Being a faithful churchgoer really shouldn’t be newsworthy, it seems to me, but there it was nonetheless—a story from the Reuters news service about an individual named Preta, a regular churchgoer in Sobrado, a town in northern Portugal.  Every Sunday for the past three years, it seems,  Preta has attended without fail the 7:30 a.m. mass.  Granted, that’s good, even commendable, but newsworthy?

There is, however, more to the story.  It seems that in order to attend worship every Sunday Preta has to walk 16 miles from her home.  OK.  Now I’m a little more impressed.  But I guess what makes Preta’s 16-mile early-morning walk to church every Sunday really newsworthy is the fact that she’s a dog.  That’s right, a dog—four legs, tail, small parasites, the works.  Now we’re talking news.

Like many churchgoers, Preta once was a stray, but now she’s found a home in the Sobrado congregation.  And obviously she’s devoted.  Every Sunday she makes the 16-mile hike (Do dogs hike?) and takes her usual place beside the altar (Like most of us, she’s a creature of habit, preferring a regular seat).  During the service,  Reuters reported, Preta stands whenever the worshipers stand and sits when they sit.  Afterward, she usually walks back home, though the report notes that occasionally she will ride in a car, provided the driver is someone she knows.

That’s pretty amazing stuff, I have to admit.  But here’s the part of the story that caught this preacher’s eye.  The congregation at Sobrado has grown, the story concludes, because many people have been coming to the church just to see Preta.  Aha!

This evening, I’m going to have a talk with our dogs, ZuZu and Bailey.  Granted, Preta has beaten us to the “dog who walks to church every Sunday” punch, but what if I could teach ZuZu to preach?  She doesn’t even have to do it all that well, I figure.  I mean, think back to some of my most mediocre sermons, but now imagine them delivered by a dog!  It changes everything, doesn’t it?  We can make her a little robe and velcro a Bible to her paw and …

I know.  I know.  It’s just a gimmick, I can hear some of you saying. It lacks integrity.  We’re better off relying on the power of Christ’s gospel of grace and love to touch lives, you say.  Our calling is to provide meaningful ministries for all ages, care for those who are hurting and preaching that explores the depths of life and the heights of God’s good news.  You’re right.  You’re right.  Never mind, then.

But what about a cat who can sing solos?

Here at Fayetteville First, August’s arrival brings with it a new theme that will guide us through the fall—“Living Faith Fully.”  Simply put, what does it mean to give our whole being—flesh and blood, mind and soul, heart and hands—to the mercy and grace of Christ?  And how does our life in Christ shape our life in the world?

We are physical beings; we are spiritual beings; we are servants and learners, teachers and friends.  We are the temple of the Holy Spirit and the Body of Christ, and we are more-or-less ordinary folks going about our business, day to day.  In other words, we are Christian disciples, with lives to live and bills to pay and a wondrous calling to fulfill.  And every time we gather we affirm, in one way or another, the faith that shapes us as followers of Christ, the faith that makes us something more than just ordinary folks.

Over the next four months, we’re going to hold up that faith like a diamond and consider its beauty and indescribable worth.  Each month we will examine a different facet of our faith, a different dimension of our identity, message and joy:

September:  “A Faith of Mind and Soul”

October:  “A Faith of Heart and Hands”

November:  “A Faith of Hope and Memory”

And it will all begin with our August theme, “A Faith of Flesh and Blood.”  At the heart of our salvation, at the heart of our faith, is an amazing and miraculous message—that God chose to reveal God’s love through the flesh and blood of a human being.  And even more amazingly, God chooses even now to work through you and me, fallible though we might be, for transformation of the world.

That is good news worth proclaiming and claiming again and again.  My texts and sermons this month will be:

August 1:     “A Faith of Flesh and Blood”

August 8:     “The Word Made Flesh in the World”

August 15:   “The Word Made Flesh and Fresh in You”

August 22:   “Your Place in the Body”      

August 29:   “The Church’s Place in the World”       

I hope to see you—flesh and blood in all your glory—in worship Sunday.

I believe we have done good things for the kingdom of God in those five years, and we have shared a lot.  I am blessed to work with a staff I respect and enjoy and with wonderfully gifted and committed lay leaders.  And, simply put, you have shared with my family and me the love of Jesus Christ again and again, moment upon moment.  And for all of that, I thank God.

