Hoping She Goes M.I.A.

So apparently this past Sunday night, M.I.A. flipped me off. Dressed like a castoff from an old Bangles video, and performing a classy routine during Madonna's halftime show at the Super Bowl, M.I.A. thought it necessary to give me the finger.

I missed it. I was at a big Super Bowl party at church, and had gathered all the kids in another room for halftime so I could show off my mad skills at Just Dance. You might say I was putting on my own halftime show. I have moves like Jagger. I was having so much fun dancing with my wife and the gang at the party that I got a little sweaty and had to take off my shirt. But I had a t-shirt on underneath, just in case you were concerned about a wardrobe malfunction.

So I wasn't aware of M.I.A.'s anger towards me until Monday morning.

Honestly, I had never even heard of M.I.A. before. All I knew of her was the picture I saw online, dressed like King Tut, flipping me the finger. Something stuck in my memory banks though. I swear I saw the headpiece she was wearing in a photo shoot in National Geographic, and that finger looked vaguely familiar too. A rear view mirror on Route 270, perhaps? I'm not sure. Anyway, I couldn't place her face, so I did an internet search. It turns out she's not a P.O.W. or even M.I.A. Instead, she's a British rap "artist" known for her "performance." She's also in a relationship with the lead singer from D.O.A., with whom she was seen exhibiting P.D.A. while trying to get through T.S.A. at D.I.A. None of that explains why she was mad at S.H.A. (that's me).

I guess I'll just be left wondering, though not for long. I mean, with talent like hers, who needs shock value? Since I didn't even know she existed, I won't miss her. She'll disappear back into her tomb until Brendan Fraser finds her, embalmed with her middle finger extended. By then she'll be ready to do the Super Bowl show again with the equally-embalmed Madonna. Maybe I can dance with them? Don't worry--I'll keep my shirt on.

The Value of Sticking Around

The University of Pittsburgh's football coach, Todd Graham, resigned yesterday after 11 1/2 months. I have been the youth pastor at Mountain View for 11 1/2 years.

Graham left for what he called his "dream job" at Arizona State University. He says he is a "family man" and he is taking the job to be closer to his wife's family. However, ASU is Graham's fourth job in four years. He resigned without speaking to anyone at Pitt just before boarding a plane to his ASU introductory press conference. He informed his players via a text message, forwarded through an assistant coach, in which he stated that he "loved his players at Pitt and was proud of them." I'm not sure the feeling is mutual. As one of the players tweeted, "Todd Graham's coaching commitments last as long as Kim Kardashian's marriage."

I always likened coaching to youth ministry. Like youth pastors, coaches talk of shaping young men and women, of setting a good example, of creating a legacy of memories and victories. Graham wasn't around long enough to bake a pie, let alone create a legacy. I doubt he knew half the player's names.

His decision causes me to reflect on my life.

When I came to Mountain View in July, 2000, I was 35 years old--a young pup in a sense but fairly old to be a youth pastor for the first time. The stereotypical youth pastor is 25, has a goatee and a pied-piper personality, plays guitar, is a master gamer, wears cool clothes, and uses the word "dude" a lot. Since only the last one is true of me, people probably wondered how long I'd last.

I remember Pastor Guy asking me then, "How long do you think you want to do this?" There exists a common belief that youth pastors are just using youth ministry as a stepping stone to "becoming a real pastor." That was never the case for me. Having already spent ten years as a youth volunteer, including three while in seminary getting a Master's degree in youth ministry, I knew this was my calling. I had no intentions of doing anything else. As I've often said, "Why would I want a demotion?"

I told Guy, "Dude, at least five years."

My promise has expired, but my commitment hasn't.

