Pardon Johnny Cash

My friend Tony Dichiro passed this on to me.  I enjoyed is so much that I have to share it.

Pardon Johnny Cash
by John Fischer

You have to pardon Johnny Cash.

Johnny Cash was always well acquainted with his dark side. His whole life was a struggle with his inner demons. But still he struggled, and that says volumes. Someone who has no conscience doesn’t struggle; they are just bad.

“So I find this law at work [in me]: When I want to do good, evil is right there with me” (Romans 7:21 NIV).

You have to pardon Johnny Cash.

He just couldn’t stop singing and talking about redemption. He got it. He knew that heaven wasn’t the place for a bunch of good people to go; it was a place a bunch of struggling no-name sinners were ushered into after all the good people turned out to be no-shows. Lo and behold, it was a place for him through no merit of his own.

“What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God—through Jesus Christ our Lord” (Romans 7:24 NIV)

You have to pardon Johnny Cash.

He was always on the side of those who knew they needed pardoning, and from his own pain, he reached out to them. He was a most excellent ambassador of reconciliation.

“Ah, I’d love to wear a rainbow every day,
And tell the world that everything’s OK,
But I’ll try to carry off a little darkness on my back.
‘Til things are brighter, I’m the man in black.”

You have to pardon Johnny Cash.

God did. And now the City of Starkville, Mississippi is pardoning him, too—every year, in fact, but only for 364 days. That’s so they can have a festival in Johnny’s honor every year and do it again. Not a bad idea.

So, who are the iconic figures in your life?

Kurt Vonnegut led me to God.

So what does an East Coast based, WWII serving, self-professed liberal, confirmed agnostic writer have to do with a kid raised in the Midwest who ends up being a pastor? In a lot of ways, everything.

The first of Vonnegut’s writings that I remember was a commencement speech that he gave at Cornell University. One of those awful “Parade” like Sunday newspaper supplements had included it in their annual “graduation” issue.  And I thought that it was one of the funniest things that I had ever read. The speech was included in a compilation entitled  Palm Sunday. And every speech, and short story, and article in the book was better than the one before it. And a big part of me felt like I had found someone who was speaking in my voice, because I wasn’t ready to yet.

Vonnegut was fiercely intelligent, outraged by world that he saw around him, funnier than you, and desperate to believe that there was some sort of better way to live, that people could somehow rise above what they were currently accepting about and expecting from the world around them.

After Palm Sunday, I found a copy of Slaughterhouse Five. And the things that had only been hinted at in the short writings came into hi-def. Wildly pissed off at the capacity of people to destroy other people (in the way that only people who have lived through carnage like the firebombing of Dresden could be) offended by the trite answers and platitudes offered as justification, and offended and amused by his own limitations…this was the most “human” writing that I had ever read. I was hooked.

I have read everything that the man wrote. Earlier this year I picked up my copy of Slaughterhouse Five again and re-read it for the umpteenth time. And it was more powerful than the first time that I read it.

What author, artist, or musician would people be surprised to see in your list of influences? Why?

When Kurt Vonnegut died, I felt the same as when Johnny Cash died. Sad, but exhilarated by the gift he left. And deeply moved by his influence. So do yourself a favor, and discover this amazing writer for yourself.

Here’s some places to start:

http://www.vonnegut.com

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kurt_Vonnegut

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_ss_b/002-1259292-6125660?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=kurt+vonnegut&Go.x=6&Go.y=6&Go=Go

Book Review – Find Your Strongest Life

My review of Find Your Strongest Life by Marcus Buckingham (ISBN 9781400202362)

I first heard Marcus Buckingham speak at the Willow Creek Leadership Summit a few years ago. He was still with Gallup, and was talking about approaching leadership (and life) development through an entirely different avenue – developing our innate strengths over trying to correct our weaknesses.

I was intrigued and inspired. I bought First Break All the Rules, and have read everything that he has published.

