Re-Boot

I am a United Methodist pastor, currently appointed to Center Moreland and Dymond Hollow UMC's, known as the Center Moreland Charge. I have in the past used this blog to post sermons and thoughts, but was not really using it for much more. I have recently, however, come through a very singular experience. My wife, Donna Charlene (Grieten) Cottle, was diagnosed in June 2009 with a brain tumor. She died on December 5th, 2010. That's a week and a half ago, as I write this.

As part of accompanying her though that journey, I narrated for our friends and family the sometimes daily events of Donna's illness, the accidental hemmorhage during her biopsy, and the struggle to maintain her quality of life through radiation, chemotherapy, physical therapy, and the life we led after all other treatments had been exhausted.

With her passing, the time to end that other blog is coming close, but blogging has become a part of me. It was a powerful experience. I find that I want to be able to describe what life will be like after her death, for both our son and me, but her Caringbridge blog does not seem like the right place. So I'm returning here to my old sermon blog. I've changed the color scheme, and will probably change other things as well. Consider it the same thing as buying a new bed or painting the walls a new color.

I will still post my sermons as the pastor of churches, but I will also now be describing the life of a mid-forties widower and his pre-teen son, a man who is seeking to get fit and healthy after over 20 years of being overweight, a seeker into the practice of Christianity as described by the Benedictine Rule, and perhaps even a budding musician and author. There are many things i'm looking forward to learning and experiencing, and this is perhaps the place to describe it.

An Eloquent Set of Excuses

Dear All:

I am writing to apologize to everyone who follows this blog. There aren't many of you, but you deserve to receive an explaination because of the attention you so kindly pay.

My preaching style has undergone some significant changes, ones that are still being ironed out. Where I used to stand in the pulpit and preach from a manuscript that was easily transferred to this blog, a few months ago, I began to preach more extemporaneously. At first, it was driven by knowing what I wanted to say but not having the time to compose it on the page. I was also influenced by the encouragement that some of my parishioners gave me when I did step down out of the pulpit.

At first, I sought to generate a manuscript of the sermon by recording myself and using a transcription software, but for various reasons, the learning curve on such a project has been difficult and time consuming. This is why there has not been a sermon entry since the 4th of July.

My goal now is to go back to what my old preaching professor at Perkins/SMU, Zan Holmes, taught--preach extemporaneously all you want, but generate the manuscript anyway. This is now what I will start doing. there may be a false start or two as I develop a new habit, and the other current draws on my time and energy continue to be great, but this is at least my resolve. I also hope to find a way to post the recordings, which I will continue to make.

Thanks for your patience and understanding!

Fryer Drew

Donna's Caringbridge posting, August 20, 2010

(I am currently having some trouble pasting in my entry from MS Word to the Caringbridge site, so I have posted this entry to my blog, here.)
All right, Judy. It was about time for an update anyway, I finally had a few things to tell.

Since I last wrote, Josiah turned 11. The mother of one of his school friends threw a paintball party, and sweetly invited Josiah to celebrate his birthday as well (the boys are about a week apart). I believe, and all the parents sitting in the safe room that day agreed, that when those boys graduate high school, they will still remember that party as one of their seminal common experiences! Joe wasn’t sure about it after getting hit in the mask where his mouth was covered by a plastic grille, and the paint splashed into his mouth, but he did end up loving the day, and wants to go again. Right after that party, I whisked him away to sleepaway church camp, and then a week later, on his actual birthday, we ate birthday cake (made by my mom) in the dining room at Mercy Center with Donna, and my mom, dad, and step mom all came up to eat it!

Donna started receiving physical therapy after that cold she had last month, she was just not getting stronger, and it was starting to affect how she got out of bed, toileted, etc. She also started receiving speech therapy as well this week. Speech therapy is kind of a misnomer, catch-all sort of title, because it seems to encompass everything having to do with the throat, from communication to swallowing. Donna had been having some trouble swallowing food, not getting it all the way down, and so they engaged their speech therapist on Monday this week.

