"A Strong Immortal Hope"

It's summertime in Fayetteville (well, almost), and that means two things:  one, it's hotter than hell's kitchen, and two, my gardenia is going to bloom.  And bloom.  And bloom.  My parents both grew up on farms, and they both inherited the skill and love of watching things grow, and when Scott and I moved here and began trying to landscape, I wanted some of those wonderful plants from home.  Accordingly, they rooted azaleas, gardenias, turk's caps, and so forth for me, and my front yard is a riot of green and color at various times throughout the year.

The summer before her death, on the rare occasion when Mama felt like venturing outside, we would slowly make our way into her side yard where her enormous old gardenia bush was busily producing flowers.  She'd stand there and sniff it gratefully for a moment, and then we'd head back inside, usually with one of those lovely flowers in hand.  That particular gardenia was one that she rooted from my grandmother's (her mother-in-law), and my grandmother had rooted hers from HER mother-in-law.  In other words, my gardenia that proudly explodes with white delicately scented buds is literally part of my family's roots.

I planted it right next to the place on the driveway where I park my car, and that aroma of home hits me as soon as I emerge from its air-conditioned depths.  Until the heat wilts them, the flowers are an intense white, almost too white to be real, as white as the stole I wear during Easter and for every funeral I preach.  It could be sad, but strangely, it isn't.  That gardenia bush with its resurrection-pure blooms is a reminder that death cannot truly part those whose hearts are knit together in love and that hope in our eventual reunion is as fragrant and strong as those blossoms.  Charles Wesley addressed this in a lovely hymn in which he acknowledges the reality of tears, tempered by that hope and that promise.  May you find solace in the gardenia and joy in this hymn, as you think of those whom you love who now rest within the arms of God.

If death my friend and me divide,
Thou dost not, Lord, my sorrow chide,
Or frown my tears to see;
Restrained from passionate excess,
Thou bidst me mourn in calm distress
For them that rest in Thee.

I feel a strong immortal hope,
Which bears my mournful spirit up
Beneath its mountain-load:
Redeemed from death, and grief, and pain,
I soon shall find my friend again
Within the arms of God.

Pass a few fleeting moments more
And death the blessing shall restore
Which death has snatched away;
For me Thou wilt the summons send,
And give me back my parted friend
In that eternal day.

Life and Legacy

Friends since we were 12 -- Brandie and me

Today was the Sunday that many Methodists and other Wesleyans observe as Aldersgate Sunday, a time to mark John Wesley's famous experience of feeling his heart "strangely warmed," as the Spirit assured him of God's love and forgiveness.  You will not be surprised that I was thinking of this today as I helped lead a service of worship at Meredith College at the conclusion of the 30th year reunion of the class of 1989.

Naturally there was no mention of Aldersgate during the service because Meredith is a Baptist college, but the preacher today (Rev. Mandy England Cole) took as her text the verses from 2 Timothy 1 and 2 referring to Timothy's first preachers and teachers of the faith, his grandmother Lois and mother Eunice.  She invited us to begin to think of that long line of mothers and sisters and brothers and fathers, of teachers and professors, ministers and Sunday School teachers, and the host of nameless and unknown women and men whose struggles have made our growth and success possible.

I recalled some of my key encouragers and mentors as we sat in the silence of Jones Chapel. Some I knew personally. My mother, of course.  Gayle Felton.  Allen Page.  And then I remembered the ones who are part of that great cloud of witnesses referenced in Hebrews whom I know only because of what I have read, heard, or been taught.   Mary Magdalene.  The beloved Persis.  Lydia and Priscilla and Phoebe.  And then I thought of Susanna Annesley Wesley and of her sons John and Charles (whose own dynamic experience of God's presence preceded John's by 3 days.)  What a bright and shining example of faith and courage and persistence all of these have been!  What a lasting impact they have had on so many others with ripples literally spreading out across the centuries and around the world!

Then there was a reading of the names of Meredith alumnae who have died since the last reunion in 2018, and it was a soberingly long roll call of Meredith Angels who now sing with the heavenly choir.  It reminded me of the service we have each year at Annual Conference to mark the deaths of pastors and their spouses during the year prior to our gathering, and I wondered,  when my time comes, how will I be remembered?  Will my name be on someone's list of supportive godly women who listened and cared and told them of God's grace and love?  Have I been/am I being a mother in the faith whose influence will carry on beyond the small circle of people who know me best?

