dying because of a system that undermines their value as people created in God's image (for us Judeo-Christian folks) and American citizens (for all of us).

3. Call out straight-up racist talk and activity in your sphere of influence. It’s so, so past time. Demeaning language has no place. Lives are at stake. Literally. When we allow generations to absorb racist thinking it creates a racist reflex. Sometimes that reflex is connected to a trigger finger. Don’t allow racist talk remain unchecked in your presence. Be bold, it could save lives in future generations.

4. Allow black people time to mourn, be angry, demand justice, call darkness to light when news like we’ve had the past 48 hours breaks. Paul did that in Philippi when he was flogged unjustly as a Roman citizen. They deserve that space. We can and should, as mentioned earlier, be vocal as well in calling out the injustice and raise a mirror to the authorities who need to catch a glimpse of any injustice. However, we can’t fully and truly feel the weight of that burden and fear placed upon them by this news. 

5. Have black friends but don’t make sure everyone knows you’ve got POC friends in a sensational way, especially after traumatic news events like this. You have friends who have a better tan by genetics than you? Great! The world needs more folks in community to break down heinous walls of racial inequality. However, don’t exploit friends who are POC by gaining racial merit badges for having an African American friend in such times. This devalues their true worth and tarnishes your relationship. Just be cool, hang out, love them. They’re fighting enough battles without being exploited by white friends with egos needing stroked.

6. Parents, intentionally have conversations with your children in which you inform their understanding of the value of all humans. As they grown in understanding be open about successes AND failures of your own particular race. One of the most powerful moments I’ve ever heard was from a close family member of mine (white) who confessed his past racism to an African American friend whom befriended him in a dark time of his life. He asked for forgiveness and repented of old ways of thinking. For a man from his generation from the West Tennessee town in which we lived this was powerful Jesus transformative community. It set a great deal of my relational trajectory. Teach love, grace, honesty, and a heart for justice. 

7. On a micro-level, ask with whom you share a table most days. With whom do you typically break bread, do family vacation, and play sports or music? These choices teach your children who is of social value to you and them as well. Can you make a spread at your table for someone whose names are not like yours? Will you intentionally share a meal with someone who doesn’t look like you who is gracious enough to join you and so begin teaching the next generation that tenants of law (macro approach) won’t fix all this mess in our hearts but maybe tables and food (micro approach) might.

Most people who become police officers do so to make their communities safer. I've known both white and black police officers who are good, good people. I've also known a few who are questionable. Either way this is beyond just a police matter. This is a cultural matter. It is the end result of the shadier underbelly of colonial history. Its roots run deep and often undetected on the surface but the biases we don’t check will bud into undesirable things in the common cultural garden we share. ​

We have to do the painful, rigorous work of uprooting the evil that dwells within ourselves, our common cultural assumptions, and our belief systems so that something healthy can grown. We have to stop tip-toeing around and, like Paul the apostle in Phillipi, not just take the quiet road out of the unjust situation. Paul believed Roman citizens’ lives mattered. If he was in Baton Rouge or Falcon Heights in the last 48 hours he would hold a light up to the authorities and examine their systemic health as well. Black lives matter. On this that he wouldn’t be silent nor should we and this becomes truer everyday.

Tonight it happened. That thing every parent dreads the possibility of happened at our go-to Mexican place.

It's the place that on most weeknights you will find several parents with toddlers and teens. It's quick service in putting food on the plate for a reasonable price takes cooking meal off of parents' plates filled with never-ending "to do" lists. We went to El Mezcal-- a great little place in East Memphis.

While there, our three year old got a piece of chip lodged in his throat and vocalized his frustration about having said chip sticking his throat on the way down. In this case he wasn't throwing a fit as children, and my son, are at times prone to do. He was in pain and was vocalizing it. And then that thing all parents dread happened.

"CAN YOU MOVE ME AWAY FROM THAT RIDICULOUS BABY SCREAMING?! I CAME HERE TO EAT A NICE QUIET MEAL AND DON'T WANT TO PAY TO LISTEN TO THAT!" came the jagged words from the woman sitting to my back in the next booth. The middle-aged woman's words were designed to cut hard and fast and they drew blood. 

