Yeasty Living

I'm thinking about yeast, and how it makes or breaks the breadmaking process. (Of course, I have other things in mind besides breadmaking.) Get a bad batch of yeast, and you're looking at a ruined, sagging loaf of worthless sludge. Put too much fresh yeast in a loaf, and the bread will explode (and sometimes, this isn't funny at all). And the most insidious part of this story is that you cannot know what you've done until it's too late to do anything about. There's no feedback until the end - the whole process is built on faith and experience.

So much of breadmaking - and baking in general - involves a bit of flying blind. The muck you've got when you prayerfully place the goods in the oven cannot be even remotely related to the product you're hoping for is the magic works as promised (like it did for Mom when you were wholly unconcerned about whether or not magic worked - because you took for granted that it simply and always did). And even though baking is a science - pure chemistry - there are many ways for the batch of gook to go south on you when it gets too hot in the kitchen.

So we're always a bit surprised when it all comes out well, and no one more than the cook, who would prefer the rest of us enjoy the feast in blissful ignorance of the measure of anxiety that forms the part of all but the simplest recipes. Farmers probably share this kind of anxiety during the growing season - or perhaps it never lets up for them from seed to market. Yet they plant.

To live in this kind of realm is to never be free of the necessity of flying blind, of faithfuly planting that which we cannot see but for eyes of faith. And the connection happens often enough that we continue to plant and to knead and to mix the ingredients in the ways that have been gracefully handed down to us. We will hand these ways down to our children, it goes without saying. The holy books in our kitchens explode after generations until interrupted by indifference and the lack of time to have faith in a process you cannot control.

Those who continue to hold to these practices infiltrate the earthly family with the yeast of our fierce hopefulness. Thankfully, it doesn't take much to expand and rise the whole of the earth in faith, hope and love. We remain fresh and waiting for the baker woman to knead us into the measures of flour and dough. We do what we do. Spread throughout the whole in the quiet, determined way the woman's strong fingers find every yeastless place with careful precision. Later, when the heat is on, we will expand, and the gooey mass will rise - nearly imperceptibly at first, but later unmistakably and ubiquitously.

Inevitably.

Wake Me Up When September Ends

We had a rude awakening at September's end this fall at Skyline, when our Administrative Assistant informed us that she would be unable to cover our pay with the money she had in the bank as the month came to a close.

Yeah. I said rude awakening. I wasn't kidding.

Now before we get into interpretation mode, there's this little matter of "What Do We Do Now" that fairly screams for attention, and it got all of ours as October winds started blowing. We gathered leaders and contacted the people we are accountable to - we prayed and planned and spent some time with mentors and spiritual advisers. And we let everyone at Skyline Church know what was going on.

Which was weird at first. But refreshing in a way. Before we let the congregation know, the weight of the problem gave us little room to breathe. Here's how bad it got: I called the Navy recruiter in Philadelphia and started the process to become a navy chaplain. Serving as a chaplain is an honorable path - but if I had followed it at this point in my life, it would have meant an unending separation from my wife and children.

On October 5, we met with out District Superintendent, who directly supervises us and who advises the Bishop regarding appointments for all churches in the Wilmington District. We told him about our financial situation at the church. He told us to hang tight, at least until next July.

There's a funny thing about ordination. When we became United Methodist pastors, we vowed to serve the church and only the church - working 100% as pastors, resident theologians, spiritual counselors, and church administrators. This present crisis brings those vows into crystal clear focus. We serve under orders.

And so far in October? We've received offerings sufficient to cover expenses for two consecutive Sundays. The members and friends gathered Sunday have responded to our full disclosure with a renewed sense of calling and conviction - just as we have. The work and ministry of this faith community continues with passion and hope. Members face medical, spiritual and financial difficulties with courage - in the midst of a supportive and loving community.

Our theme this year is God's Future - with Hope. Yup. That's the ticket. I'm on board.