No doubt, I have disappointed you at times, and, unless this church is some really strange aberration, there are some among you who are probably quite convinced that five years has proven at least two or three too many.  But, for better or for worse (and I do believe it is for better), we are beginning year six.  Together.

That “for better or for worse” stuff is probably very appropriate, because our relationship is, after all, a kind of marriage, albeit a rather odd one.  It is an ARRANGED marriage set up by the bishop and cabinet of the North Georgia Conference, and it is a marriage that will end when the bishop so discerns it should, but it is a kind of marriage nonetheless.  We share a life and a home together, and by now we’ve been together long enough to know each other’s quirks and strengths and weaknesses.  But, as in any relationship that matters, let us vow not to grow complacent in such knowledge.  Can year six be a year in which we grow in love?  Certainly, let us grow in our love for one another, as Christ commanded, but even more importantly let us seek to grow together in our love for Christ and God’s world.  The goal is not just to live together in peace, get along, and take care of each other the best we can.  The goal is to THRIVE together for the sake of God’s kingdom.

I am excited as I look to year six.  Possibilities abound.  I pray that our church will continue to grow in membership, service and grace.  And I promise I will do my best to grow as a pastor and preacher.  After 25 years as an elder, I am still awed by God’s call in my life and by the trust shown me by God’s people and by the privilege and grace allowed me as I share a life in Christ with you.  For better and for worse, for another year or more, we are in this wondrous body of Christ together.  And for that I thank God.

I am not a great fan of summer weather (one word: pale), but summer time I appreciate.  My own expectations of summer are a mix of definite plans and vague hopes, but in general I see the next two months or so as an opportunity to reflect, refuel, rethink and even relax.  More specifically, as the clock ticks down to Memorial Day and the resetting of the seconds, I have come up with a few Summer Resolutions:

• Take a week of study time, sermon planning and general thinking time;
• Attend Annual Conference (OK, that one’s a required resolution);
• Figure out what to eat on Wednesday nights;
• Make some much-needed visits and calls;
• Vacation;
• Consider where I am heading as a minister and human being and ponder the future of our work together as we begin our sixth year;
• Go on some dates with my wife;
• Preach some sermons worth coming to church for;
• Start working out (inside) and lose 20 pounds;
• Do some really creative landscaping work (early in the morning or at dusk);
• Read Moby Dick;
• Outline, and write the first chapter of, the work that will lead to the next Great Awakening.

OK, somewhere in there (around the 20-pound mark) I got a little carried away, but you get the point.  Summer time is different and holds its own unique possibilities.  What will you do with your extra nanoseconds?  What resolutions have you made?  May I make some suggestions?

Spend some time with people you care about.  Spend some time alone with God.  Spend some time for others (two quick suggestions: VBS and the Summer Lunch Program).  Spend some time considering the wind and flowers, the elongated arc of the sun, the sound of children, the songs of birds and frogs and insects, the gifts of conversation and laughter.  Spend some time considering the wonder of time.  Then, come to church (you knew I had to say that) and we’ll spend some time together thanking God.

Between now and then, why not take time to read the story again in Acts 2?  It’s a pretty exciting tale, after all, with rushing winds and tongues like flames.  It was a cacophonous scene, to say the least, with all kinds of noise and chaos—kind of like the early days of creation, I suppose, or that time when the Tower at Babel came tumbling down.  But in the midst of the tumult filling that upper room that day in Jerusalem was a gift—the Holy Spirit—and, with the Spirit, possibilities no one could begin to imagine. 

Outside that room that day was another kind of cacophony—a busy city filled with busy people from all kinds of distant places, all of them speaking their own languages, each of them hearing nothing but the jumble of unknown tongues around them.  And then—you know the story—the disciples began to speak in the languages of all those people, much to everyone’s amazement and wonder.  Or, at least, that’s how we usually think of it.  Actually, as biblical scholar Walter Brueggemann points out, there’s more to the scene than the disciples’ ability to SPEAK other languages.  In the miracle of that day, the people in the crowd were able to HEAR in a new way, too.  Barriers fell.  Cacophony gave way to symphony, and differences of culture, race and history gave way to a new community of grace.

In short, everything changed.  New possibilities flowed with the words.  Suddenly, the grace of Christ that had so wondrously touched and transformed lives in that little patch of Middle Eastern land, was let loose to change the world.  And WE, the church, were born.

