Room in the N?

I don't know whether I can prove this or not, but last week I invented a Chrismon.

A what?  OK, here's the quick catch up lesson for the non-liturgical types.  Chrismons came into popular use thanks to a Lutheran church in Danville, VA. You can google all this and find out lots.  In short, your church, or one near you (check with the Lutherans of you need to) probably has a Chrismon tree.  Every ornament on the tree has something to do with Jesus.

Here's my story.  I was preparing a devotion on making room in your home and heart for Jesus.  I searched for some simple clip art showing Jesus in the manger to go along with the devotion.  I finally found one that was made with simple pen strokes.

Now I can't give you all the insight into how my mind works--lest we bog down the internet. I should confess that this symbol that helps tell the story of Jesus began with a certain amount of mischief.  As I thought along the line of "no room in the in", I found out that I could make a manger by drawing baby Jesus at rest in the diagonal of the letter "N".  Oh yes there IS room in the N!

So, I changed my plan and began to work on a baby in the manger Chrismon using the letter N.  The easy way, I figured was to put an R in the N's diagonal.  That's when I stumbled onto making a Chrismon that told two stories.

A number of Chrismons are Greek letters transposed on each other. Some examples include the Chi-Rho, Alpha and Omega, and the Ichthus Wheel.  I found out that I could make my "N manger" by transposing the Latin letters INRI on top of each other.

INRI are the first letters of the Latin inscription "Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews" which Pilate had placed on top of Jesus' cross.  So, now I have managed in one Chrismon to tell the story of Jesus' birth (Luke 2:1-7) and the story of his death (John 19:16-22) --and it all started with me trying to be a little funny with "room in the N".

So I made a Chrismon.  On the silly side, its a picture of the question, "Is there room in the inn?"  That question, however, begets a few more.  Is there room in my heart and in your heart for Jesus?  How about in our homes?  Is there room for Jesus in every circumstance, in our highs and lows, in our delights and despairs?  Well the answer is, "Of course there is!"

O come to my heart, Lord Jesus,
There is room in my heart for thee.

Do it for Phil Coulson!

OK, so I was a couple weeks late seeing The Avengers, but as soon as school was out, my 11 year old and I hit the theater.  We saw the movie in IMAX 3D, a splurge for making the the A honor roll--him, not me.  So that made the movie even more awesomer (yeah, I know it's not a word).

There were plenty of good lines, too.  Here are a couple of my favorites:
"Target: angry!"
"You might want to clench up there, Legolas."  (With all due respect to the A honor roll types sitting near me, I think I was the only one in the theater who laughed at that one.)

Now here's the one that I had to think about for a second.  Loki has mortally wounded Agent Coulson, the Les Nessman of the Avengers Initiative.  As he lay there dying, Nick Fury gives him the "please don't go, please don't die" stuff, and Coulson, with his last breath says, "This has to happen.  Without it what will they have to..." and then he dies.

"What will they have to" what?  I thought it a second before A Honor Roll asked me.  AVENGE!  Oh! Avenge!  What will the Avengers have to avenge!!

Cool move.  If Loki had killed Nick Fury, Iron Man or even Captain America it wouldn't have united the heroes against their enemy.  But go picking in the every-man, and you're in some deep trouble, my friend.  That's what makes heroes.  It's not the suit or the powers or the multi-billion dollar flying aircraft carrier.  It's the determination to stand up and fight for the innocent, to speak up for those without a voice, to fly for all of us who seem to be stuck on the ground.

You know what, people?  We each can be a hero, and we all can work together to make a difference in our world.  It really is possible.  Make the determination that we are going to see the end of suffering--the hungry fed, oppressed set free, good news preached to the poor, and so on.  Make that determination to do something about it.  With God's help we can.  It's hero time.

@ the Graduate Luncheon

On Friday, May 4,  I was invited to speak at Charleston Southern University's graduate luncheon.  The following is what I remember saying.