Important questions to reflect upon!  Interestingly, these thoughts first occurred to me when I was a sophomore at Meredith College in Dr. Rosemary Hornak's Developmental Psychology class.  One of our last assignments was to write our own obituary, not something most 19 year olds are inclined to think of on their own!  She asked us to imagine what we would like to do with our lives, how we would spend them, and who would be our main mourners.  Those questions are part of the toolkit I use when I sit down with someone to plan their own or a loved one's funeral.  I ask them, "How would you like to be remembered?" and "What difference has being a Christian made in the way that your beloved relative lived and died?"

It's not a bad exercise for any of us at any age or stage, actually.  If we kept the end game in mind, it would certainly have an effect on the choices we make.  And so, on this Aldersgate Sunday, I ask you to take a few moments in the silence to consider who the saints have been in your life who have helped to mold you into the person you are becoming, and also to consider what will be the legacy you leave.  Will it be a life well-lived and well-loved, a life that was filled with a heart that was "strangely warmed" with grace and mercy and compassion?  I hope the answer for you and for me to that will be a resounding yes.

"Thy nature, and thy name is Love"

Nearly three years ago, I was part of a large group of United Methodists, clergy and lay, who made a pilgrimage to England with Discipleship Ministries to spend some time together in some of early Methodism's holiest hot-spots. We listened and we learned; we prayed and we worshiped; we talked and of course, we sang.  In the course of those nine days, I became friends with a number of the other pilgrims, and one of them told me of his great love for Charles Wesley's hymn "Come, O Thou Traveler Unknown."  He told me that it is actually his favorite hymn,  and we spoke at length about the poetry and power of those lyrics penned by Charles Wesley. 

We are hardly the only people to admire this beautiful hymn, originally known as "Wrestling Jacob," in all its fourteen-stanza glory.  No less a hymn-writer than Isaac Watts considered it sublime, declaring "that single poem, Wrestling Jacob, was worth all the verses he himself had written."  That is high praise indeed from one who was himself no slouch at creating hymns!

It appears as #386 in the United Methodist Hymnal with four stanzas set to the tune called Candler, and on the following page, all fourteen verses are printed, very slightly modified.  One has to admit that the change of the word "bowels" to "mercies" in the following stanza makes a world of difference to the modern listener or singer --

Tis Love! ’tis Love! Thou diedst for me,
I hear Thy whisper in my heart;
The morning breaks, the shadows flee:
Pure, universal Love Thou art;
To me, to all Thy mercies move;
Thy nature and Thy name is Love.

Wesley takes his inspiration from Genesis 32: 22-31, the account of Jacob's midnight wrestling match with God on the banks of the Jabbok, and opens the hymn by speaking as Jacob to the mysterious opponent before reading himself into the situation as the man struggling against God in the dark:

Come, O Thou Traveler unknown,
Whom still I hold but cannot see;
My company before is gone,
And I am left alone with Thee;
With Thee all night I mean to stay,
And wrestle till the break of day.

I need not tell Thee who I am,
My sin and misery declare;
Thyself hast called me by my name,
Look on Thy hands, and read it there;
But who, I ask Thee, who art Thou?
Tell me Thy name, and tell me now.

As it continues, Wesley as wrestler continues to press to learn the identity of his unknown adversary. When he at last recognizes that it is Jesus himself with whom he contends, he joyfully exclaims:

’Tis Love! ’tis Love! Thou diedst for me,
I hear Thy whisper in my heart;
The morning breaks, the shadows flee:
Pure, universal Love Thou art;
To me, to all Thy mercies move;
Thy nature and Thy name is Love.

Six times, the line "Thy nature and Thy name is Love" resounds, as the singer who is now not just Jacob or Charles Wesley but has instead become you and me delights in the wonder of being in the presence of the One whose very essence and identity is Love.  Repetition emphasizes the sheer awe and amazement felt as the intensity of the struggle gives way to adoration and praise.