Now, goodness knows we’ve gotten in the way of the Spirit more than a few times since that day.  We haven’t always allowed the church to be what God wants it to be.  But when we do open our hearts and let the Spirit work, we are still amazed at what we can say and hear.  Cacophony gives way to symphony, and a gracious harmony is found.  So, on the 23rd—Pentecost—we will celebrate it all again and pray that our birthday might be, once more, a day of new birth and new beauty.

Using that simple standard, I want to congratulate our Kristin Heiden for her excellent work.  In her first year here, Kristin brought Wonders of Worship to our Sunday morning experience and introduced Kids FLIP (Fun, Learning, Inspiration, Play) on Wednesday nights.  Now, in Kristin’s second year, both programs are being copied.

I said “copied,” but “copied and pasted” would be more accurate.  On the website of another, smaller United Methodist church, I just read descriptions of their newest children’s programs called, strangely enough, “Wonders of Worship” and “FLIP.”  If you want to read those descriptions for yourself, just go to OUR website, because descriptions on the two sites are identical.  The Lord works in mysterious ways, it seems.

I am of two minds on this.  On the one hand, that another church should adapt one of our ministries to their setting isn’t a big deal; it’s a common practice as old as the church itself.  If it works for us and works for them, then it’s working for the kingdom of God.  And that’s good.

But, really, copying and pasting?  That bugs me.

Maybe it’s because I’m a “word person” and have always been very sensitive to plagiarism.  Either attribute the words or write your own.  Or maybe it’s the idea that someone somewhere thinks they’re getting away with something by portraying the work of another as their own.

Or maybe it’s just possessiveness: Kristin is a key part of our ministry team; Kristin developed the programs; don’t take what belongs to her (and us).  I would not have been comfortable in the early church of Jerusalem.

I said it isn’t a big deal, but here I am still writing (ranting?) about it.  “Do I contradict myself?  Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes” (Walt Whitman [that’s called an attribution]). 

Sometimes my own attributions during sermons can be pretty vague (“As I heard another preacher say …” or “As a wise professor once said …”), but they are a way of keeping myself honest, of acknowledging that the words and thoughts are not my own and thereby, truth be told, placating my own conscience.  I guess I want to imagine that the copier and paster at least felt a twinge of guilt, that he/she wrestled with just how much to take of another person’s work and words, that she/he at least considered calling Kristin and thanking her for her good work before lifting her words from the page.

Somewhere at the heart of all ministry, original and duplicated—at the heart of all preaching, all writing and, for that matter, pretty much everything we do—is a small stamp, legible only to the conscience, that marks our work as healthy or not.  It is the stamp of integrity.  Wandering the vastness of the Internet, it’s easier than ever to pick up something you like and carry it home.  In most cases, the only one who will stop you is yourself.

This column originally appeared in the March 3 North Georgia Christian Advocate.

The best teachers are highly portable; it’s amazing how far and long you can carry them with you.  Even now, after 25 years of ministry, Fred Craddock still stands watch as I attempt to patch together one more sermon, challenging every cheap shortcut.  Leonard Sweet still hangs around pushing me to be bolder, more creative, more of a risk-taker, and someday I might actually listen to him.

And then there is Dr. Bill Mallard, the teacher who proved to me that levity, gravity and knowledge, mixed properly, will produce remarkable and beautiful wisdom.

Arriving at Candler School of Theology an unreformed nerd who had surrendered my horn-rims only as I started college (peer pressure), I found the mere sight of Mallard inspiring.  All gangly angles, unkempt, unstylish, and, yes, spectacularly four-eyed, he was proof there was a place for my kind in the kingdom and maybe even the church.

Then he began to speak … and sing … and laugh his way through “Introduction to Christian Thought,” translating ancient and obtuse Christian theology into living, vibrant gospel.  It was a big class in a large lecture hall, but, through that uniquely “Mallardian” blend of intellect, humor, excitement and eloquence, he managed somehow to speak to each of us.  It wasn’t just a class on Christian thought; it was an extraordinary example.

Later in seminary I would take a class on theology and literature with Mallard, where we explored some dark and painful topics.  Even now I remember his near-tearful discussion of his own struggling efforts as a young staffer at a local church.  Mallard understands just how broken and lonely we human beings can be in this world, and he truly believes in, and embodies, a way of mercy and truth that can heal and bring us into God’s own community.