A few years ago there was a season on the TV show Parenthood which had characters live out nearly this same topic. It felt painful watching actors live through it. It felt deathly being in the realness of it. While she drew first I admit I verbally locked and loaded and released an arsenal of words in retaliation as we went back and forth.

"You realize that's MY child you're talking about! Yes waitress, it'd be a great idea if she moved....or left!" The waitress, who was noticeably pregnant said to us with her eyes was "preach customer" but with her words said to her, "I'll see what I can do" as she was unfortunately caught up in our verbal duel. 

She said ugly things. I returned the favor. My wife kept waiting on John Quinones and a cameraman to pop out from behind an artificial plant to interview the customers about joining the fray or sitting in passivity so he could post it on his news drama. He didn't. This really happened and it was more terrible than it sounds. Barf and ugh.

I feel wretched that it happened and still a little in shock. It was the ultimate scratch at parental insecurity. 

That said, I want to offer those who don't have children or have forgotten what its like to have children some advice about those of us who have toddlers and take them into public spaces. I also wish a younger me had known some of these things more clearly. 

1. If our children are loud we are more aware of it than you. Yep, toddlers are occasionally loud. Sometimes there is no good reason for it and other times there is. Either way, we know. And we will usually do something about it if we can. But let me give perspective on why we may let them, at times, be loud. First, parents of toddlers sometimes starve for adult conversation and will sacrifice having a few decibels in the room to speak to other adults and not break up the conversation. It's not the same as needing water or oxygen. But that need is a close third. We know you may not be used to the loudness this may necessitate and don't expect you to have the same developed immunity to the loudness. However, please try. 

Second, kids are kids. Much like a dam full of pent-up water, eventually that water's got to flow! Kids need to release energy and sometimes the public place is when that river flows. We know it's loud. We wished it wasn't at times. We'll try and keep it down. But still.

2. If you really need quiet, we get that. My wife, who is a bastion of patience compared to me, said after our fiasco, "I don't blame her for wanting to move. I just wish she would've quietly done so." We know how precious peace and quiet is. It's in short supply for parents of toddlers. Our low energy levels and bags under our eyes should clue you in to this awareness. If you want to be away from the crazy, we get it. 

Just remember, we parents already feel slightly sensitive (at least most of us) for our children being born with no volume control. Making a scene about the fact that we can't at all moments control our childrens' impressive voice projection like you control your flatscreen via remote doesn't help them, you, or us with your plight. Quietly ask to be seated in another section. We might've done the same at other points in life.

Also, if you walk into a restaurant and see a few tables in each section o'er taken by moms, dads, and toddlers, take your business to the pub down the street. We won't be there and we won't judge:)

3. We LOVE awesome people who help. Can you guess what happened as soon as Queen Crazy (as I may in my weaker moments refer to her) left for another section? At the table just beside us sat a sixty-something couple and their thirty-something daughter whose own husband and children came a few short minutes later. The older woman, whom I've already mentally marked as Queen Cool, said, "You guys are doing exactly what you're supposed to be doing. Good job, keep it up. We've all been there." They heard the same child Queen Crazy heard and yet said what every parent doubts but hopes to be true. You can speak those words too. You should speak those words too.

This does not mean you should let all chaos go unpunished if a child gets too riled up. We'd like your help, although not harshness, there as well. The whole "It takes a village" thing, you know. 

After all this is said I feel better. I can now entertain the thought that maybe the Queen had a bad day and was off her game. Hopefully this wasn't her normal mode.

Either way, I hope every parent who reads this hears the words of Queen Cool. You guys are doing exactly what you're supposed to be doing. Good job, keep it up. We've all been there!

​If you need an adult with whom you can have adult conversation while your six and three year old yell at unnecessary and unstoppable levels go on ahead and call up someone from your village, grab some chips and salsa, and have yourself some adult conversation!

My last blog was forever and a few days ago. So it goes. A lot has happened and is continuing to happen this year. Writing, working, wondering, and wandering. 

For now, though, here is my first attempt at the very cool app 1 Second Everyday. You should all drop all other plans for your evening to download it and begin using it. Its simple and brilliant. Simply brilliant!

I plan to post a new video extending from and building on the previous quarter at each quarter's end this 2016. Here is Quarter 1 of the 2016 Woods Chronicles.