As father to two wonderful young women, and husband to a ridiculously talented wife, I was curious to see how he would focus the principles specifically toward women in his new book Find Your Strongest Life.

Past the strengths tests (provided within the book) Buckingham contends that “moments matter most.” He encourages women to not only identify their individual strengths, but to focus on those moments in life that turn dreams into actionable steps and thus into reality.

In a counter-intuitive move, Buckingham also encourages women to abandon the illusion of “balance” in life. The encouragement instead is to focus your attention on the strength moments in life, and actually tilt your energies into those areas. Satisfaction is not found in balance (managing energy) but instead in striving for intentional and focused “imbalance” toward your areas of strength.

The book begins with broad strokes, but then finishes with pinpoint detail on how you can apply these principles to your life.

Recommended.

Thanks to Thomas Nelson for providing my review copy.

Rainy Days and Fireworks in Nashville.

Look Liam, all of those fireworks are for you, buddy.

This past summer I went to my first Nashville Sounds game with my wife and my son. It was just about a perfect evening for a ball game, high 70’s under a blue sky. Our team won, Liam got to run the bases, and we enjoyed the great fireworks that they have on Friday nights.

Look Liam, all of those fireworks are for you buddy.

Exactly one year prior we saw the fireworks at Greer Stadium as well. Only we didn’t know that they were coming from Greer Stadium. We just knew that there were fireworks on the east side of Interstate 65. Liam saw them, ooohed and ahhhed and awesomed. He asked what they were for. We didn’t know, so we told him that the fireworks were for him, to welcome him to Nashville. I wanted that little lie to be a fun one, a silly one that you share with a six year old. But it was really a bittersweet lie, and one that covered up more than a little apprehension.

This time last year, we were driving past the stadium to our new home in the hotel. A really nice hotel, but a hotel all the same. We had just packed the 17 years of our life in Columbia MO and moved it into storage. The home we had built was now on the market. We kept out what clothes and supplies we needed, and headed into our new life here.

Look Liam, all of those fireworks are for you, buddy. I just wish that they had not come at the end of such an emotional day.

Which is why it was so nice to sit inside the stadium, in the place that has now become our home. To know that a year has passed, and that we could enjoy the fireworks the way they were intended to be enjoyed.
Look Liam, all of those fireworks are for you, buddy.

And on rainy Sunday afternoons here in our home in Nashville, these are the things that I think of.

So how about you? What symbols mark major transitions in your life?

Not like “War of the Worlds”

What follows is a post for a blog that I wrote September 11 2007.

I had one of those “Twilight Zone” moments yesterday morning. After I had dropped my girls off at school, my plan was to head straight into the office. I had a ton of work piled up, and I thought that I would skip breakfast and just get these tasks knocked out.

But, the growling in my stomach and a quick check of the time convinced me that it would be a better idea to go ahead and grab some breakfast. Besides, nothing helps to alleviate stress like bacon and a chance to read the entire newspaper.

So I pulled into Lucy’s Diner, and I grabbed some quarters out of my ashtray. On my way in, I put my change into the USA Today box. There was one newspaper left. And I looked at the date. September 11. Up until that moment, I had not even thought about what day it was.

That’s when I realized that this was the exact same routine I had followed on the morning of the 9/11 attack.

In 2001, Lucy’s was called Ron’s Country Boy. (Same place, same food, though.) And I had just dropped my girls, who were both in elementary school, off for the day. And I remember feeling pressured about the amount of work needing to be done. And I remember reacting to the feeling by deciding to head out for breakfast.

As I walked into Ron’s on 09/11/01, everyone was gathered around the counter. The radio was blasting the local talk radio station (KFRU) louder than normal. So I grabbed a booth and started to look at my USA Today.

I don’t remember if someone asked me, or if I asked someone else what was going on with the radio. But I do remember learning that a plane had flown into one of the World Trade Center towers. I wondered if it was a small commuter plane, or a larger commercial plane. I wondered what kind of mechanical malfunction could cause such a catastrophic loss of control over a plane.