Little wonder it had such an impact on Isaac Watts, and little wonder it brought John Wesley to tears during a preaching service shortly after Charles' death.  It is said that when he got to "my company before is gone, and I am left alone with Thee," he broke down and wept, completely unable to continue because of the grief that welled up and spilled over.

What does it mean for you to know that the One with whom you contend and wrestle is the One who knows you inside and out and loves you with such fierceness that you are forever marked by it, just as Jacob limped for the rest of his life as a result of his encounter at the Jabbok?   Does it matter that Christ's nature and name is Love?  How does that affect the way you live your life, especially with respect to other people?  Are you seeking to grow in grace so that your nature and name may be Love, too?

What Could Have Been Done More to My Vineyard?

grape vines at our family farm

The fifth chapter of the book of Isaiah contains a passage often called the song of the unfruitful vineyard.  In these verses, God is revealed as the vineyard owner who has lavished the grape vines with great care and attention only to wind up with wild grapes, fruit that is totally unusable. God laments with the disappointment of an aggrieved lover who has lavished the beloved with every good thing, only to see the blessings and grace being rejected in favor of corruption and violence.

It's a powerful image, and verse 4 appears to have struck a powerful chord with John Wesley. The Wesley Study Bible reports that he refers to it at least fourteen times in sermons between 1748 and 1788, and notes that Wesley uses it as the central text for his Sermon 107, entitled "On God's Vineyard."  Wesley introduces this sermon by explaining just what he means by "the vineyard."  At its broadest, he says, it includes the whole world, and then it can be narrowed down to the Christian world, to the Reformed branch of the Church, and then finally, to "the people commonly called Methodists."

bare grapevines

Well, if you know anything about the song of the unfruitful vineyard, you already know that whatever Mr. Wesley has to say in comparing the "people called Methodists" to wild grapes, it won't be flattering or complimentary.  At the beginning, he asks: "What could God have done more in this his vineyard, ... which he hath not done in it?" He gives a brief history of the movement, mentioning some of the criticisms aimed at Methodists, and he points out the great blessing that has come to so many during the revival as a result of God's grace.  God rightfully could have expected the fruit of the Spirit to be spread over the whole Church, Wesley says, but instead, the Methodist movement has brought forth wild grapes of "enthusiasm, imaginary inspiration, ..." as well as pride, "prejudice, evil surmising, censoriousness, judging, and condemning one another; -- all totally subversive of that brotherly love which is the very badge of the Christian profession; without which whosoever liveth is counted dead before God.  It brought forth anger, hatred, malice, revenge, and every evil word and work; all direful fruits, not of the Holy Spirit, but of the bottomless pit!"

Wesley notes that they may be in union with one of the Societies but that having a lot of companions is not enough; "But have you enough that are athirst for God, and that labour to make you so?  Have you companions enough that watch over your soul, as they that must give account; and that freely and faithfully warn you, if you take any false step, or are in danger of doing so?  I fear you have few of these companions, or else you would bring forth better fruit!" 

Upon reading these words, I cannot help thinking about the present state of affairs in United Methodism.  With what words would Wesley chastise us for bearing not just poor fruit but for bearing thorns as sharp as daggers in our conversations with and about each other?  I think it almost certain that he would ask us, as he asked his original listeners, if we expect Christ to be in our midst whenever we meet together in his name, and that he would urge us to be thankful to the Giver of every good gift, reminding us that we can never praise God enough until we praise God "with angels and archangels, and all the company of heaven!"

What might happen to our branch of the vine called Methodism if we spent more time truly expecting the Spirit to be with us when we gather for conversation and Conference and less time accusing, berating, and attacking each other? What if we were so "lost in wonder, love, and praise" that we might seek the common good together, be in mission to make disciples for Jesus Christ together, honor the divine image in the face of our neighbors together -- even as we slide towards inevitable division.  May we not part with civility and love since we cannot sustain what has been the United Methodist Church?  Might our "way forward" be "ways forward" found by forming other expressions of Wesleyan holiness that can still work in God's vineyard together in some fashion?   It remains to be seen, but I cannot help but wonder, what could have been done more to the vineyard?