Not that I haven't wanted to quit on occasion. There have been more than a few nights--lying awake in a bunk bed somewhere, trying to catch some sleep while a cabin full of boys hyped on Monster make my life a dreamless hell--that I've considered stealing the church van and driving to Montana. Who would blame me? The FBI would probably offer me identity protection. I've wondered at my sanity and severely tested my longevity by planning events like all-nighters (never again), back-to-back retreat weekends (kind of like running back-to-back marathons), and parent luncheons ("Tell us, what are you going to do about those kids chatting in the front row?").

But I'm not even talking about those "quitting times." I'm talking about the times I've been so discouraged that quitting seemed like the only option. Many times, actually, I have told Karen, "That's it. I'm done. I'm not doing any good, so why bother?" Too many times I've had to beg students to come to events, even though I knew God was going to be there and change their life. Too many times students walked away from their faith, abandoning the promises they'd made to me, each other, and God for the glitz of the party life and the pursuit of pleasure. Too many times I've wondered why parents think soccer or lacrosse is more important than the moral and spiritual development of their children. Too many times I've gone home from teaching a meaningful lesson, only to find discouraging and raunchy posts from youth group kids on Facebook. Too many times I've felt that nothing I've said or done has made any difference at all.

I've quit more times than Todd Graham. I just never left.

And I'm glad I didn't. I might have, if my dream job had opened up. But even though the Pirates badly need a shortstop, they've never called me. So instead, I've stayed long enough to be able to perform weddings for former students. I've stayed long enough to have students return as volunteers. I've stayed long enough to see our building come into existence, and watch our youth center fill with kids every Sunday and Wednesday. I've stayed long enough to form a deep friendship with other longstanding youth pastors in the area and to feel a little bit like a youth pastor to the whole county. I've stayed long enough to teach my own kids the value of sticking around even when times are hard. I've stayed around long enough so that the people I've influenced over the years--even when I thought I was having no effect--know where to find me.

Two days ago, I received a note from a former student. I had poured myself into him for six years, but he wandered away from the youth ministry and from the faith his senior year, and hardly said goodbye. He was one of those who caused me to question if I was making any difference at all. He was one of the reasons I wanted to quit. This is what he said:


I don't think I ever told you exactly how much of an impact you have had on me as a person. As you know my father wasn't and still isn't a man of faith, a good man but nevertheless not an example of how a honorable Christian man is supposed to live his life. That was left up to you. Whether you knew it at the time or not. I know God is the only one that can eternally save, but he used your love and our relationship to save me. And for that I'm a truly grateful to both you and our Savior!


This summer, I will be quitting--in a sense. I will be taking a 10-week sabbatical. The elders told me I had to, and I'm pretty excited about it. For 10 weeks, I won't have to be anywhere, teach anything, or lead anything related to the youth ministry. But Lord willing, I will be back. I have nowhere else I want to be. I landed my dream job 11 1/2 years ago.

Open for Christmas?

News Flash: Christmas is on December 25th! More specifically, however, Christmas is on a Sunday this year, which raised an interesting question for those of us in leadership at our church. Since we are having two services on Saturday night, Christmas Eve, should we have church on Christmas Day?

Now, before you shout your opinion, let me lay out a few thoughts from the perspective of someone who's life revolves around church activities and services.

Last year on Christmas Eve, the walls of our church nearly exploded. After 13 years of meeting in a high school, it was our first Christmas season in our new building. We naively planned for one Christmas Eve service at 7:00pm. Our auditorium seats 450 people--nearly 800 showed up.

We decided to host two services this year, and put a great emphasis on these services. We are advertising them well and doing everything we can to make them memorable for our congregation and our community. Two full services requires a great deal of work and an angelic host of volunteers. Between the musicians, nursery workers, ushers, sound crew, coffee bar staff, greeters, parking lot attendants, custodians, and yes, pastors, it's going to take over 100 people to run these two services.