Then the news came about the second plane. The second hit. And reports of an attack in Washington D.C.

My brain and my heart wanted to reject what I was hearing. I thought about the incident in the 1930’s when H.G. Wells War of the Worlds was broadcast over the radio. People panicked because they thought that the radio play was actually happening.

But – this really was happening. And nothing would ever be the same.

So as I went into Lucy’s to get my breakfast yesterday morning, I made sure not to sit in the same booth.

Come to think of it, I never have sat in that booth again…

A response to today’s headlines.

Recent headlines about adultery by elected officials and public figures reminded me of a leader lesson I wrote several years ago. I revisited this teaching today in my own quiet time, and offer it to you in the same spirit.

David is one of the most recognizable men in the Bible. He was declared t(by God) to be a man after God’s own heart. What did he do to be that kind of person? How did he live? David’s story is told fully in 1 & 2 Samuel, but the Psalms reveal the inner person of David. Here David sang joyfully, prayed sorrowfully and acknowledged his weaknesses.

Read Psalm 51. This Psalm was written to record the time David was caught in an adulterous relationship. David turns back to God and his inner thoughts and feelings are recorded in the Psalm. Note the three key movements about David’s relationship with God in prayer.

I come to you with a clean heart.
I will not confine you.
I will submit to you.

David prays and expresses his anguish to God. Where in this Psalm do you see David moving through these three stages?

Looking at David’s personal thoughts and heart towards God reveals much about the relationship he had with God. Something within David was moved to always turn back to God and something within God was moved towards David. David records the relationship and openness in this way, “A broken and repentant heart, O God, you will not despise (v17).” It seems as if David is telling us, God can’t resist us when we have placed ourselves openly and honestly before him. By revealing ourselves openly, with a clean heart that does not confine him and seeks his ways, we can bring pleasure to God and find that our relationship grows.

1. How often do you enter prayer as a conversation with God? How does it feel? honest, awkward, or something else?
2. Which of the three movements do you see as key to your growth in prayer? Why?
3. How can you get better at distinguishing God’s voice from the other voices that you hear?

RE-MISSIONING AND MOVEMENT

I had the privilege of meeting with 18 leaders at The Church at HopePark last night. As we were planning, praying and investing in each other, I was moved by their commitment to respond to what God is doing at our church. We are in a season of re-missioning. For us, re-missioning is taking the talents and energy that exists at HopePark and refocusing them in new directions.

I am very aware of how hard it is to create catalytic action, whether you are starting from scratch, or whether you are “re-missioning” work.

This post from Ben Komanapalli resonated with me this week. I encourage you to watch the video and the points drawn from the video. What new movement or re-missioning of existing movements are you currently involved in? What are your biggest obstacles? Will you trust in your own dance long enough to allow others the opportunity to join you, and to see what will happen?

How to start a movement!

Obstructed by poo.

Today was a beastly hot day. So me and Mini Michael Phelps headed for the pool. We found our chairs, dumped our gear, slathered on the sunscreen and jumped in. All set for a couple of hours of cooling off and fun.

After we had been in the water for about 10 minutes, I noticed the mom of a couple of toddlers spot something in the water. The look on her face was at first confused, but quickly changed to disgusted.

I watched her walk over to one of the pool staff, bring that staffer over, and point to an element floating in the water.

And she mouthed one simple word.

Poo.

Sure enough, a piece of matter about the size of a thumbnail had been released from someone’s swim diaper.
And the whistles blew. “Everyone out of the pool.” It was obvious that, along with missing children sweeps and CPR training, the staff had drilled for “poo incidents.” I can only wonder what those dry run drills look like. A large fish scoop net appeared from the tool closet, and all staff took their poo retrieval and recovery positions.