I don't know how 2015 could possibly be gone but she left yesterday and isn't coming back! Its time to start 2016. Start writing that date on your checks and homework and plan how to change that "5" into a "6" when you mess up!

Now to the resolution. A few years ago I heard a poem called "The Grandeur of God" that has struck me and reframed the world. It speaks of a world full of glory. I don't want to miss any of that glory. However, I tend to look for it in the sensational when it is found with much more frequency in the mundane. You can't have extra-ordinary without the ordinary.

This year I want to pay more attention. I want to look for God's creative glory in the places where it most abundant: the everyday, ordinary, routine life you and I live.

That said, as with everything these days, "There's an app for that!"

A fellow Hutchmoot/Rabbit Roomer (http://www.hutchmoot.com/; ​https://www.rabbitroom.com/) posted a video today she composed using an app called "1 Second a Day." The idea is you take one 10 second video a day and condense each video into a second of life for each of your 365 days. You can check it out here: http://www.1secondeveryday.com/

When I saw the 1 Second a Day video I was drawn in by how it captures the essence of 365 mostly mundane moments and reveals the glory and magic of them seen from the bird's eye video. This will be my high tech spiritual discipline for 2016. I believe it will be worshipful experience as I train my eyes and phone lens to see moments in a different light as I commit to my resolution for more video resolution. I pass it along in case you might enjoy and benefit from the experience. 

Happy New Year friends and family. 

P.S. I also plan on writing a great bit more again in 2016:)

This may be my favorite poem from Luci Shaw. Its everything a poem and Advent should be. I leave it here.

​"Mary's Song"

Blue homespun and the bend of my breast
keep warm this small hot naked star
fallen to my arms. (Rest …
you who have had so far to come.)
Now nearness satisfies
the body of God sweetly. Quiet he lies
whose vigor hurled a universe. He sleeps
whose eyelids have not closed before.
His breath (so slight it seems
no breath at all) once ruffled the dark deeps
to sprout a world. Charmed by doves’ voices,
the whisper of straw, he dreams,
hearing no music from his other spheres.
Breath, mouth, ears, eyes
he is curtailed who overflowed all skies,
all years. Older than eternity, now he
is new. Now native to earth as I am, nailed
to my poor planet, caught
that I might be free, blind in my womb
to know my darkness ended,
brought to this birth for me to be new-born,
and for him to see me mended
I must see him torn.

It's November 29th in Memphis...and probably where you are. Its been raining here for two full days and will continue well into tomorrow. The rain is steady, constant, thorough in its effect on these grey Autumn days.

In Memphis, summer occasionally slips back into view well into November. But rain now falls with resolve to say summer is no more. The rain falls with resolve to wash away what has been this year to pave the way for what will be after the cold breath of Winter comes and inevitably gives way to the breezes of budding Spring. 

Yet Spring is distant in the moment of this grey, cold spell.

We wait. We hope.

There was a time when Jews could felt the grey they dreamed would give way to green. The rain of oppression poured heavy on them. The ache of oppression all too familiar. False hope would rise and fall in would be Messiahs and revolutionaries.

They waited. They hoped.

Oppression this day bears down on so many. Sadly, sinfully, those pressing down in ignorant or intentional ways are do so in the rhetoric of faith and objectivity. In the shadows of this faulted social system we see dimly--perhaps by choice.

For safety's sake we'd walk by or, perhaps better said, ask our nomadic neighbors to walk by our states as they seek a friend, refuge, and rescue.

Our own lesser desires hold us captive to technology and tangible lesser gods more often than we'd like to admit. Our possessions become our possessors in the endless trek toward suitable affluence. 

We wait. We hope. 

The rain bears down on so many at the birth of this Advent. Yet Advent reminds us grace is slowly finding its way through the cracks of our personal or systemic brokenness like water through worn roofs. Days like the last few misty Memphis one says through its constant pitter-patter the rain is baptizing this recent season of world events. It keeps showering stains of recent history.

Just as hope was birthed in the darkness of Mary's womb my prayer in this grey, rainy season is we have eyes to see and participate in hope's incarnation. May we allow it to wash over our frayed souls in preparation for the whispering of Spring winds shifting the this direction.