Donna is doing well otherwise, though much more tired in the evenings because of all the work she is doing. She was sitting in the sunroom last night, with two or three other residents, and it was very quiet. I’ve fallen into the habit of bringing her ice cream when I come at night. Last night was a Coffee Toffee Twisted Frosty night, and I asked her if she wanted to go to her room, and she said that she preferred being with some company, but liked the quiet, there were people around and less stimuli. Or rather, when I suggested that that was what she was preferring about being there, she said “yeah, that”, and smiled.

It’s a tough couple weeks, because Josiah is in a two week spread between the last organized summer activity and the beginning of school, and though he would be all for it, I’m not interested in his playing Wii for ten hours a day for two weeks. So, I need to invent things to keep him occupied, like having friends over (where they play Wii or their DS’s together, as well as go outside and play soccer or football), or having him go to their houses. He will also run errands with me, and school supplies and shoes need to be bought for school. I’m also continuing to re-engage in the life of my two churches, which sometimes sends me places where Joe cannot go with me. It’s a very busy time, and some days I go to bed late and just can’t get to sleep. I’d always heard that you can be too tired to sleep, but I’ve never really experienced it until now. The car that I bought in March already has 15000 more miles on it than it had when I bought it.

All of this other activity means that Donna comes out on the short end of that stick a little bit. When I can see her, lately, with or without Joe, it’s usually when she and I are both at our weariest.

Dr. Oley ordered a new MRI last week, because we want to know how far, or even if, the tumor has progressed. We’re waiting on the approval of insurance for that, now.

One last item: the process of obtaining medical assistance has now been completed, and she has started receiving some.

Trusting in the Major Keys: On The Unneccesariness Of Being Reminded Of One’s Mortality This Year.

Psalm 130

One of the blessings of growing up a choir kid is that I was able to hear and sing some fine music, growing up. One of my favorite all-time composers is a twentieth century Englishman named John Rutter. Several times, I have had the pleasure of singing his Requiem.

Now when I was younger, I gravitated toward the prettier bits, the bits that sounded like movie themes. Like most callow youth, the music that is not immediately accessible, the stuff in minor keys, is “boring”. Rutter’s main theme, the Requiem theme, is exactly one of those prettier bits. In singing the Requiem in choirs, I always assigned the second movement, called Out of the Depths, into the boring bin. It begins with a pretty intense cello solo, but what I remembered most about that solo was the intensity of the soloist at the concert I sang in.

I am many things, but I am no longer callow. In talking with my colleagues Monday about preaching texts for Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent, the phrase “out of the depths I cry to you” came to me, and I’ll choose to credit the Holy Spirit for that. It is the opening line of Psalm 130, and that boring section of Requiem came to mind again.

It is no longer boring.

If music is the speech of emotion, I get that cello solo now. I can see the musician that played it so long ago in the chancel at Newark UMC, working so hard to express the emotion of the music. I get the low voices singing “Out of the Depths”. I’ve been there. When you are in the depths, screaming and crying is sometimes too much to muster, and all you can manage is a low rumble, but one should never mistake a low rumble for a lessening of emotion over a scream. God knows the groans too deep for words.

I listened to this piece while writing this, and where it breaks into major key at verse 5, the text says “in the Lord my soul trusts” (they are using the King James for the text). From then out, it stays major, stays hopeful, stays trusting.

Lent, and especially Ash Wednesday, is usually an exercise in the reminder of one’s mortality. It is the beginning of a six week suite in a minor key. It behooves us to be reminded periodically that we are not the be-all and end-all, that there were people thousands of years ago who experienced the sorrow and angst we feel. As long as there have been clans and tribes, there have been mothers and wives and children who are consumed by anguish at the loss of their loved ones who have gone off to be soldiers. It is only a minor change in that to say that husbands and fathers now feel that angst, too. As long as there have been families and lovers, there has been pain and suffering because of the loss of loved ones because of disease.

Ash Wednesday is usually a prudent reminder that for all of us, the end result is not immortality. It is death. And we are all headed over that waterfall. And for Christians, historically, death does not bring oblivion, but union with Jesus Christ in heaven. But it does mean the end of all that we know and love.

There will be Ash Wednesdays in the future when I will be caught up short by the reminder that I too will die and no longer be present on earth. This wonderful existence of music and food and love will cease to exist. So will this horrible existence of disease and suffering and war and prejudice and hatred. Our lives on earth are mixtures of all of the above, and sometimes the juxtapositions of good and bad give rise to awareness of the absurd.

