Posted in Stories

Everyone wants my attention!

Posted on by William Douthwaite

The intersections in my community are clogged with campaign signs of every size and color, vying for my vote this fall.

Emails fill my inbox that used to be informative newsletters, but are now pleas for subscriptions to courses that will improve every aspect of my life. Once they have your contact info, you will hear from them for the rest of your life, and I believe, from beyond the grave!

I get text messages from anonymous sources who seek my vote in this fall’s elections. Interestingly, the emails are often addressed to my wife’s name or my son’s name. He doesn’t even live in this state anymore.

About half of my social media feeds are sales pitches for T-shirts, subscription boxes, testosterone supplements, fitness programs, how-to-preach-a-better-sermon courses, IQ tests, and of course, your candidate for office.

Phone calls at church offer me endless resources for youth curriculum, audio-visual technology, text-the-whole-congregation and web site design services.

Pretty much all of my mail consists of large campaign postcards or offers for home and auto warranties. Oh, and of course, lot and lots of bonus mile credit card offers.

Every realtor in a ten-mile radius lets me know of houses they’ve sold. Every independent insurance agent has already worked the numbers and covets my business.

Auto dealers in a seventy-five mile radius bend over backwards in emails offering to help me find the vehicle I am looking for.

People knock at my door to give me quotes for window replacements, security systems, trimming my palm trees and cleaning my roof.

And every time – and I kid you not – every time I go to Home Depot, a gentleman approaches me and askls me if I drink bottled water. Duh. Doesn’t everyone? He is there to harvest leads for water tries water purification systems. I got to Home Depot about once a week. Fifty-two times a year. Every week the very same person approaches me. My radar is on. I’ve learned to quickly walk walk away from the obvious question. From adjacent aisles I overhear female and male voice lament, “You talked to me last week.” Or in a nastier tone of voice, “You talk to me every week!” It. Never. Stops.

Everyone is trying to get my attention, my vote, and of course, my money. I know, none of this would happen if someone somewhere didn’t have some modicum of success or earn some cash. It’s a numbers game.

I have never been so popular in my life! Everyone wants to talk to me, help me, encourage me, improve me and enhance me. I’m at my wits end. I am not seeking any of these things. But everything that I have ever even dreamed about is now relentlessly pushed on me. I’m so glad you all want the best for me.

Posted in Devotions

I don’t want to be “omni-” anything!

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Elena Mozhvilo on Unsplash

What happens when we attain to omniscience (knowing everything), omnipresence (being everywhere) and omnipotence (able to do anything)? In other words, what happens to us when we approach these qualities that only God possesses?

Let’s start with omniscience. OK, so I don’t know everything. But I know an awful lot about what everyone is doing, what they are thinking, where they are going and their relationships. It’s all right there on social media. I have easy access to everything going on around the world. It’s right there in my constantly updated news feeds. I know all about the incredible wealth of some and the miserable poverty of others.

It’s overwhelming. All that information frightens me, worries me and sometimes disgusts me. It’s too much. I don’t know how to process it all. In those rare spans of time when I don’t have access to news and everyone’s opinions, my mind and my soul begin to relax. I wasn’t designed for that overload. Maybe we should leave omniscience to God.

How about omnipresence? Recent virus quarantining has prompted lots of virtual experiences, digitally taking us places that were beyond our reach before. We can “visit” museums and parks, oceans and outer space, concert halls and theater stages, homes for sale, used car lots and the kitchens of famous chefs. I can go to church just about anywhere I want to. With a VR headset, I can take virtual bike rides across the country and ride the world’s tallest roller coasters. I can go anywhere!

But it’s not real. Well, it’s real, but I’m not really there. I’m here, in one place at a certain time. It’s just an illusion, and it can distract me from being where I am and who I’m with. Omnipresence is a bit much for me. It’s better suited for the divine.

Now I know I’m not omnipotent. There are definitely limits to my ability to do things. But the plethora of do-it-yourself videos often has me thinking, “I could do that.” Whether it’s preparing food, making repairs, decorating a room, writing a book or whatever, it always looks so easy. It always looks like it’s within my ability. At least that’s what they say. “You can do it!”