Knowing the amount of work it would be, and knowing that many of our wonderful volunteers would be traveling, or hosting their families for celebrations Christmas morning, we wondered if it was wise, kind or necessary to hold another service only a few hours later. After all, we will have just celebrated the birth of Jesus and worshiped together. Many people give great amounts of time and energy to the church; wouldn't it be nice to simplify life a little and allow everyone to stay home Christmas morning? The staff and elders thought the answer was yes, so they decided to have no service on Christmas Day. Instead, we would encourage people to come on Christmas Eve, then worship at home with their families Christmas morning.

As the news broke, the response from the congregation was mixed. Some were relieved to know they didn't have to work in the nursery after being up all night wrapping gifts and assembling boxes of unmarked, miscellaneous parts into a deluxe foosball table that doubles as a blender. And it's hard to enjoy a church service while suppressing the fear that your Christmas ham is burning down the house. But others in our midst raised a principled concern. Isn't worshiping God the whole point of Christmas? How can we cancel church because it's Christmas?

It was an interesting leadership dilemma. Here's a brief list of the pros and cons we considered or heard.

Pro No Service:
*Gives volunteers a break
*Provides opportunities to worship at home without guilt
*Is a nice gift to a busy and hardworking staff
*Are we going to ask someone to clean the church late Christmas Eve, after 800--1000 people have been here?
*The Sabbath starts at sundown anyway...

Pro Service:
*What if somebody shows up to find the doors locked?
*We should always have Sunday services, barring an emergency
*What if we become known as the "the church that wasn't open on Christmas Day?"
*It just doesn't sound right to cancel church because it's Christmas Day.

Paramount to our discussion was the conviction of our senior pastor, who, upon further consideration, began to feel that we should open our doors, even if it's for one shorter and lower-key worship service. So, after some discussion and prayer, we decided to host "Christmas Unplugged," one service at 11:00am in which we simply gather for some Christmas carols, a reading of the Christmas story, and a short message. There will be no nursery care, parking lot attendants, full band or any of those things. The morning will require very few volunteers, and the rest of the staff is not required to attend. Simple and beautiful, just like the first Christmas.

So what do YOU think? I'd love to hear your opinion.

Speaking of Christmas, perhaps this is a good time to ask: What Would Jesus Do? Would Jesus go to church on his birthday? In this case, it's not his choice. He's not even a day old. Having been up all night giving birth and hosting shepherds, it seems likely his mother will want to stay home.

Family Charged in Bunny Bump-Off

The town of Walkersville was rocked this morning by the news that one of their own families may be cold-blooded killers.

Four members of the Anderson family were arraigned in Frederick County Court on charges related to the murder of a soft furry bunny in their backyard. Detective Jason Keckler said the crime was discovered by students walking home from school on the railroad tracks behind the family's Hampton Place residence.

"The deceased was discovered yesterday afternoon near the Walkersville Railroad tracks and Walkersville Park," Keckler said. "The body was still fairly soft. K-9 units determined that the victim was killed in the Andersons' backyard and moved, perhaps even flung, into the wooded area behind their home to avoid discovery."

While motive is yet unclear, police believe sons Timothy (17) and Thomas (13) lured the rabbit onto the family's property with spinach dip. Neighbors had seen the boys building various animal traps over the years but thought nothing of it. "We just figured they were boys being boys," said Ellie Gilbert, a family friend. Police found evidence within the house that the family has a long-standing animosity towards rabbits. Mother Karen Anderson had left an Amish cookbook on the counter, opened to a recipe for rabbit stew. Witnesses said they remember the Andersons complaining about a previous family pet rabbit who chewed some furniture. A well-worn copy of Watership Down was found with the cover ripped off. Traces of rabbit blood were found on the doorstep of the carport. Steven Anderson, the father, was also charged with disposing of the body and tampering with evidence.

"The details add up," Keckler said. "It is certainly hare-raising to discover killers in your midst, but this was a well-conceived plan carried out by a family with a vendetta against rabbits for some reason."

Neighbor Sally Walton, who has lived next door to the Andersons for 11 years and has often cared for their cat Oliver when the family went on vacation, said, "It's just so hard to comprehend. It bugs me, this bunny business. I can't imagine any member of this family perpetrating a violent crime against a small furry creature."

