Wild Mustang: Lover of Soul and Inviter to the Dance

The First Calling I first heard a whispering of a call into ministry before my junior year of high school. I grew up at St. Andrew Presbyterian Church in Lake Charles.   We attended every Sunday, both Sunday School and Worship and I participated in the youth groups in Junior High and High School.    The call whispered while I was attending a summer work camp at Camp Lacombe, outside of New Orleans. The purpose of this work camp was to get ready for summer camp. I remember walking through the woods with the other high school campers and our leader, the Rev. Ted Roelings. I thought “this is good. I like being here in the woods.   I liked Ted. He’s a nice guy, for a minister. I enjoyed the work we were doing. It was good to serve together.” Then the thought came to me.   “I could be a pastor like Ted.” At that time, I did not know what I wanted to be “when I grew up.”   Perhaps I could be a minister.         ...

Following the Fool             Today I want to share the story today of what launched me on this journey into the Wild. In the Fall of 2014, I had served as the pastor of First Presbyterian Church of Whitesboro, Texas for over four and half years. It had been a wonderful time, yet I felt myself getting disconnected. Bored. Not looking forward to going to the church building and participating in the ministry of the church.             This church of 65 members, located a few miles west of Sherman, Texas had done many wonderful things while I was there. Started a Saturday morning community breakfast in their fellowship hall that served between 100-150 people each week. Participated in a mission trip to Guatemala. Renovated the 1878 sanctuary, last updated in the 1950’s.   Offered tutoring to 3rd graders from a local elementary school. Loved one another and the communi...

Jesus and Mary             A few years ago, I was at the old St. Paul’s Hospital in Dallas to see a member of the church I was serving.   I stepped out into the courtyard of the hospital and found a bench to sit on.   I decided to have a prayer time. I looked to my left and saw a statue of Jesus. I looked to my right and saw a statue of Mother Mary.   I held my left hand out and said, “Come Jesus come.” I held my right hand out and said, “Come Mary come.”   In that moment, in a way I cannot explain, I felt the presence of Jesus on my left and Mary on my right.   My thought was Jesus should be on my right and Mary on my left but that was not what I experienced. It could all be in my imagination, but it felt so real. This soon became a method of praying – holding out my left hand and saying, “come Jesus” and holding out my right hand and saying, “come Mary.”        ...

Mother Earth and Racism This blog began in August telling of my encounter with ants at Ghost Ranch. I told a story of encountering ants who spoke of the grieving, hurting Mother Earth. and asked if I would work for the healing of the Earth. They wanted me to speak to my people, the humans, about the great pain we are causing.   I said that I would, not knowing what I would do.   This blog is one attempt to speak and I appreciate those of have read it and commented on it.               The issue that has come up for me again and again since my encounter with the ants has been racism, not global warming or the size of my carbon footprint or human destruction of the rainforests. Racism?   What does racism have to do with the grieving, hurting Mother Earth? How will addressing racism heal what is happening to our planet?                I defin...

The Gift of Story             The last Sunday in September I had the chance to preach at the first church I served.   I went to First Presbyterian Church of Malvern, Arkansas right out of Seminary at the ripe age of 25.   First Presbyterian Church sees itself as a church for new pastors. This church gives new pastors plenty of grace and opportunities and helps them learn how to be pastors.   It also challenges them out of naïve thinking. I loved my time there.   The best part was that I met and married my wife, Crysta. Since we have family in Malvern, I have returned many times over the years and had many chances to worship with this community.             But I had not preached since I left over 29 years ago. Crysta had a high school reunion coming up and I reached out to the pastor Courtney, telling her I wanted to share with the church where I was ...

Finding Hope in the Jail Can someone be a Lover of Soul and an Inviter to the Dance in a jail? About ten years ago I attended the deacons meeting at First Presbyterian Church of Garland. We read Matthew 25, the story of the Last Judgment, where Jesus speaks of the Son of Man putting the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.   The king will say to the sheep on his right, “I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat.”   I thought to myself, “I have fed the hungry many times.”   “I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink.”   I thought, “I have given out many bottles of water to the thirsty.” “I was a stranger and you welcomed me.”   I have welcomed many strangers in my life.   “I was naked, and you clothed me.” I have taken countless bags of used clothes to the clothes closets. “I was sick, and you took care of me.” I have often visited the sick. “I was in prison and you visited me.” I have even been to the jail a couple of times to vi...

Playing in Syria             In September 2016, I went to Lebanon with a group from Grace Presbytery.   We visited churches in the National Evangelical Synod of Syria and Lebanon, part of the Presbyterian family. As part of the trip, we had the option to go into Syria.   Syria was in the midst of its civil war and we were promised that we would go into a part of the country where there was no fighting and where it was safe.   I talked to Crysta, my wife, about entering Syria and she said I could, as long as I did not come back in a body bag.   I decide to go into Syria, intent on avoiding all body bags.             Our small group was led into Syria by Elmarie Parker, a Presbyterian mission co-worker. It took almost three hours for us to cross the border from northern Lebanon.   The Syrian border guards were not sure why a group of Americans woul...