The thing is, I don’t necessarily need to do all that. I really don’t need more to do. In fact, it’s often better to let someone else do many of these things. My best efforts never seem to turn out as good as that in the video.

Didn’t the original temptation go something like this: “You’ll be like God”? If I’ve learned anything, it’s better to just be me and let Him be God.

Posted in Ministry

The good and the not-so-good of digital church

Posted on by William Douthwaite

In a faced-covered, quarantined, CoVid-19 world, many churches like mine adapted to streamed online worship services. In some respects, it worked well. In other ways we struggled. Either we’re still just not used to virtual worship or we aren’t cut out for a digital existence. Will this define us from now on, or is this just a season in the life of the church?

As I ponder my own experiences, I see both blessings and failings in the digital church. Here are my observations, as both preacher and worshiper.

We reach more than ever!

As soon as we began to stream our services via Facebook and YouTube, we not only brought worship into the homes of our members, but reached people in faraway places. Our sphere of influence became the globe as family, friends and complete strangers watched and listed to the music and the message. One memorial service we streamed had viewers in New York, Hawaii, Jamaica, England, and South Africa. Those who couldn’t travel could be with us.

I have had the chance to watch and worship with my son, a pastor in Dallas, TX. I don’t often get to hear him preach. Now, I never miss his sermons and am always come away blessed.

The challenge of technology

However, we do not hold corporate worship in a recording studio or on a sound stage. It is one thing to fill a room with sound. It is another to capture it for broadcast. The first few weeks were recorded on my tripod-mounted iPhone X in an empty sanctuary. The cavernous echoes of that empty room made my voice hard to understand. After a month or so, we stepped up to my Macbook Air propped up on a cardboard box in the fifth row of the church. I could patch my microphone into that device for better audio. But since we worship in a room with a lot of windows and natural light, the video was a challenge. When it became apparent that we might be doing this for a long time, we installed a real camera. However with each improvement, the learning curve becomes steeper.

The learning curve was steep for much of our congregation, too. I discovered just how many had never been exposed to Facebook or YouTube, and really didn’t know how to use their phones or computers. So they were not only blessed by being able to watch our worship services, but they took a giant leap into the communications of the twenty-first century.

Is anyone really watching?

I’ve preached to large audiences and small crowds, but never to just a camera. I’ve long believed that a sermon really isn’t a sermon until it is both preached and heard. In front of my phone, I was preaching, but was anyone listening? I had no idea. Usually I can watch the reaction on the faces of the congregation. But in those moments I could only picture their smiles, nods or grimaces in my mind.

Streaming services report analytics for your videos, including the average time people actually spend watching. The average time is always far shorter than the actual length of a sermon. Sure, you can tune out a speaker in front of you, but it’s even easier to click away from a digital sermon.

My own digital worship watching experience was a challenge. As I sat watching in front of my computer or TV, I was at home, not at church. I was surrounded by distractions I could escape from at church. There I can step away from the world for a moment of peace and hope. But at the dining room table, I was still in that demanding and uncertain world. That peace and hope seemed far away.

What about the people?

It’s great to be able to worship in your pajamas with a cup of coffee and plate of breakfast in front of you. But what about the people? What about the people whose voices can join to sing liturgy and hymns? Chances are you’re just listening, unwilling to perform solo. What about the conversations you have before and after (and during!) worship? You can’t catch up with folks you haven’t seen all week, share jokes, complain about the weather and comment on the news. That interaction is an important part of Sunday morning, too. Even though our interactions are elbows rather than hugs, six feet apart and covered with masks, we are with people. We are with people who share our beliefs, share our joys and sorrows, share their stories and listen to ours. I don’t think we ever imagined how much we would miss that.

When someone who’s been in the hospital is back in church, we witnesses to the gift and miracle of God’s healing. When the small voices of children break the silence and also join us in prayer, we find ourselves in the presence of the greatest members of the kingdom of God (Jesus’ words, not mine). When we gather together at the altar for the sacrament, we find ourselves in the presence of angels and archangels and all the company of heaven, praising God and singing, “Hosanna!”