But this year, I need not be reminded of the shortness of life, the value of real life over counterfeit. Because of Donna’s disease, I value things differently. I’d like to say that I will be changed forever, but I am not that optimistic. I know that I will still be drawn into things that feel important at the time, but ultimately aren’t. I know that I will be unable to escape 3 hour meetings and political arguments and the ethics of steroids in baseball, and I might even find that stuff important. Shame on me, then.

Let Ash Wednesday always be a rebuke. May it always yank my leash back to the truth that love, tangible and demonstrated, is all that matters. We live a life of the senses, our experience of the world is only obtained through our senses.

This Ash Wednesday, 2010, the most important thing in the world, right now, is making sure Donna is comfortable, loved, clean and fed. The most important thing in the world is that Josiah is learning how to be successful in the world-not “rock star” successful, but able to love and take care of himself by himself in the world. Can he cook for himself? Can he clean for himself? Will he have the emotional aptitude to love well and support, emotionally and materially, those whom he loves?

Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord. Let Donna know her worth and value in my life as long as she lives. Let Josiah grow up to be a true man, emotionally grounded, capable and giving.

Let the cello play those groans too deep for words. They need not be ignored, any more than a minor key should be avoided. To live life perpetually in a major key is to live a lie. Stuff happens. But let me always be able to be hopeful and trusting of what comes, trusting in God, even in the face of death, the ultimate unknown.

Don't Tell Martha Stewart

(This note was originally published in the Center Moreland UMC Nov./Dec. Newsletter, in a slightly different form)

I think a lot about gratitude these days. My family and I have been the recipients of an ocean of gifts. There are so many people from so many of the circles we frequent; the freezer we share with the church is "sharing" at this point in name only, because there are so many dinners in there, dinners, soups, and other items that church members and offsite friends have given us.

We have been supported through these storms by financial gifts, as well, which has allowed us to buy what we need when we need it, from medical equipment and the gas for all the extra driving to being able to buy meals last minute when Donna has wanted us to stay and eat with her wherever she was being cared for. It has also allowed me to arrange our finances in such a way to be able to survive on just my salary, and there is still plenty to be used for the medical bills as they arrive.

The gift of presence has been important, both in visiting us in Philadelphia during Donna's worst days, and coming to visit her during rehab, radiation and chemotherapy in Wilkes Barre, and now that Donna has come home, the gift of presence becomes even more important, to break up the days for her, and for me, too.

There is so much to thank people for, and so few thank you notes have been written. I just have not kept up, and I do regret that. I hope everyone understands the situation we are in, how the shape of our days is constantly changing, and I pray that everyone may know and feel our gratitude, even though we have not been able to express it in a timely or tangible manner.

So, again, thank you!

Drew, Donna, and Josiah Cottle, and Sandy Williams.

Cars in the Parking Lot

There was a crowd of people down at Center Moreland yesterday morning making Welsh Cookies as a fundraiser for Donna's medical costs and our living expenses. This is a rare, terrible, and special place to be, emotionally. Above all, it is humbling.

I wish for everyone the opportunity to feel this kind of love, as we have from every corner of our lives. From churches that I have served where things were bumpy. From churches and synagogues we've attended, served and visited, as well as one's we've never seen. From friends that we have known for decades. From people who just happened to re-string a guitar for us two days ago. I just hope that they can feel it without having to suffer such events as has caused this outpouring for us.

When it happens for you, just know that you will never be able to recipricate all the love you've received. Don't try. The best you can do is express gratitude and let it lift you.

Go Quakers!

For folks who might be checking here for updates about Donna, please go to http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/dcottle. I am in the waiting room at the University of Pennsylvania right now, and when I update, it will be to there. Thanks for stopping by here, though!

Go, Atlanta Crackers!

So, I am a sports fan. I primarily follow pro football and baseball, but I know what a hat trick is, and I know what "Rainbow 24" means. My primary teams are (in football) the San Francisco 49ers and the Philadelphia Eagles, (and in baseball) the San Francisco Giants, the Texas Rangers, and the Philadelphia Phillies.

