Gone Fishing...

Where have you been? Some have been asking me this question. On March 13, my best friend in ministry died. Dr. Jerry McKinney was more than a friend. He was a pastor who grasped the significance of the missional church and had become the most encouraging supporter of our work through Missional Church Center. Further, Jerry was old enough and wise enough to have become a father figure to me. When we visited, whether in person or more frequently by phone, our conversations were lengthy, deep, and transparent.

Jerry was an avid reader; in fact we became acquainted after he had read and resonated with the content of Shaped by God’s Heart: the Passion and Practices of Missional Churches. From the pastor’s study at Putnam City Baptist Church he called me to enquire about meeting. I will never forget the morning he drove from Oklahoma City to meet me at my Dallas office. I knew shortly after we met that I was in the presence of a critical thinker whose greatest hunger was to know God intimately and lead disciples to follow Him faithfully.

It was my privilege to share the message at Jerry’s memorial service there in the sanctuary where he had stood to teach God’s message. Only two months before, on January 21, Jerry had invited a group of men together to consider the development of an Advisory and Support team for our Missional Church Center ministry. It was in Jerry’s words, “to help take the ministry to the next level.”

I never saw him again after that meeting. My schedule carried me over the next six weeks to various states. I did not know that his cancer, multiple-myeloma, had grown resistant to the experimental medications that had worked to abate symptoms and spread of the horrible disease. Then, he was hospitalized and not able to have visitors. His family created a blog so that those who loved Jerry and the family could be aware of the daily, sometimes hourly, changes in his condition.

I did not know that the final hug we shared on January 21 would be our last. That our prayers together that day would be the last time we would speak to our Father together.

Where have I been? One answer to that question, an accurate one, would be, “I have been fulfilling the commitments to ministry that I had made prior to Jerry’s death.” I have continued to research and prepare to speak to the best of my ability. I have prepared proposals for churches that are in “critical condition” and who desperately need to find a vision pathway toward the future. I have worked on creation of tools to help the staff of an association of churches to more effectively identify churches with common issues, so that they can more effectively assist those churches toward health in God’s mission.

Where have I been? “On the back porch with Jesus,” would be another correct response. I had determined at the beginning of this year that in my personal time with God I would delve into the Gospels, spending a year listening to the words of Jesus. That is what I have been doing. Just today, I read each of the synoptic Gospels account of the Transfiguration of Christ. I watched Peter go from the confessing “rock” to the restricting “stumbling-block.” I keep hearing Jesus say, “He who has ears to hear, let Him hear.” Today, I heard the Father say, “This is My Son. Listen to Him.”

Where have I been? I might answer, “Away from the pen and keyboard.” My capacity to write has been stifled. I have not posted on Facebook or Twitter. I have been unable to complete the proposal for the book on which I am working. While I continue to compile research, I have failed to make progress in the body of writing. There is a gap in my personal journal, even though I was reading and being enriched in the Word, I found no way to record what I was hearing and observing.

Where have I been? I have been in a fog of grief. At first I was totally oblivious to what was going on in my soul. There was an emptiness for which I found no resolve. Over a period of months, I realized that I was “in a funk.” Now, the fog of that experience has begun to lift. Please don’t misunderstand; I never sensed that Jesus abandoned me. I still connected with friends and family. I still laughed. But after the laughter, my soul still felt empty.

You can say, “Buck up man…you are a child of God. You shouldn’t go through such experiences.” “You should have greater maturity in Christ than that!” You can say what you wish. I simply know where I have been. And even if it seemed to the entire world a most unproductive place, I would beg to differ. Something in side of me is different; different in a good way. I do not know where I may be tomorrow. But on this side of the experience, I know that where I have been has been a good place.

After Jesus death, Peter said, I am going fishing. Across the years, I have read that as an abdication of his responsibility as a disciple following Jesus’ death and resurrection. I perceived Peter negatively, running away when the tough times came. Now I think that in the absence of his best friend, he needed a comfortable place where he could heal. For one who was raised as a fisherman, the sea was that place.