Meanwhile, the fate of the family pets was uncertain. Both the cat and dog were visibly shaken by the news their owners would no longer be serving dinner. Oliver the cat seemed sad about the needless loss of life. "It's a shame, really--a waste of a perfectly good rabbit." Treble the dog denied comment, but simply licked her lips and stared out the window at the spot where the rabbit was believed to have died. She has been seen visiting the site often, apparently to help her deal with her grief.

Fights I'd Like to See

In what could accurately have been titled "Juice Box," Lenny Dykstra and Jose Canseco were scheduled for a celebrity boxing match this past weekend in Philadelphia.

Canseco, of course, is a former "Bash Brother", a talented but cartoonish athlete who once knocked a ball over the outfield wall with his head, and a steroid-abusing beefcake who has found a second career as a snitch, author, and authority on all things unseemly in sports. Dykstra, a former all-star centerfielder, has also been linked to steroid use, having been ratted out by Canseco. The man once known as "Nails" has been getting pounded financially in recent years as a series of whiffs on high-profile business propositions left him unable to cover the ground he had promised to some star athletes. Dykstra is now bankrupt, shunned, and the target of wrath for those who foolishly invested with him.

So in some strange way, it makes sense for these two pathological losers to take out their `Roid Rage in the ring: "Nails vs. Knucklehead for the stupid-weight championship of the world!" Let them knock each other out of cultural relevance one last time.

Apparently, there is a regular market for celebrity boxing matches. Most of the combatants are down-and-out wannabes and "D-listers" who are desperate for a buck. But it left me wondering what other tired and overexposed celebrity matchups we might be able to entice to enter the ring? Who could we bring together so they could pound each other into the distant past of our cultural landscape and be heard from no more? I think there are plenty of possibilities I would enjoy.

Justin Bieber vs. Adam Lambert. Girl Fight!

Ray Lewis vs. Jesse Jackson. The only problem is, there would be so much preachin' going on, they'd never get to the fight.

Tom Brady vs. Tiger Woods. I'd give the edge to Brady because Gisele would be there but Elin would not. The guy with the wife in the stands always wins in the movies.

Tiger Woods vs. Elin Nordegren. Oh, wait, we've already seen this one.

Lady Gaga vs. Katy Perry. We wouldn't have to tell them the ring was located inside an arena about to be imploded by a demolition company, in order to make room for... talent.

Conan vs. Leno. "Last Comic Standing" would be hilarious!

John vs. Jim Harbaugh. Brothers and NFL coaches who need to chill after victories. "One, two, three, four, I declare an over-exuberant handshake war!"

Brett Favre vs. Anthony Weiner. Text War!

I'm sure you can think of a few.

Unfortunately, Dykstra didn't show up for the fight. He claimed he was misrepresented and never agreed to it. What a shame. I think Nails could have taken Canseco. But perhaps he's holding out for a matchup with Sammy Sosa?

Death of a Giant

Even giants fall.

Bubba Smith died recently at the age of 66. Smith was a football star in the late 60s and 70s, a ferocious defensive lineman, the number one draft choice of the Baltimore Colts in 1967, and a monster of a man who's perfect name, enormous size and super hero strength made him an object of awe for many little boys like me.

I don't have a memory of watching Smith play football. What I have is a memory of staring at his football card. By age six or seven, I had a box full of them and some bicycle spokes rat-a-tat-tatting with them, but Smith's card was a special object of fascination. On the front was his frightening face, with the huge afro, the beard and the stare filled with impending destruction he was about to bring. But it was the back of the card that held my attention. There, among a few cartoon images of football players and a random fact ("Bubba's high school coach was his father"), it listed his size. Six foot seven, 305 pounds. Three hundred and five pounds! Are there really people that big, I wondered? It was like the mystical nephilim of Genesis, "the heroes of old, men of renown." Can you imagine!?

