A Dear John Letter for the Holidays

Here we are a few days before Thanksgiving, and the Christmas vortex has sucked me in. There's so much to do that I've been wondering if maybe we should just cancel Christmas this time around! I'd make a list of all the things that are going on, but there really isn't time for that.

Years ago I was in a college choir that had a week-long choir camp at the beginning of each year. It was a fun mountaintop experience, really one of the highpoints of the year. One year at the end of the week they asked us to write a letter to ourselves. ("They" because I can't remember exactly who asked us...) They said sometimes when the schedule gets crazy, you might start to wonder why you're in choir...so tell yourself. And then later that year they gave us our letters to read--to remind ourselves with our own words why it was worth keeping on.

I've never actually done it, but I wonder if I were to write myself a message after Christmas to help get me from here to there, what would I say?

Dear John,

Ha! "Dear John." It's like I'm breaking up with you, but since I am you, I guess that isn't really possible.

Look, I've been where you are. I know just how long your list is and how much pressure you feel to get the Christmas season just right for everyone. You've got kids and a spouse you want to feel really special, and this is basically your super bowl at church. And you need to catch up with your extended family. It's a lot, and right about now you're wondering about canceling Christmas entirely.

You don't want to do that.

Sometime in the next month or so, at a moment you won't be able to predict, hope will settle on you like a warm blanket. It's different every year. One year it came to you when you sat down with your family in the den after all the churchy things were over, watching them open their gifts and thinking maybe you found what real peace is. One year it came to you while you were dangling from pipes setting up lights in the sanctuary and you realized that while this was challenging and borderline unsafe, this one hour concert you were preparing for would start Christmas for someone--and maybe be Christmas for someone else. One year it came to you in the middle of a concert at that moment right after the sopranos and tenors soared when the kids sang that He will love the little children (I know you know that moment because you keep doing that same song every few years trying to recreate it. Maybe it will work this year, huh?).

I'm not talking about some vague warm and fuzzy feeling like looking at a Norman Rockwell painting. Not the nostalgia they're trying to bottle and sell at the Hallmark store for $6.99 per card. Mere sentimentality can't connect with your soul, no matter how good the Publix commercials are at tugging on your heartstrings.

And I'm not talking about vague faith that light and hope and peace and joy are coming to the earth for everyone (whatever that means). Yes, I know Jesus is the reason for the season and all that. Miracle birth. Laid in a manger. Angels and shepherds and kings (oops...the kings don't come until after Christmas, but I know they're part of the story you like to tell, so you do you, man). At some point don't you feel like all the Jesus talk is just sentimentality wearing angel wings? Silly question. I know you do.

No, what I'm talking about begins deep inside where you can't see it coming. It's like hope and peace are born inside of you and well up. You can't contain it. You can't control it. You can only revel in it like a child in the leaves only on the inside.

That's why you do the work you do--because every year you experience this profound peace, and you want to believe that you can help others experience it too. Maybe decorating the tree with the family will trigger that for them this year. Or maybe it will in ten years when they think back on these traditions y'all have built together. Maybe one of the gifts you give. Maybe one of the concerts you sing. Maybe one of the fruitcakes you send...wait...nobody like's fruitcake. And you've never made a fruitcake. Dude, don't send a fruitcake to anyone. Ever.

Anyway, what I'm trying to say is that I know you're super stressed about everything right now, but I also know that every year you can remember you've made it to the other side of Christmas glad that Christmas happened and hopeful that the next year would bring us closer to living into that hope and peace.

Now. Stop wasting your time reading this letter and get your work done. That program isn't going to write itself! Oh, and if you think about it, maybe go easy on the Christmas sweets this year, ok big guy?

Love in Christ,

Future John

I Was Never Normal Anyway

A long time ago, when the pandemic was brand new, we used to talk about getting back to normal. There were some "crazy people" who were saying this thing could go on for years--or that we may never be rid of it--but I didn't really think it would. I didn't imagine it would go away in a few weeks, but I'll confess I really thought it would die out in the summer, and that would be that.

I remember when we cancelled our first event. I remember when we cancelled everything else. I remember when we cancelled summer plans. That was actually when I realized this was going to go on for a long time...when I realized it was going to be more than a blip. Its persistence into the summer meant it wasn't behaving like illness I had seen before, and that's when I started trying to figure out what music ministry was going to look like when we couldn't be together. It started with my youth choir tour--my last week at Decatur First UMC.

When I started at Oak Grove UMC, I walked the halls wondering what "normal" looked like. I still wonder, actually. There's still so much that is different from the way it used to be. Apparently. I've never seen a single meal inside this church, Wednesday night or otherwise. Even our staff lunches have been outside. [Editor's note: shoutout to Carl and Atticus for getting these staff lunches going. We had a potluck thanksgiving meal today that was fantastic.]