As I was calling for MMP to get out of the water, I saw that he had veered and was actually swimming TOWARD the bacterial buoy. And as God is my witness, while I momentarily pondered the potential of his current course, I had only one thought in my head:

“Give me a ping, Vasily. One ping only, please.”

Yes, I know, I’m not a very good parent.

But I did get his attention, and got him to change course and get out of the pool without encountering the offending object.

We waited while the pool staff went all hazmat team on the pool. After 30 minutes of waiting, we decided it would be better if we let the chemical torrent that they unleashed into the pool do its work and kill all forms of life – at least for 24 hours. We will try swimming again tomorrow.

If I were a better parent, I would have seen the disgust instead of the Komedy potential in the situation.

If I were a better pastor, I would use the incident as a teaching metaphor for how sin can defile an entire area and an entire group of people and ruin their afternoon.

But since I am me, I have only been thinking of this all evening:

The 8 Track Evolution

What was your first introduction to music? Not the rinky tinky stuff that you saw on TV. Music that blew your developing mind and left a permanent imprint. I know exactly what mine was.

It was a home recorded 8-track tape. For those born after 1975, 8-track tapes looked like this.

They were essentially tape loops inside of a plastic cartridge. Every time the tape hit the splice point, the playing head of the machine moved. It made a distinctive “THWOK” sound. I still hear that sound in my head whenever I hear a song that I owned on 8 track tape.

My cousin Bruce sent me an 8 track that he had recorded two albums on. Bruce was my hero. The coolest guy that I had ever seen in my ten years of existence. He was five years older than me. I wanted to be him. He had the thick white belt with the three prongs that only the cool kids had. (Remember, I’m referring to the 70’s here.) He had white shoes, like Billy “White Shoes” Johnson from the Houston Oilers. He already had a decent Foghat mustache. My *%^^&*& idol.

The two albums he recorded and sent me were Sweet-Desolation Boulevard and Aerosmith-Rocks.

34 years later my tastes have expanded to encompass every conceivable style of music. From Buck Owens to Bartok, bedouin tribal blues to Rahsaan Roland Kirk. But for me, literally thousands of LP’s and CD’s and mp3’s later, this is where it started.

And – I miss the “THWOK.

So, what was the first music that rocked your world?

This is the Sweet. Total glammy image, pop metal sound.

This is Aerosmith when they were the best band in America. Kudos to them for embracing the sober lifestyle. Curses on them for the drivel that they have been producing since then.

So why call this excursion into my brain and heart the Red Backpack?

Last summer (2008) the family and I relocated to Nashville TN after living and serving for 17 years in Columbia MO. It was an important season of transition, personally, professionally, and spiritually. During this season, a Red Backpack has come to symbolize the new season that has opened up in my family’s life and mine.

Why a Red Backpack?

It actually starts with a trip that I was fortunate enough to take to Europe in 2007. I got to go to both Holland and England as part of a team charged with teaching and investing in church leaders.

In order to pack light and stay as self contained as possible, I borrowed my oldest daughters red backpack to use while I was over there. Easy to use, easy to spot, it served me well on the trip.

This European trip was also the beginning of what I knew was going to be a major transition in my ministry life. That transition began in earnest during the spring of 2008, and lead me to my current position as the Christian Formation Pastor at The Church at HopePark (Bellevue Community Church.)

While we were determining if HopePark was the place that God was moving us to, I had a dream. About a red backpack. Now I’m not a big “dream” guy. I don’t really remember my dreams, so for this to be so vivid to me, I had to assign some extra weight to it.

In the dream I was searching for my red backpack in the place where we had served in Columbia. As I searched through the building and the grounds, it became clear to me that my red backpack was no longer there. The dream was the definitive end of one season of life, and the indicator of a new one starting.

So when I accepted the position at HopePark, one of the first things that I did was write the words “The Red Backpack is here” on a post-it note and place that note at eye level over my desk.
And since one of the purposes of this blog is to serve and share in this new season…

Red Backpack.