This is our world

For better or worse, digital church is here to stay. This our world. I bank and pay my bills online, do much of my shopping online, and get just about all of my news online. Many see their doctor, go to school, and order restaurant meals via a screen. The church is a part of that world. But the church also affords people the chance to be together, something we really don’t want to live without.

Posted in Moments of grace

Fifty seconds of prayer

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Veri Ivanova on Unsplash

As I finished up my first visit today, I started up the truck to get the AC going and got my phone out of the center console to quickly check my messages and emails. One immediately got my attention. Someone had called the church just after I left and wanted a Lutheran pastor to pray over the body of his mother-in-law who had suddenly died just a day before. I had no details, but the request was somewhat urgent as an autopsy was scheduled and family wasn’t around. I got in touch with the caller and then the funeral home. It would be just me, to say a final prayer of committal, something very important to the daughters.

Just like that, I was done. The funeral director and I thanked each other and I headed out to my next appointment. Before I drove from the parking lot, I sent the fifty-second recording of my prayer to the son-in-law, so he could pass that along to the family.

Later, I typed her name into the search bar of Facebook and found her page. She was my age, a local business owner. Family and friends had already begun to post condolences and memories on her timeline. I reached out to the family, offering my help and encouragement.

Sometimes God punctuates our lives with moments that remind us of the power of His mercy in life and in death. Even if I never hear the rest of this story, I am glad I could be a part of it.

Update: That wasn’t the end of the story. I had a chance to sit down and talk with her husband for a while and then meet all her children the next day to share some memories and say a prayer.

Posted in Devotions, Moments of grace

Each day is a gift

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Callum Blacoe on Unsplash

So if I am mortal, my life is finite and the time of my death has been predetermined, does it really matter how I live? While trying to figure out why he was suffering, Job said to God, “A person’s days are determined; you have decreed the number of his months and have set limits he cannot exceed” (Job 14:5). Is my life really that determined, so that the things I do or don’t do have little to do with my waking up each day?

If I truly believed that, I wouldn’t worry so much about eating healthy or exercising. I can’t add any years to my life, right? I wouldn’t call 911 when I felt chest pain. It’s either my time or it isn’t. I certainly wouldn’t worry about seat belts, speed limits and stop signs, either. Why own a gun? If a shooter’s bullet has my name on it, it’s a done deal. I would be just like Simeon, who had the promise from God that he wouldn’t die until he had seen the Christ (Luke 2:25,26). Until that moment, Simeon was essentially immortal!

And yet, most of us don’t live that way, do we? We watch our weight, check our cholesterol, buckle our seatbelts, wash our hands and wear a mask, look both ways before we cross the street, vaccinate our babies, practice shooting at the range and call 911 when our chest tightens up and we (or our spouse) can’t breath. Why is that?

We also share our food with those who are hungry, rather than assuming it’s simply their time to go. We pass laws and commission police to enforce them and protect our lives. We learn CPR and hang defibrillators on the wall so we can save a life. We post signs that warn of high voltage, sharp turns and slippery floors. Why is that?

After forty hungry days in the desert, Jesus and Satan had an interesting conversation. Satan suggested to Jesus that he jump off the top of the temple, relying on the promise that the angels would take care of him and catch him. Jesus refused. Why? Because you don’t put God to the test. Challenging God isn’t trusting Him. He’ll very quickly remind you that He can’t be manipulated. (This is also a good reminder to always check your sources.)

James, a half-brother of Jesus, wisely pointed out that if you come across someone who doesn’t have clothes or food, you don’t simply say, “Have a nice day. Too bad your time is up.” A faith like that is worthless. James used a stronger word: dead. Trusting God means attending to the life-saving needs of others.

Paul wrote, “If the dead are not raised, “Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die” (1 Cor. 15:32). If you have nothing to look forward to other than death, by all means do what ever you want. It doesn’t make any difference.