All of us have times when we need to get away; times when little is demanded of us. Times when we can retreat to a place that is comfortable. I guess that is where I have been…fishing. Not literally; but figuratively. I have withdrawn for a period of time until the pain began to recede and the way forward began to appear.

Where I am is a good place.

Don't cry?

As Jesus was approaching the city of Nain in southwest Galilee, a funeral procession approached from the opposite direction. The deceased was a young man, the only son of a widow. One can imagine the depth of sorrow emitting from the grieving mother and the large crowd with her.

Jesus first words to her were those that I counsel others not to say to a person in grief. In fact, the words may be among the most detrimental that we can speak, “Don’t cry.” Yesterday one of my closest friends in ministry died, Dr. Jerry McKinney, pastor of Putnam City Baptist Church in Oklahoma City. Even as his son was speaking with me on the phone yesterday, tears streamed down my face. They do again this morning as I write. They doubtless will again Tuesday when we share in the memorial service.

Would I dare to say to Jerry’s family, “Don’t cry? Why would I try to stop their tears? The word “cry” in the New Testament is akin to the word “to break.” That is the image that we often use isn’t it? She broke down crying. When our heart is breaking, tears flow from the brokenness. And somehow those tears are therapeutic. Over time, they wash over us until the grief becomes tolerable. I am not saying the hurt goes away. I am not saying that we “get over it.”

That is another sad statement that I sometimes hear spoken of persons in grief. “He just needs to get over it now.” Reality is that we do learn to live beyond the sorrow, but we do so with a new normal. That new normal includes an empty place, a part of us that is missing. Often the metaphor is used of a stone wheel that suddenly has a section broken out from its circumference. It can still roll, but every time it passes the place where the broken piece used to be there will be a rough bump. Continue rolling long enough and the friction will ultimately begin to smooth out the rough place. Then the jolt becomes less pronounced. But, the wheel will never again be the same as it was before the pain, because something dear will always be missing.

So was Jesus wrong to say, “Don’t cry?” Oh no, he was not wrong, because He gave the broken piece back alive again. His touch restored life. His heart went out to a grieving widowed mother, and “Jesus gave him back to his mother.” Her grief turned to joy in that moment.

For us, we know that Jerry McKinney is more alive today than He has ever been. He is with the Father whose love He experienced and whose Words he proclaimed. But we are separated from Jerry for a season. And so we cry. We cannot see him, touch him, sit and talk, laugh together at his stories. His family cannot sit with him watching the ocean, feeling its breeze blow across their faces. Grandchildren cannot sit in their grandfather’s lap. There is an empty place that cannot be filled by another. The grief is real. But, so is the confidence that our friend still lives and that one day we will celebrate life together again. Then, and only then, there will be no more tears.

Pumpkin Patch Ministry of Putnam City Baptist Church in Oklahoma City

Last October I spent some time with my friend Jerry McKinney, pastor of Putnam City Baptist Church in Oklahoma City. While many congregations offer some type of Halloween alternative, Putnam City found a way to connect with families in a manner that is less chaotic than the typical one-evening event. People from around the community are coming to Putnam City Baptist Church facilities everyday of the week in the month of October.

They are finding a few minutes of unhurried joy with their children in a place endemic to the fall season, the Pumpkin Patch. Creatively constructed, staffed by church volunteers, with interactive experiences for families and children, Putnam City is inviting the community right up to the front door. And they are coming!

As Jerry tells the story of Pumpkin Patch, now an annual experience at Putnam City, he talks of this community initiative as an entry point where conversations begin. Members speak of families who bring their children, play games, crawl over, in, and around pumpkins, color a pumpkin picture, all the while smiling and laughing in an environment where they feel comfortable and welcomed. The story is worth your consideration. While you may not start your own pumpkin patch, you can find creative ways to bless people who live near you. You can let conversations begin.