When I asked my wife for a some advice on what to say to folks who were about to graduate from college, she said, "Tell them not to do it. The economy's a wreck.   There's no jobs.  They might do better to go to graduate school."  Well, you could defer your loans for a few years I guess.

20 years from now I hope you have a handfull of friends from your college days on the Alumni board and they want to hear you speak at this event.  I do mean that as a blessing, but today I also blame Facebook.

I wondered what sort of speech to give today.  You don't need a commencement address.  You'll get one of those tomorrow.  My challege to you is to remember something the speaker says.

I have daydreamed about being a commencement speaker.  That daydream started 20 years ago about 5 minutes after I graduated.  Generally there are two criteria for being a commencement speaker.  A) You can be famous for something.  B) You could have accomplished something.  Oh, well.

I'm a pastor, but I'm not here to preach, though I probably will.  Having attended this Baptist univeristy for a while, you have probably already heard a lot of preaching.  On top of that, I am a BAPTIST pastor, so hearing from the likes of me is about as rare as seeing a mallard duck out there on the reflection pond.

I did read that there was a rare bird spotted on the reflection pond, a greater white fronted goose.  OK, it was more unusual than rare.  A little bit lost and off-course.  Today, I hope to be that kind of rare bird for you.

I'm not here to preach.  I'm not here to offer a commecement address.  The reason I'm here is because I am a Buccaneer.

For my junior and senior years in college I was THE Buccaneer (the college mascot, the man in the suit), so I might know a thing or two about being a Buccaneer.  First, being the mascot was great!  Being the mascot gives you access to cheerleaders, and that's great!  It certainly helped me retire my previous pick-up line, "Hey who wants to hug the editor of the campus newspaper?"

Mascots, especially if they've got imaginations, don't really need to practice.  I'd go to cheerleading practice, and spot the cheerleaders as they practiced partner stunts.  So, not only did I have access to cheerleaders, but they were literally falling out of the sky.

Yes, it was fun, too.  After a basketball game, the cheerleading team went out to eat.  The referees from the game came to the same restaurant.  They recognized the cheerleaders and came over to introduce themselves.  They got to me, and one referee inquired, "Who are you?"  I smiled and said, "I'm the Buccaneer."  Karl Hess told me, "I hate your guts!" Proof I was doing my job well.

I was also in great shape.  I remember being at the counter at the business office.  I was leaning on the counter writing a check.  I overheard two women across the room behind me.  One of them caught her breath and said, "That guy's the Buccaneer."  The other woman asked, "How do you know?"  OK, to keep this a family show, let's just say that she explained that from her vantage point she could identify me anywhere.  Seems those pants for the Buc costume were a little tight--but I guess not in a bad way.

Are you a Buccaneer?  It's from the French root word boucan which had to do with cooking over a fire.  The first pirates called buccaneers were hold up on uncharted Carribbean islands catching and cooking wild hogs over a pit.  If you can cook on the grill, you're a Buccaneer!

Are you a Buccaneer?  Do you know your history?  Do you know the story behind why we're called Buccaneers (bad news here, no one knew the story)?  In 1964, the school's first basketball game was played downtown against Anderson College.  The rumor going around was that Baptist College's sports teams were going to be referred to as the Christian Knights or Crusaders.  Well, the students showed up at that first basketball game wearing bandanas, eye patches, ear rings and sashes, brandishing swords, and they unrolled a banner that said BUCCANEERS.  The nickname stuck.

Being a Buccaneer is about boldness, standing up and being heard. Being a Buccaneer is about daring to be different, about not being satisfied with the status quo, and if going against the status quo should cost you, at least you can stll cook on your grill!

Are you a Buccaneer?  The most important characteristic about being a Buccaneer is about seeking treasure.  I would say that was a great lesson I learned at Charleston Southern.  I didn't even know I was looking for treasure.