But, “Christ has indeed been raised from the dead” (1 Cor. 15:20). We’ve been redeemed from an empty way of life by the precious blood of Christ (1 Peter 1:18,19). Life, in both this life and the next, is precious and valuable. This truth moves us to provide food, drink, hospitality, clothing, healing and fellowship for the people around us as if we were giving it to Jesus Himself (Matthew 25:35, 36). That is what faith looks like.

I often remind people that we need not fear death, for our last breath in this world will be followed by our first breath in the next. Death has lost its sting because of the resurrection of Christ. We can live each day to its fullest in light of the life He gives us.

I often remind people that life is sacred, too. So from the womb to hospice, we provide the best care we can. Sometimes that means helping moms raise their kids alone. Sometimes it means triple-bypass open-heart surgery. Sometimes it means eating a little less fried chicken and donuts and more fruits and vegetables. Sometimes it means giving someone a room in my house to stay for a while. Sometimes it means washing my hands a few extra times and wearing a mask. Sometimes it means giving away my money so another church in another country can feed the children in a community on a Saturday.

Yes, my life is in His hands. From before my birth to my last breath and for eternity. I commend myself into His hands, my body and soul and all that I have. I remember that my body is a temple of the Holy Spirit. And I love Him with all my heart, mind, soul and strength by loving my neighbor as myself. It’s never about me. It’s always about Him and them.

My days may be numbered, but I cannot and will not take one of them for granted. Each one is a gift, a gift from Him.

Posted in Moments of grace

Memorials in a pandemic world

Posted on by William Douthwaite

I am just now beginning to catch up with some funerals and memorial services. When the pandemic hit, much of life came to a standstill. Death, however, was not deterred. No visits to the hospital, nursing home or hospice house. No visits with the dying. Limited contact with the bereaved. We were not open for worship. No funerals. No memorials. No committals.

As we cautiously reopened our church building for worship, cemeteries allowed a few to gather and families carefully began to travel, I made overdue plans for memorial and funeral services. But it’s different. It’s one thing to gather in the week following a death. It’s another to put it off three or more months. It’s one thing to mourn in person. It’s another to grieve online. Here are some of my experiences and observations from recent events.

Henry’s memorial was the first after we reopened out sanctuary for worship. The attenders were few as many were still cautious about being in a moderate-sized gathering. Watchers, however, were many. Our streaming capabilities were primitive but effective. We had viewers from all over the world. Family and friends from South Africa, London, Jamaica, Hawaii and New York all extended their condolences as we sang and prayed and remembered. We had over 100 comments during the service and many more who watched later. We never would have reached that many in the pre-pandemic world. What a blessing!

Don’s memorial came a whole three months after his death. His arrangements were challenging because we had to coordinate with a national cemetery sixty miles to the south. Once we set a date, some who had planned on coming changed their minds. Others who were reluctant to come decided to attend. We had to rethink some of the music at the last minute, due to illness. But by the grace of God, everything went much better than we expected.

Janey’s memorial is still on hold. We have set and cancelled dates several times. Some do not want to travel and would love a conference-call style service. Others do not want a virtual gathering, preferring to be there in person. I do not know when or how we will get this figured out.

And we have no idea about how to plan for C.’s memorial. Travel restrictions complicate that planning. it’s so hard for the family. They feel like they need to do something. But they also feel like there’s nothing they can do!

I do know that for myself, the mood of a memorial service three or four months after a death is quite different. Yes, there is sadness, tears and grief. But in some ways the memories are move vivid, the obituaries are longer and the shared stories are more detailed. The numbness of that first week of grief has passed, many emotions have been processed and the atmosphere is lighter a few months out. Rather than having to remind folks that life goes on, it’s obvious. Life has indeed gone on.

Three or four months down the road though, it’s starting to feel like old news. We may not all be at the acceptance stage of grief, but many are well on the way. And just when you’re getting close, you have to dig up memories and emotions once again for the memorial service. Some just don’t want to do that.

And of course, the whole worship experience is different. Masks are prevalent. Distancing is practiced. Hugs are few and far between. When all have left, the room is quickly disinfected. The choreography of gathering has changed, and we are all still learning the steps.