There's been a lot of ink spilled about the "new normal." Some time back, people started to realize that things will never again be the way they were before March of 2020. It's true in virtually every aspect of life, and we're not talking about subtle changes.

But my life was already going to change. Before the pandemic, I had already accepted my new job at Oak Grove. Wednesday night dinners were never going to be the same. Choir was never going to be the same. My entire professional existence was about to be upended. And let's be honest: I was never normal anyway.

The pandemic profoundly affected my work, and it still does. But it didn't affect why I do it, and it didn't affect the most essential aspects of how I do it. Care about people. Lead them in creating profound expressions of faith, hope, and love in a world that needed them before the pandemic just as much as it needs them now. Build a community of people who love each other and their neighbors (because that's how Jesus said people would know we are His disciples). All the rest--the details of what that looks like--are really nothing more than window dressing.

Last Christmas we offered a concert that was recorded individually in homes and assembled on a computer in my house. It was the best we could offer in that season, and I remain proud of each person who contributed to it (you can find it here if you're interested: https://youtu.be/IstlPHxoTaI).

This Christmas we're offering something else. I won't say it's back to normal, because it isn't for a lot of reasons that aren't worth going into right now. But we'll be singing together again in the sanctuary, and that's not nothing. And I want to believe that our concert, Season of Hope, will be a profoundly joyful experience, both for those who perform and for those who listen.

Meanwhile, I've been wondering (along with everyone else) if getting "back to normal" is really something we should try to do, and I'm not sure it is.  See, the things that happen to us change us, and that's when we have a choice to make: how will this change me? Will it change me for the better? I'll give you an example. Before the pandemic, I had never streamed at Christmas Concert. Guess what. We're going to stream this one (on Sunday, December 12, at 6pm). The ability to attend a meeting via Zoom has made it possible for people to attend meetings who couldn't before, and that's been genuinely useful.  [Editor's note: not only that, but it reminds me of the Jedi council.]

So that's what I'm thinking about lately. Not so much getting back to normal. More identifying the essentials that didn't change because they can't change and figuring out how to put those essentials to work for the betterment of the world around me as it exists right this very minute.

And I'm also thinking about how cool it would be if Zoom supported hologram projection. I told you I was never normal anyway.

Is It Time for You to Have Your Car's Emissions Checked?

One of the joys of living in Georgia and owning a car is the beloved annual emissions test. Just in case you aren't familiar with it, you take your car to a certified emissions inspector who connects your car to a machine, tests the gas gap, and then confirms to the state that your car isn't emitting more than it should. I used to drive by one such location every day on the way to work. It was cleverly called "Dad's Emissions." I see what they did there, but I have to wonder if most people would find it desirable to come closer to dad's emissions. I would have thought it would keep people away.

I'll confess there were a couple of times that I went to Dad's Emissions because it was convenient. I know I'm the only one that waits until the very last day to have his emissions checked (ew) so he can renew his car tag. But then I changed jobs, and I found a new place.

The new place is interesting because it's in the basement of a dentist's office. What's even more interesting than that is this place was originally a bank, and the basement in question was actually the drive-thru for the bank. If I hadn't already been using my dentist for a long time, I would definitely start using the one there, and I'd set up my appointments such that I needed my teeth cleaned at the same time I needed my emissions checked. Not by the same person, please.

It's kindof like this other place I saw where there was a gun shop right next door to a pool supply store. Most people need both of those items at the same time, right?

Anyway, it turns out most emissions places are one of three things: a car shop that offers a variety of services, including emissions; a small metal building built on a parking lot somewhere for the sole purpose of checking emissions; or my personal favorite, a building cleverly repurposed for checking emissions.

Do you remember the little tiny photo processing buildings that used to dot parking lots?

Cute, right? Well, they were cute for a while. And amazing. Because--and I know this is going to sound strange to the younger readers--you couldn't always see the picture right after you took it. Cameras didn't have clever little screens so you could check out your selfie and snap it again if it wasn't any good. But you didn't want to snap too many selfies either because you only had 24 pictures on that roll of film, and you needed to save some for the Statue of Liberty. If you're 5th grade me, you used ALL the pictures on the Statue of Liberty from the ferry. And you still didn't get any good ones.

Did you know a few of those little photo processing buildings still exist?

Well, not many of them, and if they do still exist, they tend to look like this one here.

Just up Briarcliff from here, someone is a genius. They took one of these little photo spots and turned it into an emissions place. Just like the bank building turned into a dentist's office with an emissions place in the basement. And the other day it got me thinking.