Seeking treasure is a lesson about friendship.  I am grateful for the many friends I made while I was a student here.  I know in my heart that I have friends who love me and care about me.  A lot of those are folks I haven't seen in 20 years, but I bet if we got together we could pick up where we left off--in either doing good or a little mayhem.

Seeking treasure is about fellowship.  We each have talents to share.  We each have gifts to bring to the table that we can use to work together and accomplish great things.

Seeking treasure is about faith.  Jesus said, "Ask and you shall receive.  Seek and you will find.  Knock and the door will be opened to you."  Seek is a word that implies an earnestness about your search.  It's about not being satisfied until you have found what you're looking for.  Apply what we know about seeking to somehting Jesus said earlier in the Sermon on the Mount, "Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added unto you."

The greatest thing about seeking the treasure of the kingdom of God is that when you do that the treasure finds you.

Was it Something I Ate?

OK, so here’s the dream.  One reason I’m sharing this is because I usually don’t remember dreams.   Sometimes in the middle of a dream I’ll remind myself to try and remember it, but once I begin to wake up, I can feel it slipping away and out of reach.  When it’s gone, it’s gone.

Another reason to share the dream is that you might have some insight about what this dream means, if it has any meaning at all.  Probably a better reason is that it was kind of funny. 

Some dreams are just flat out weird and have more basis in Doritos Locos Tacos consumed after a certain hour.  The older you get, the earlier this deadline arrives each night.

Every now and then, I have a dream that stays with me.  Usually they fall into one of two categories: weird or scary.  Wednesday night/early Thursday morning, it was a weird one that stuck with me.  The one contributing factor I know of is that I watched the South Carolina v. Wofford baseball game which went 11 innings.

That saturation was present.  I was at a baseball game in my dream.  Quickly, the coach told me I could play left field (I’m already out there in my mind, so what’s new).  Well I jumped at the chance to move from spectator to participant, but instead of playing left field, I began to walk around the field and talk to other players.

I was over by the visitors’ dugout.  A player from the other team informed me that he had brought a softball to leave inside the statue of Jesus.  I said, “Huh?”  He explained that there was a statue of Jesus nearby that had a hole at the base where folks passing by would leave softballs (some kind of pilgrimage, I guess).  I took all this information as matter of fact.

Well, I began to walk back over toward left while enjoying a pack of Lance crackers (Malt) and a Sprite in a clear Solo cup.  Of course, my repast and stroll across the outfield grass would be interrupted by a batter who rudely hit a fly ball to left field.  I fumbled to put the crackers in my back pocket, noting to myself that this was not good for the crackers, and stashed my soda behind a bush by the outfield wall.  There were two outs, and this would end the inning.  I hustled into position to catch the ball.  I settled under the ball, but there were some tree branches in my way. 

I need to add here that this baseball field was the narrow strip of yard next to Reevesville Baptist Church—before the fellowship hall was built.  I was standing where that little wall used to be, about where the covered walkway is now.  The cemetery fence was the outfield wall.  My guess is that this detail might lend more insight than others—maybe not.

The ball cleared the branches, but I had come forward one too many steps.  The ball cleared my glove and tipped the bill of my cap before hitting the ground behind me and rolling toward the wall.  I ran back to retrieve it, and the center fielder was running over to back me up.  Before we could get there the ball rolled into an open 4” drain pipe in the ground.  I held up two hands to signal to the umpire that the ball was lost and the situation merited a ground rule double.

The coach started yelling at us and marched out to left field to confront us.  I explained that the ball went in the pipe.   The coach hollered, “Yeah, well that’s a drain pipe!  It goes out of the stadium!  That ball’s halfway to Miami.  It’s a home run, and there were two runners on.  We’re down by three!”

To make matters worse, my Sprite had tipped over.  The coach walked past me on his way to the locker room.  “Don’t worry about it,” he said, “It’s halftime, and all those guys from the other team want to put a ball in the Jesus statue.”