But we are gathering. And that is a tremendous blessing. The memories that make us either cry or laugh are so much better when we can share them with others. The smell of the flowers, the collage of pictures and the sound of familiar songs and readings are so much sweeter in the presence of those we love. I doubt that will ever change.

Posted in dreams, Stories

Expensive chocolate!

Posted on by William Douthwaite

As my friend and I chatted over the last of our coffee, I absent-mindedly peeled open one of the foil wrapped chocolates the waiter had left on our table and popped it in my mouth. “Wow, that’s delicious!” I said. “Want yours?” He shook his head, so I went ahead and enjoyed the second one.

The breeze gently rustled the umbrella over our poolside table. Our waiter took our plates and left the check. I picked it up, quickly glanced at it, but then took another, longer look. Seventy dollars? That can’t be right. Oatmeal, omelette, side of bacon and a couple of cups of coffee. There must be some mistake. When our waiter passed by I asked, “Are you sure this is right?” He took a quick look and pointed out that the chocolates were $25 each! Really? They were good, but not that good! I thought they were free, just like the little Andes mints at Olive Garden.

When I took the check up to the register to pay, I mentioned that the price of those chocolates was a bit steep. The manager pointed to a little sign by the register in very tiny print, “Chocolates, $25 each.” Fine. I handed him my card. He slid it through the machine, handed it back to me, and then said, “Uh-oh. I’ll have to slide that again.”

“Not so fast,” I said. I pulled out my phone and opened up my bank app. “No way I’m going to pay for this meal twice!” I want to see if that charge was on my account before I let him try again.

And then I woke up. Yes, it was another of my recent, vivid, unusual dreams. I think taking melatonin to help me sleep also revs up my mind’s dream factory. But I’m always going to check twice before I eat some chocolates!

Posted in Moments of grace

The security of a tent

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Kevin Ianeselli on Unsplash

Behold Zion, the city of our appointed feasts!
    Your eyes will see Jerusalem,
    an untroubled habitation, an immovable tent,
whose stakes will never be plucked up,
    nor will any of its cords be broken. (Isaiah 33:20)

I’ve always liked the idea of crawling into a tent for the night. It feels snug. Secure. Even in a rainstorm. Isaiah’s prophecy made me think of some of my tent experiences.

While working at Bell Labs in West Long Branch, NJ, a few colleagues and myself decided to do an overnight century ride through a hilly central part of the state. My friend Ted mapped out a loop that included a place where we could camp at around the fifty mile point of the one hundred mile trip. We each brought a small personal tent and sleeping bag, some cooking gear and freeze-dried food and set out with everything tied to our Blackburn rear wheel racks. Nothing fancy, just what we needed for the night. It was cool to crawl into the two-foot high tent and zip up for the night, then roll it all up and head back home in the morning.

I went along to chaperone two trips to the Florida Keys with my son and daughter when they were in middle school. Their science teacher Mrs. T. led a trip every other year for seventh and eighth graders in a program for gifted learners. The campground was on Marathon Key, just before the seven mile bridge. Each time we took a bigger tent that was pretty comfortable for two people. Another chaperon brought his boy scout troop’s camping trailer, and we set up our own little mess in the center of our little tent community for the week. The most exciting part of the first trip was a tremendous thunderstorm that tore through the campground the morning we were scheduled to leave. We were pretty secure in our tent, but I remember unzipping a few inches and peeking out to see other tents, some still occupied, being blown across the clearing. It was actually pretty funny watching people stumble out into the storm. Thankfully the storm lasted less than half-an-hour, and we were able to pack up all our soaking wet stuff and head home.

I got my first taste of Disney World in the summer of 1994 when our family spent a week doing all the parks. We traveled in my in-laws RV and camped at Fort Wilderness for the week. The RV wasn’t quite big enough to sleep all of us, so my son and I slept in a tent. We had a great time, even though torrential rain showers came through every afternoon. One night the rain waited until dark, and the downpour pummeled our tent. We pretty much stayed dry. The RV, however, leaked! Life can be ironic.