All of that is to say that I really do not have a dog in the hunt that is the controversy about use of Native American mascots. I am neither Native American, nor am I a fan of any team that uses one. I do agree, however, that if we do accept that all people are human beings, children of God, then we need to accept that groups get to choose what they call themselves, and we, acting out of our privilege, do not get to assume use of their images.

That's why I find this article by Michael Silver of Yahoo Sports to be so interesting and well-spoken. It really is different for a team to be named after a Native American tribe (Seminoles, Illini) or an aspect of native American Culture (Braves, Indians) than it is to name a team the Celtics or the Yankees. It's a borrowing without permission. I think that's also defined as stealing. Stanford University, that bastion of radicality and liberal thinking (yes, sarcasm is being used here) did this a long time ago, I think in the 80's, when they stopped using "Indians" and began to use "Cardinal". No one died in Palo Alto, either, when they made that change.

When majority culture officials say "it's really a tribute", I'm reminded about Ben Franklin's saying about taxation without representation; "it's like a steer that still gets called a bull. He's appreciative of the honor, but he'd much rather have returned what he lost."

Towns and schools like Atlanta, Cleveland, the University of Illinois, and especially Washington exist within such strong cultures, all of them. Something could surely be chosen that is a little less an exercise in maintaining white privilege. I'm sure Drew Carey wouldn't mind if they decided on the Cleveland Rocks. And what better homage to history can you make than to change the name of the Atlanta Braves to the Atlanta Crackers! It's no different to use that than for Boston to use the Celtics.

As for Washington DC-- avoiding any silly references to pork or windbags or whatever, a metro area of 2 million people or so can surely muster an adequate amount of creativity. You could even keep the Burgundy and Gold! Look just up I-95. The naming of a sports team doesn't get much better creatively or astute historically than calling the team the Baltimore Ravens. Hey, Washington; you want that Baltimore could do something better than you?

"Have You Heard What Obama's Doing Now?"

Mondays are the days for me to be out and about--mornings are usually a Bible study with other area UM pastors (the shorthand term for this is "lectionary", as in
"are you going to lectionary?"), and whatever hospital visits there may be are in the afternoon. The study is in Kingston, which makes access to the Wilkes-Barre area hospitals much closer.

On my way to the study this morning, I stopped at the Thomas' grocery store on "the Ave." to get something to drink. An elderly man I've never seen before walks up to me, in the middle of the parking lot, and says: "have you heard what Obama's doing now?"

No "hello", no "excuse me", no "hey you". Just "Have you heard. . . ?"

I say back to him; "I should warn you before you finish, he's my guy."

He plows on: "Have you heard that he's going to replace the Statue of Liberty?"

My eyes must have glazed over when he said that, because what was in my mind was "Uh oh, this is not going to be pretty."

And it wasn't. What followed I will not repeat, but there was a reference to a famous brand of pancake syrup. It was meant as a joke, and I guess this guy saw another white guy coming toward him, and thought it would be safe.

Well, of course I told him it was not appreciated, and offensive. And I walked away. It's just about the only proper response for a Christian. You can't just remain silent, you surely can't laugh, but you also can't punch the guy. I don't know what he said after that, but I did hear something.

Folks, America is not yet a post-racial nation. For all that Obama represents in American History and race relations in this country, it's starting to become clear to me that we are at the beginning of whatever it is, rather than at the end. Just because this guy was getting on in years doesn't mean that his attitude, which is unacceptable in any time and place (including grocery store parking lots when talking with complete strangers), is about to die out. There are plenty of younger white people who have had the privilege of telling that joke, and worse, and getting away with it. Gee, maybe even the New York Post has published an editorial cartoon that depicts the joke!

Racism is still alive in America. It is still a struggle that needs to be fought. The disease maybe buried deeper, but we have not yet found the cure. And now, as some Americans are rushing to think that when the economic and foreign policy problems we've gotten into over the course of the last decade or so aren't fixed yet after a month, and those waiting for failure rub their hands in anticipation, forgetting their own failures, some of that venom is going to be spewed with a decidedly racist flavor.

Some of it will have to be fought by pushing back and calling attention to racist statements made by people. Some of it will have to be fought by teaching what anti-racism is. For fellow Americans who are Christian, let's be clear; there is no Christian position on this that is acceptable outside of standing against racism.