That’s why, as I left seminary, I packed Mallard up, along with a few other teachers, and have carried him with me ever since.

As I move through my days now as pastor, preacher and quasi-theologian (very quasi), it is Mallard who reminds me that what I do has eternal substance and profound weight, and it is he who points out that it is all as light as laughter and amazing as grace.  Gravity, levity, knowledge—I know the ingredients.  Now if I could only blend them as Mallard does.

You might justifiably infer from the i-tumbleweeds drifting across this site that Mark Westmoreland abandoned months ago any dreams of blogging and has packed up, moved on and settled in some Internet flophouse down the road.  But not quite.

I’m back and ready to sweep away the dust and settle back in.  Maybe I’ll do better now.  Maybe I’ll be more dependable in my writing.  Maybe it will be worth your time, time to time, to return to this site.  Time will tell.

Make your list and check it twice or even more, as time allows.  What are you seeking at the manger this year?  Just remember, as some great sage has told us: “You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometime you just might find you get what you need.”

Looking for power?

         You will find only a helpless baby.

Looking for success?

         You will find poverty, a stable and a feed-trough cradle.

Looking for wisdom and knowledge?

         You will find only an uneducated young couple.

Looking for status?

         You will find lowly shepherds, fresh from their herd and smelling like it.

But come to the manger seeking harmony and sweet accord,

         And you will find one the prophet called Prince of Peace.

Come seeking hope,

         And you will find the Alpha and Omega, who was and is and is to come.

Come seeking meaning,

         And you will find the one who is the Way and the Truth and the Life.

Come seeking mercy,

         And you will find the bearer of God’s wondrous grace.

And when you find that peace, hope, meaning and mercy, you can discover also God’s true and wondrous power that can transform lives, communities and the world.

You can find a depth of success you never dreamed possible—success measured in moments, relationships, compassion.

You can find wisdom and knowledge grounded in nothing less than God’s own grace and truth.

And when you find these gifts, you will come to know yourself as you were intended to be—a child of God.  And that, my friend, is status.

So what?  That’s the question.

At our church yesterday we were inspired by a beautiful service of Lessons and Carols.  But inspired to or for what?  We are spiritually sprinting headlong toward Christmas and will be there in a matter of days now.  So—when we get there, and before we have raced past it—what?  For our lives and for the world, so what?

I am haunted by the U2 song, Peace on Earth.  “Jesus in the song you wrote, the words are sticking in my throat—peace on earth,” Bono sings.  “Hear it every Christmastime, but hope and history won’t rhyme—peace on earth.”

“Peace on earth,” we sing.  So what?  We put a lot of energy into proclaiming and celebrating Christmas, and when it is all done, is the world any different?

I cannot answer for the world or for the Kingdom of God in the world or for God’s plans or even for the church, but I can answer for myself.  This year I will stand with the shepherds once more and hear the angels’ song.  I will stand beside a feed trough and listen to the baby’s breaths.  I might even sit down for a bit by that manger and allow myself to ponder.  Is there a Word in that silence?  Can there be salvation in a baby’s presence?  Is this the climax of a story that can change the world?  For some reason, my soul says yes.  The strange claim that what the world calls powerless has the power to save has, well, a strange claim on me.

Which brings me to the “So what?”  This year, I vow not to leave the manger empty-handed.  This year I will leave with the baby in my arms, and I’m going to carry him on through January and beyond.  No doubt, carrying a baby around will change some things.  I might have to slow down a bit; I might have to lower my voice a little.  I might have to be more patient.  And what if that baby really is God’s eternal Word, God’s truth, God’s example of what life ought to be.  Then I better walk carefully, because it’s nothing less than the hope of the world I’m carrying.

And if he is the hope of the world, I should share him, right?  But how?  I mean, you don’t hit people over the head with a baby; you can only invite them to open their arms.

So, here, I’m inviting you.  Take him.  Really.  Ponder him for a while.  He has a claim on your soul, too, doesn’t he?  There is something in the story that nags at you.  There is something in the angels’ song that speaks to your hopes.  There is something powerful in this powerlessness, isn’t there?  It could even be the hope of the world, couldn’t it?  So what?