I know we did a tent camping trip to Cape Cod sometime during my first few years in Connecticut. We either had one or two little ones with us. What I remember are the sights and sounds of Provincetown, not unlike the unique folks and lifestyle one experiences in the Florida Keys. The tent, cookstove and lantern were wedding gifts that we still stored in the attic thirty-six years later.

I count our popup camper outings as tent-camping experiences as well. We had a twelve-foot that we pulled with a Chevy Astro van. When cranked up and pulled out, we had plenty of sleeping room for our family of five. We took short trips to the Keys, Savannah, GA and Orlando, FL. Then we took our big trip to Maine, stopping in North Carolina, the Pocono mountains in Pennsylvania, somewhere in the eastern Connecticut hills and finally in Old Orchard Beach and Bar Harbor, Maine. That was a fun trip, even if it seems like we were always setting up or breaking down camp in the rain. Being up off the ground is definitely a more comfortable experience. Coming home we stayed at my parents’ house in Philadelphia and then a hotel somewhere in Virginia rather than campgrounds.

It’s been eighteen years since that trip. We sold the popup soon after. Now we’re getting back into it, sort of. We just bought a hybrid travel camper. It looks like a travel trailer, but the ends fold down to magically create screened-in canvas sleeping areas. It the best of both worlds since it feels like a tent, but also has a kitchen, dining and bathroom inside. I’ve got much to learn about pulling and parking something this big, but a few short initial trips will give me practice before we head out for something longer.

The bible often mentions tents. The tabernacle was basically a big tent. The Hebrew people celebrated the Festival of Booths by living in tents. Jael became a hero when she killed the enemy general Sisera who fell asleep in her tent. Psalm 91 promises no disaster will come near your tent. The apostle Paul worked as a tent maker. Our bodies are referred to as the “tents” we occupy in this life. A better tent awaits at the resurrection. The Word became flesh and “tented” among us.

I’ll be thinking about all that when I once again crawl into my “tent” for the night.

Posted in Stories

“I need you to open the safe.”

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Alexander Nachev on Unsplash

I thought I had the place to myself.

I usually do. I get up early on purpose, because I want to have the room to myself. I want to practice my sermon in an empty sanctuary before I deliver it to a living, breathing congregation. I need to hear my voice. I need to listen to the stories. I have to know what it sounds like before worshipers gather to sing, pray and receive my message.

I’ve got my routine. Unlock the doors, turn on a few lights, fire up the sound system, and fill up my water glass. I could do it in my sleep.

Five minutes into my rehearsal, I saw him. Back row, left side, on the aisle. Who in the world would be here this early? The musicians aren’t even here yet. I didn’t stop. I continued making points, adding illustrations and pointing out applications.

As I finished, I turned off the timer and walked back to meet this predawn arrival. Before I could say, “Hi,” he said, “I need you to open the safe.”

If was still a little sleepy before, I was wide awake now. “Well,” I said, “First of all, we don’t have any money here. Second, I don’t even know the combination.”

As you can imaging, my answer was not well received. He growled, “Well then, you better call someone who does!” I didn’t see a weapon. Maybe he had one in his pocket. I was still about ten feet away. No one else would arrive for at least half an hour. What were my options? Run? I can run. I would leave this guy in the dust. Give him my wallet? Sorry, no cash in there either. Stall? Sometimes the local deputies meet in our parking lot. When I glanced out the window, though, I didn’t see any cars. Call someone from the congregation who knew the combination and use a code word so they would call for help? I don’t think we have a code word.

Startled, I woke up. First the buzzing then the soft thudding my my phone alarm was going off. I reached over and turned it off. 4:30 am. My heart was racing. But it was a dream.

For the next several weeks, I carefully scanned the parking lot before I got out of my car in the predawn hours of a Sunday morning. I kept all the doors locked while I prepared for morning worship. I thanked God for the deputies conversing under the portico. I was also grateful for those long days of summer, when the sun arrives before I do.

Why were my dreams filled with such images in the middle of the night? I’ve never had a problem, never been threatened, never even thought about the possibility of being in danger. I’ve probably been watching too much police and detective TV, where such things happen daily in the lives of innocent people.

Anyway, if you were going to rob a church, wouldn’t you do it after the offering?