If you don't know how, or are afraid of standing up to friends or relatives, it's totally understandable, but the tools do exist. The General Board of Religion and Race of the United Methodist Church has set before it the goal of the complete destruction of racism, and has formulated many tools with which to do this work. There are many other anti-racist agencies, both secular and religious, as well.

I thought about handing him my rubber www.endingracism.org bracelet, but the site isn't up yet. Maybe next Monday i'll go back to Thomas', and have a handful of material to hand the guy, wait around a while to see if he shows up again. In fact, I think that is what I am going to do. Anyone wanna come?

Yesterday's Doonesbury

My seminary Alma Mater. Go 'Stangs!

Joining St. Brigid's

So, last night we were having an Administrative Council meeting at my larger church (I am pastor of a "two point charge", in Methodist parlance), and as part of my report, I wanted to say something about my recent final oblation. And I found I really didn't have the words to explain what I wanted, and I was caught up short by the people around the table expressing interest! (and let me say up front how much I love them for that!)

So, I'm going to try to say what it is that I did, and why, and also attempt not to induce drowsiness. Anyone who is more versed in this stuff than I am is absolutely invited to give constructive criticism.

I am an oblate in the Monastery of St. Brigid of Kildare. I declared my final oblation on Sunday, Feb. 1, 2009. So what does that mean?

The way I understand it, an oblate is a person of Christian persuasion who pledges to live according to a "Rule", which is a guide to living life written for a cloister. (I am not aware of their having been Rules written by any women, but my education down this road is very short.) An oblate, however, is not a monk. Oblates were originally people who lived outside the monastery and helped it, served it, did the things that allowed monks to maintain their life within the monastery. Oblates, however, have developed into people who want to live faithful, regular lives without taking on full monastic vows. They seek to apply a Rule to "secular" life (secular meaning outside of the monastery, or in the world.)

The Rule I pledged to try my best to live within is the Rule of St. Benedict. It was written by Benedict of Nursia, Italy, in the early 6th century. It wasn't the first, it is not the last, but it is the basis for most western Monasticism. My new wrestling partner provides a wrestling match that consists of taking the rule and adapting it, to try to make meaningful for my life the rules that are meant to provide structure and harmony for a community of cloistered monks; how to make their rule work for a married father who is a pastor. Benedict was very practically oriented, and though maintained in the Rule 5 times of prayer daily, also speaks of the value of work, of faithfulness to community through work, and the balance of work, rest, prayer, meals and times of study. The balance of these makes human life meaningful. I've found that it actually does give spiritual peace to do ordinary menial tasks well. There is a sacrament to washing dishes, to cleaning toilets, to doing laundry, to being patient as a parent and a spouse. There is also a sacrament to doing a vocation well, to honoring responsibilities. The less fun parts are more easily done when you think of them as ways of being in communion with a God has created it all. This is not to claim that I am perfect at any of it, but I feel that I have gotten better at all of it over the last year; and just to be clear, three daily prayer moments are the goal for me!

My journey with the Rule is just starting, and I do not know it by heart yet, as some who are oblates do (never mind the men and women who live by it much more closely as cenobites, or monks who live in community). When I declared my oblation, I declared it to a community, a group of people who had made the same declaration, the same oblation. The group I joined is called the Monastery of St. Brigid of Kildare, and its physical base is in St. Cloud, Minnesota, apparently included within a large Benedictine Catholic monastery. I don't know, because I haven't been there. It is not Catholic itself, but United Methodist. I actually found it at first in a guidebook that the United Methodist General Board of Discipleship published. I think there are about 60 members of this group, and it has existed for about 25 years. All of us are Oblates, there are no regular residents, no "Cenobites". We do not meet regularly physically. There is a once a year meeting and retreat that is scheduled on or around the "Feast Day" of St. Benedict or conveniently, midsummer. We do meet, regularly, by teleconference.

The Monastery of St Brigid of Kildare has three sources of inspiration; The Rule of St. Benedict, which I described above; the writings of John Wesley and the Methodist movement, from which most of the members spring and whose understanding of salvation and action we share; and the spirit and the expression of Celtic Christianity. Through the third inspiration, the house is structured much more loosely, and both men and women are members. St. Brigid was an abbess of two adjoining houses in Kildare before 610, the year that the Roman Catholic church took over Ireland and eradicated much Celtic Christian practice. That may be the reason why her name was chosen, but I don't know.

