Family Scrapbook

 

Eric and Michelle before father-daughter dance

March 2024

Gramps, Mimi, Michelle, Zach at the park

Christmas time with Katherine at Elderberry

Eric, Rachel and kids for Valentine's

The whole family

Eric, Keith, Katherine

Dressed for Mardi Gras 2024

Zach hunting Easter eggs

Worship Service Observations

 

Prerecorded videos had more control than livestreams

I’ve been watching on-line worship services this week for various reasons, paying attention to both the service and the preaching. I watched an old classmate preach at University UMC – ah, his preaching is superb. His delivery was engaging, his humor was delightful (even though I’m not sure the congregation comprehended all of his “funnies.”), and his theology was thoughtful. None of the other preachers I watched came close, and I’m sure I don’t either. I love good preaching.

However, with the notable exception of the guest preacher, the adults who spoke or sang or played an instrument during the service there had stone faces – or worse – most of the time. It’s not a good look.

At the end of the service, Massey’s former vocalist sang what appeared to be OPERA with the stone-faced string ensemble. In another language! I wanted to bang my head on the table.

I watched a livestream of our future district superintendent preaching. Interestingly, her sermon is the only thing that gets recorded at First Church in Graham, so I couldn’t watch the rest of the service. After watching University’s service, I could guess why the sermon is all they record.

Before I watched the future DS, I watched the pastor I mistakenly thought was the future DS preach. The camera at that church wandered around the mostly empty sanctuary, and during the sermon, the camera stayed focused both on the pastor and on the deadest-looking choir I have ever seen. This can’t be our future DS, I thought. Indeed.

I watched some other churches, too, just because I was in the mood for learning what  livestreams reveal. 

Mostly no one can be seen (although they can be heard) in the background of Massey's livestreams. Our sanctuary is so small that people must sit all the way to the front, so the livestream makes it appear the sanctuary is full (of older people, which it is). My observations this week reinforced my opinion that most sermons, including my own, should be no more than 15 minutes. After watching Massey’s livestreams for a while, I have determined that I need to smile a lot more when I sing, so I try to remember this.

In general, I think that livestreams are much more boring than actual worship services. The camera flattens and deflates the experience somehow. It concerns me because God forbid I should ever give the impression that worship of the living God is boring or less than joyful! 

A Second Journal for March 2024

 

Lenten roses are blooming now

This is what I have done as time continues to slip away, and Holy Week is roaring closer like a train.

I met yesterday with two church women who started a lunch group last year called “Getting to Know You Better.” It’s a group of eight rotating people who lunch together in the fellowship hall once or twice a month, in order to get to know one another better. Somehow these two women cajoled most people – members and visitors – to attend one of these lunches last year. I'll be introducing a slightly new format.

I wrote a Wednesday church newsletter article marking the fourth anniversary of the Covid shutdown.

We hired Suzanne as our new pianist. She was raised at Mt. Bethel UMC in Bahama with sweet old Ron Snider as her pastor, which makes me feel old.

Our annual Palm Sunday covered-dish lunch is organized with no help from me, yay.

I’m now prepared somewhat for Holy Week. This means I have all the readers I need for our Good Friday service of Tenebrae, and I have an idea of what I plan to say/do for Maundy Thursday. The new pianist will play on Good Friday, and she starts this coming Sunday.

In terms of preaching for Palm Sunday and Easter… well. Yesterday, one of the women with whom I met about the lunches put me on to Google’s AI for writing. My son has already tried to do this, but it’s gotten a whole lot easier. I typed in: “United Methodist Sermon for Palm Sunday using Mark 11:1-11,” and in 15 seconds up came this dandy little… meditation. It’s far too short to be a sermon, but that’s okay. It’s a good backbone for a sermon. Is this cheating? Maybe.

I did the same for Easter and got a somewhat less satisfactory meditation. We’ll see if AI helps or not.

Today I have signed up for a “forest ramble” in Duke Gardens, and tomorrow I’ll finally play tennis again. Sunday is Eric’s 33^rd birthday, and he has asked me to take him to the 3 p.m. showing of Dune 2 at the IMAX, followed by dinner. We are the only two sci-fi fans in our family.

Yesterday, I received the bishop’s missive on new leadership in the conference, and I will be very sorry to see our current district superintendent go. I sent a one-word email to a colleague: “SCREAM.” He replied, “No worries; retirement is on the horizon!”

A Journal for March 2024

 

Sunrise over Carolina Beach

Time is slipping away. We’re well into Lent now, and this week Massey’s Chapel will hire a new pianist. I do not know who it will be between the two finalists, and I find myself surprisingly not particularly concerned. They are both talented. I am not ready for either Palm Sunday or Easter in terms of preaching, nor am I ready at all for Holy Week.

I got through Ash Wednesday using ashes given to me years ago by a colleague.  I’ve been using ashes from the same filthy plastic bag for at least 15 years. Massey's always has a surprisingly large gathering for Ash Wednesday. 

There are some difficult end-of-life and possible end-of-life decisions having to be made by church members. The husband of a MIA-since-Covid member died last week. The member had made public that phone calls and visits were not welcome during husband’s decline. There will be no service. After his death, she let me know she was too busy even for a prayer over the phone. I’m not sure what that’s all about, but no one (including me) has seen her in years because she refused visits for fear of Covid, even after Covid had run its course. Some members used to view her as a “spiritual mother.”  I'm sure her absence is my fault somehow, but I’m tired of trying to figure out why people act the way they do.  

This is what I have done: Keith and I went to Carolina Beach last week at the invitation of a group of card players at Elderberry. All they play is pinochle, so we played endless games of pinochle while the wind blew so hard we could hardly go outside anyway. We laughed a lot. The house sat right on the beach, so I watched the sun rise each morning over the ocean; also the full moon.

We have unpacked almost completely in our new home in Pittsboro. The peeper frogs and coyotes both make a racket at night, which I don't mind. 

I decided to teach a 5- or 6-week class on the parables of Jesus, probably starting the middle of Lent and ending sometime after Easter. I’ve taught it previously, so I have the notes.

I have plane tickets to and from Little Rock for my niece’s April 14 wedding, and the other Pastor Cheryl will preach and lead worship in my absence.

We have reservations near Gatlinburg for a long weekend in July because that is where my son and daughter-in-law selected for a family vacation.

After much consideration, I have reserved a two-bedroom condo in Blowing Rock for Aug. 5-22.

I have three(!) doctor appointments this month, none of them serious I hope.  

If I didn’t have to help secure a new pianist for Massey’s and ensure a smooth transition, I would be retiring in June. My plans are to retire the following June.

My goal is: One foot in front of the other, do the next right thing, and keep praying.