Getting Loose

Big Brother Alive and Well in the Bluegrass State

This is a very thorny issue. There is no black and white. Only shades of gray.

Apparently, the Board of Ordained Ministry (BOM) of the Louisville Area of the United Methodist Church is asking candidates for ministry to "friend" Kelly McDonald, not even on the BOM, in order to engage in "Big Brother" monitoring.

Now, to be fair to the Kentucky Annual Conference’s BOM, apparently a prospective "employer" can indeed ask for a FaceBook password (and other social media of its ilk)—just like they can ask for a psychological exam, testamentary evidence from former employers, a physical exam, etc. Of course, a "prospective employee" is not obligated to provide that password, but then neither is the prospective employer obligated to "hire" said prospective employee.

Of course, though, the BOM of the KY conference could do all sorts of workarounds without blatantly asking for "friending." And there is nothing to stop a person who is a friend, and also not under an obligation of any kind of confidentiality, from printing off what he or she reads in the content of a candidate who posted straying words or anathematized behavior.

Yet, for a prospective "employer" to demand such a thing invites all sorts of negative publicity, such as the attention of the ACLU. My experience is that bishops have an instinctual loathing of lawsuits and most will accommodate to a large degree to avoid one without violating conscience or integrity.

If there are "prospective employees" looking at the Kentucky Annual Conference and do not like what they are being asked to do, there are plenty of other conferences who have no such standard for employment.

It’s as simple as that, and as thorny as that.

Kathryn

You learn a lot when you go to see someone, and just sit and listen. I love doing that very thing.

I had always known her as Kathryn. She has a rather serious look to her face. I know that she has traveled lots of miles so to speak in her journey of life.  She’ll admit it has been a pretty good one for her many decades.

But when she was much younger, she was Kate or Katie. I found that intriguing. All of a sudden a younger girl appeared who was full of life and activities that involved siblings and cousins—never mind whether they were first or second—they were kin and that is all that mattered.

She’s outlived two of the children she helped to rear. She has outlived two of her husbands, and some days are better than others.

She gets frustrated with her inability to precisely call a name or a date or a place, but the older I get, the more I sympathize.

But what really stunned me was that she was a Beckendorf. And that set of dogs is always related to each other through one way or another. Of course the one I knew the best was Harvey Beckendorf, a fellow clergyman. And then I found out there’s another Beckendorf who is pastoring a church in Beaumont under another name. I felt a kinship with her that I had not previously felt.

She was so appreciative of the visit. It made her day. She said, "You know, you can hardly find anyone anymore who cares about what it was like in days gone by."

But that is not me. I love to hear the stories of days gone by. I find myself, the older I get, ruminating around in my mind decades ago, reliving, dissecting, analyzing, wondering, puzzling about events that I feel certain most everyone else has forgotten about.  But somehow they linger brightly in my mind. Why that is so, I don’t really know.

The Mecca of Methodism

You could hardly be a Methodist and come to London and not see Wesley’s Chapel, right?

Well, we did the very thing! 

We even got to take Holy Communion in the Foundery Chapel.  We sat on pew benches which were part of the original ones used in Wesley’s lifetime.  We got a private tour of Wesley’s home and saw the room in which he died.  We saw his grave.  Across the street his mother is buried and next to her is Isaac Watts.  Also in that Bunhill Fields graveyard is Daniel Defoe.  It was all astonishing. 

The Foundery was once upon a time way outside of the city limits, but that is not at all true today.

It was like being at Mecca for the Muslims.

A Heart Strangely Warmed

On our way in to the Museum of London, there was this big, metallic sculpture about of all things, John Wesley’s conversion. 
All I had ever seen were some of his thoughts about what happened that evening.  I did not know that earlier that day he had been to St. Paul’s—the very church where we had taken communion at half past 12 m. the other day.  At the time, it did not dawn on me that the Revd. Mr. Wesley must have frequented that very church many times in his life.  But then, after all, he died still being a priest in the Church of England; he was never a part of what we know as a “Methodist” Church.

Lagniappe

I’m not sure it is truly a French word.  I think it is more an American French word, which is a polite way of saying that it is Cajun.  It basically means something added.

We were on our way to the Museum of London when I happened to look across the street and see something about Aldersgate.  Mind you, we were never setting out for Aldersgate, but crossed the street to read the sign.  Lo, and behold, without even designing it, we were at the very address where John Wesley had the most famous of his many conversion experiences.  I could not believe it!  Talk about a pilgrimage spot for Methodists!

4.4 Mile Constitutional

I walked today and went to the homes of eight shut-ins in the process—Norma, Margaret, Fred, Nerissa, Esmilda, Bernard & Pam, Doji, and Merle.  It was in the 60’s and a little windy outside.  Perfect weather for walking.

I am amazed at how you can announce that you are the vicar, sight unseen, and the doors swing wide open.  What a very sacred trust.

Bernard and Pam made tea for me with all these wonderful repasts—Twixt, peanut butter cookies with half peanuts sprinkled across the top, a toffee chocolate covered biscuit, another chocolate covered biscuit, a caramel candy of some kind, and of course the requisite tea with two sugars and milk.  You know, a fellow could get used to this very easily. 

Bernard and Pam were very interested in my perceptions of England.  They had sold their car, as being older adults, they are able to travel the bus lines for free.  They knew some about America, and were interested in my perceptions about their population density which is quite typical for England.  They marvelled at how we American drive these very large cars and then just pull up into a driveway.  It is just so very hard for them to grasp that, and yet we so take it all for granted.