Buildings are built for a purpose. Many times, the changing world renders that purpose obsolete. When that happens, there are really only 3 choices: the building gradually falls apart from lack of use, the building is knocked down to make space for something different, or the building is changed to play a different role...to serve a different purpose.

A building, at its most basic, exists to provide shelter from the elements (and, in the case of commercial property, a fixed location). In order to thrive over time, though, even a rigid building must ultimately be...flexible. It must be usable for other purposes. Or else it will be destroyed.

A few weeks ago, I wrote a post called "What Would You Say It Is You Do Here?" I was thinking about how much my role as a church music director had shifted over time. I landed on building community as the constant for me in ministry. That is, whatever I've set out to do, it has been in the interest of knitting people together and building their relationships with each other, the community, and God. Ultimately, though, it is critically important for me to allow the day-to-day functions to shift with the needs of the community and the church. Because the best way to build community today may not be the best way to do it tomorrow.

Isn't There Anyone Who Can Tell Me What Thanksgiving Is All About?

It was the day before Halloween. Our kids had just decided what they wanted to do for Halloween costumes, so we set out to make their Halloween dreams come true. Our first stop was Target, where we discovered only the vestiges of Halloween's former glory. Most of the seasonal section was already transforming from orange and black to red and green. And...was that a reindeer I saw back in the corner? That's the way of things in the stores. They move right from one holiday to the next.

Except they didn't move to the next. They skipped Thanksgiving. As far as I know, the only store to make a todo about Thanksgiving is Publix, which is understandable given they would like to provide you with everything you need to make your Thanksgiving meal extraordinary. Shoot. Even Kroger's seasonal aisle went straight from skeletons to candy canes.

This is just something I tossed together, but if you want a fun little adventure, google "Halloween Christmas" and enjoy all the truly remarkable Halloween Tree expressions.

Slow your roll, Christmas. Slow. Your. Roll. I know there's not a lot of money to be made from Thanksgiving, but I want to give it a minute.

I love Thanksgiving, and I like it more every year. It's not because of the turkey or the dressing or the [clouds part and angels sing] pumpkin pie, though I do enjoy all of those. For me it's not even about extended family, though it's always nice to see family when we are able to travel (adding Mark's donuts to the list of food to enjoy!). Those things aren't really the essence of Thanksgiving to me. Honestly sometimes they can be distractions. 

Do you remember in the Peanuts Christmas special the moment where exasperated Charlie Brown finally loses the handle and shouts, "Isn't there anyone who can tell me what Christmas is all about!?" Linus drops his blanket and delivers the Christmas story calmly and firmly, representing a turning point for the Peanuts gang in which they seem to realize they'd lost sight of the meaning of Christmas leading to the wholesome ending where the Charlie Brown tree is transformed.

Isn't there anyone who can tell me what Thanksgiving is all about? Is there someone who can transform my cornucopia from a tattered basket to a thing of Thanksgiving glory?

I'm not Linus, but I do still have the blanket I've had ever since before I can remember. So let me put that down and give it a whirl.

My mom will vouch that this is my blanket.

Lights please.

I'm thankful for my family. I'm thankful for the ways they make my life better every day. Thankful for the ways they make me better every day. Thankful for the way they make me laugh. Thankful for their patience when I'm grouchy because I'm tired and recently gave up caffeine again. Thankful for their support when I have a stage to build or bell tables to move. Thankful for their companionship on the bizarre journey of life, a journey that took a hard left turn right after college, which leads me to...

I'm thankful for my calling and the ability to answer it. I'm thankful that I stumbled into music ministry after college. Little me wanted to be an EMT or a fireman. And he also loved music. He had no idea there was a job that helping people and making music together until later. I'm thankful to have the skills needed to serve in music. Thankful that I see, from time to time, the difference it can make in people's lives. Thankful that this calling also provides a living, which leads me to...

I'm thankful that I have enough. I'm thankful for water to drink, food to eat, and a comfortable home. Thankful that on my best days I understand enough is enough--that family and calling are more important than more and bigger.

I'm thankful for the people around me. I'm thankful that on my less good days God speaks to me through the voices of my friends and colleagues. Thankful to have people in my life who can lend a hand when I'm out of hands. Thankful for people who laugh at my jokes even when they aren't funny. I'm thankful for my friends who call me out when I need it. Sometimes for how bad my jokes are.

That's certainly a non-exhaustive list, but it's a start. The longer I live, the more I feel like the key to being happy is thinking about all the reasons we have to be thankful. After all, having everything isn't the same thing as wanting nothing. Human nature is to pursue having everything, but thanksgiving...Thanksgiving...reminds our heart of the value of wanting nothing.