An open letter to the Family Y

Dear Family Y of Greater Augusta,
I am so glad that my family has a membership the Y.  My sons have enjoyed playing basketball this season--boy, it sure is crowded on Saturdays!  They have also done very well in their swimming lessons.  We do have a good time at the pool.

I was happy to see the Y represented at the Riverhawks game this past Saturday night.  Thanks for being there on Scout Safety Night and providing good information about swimming and sports safety.

My sons were excited to see "Y Guy".  I thought he was pretty cool, too, but there was one problem.  "Y Guy" accompanied the Riverhawks mascots onto the ice for the second intermission.  Music began to play, and the mascots began to dance to the Village People's "YMCA".  When they reached the chorus and performed the iconic motions that go along with it, "Y Guy" DID THE "C" WRONG!

I do realize I am being picky about this.  It might be one of those things I am unable to let go.  From youth camp dances to wedding receptions, I've been helping folks turn in the right direction.  I have even taught my own children to make the "C" so other people can read it.

Please understand.  It's not just you.  I also have a problem with male cheerleaders running with flags that spell out their school's initials.  Unless they run from right to left as the audience reads it, the letters are presented in opposite order--please pay attention, CSU and USC.  Watch how the letters scroll across the bottom of the TV and copy that.

So, I'm a little heartbroken that an ambassador for the Y misses an opportunity to shine.  "Y Guy", I only want to help.  Please get better.

What Do We Call Him? Part 3: The Rise of Rev. Chip

Let's see now, where were we?  Oh, yeah, I was 22 and my hair fell out because a 7th grader called me "mister" and then she said "yes sir" to me.

Eight years later, I was ordained at Briarcliff Baptist Church in Atlanta.  At the end of the service, I was presented with a certificate of ordination and a Bible.  It was a huge, leather bound, New Oxford Annotated, New Revised Standard Version with Apocrypha, and was imprinted with REV. CHIP REEVES in gold foil on the bottom right corner.  Goliath offered to let me borrow his shield bearer when I needed to carry it anywhere.

On August 1, 1999, I became an official reverend.  There was also a reception following the service.  How much more official did things need to get?

Shortly after my being ordained, Trisha and I packed everything up and I headed to Maryland for my first "real" ministry job after seminary.  I was Baptist Campus Minister at the University of Maryland-College Park.  I enjoyed a ministry with students which was still collegial like youth ministry, but in this case everyone was in college (trying real hard not to say "literally" here).  My point here is that I was in a ministry position where it was still cool for parishoners to call me Chip.  If the voice on the office phone referred to me as Reverend Reeves, I knew it was the Dean of Students' secretary.

The college students didn't have a problem calling me Chip, neither did my fellow ministers and lots of folks who worked at Maryland.  But there was one student who changed my name.

Hieu was from Vietnam.  She came to me one day with a problem.  "I don't know what to call you," she told me.  I replied, "You can call me Chip."
"No, I can't"
"Yes, you can.  It's OK with me."
"No, I can't.  It would be embarrassing."
"Look, I have had this nickname all my life.  It's really is OK to call me Chip."

The point my new friend was trying to make with me was that in her culture it was impolite to be on a first name--nay, nickname basis with your minister.  She then emphasized this truth in a way that a boy from down South would completely understand, "My mother won't let me."  We set the differences in our cultural mores aside and walked on common ground.  I knew what she was talking about.  Some manners and the way we learn our manners are universal.  I knew my Momma would be disappointed in me if I allowed anyone to be embarrassed because of me.

I still felt like I wasn't old enough to be referred to as Reverend Reeves.  I'd only been ordained a few weeks; it might not have "took".  Besides, if everyone started calling me that, how was I supposed to filter the calls from the dean's office?

So it was that over lunch at a Vietnamese restaurant somewhere in the greater College Park/Langley Park/Silver Spring area, I acquired one of my favorite appellations.  It was a merger of the realm of formal titles and the world of striving to be yourself, "Reverend Chip".  Thanks to Hieu I have really enjoyed finding out who this guy is.