I have also come to understand that the British system of medicine is not as horrific as we have been led to believe.  Most of the pensioners feel as if their needs are well attended.  Of course, should you decide to take matters into your own hands with private insurance, you probably do get better, more immediate care.

Merle also had her daughter fix some tea as well, and came out with 5 biscuits (we’d call them cookies).  How utterly delightful and refreshing.

The Clerical Collar

Over here in JOE (Jolly Ole’ England), all denominational clergy wear a clerical collar.  

I knew that before I came over, and I wasn’t sure what I thought about it.  I tend to wear clerical collars only very occasionally—like for a funeral in a funeral home (which they call crematoria over here), or an occasional wedding, or when I have to act  in some official capacity at a public event, or very, very occasionally when I go to the hospital, or when I get my driver’s license picture made.

But to come to JOE, I went ahead and bought 2 additional clergy shirts (one black and one grey--both long sleeved).  Here, I use them exclusively for Sunday service, going to residential homes (i.e., nursing homes), and other sundry activities. 

I’ll have to admit it does tend to make me feel a little more official somehow, like I have on a costume that people recognize the credentials that go with it. 

What will I do when I get back?  I just am not sure.  I like travelling incognito in a lot of ways, yet on the other hand, wearing a clerical collar opens a lot of doors.

I’ll just have to see.

Acton Hill

I went to the Good Companion group at the Acton Hill Church.  It was a group that met in the back of a sanctuary designed to seat 1,000 people. 
Quite an impressive structure with stone facing (though this is the old church just around the corner, but you get the idea).  They were cordial, meaning not all of them fell asleep as I described my call into ministry, and a little of how we have had to do things differently at Terrace in order to survive and grow.  And that attendance has grown by 12% in three years as a result.

 

Graham, their lay leader was so gracious to collect me at the manse and drop me off again.  On the way back, we got to talking about the common language that divides our two great nations, e.g.,  they have no trucks in England.  What they have instead are lorries.  And police officials are not called cops.  Perhaps coppers, but never cops.  Cop is an Americanism that probably comes from the meaning of nabbing someone.  We stand in line.  In Britain they queue.  In NYC they stand on line.

 

In Britain, the further north you go toward Scotland, the more difficult Londoners find their ability to understand the accents in northern England!

 

For supper we went to Maxim’s. 
We are fortunate that it is on the same block where we live right around the corner.  It is most likely one of the best 4-5 Chinese restaurants in all of London. 

BB

There is a rather successful youth ministry whereof the Kingsdown Church engages.  It is called the Boys Brigade.  It is a much older organization than my beloved Boy Scouts.

From what I understand, it started in Scotland in the late 19^th century and is only affiliated with churches.  Its mission is to advance Christ's kingdom among Boys and to promote the habits of Obedience, Reverence, Discipline, Self-respect and all that tends towards a true Christian manliness.

I left Wednesday with a group of older gents about 6 a.m. in the morning and we spent three hours traveling by car to Wales where they speak Welsh.  Once you cross over the bridge ,
 the signs are printed in two languages—English and Welsh--
.  Welsh words look funny.  Lots of double dd’s and double ll’s.  (Wouldn't you know that that sign has neither . . .  but then in Welsh it also reads, "I am not in the office at the moment. Send any work to be translated".  The person who made the sign thought that that was the translation!)  CWM is pronounced koom as an example.

When I arrived at the camp, they had the USA flag
just underneath their Boys Brigade flag in honour of my coming.  I was deeply touched.

Their food was good and adequate; they played games like pillow fight, and went into town to play soccer and hockey.

The boys were well behaved and the leaders were full of enthusiasm and energy.  They feel a natural rivalry with the Scouting movement.

Notice the patch work quilt country side on the hill overlooking this camp.  The group of boys at this camp won the band (drum & bugle corps) contest for all of London.

Residential Homes

We call them nursing homes, but over here, the governmental municipalities take far more of a proactive role in caring for the indigent in their old age.

 

Like the States, the workers are way underpaid for what they are asked to do and to put up with.

 

There is a jewel of a couple who take it upon themselves once a month to provide a keyboard and try to lead in some old beloved hymns that touch a few of these people’s memory banks.

 

I told them a story about creation from Genesis chapter 2.  There is humour in it, but you would never know it to read it the way it is printed on the page.  I told it in a fashion much truer to the intent of the Hebrew redactor.  And much to my surprise there was laughter at the appropriate parts of the story.  Until that moment, I did not have a clue as to how much or how well I was communicating.  I had to walk around telling the story, getting in their faces, making eye contact.  A few fell asleep.  And that’s OK.  Some are suffering with Alzheimer’s.  They may never fully understand what I said, but let me tell you what they will take away from the experience.

 

It was a welcome change in their routine.  Someone invited them to be present at a gathering.  They heard some music that was vaguely familiar.  Someone was talking to them, not as barking an order, but rather with verve and energy.  And they received a touch and a hope and prayer for their own individual peace.

 

Later that day, they will feel better.  They may never be able to tell you why, but their day will have gone better. 

 

And you know what?  That’s just good enough.  God was there.  He saw it all.  And his heart was touched.

 

That’s not just good enough, it was good enough for me.