Nowadays, of course, three hundred pounds is nothing. There may not be an offensive lineman in the entire NFL who isn't at least 300 pounds. Here are the sizes of the current offensive line for the Steelers: Legursky, 6-1 315; Scott 6-6 345; Kemoeatu 6-3 344; Essex 6-4 324; Foster 6-6 325; Gilbert 6-3 330; Starks 6-8 345; Even the smallest of the bunch, center Maurkice Pouncey, is 6-4 304.

Heck, now there are high school players that big, and reality TV stars--women--who weigh that much and are trying to become the biggest loser.

But back then, at age 6, weighing all of 45 or 50 pounds after Thanksgiving dinner, wearing snow boots and a heavy winter coat while playing imaginary games of football alone in my backyard, as I nimbly evaded the terrifying giant named Bubba while scoring the winning touchdown, it was the thought of a 300-pound man chasing me that spurred me to greatness. The fear of dying at his hands led me to victory. My brother might have been the one named David, but it was I who was conquering the giant. You can't catch me, Bubba Smith! Touchdown!

Now, my first giant is really dead. New reports confirmed that Smith died of high levels of weight-loss drugs which complicated some existing heart problems. It seems the giant couldn't nimbly evade himself and his own size in the end. Like most giants, it was his size that killed him. Tragic, but not surprising. He was a giant from a different era. And his time had come.

In the end, Bubba Smith was too big--even for himself.

I Live the Life

It has been six months since I've written for my blog. I'm rather ashamed of that, actually. This is something I need to do, both for my own spirit and hopefully for the benefit of someone else who may be encouraged by something I write. As I sat down to write this, I realized what an amazing life I get to live! Look at what's happened in the past six months!

* My son Jon graduated from high school. His final days of high school were quite exciting, between the baseball team making it to the regional finals, our church's senior banquet, and the opportunities he had to perform his songs publicly at a couple venues in Frederick.

* Tim had an outstanding junior tennis season, losing only 3 times.

* We had a long awaited and wonderful 9-day vacation to Colorado. We stayed in a beautiful rental house near Durango. We ate like kings, hiked in the mountains, white-water rafted, sang with cheesy cowboys, rode horses, sat in the hot tub, and spent time with family and old friends. I wish I could live in those moments every day!

* We came home from that vacation to our newly-remodeled kitchen. It's amazing, and it was definitely time! Our old kitchen (original to a 50-year-old house) was literally falling off the walls.

* Jon and I went to Ecuador on a mission trip for 10 days. It was a phenomenal experience and something we would like to do again. We met many wonderful people and saw God do amazing things.

* Thomas and Tim went on mission trips to Pittsburgh and Portland, Maine, respectively. They both had marvelous times.

* We spent a few days at Rehoboth Beach.

* We survived dropping Jon off at Grove City College. It would have made a good blog, for sure!

* Tim is in college-mode now. We have some decisions to make. We are actually having a family meeting tonight to talk about it.

* Thomas made his 8th grade travel basketball team.

* Thomas and I celebrated his "coming of age" with a surprise trip to see Switchfoot in concert, complete with backstage passes and some awkward talks about, you know, man stuff.

* Karen is back to teaching 4th grade for another year. She is an amazing person. I get to see her a few times a week.

* We had an 80th birthday party for my father. It was a sweet time, although my aunt, his sister, passed away shortly afterwards.

* I kicked off another year of youth ministry at MVCC. Highlights so far this year include a ridiculous number of kids each week at our middle school meetings, and over a dozen decisions for the Lord including nine just this past weekend at our annual fall retreat.

I'm sure I missed a few things as well. So what this tells me is that 1) I need to make time for writing this blog, because it's not going to happen without discipline, and 2) I have so much to write about, I have no excuses.

So here's my promise to myself, and perhaps to you, to write at least twice a month.