I don't know that there is any short answer to the question "so what did you do last week?" I can point you to the website that first got me interested, if you will click here.

Why I Entered the Blog World--2009 Update

The occasional restatement of first principles in never a bad idea, so I thought I would re-run this, with some edits to reflect changes. I resisted the urge to create a blog originally because I could not justify it for any reason other than an exercise of ego. I do not think that this is true of all other blogs; there are plenty that serve great ends.

If parishioners miss Sunday worship, they can find the message here. Friends and colleagues can catch up, and occasionally, someone may happen along who finds value in what I say. I am in the business of providing meaning to the Christian scriptures in this time and place for a people to whom I am sent to serve, and this is just another way of doing that.

For the most part, this space will be used to post the sermons and other thoughts of one young-ish pastor in the Wyoming Conference of the United Methodist Church, as the denomination travels a rough patch of ground theologically and socially. As part of that, the Wyoming Conference will soon cease to exist, in the pursuit of efficent ministry. The other part of what we will become is now called The Central Pennsylvania Conference. Something new will be created out of these two Conferences in 2010.

Why the name Fryer Drew? It's really a bad pun. I am fascinated with the modern monastic movement, starting with and continuing with the Northumbria Community. On Feb. 1, 2009, I became an Oblate in the Monastery of St. Brigid of Kildare, which is based in Minnesota. It also reflects my interest in cooking, food and the eternal quest for the perfect fried chicken!

The wit may be meager, but I hope that this blogging journey I am embarking on will be of value both to me and to whomever may find it!

The Dangers of Changed Perspective

I have a Facebook page. It actually is one of the better things I've done recently, because I have reconnected with friends that I have not talked to for years. I don't "friend" just anyone--that's what MySpace is for. In Facebook, my rule is I have to have known you in the real world. I have "friended" people from as far back in my life as elementary school--half of the kids I played with on McBeth Street in the early 70's are now "friends" of mine, and someone I am connected with knows where the other half are. There are people from my years of working in the wineries and attending community college, in California; my old undergrad campus ministry unit at Delaware; my years of seminary in Texas; and all my church colleagues, youth, and friends from here and now. It's about a 36 year span, from two high schoolers I met last week at a district youth event, to people I knew when I was 4.

The people I knew from high school are one of the most special groups to me. We even arranged a small reunion at a local Newark tavern last Thanksgiving. Recently, I got a friend request from someone I don't remember, and the information she posted included our common high school, though not from my class. She didn't have a name I recognized. It's probably her married name, but I thought a trip through my yearbook might not be out of order.

So I opened it up, and was leafing through what this particular person said was her graduating year. Sure enough, there were no people listed under that last name, and all of the first names were initialized.

As I closed the book, it fell to the page that covered my senior prom. I looked through the faces of that Queens' Court, and while I wasn't necessarily in their social circles, I recognized almost all of them. A few have even re-appeared in Facebook. But there was one face I remembered, and I was shocked to notice looked like she was absolutely fuming. I'd never noticed this before. She appeared to be the first-runner up. She's looking right at the camera, and she looks like she was about ready to drill through the picture.

Now, I wonder. Was she mad that she didn't get elected, or was there something else going on? And if it is a matter of her not being elected, was there a reason other than not getting enough votes?

I ask these questions, as I look at her face. The only African-American face in the Queens' Court. I ask these questions because in my travels through life, I have been sensitized to the fact that I had the privilege of missing a lot of what went on around me. You really can't put much value on the average Anglo's perceptions and opinions when it comes to what our fellow Americans of African, Asian, Hispanic, and Native American feel.

Now, it could very well be that she just hates having her picture taken. She may have had a fight with the guy who is standing behind her, a guy that I believe she later married. There could very well be any number of possible explanations, some of which she might have even used had she been asked what was wrong by those who knew her better than I did. I can imagine her saying to herself "they wouldn't get it anyway, tell them something they'll understand".

I want to ask the woman that girl became what was going on. And I want her to trust me, even though I am a white guy who has just entered middle age (ooh, it hurts to write that!) I hope that it isn't what I fear, that she was somehow, by prejudicial vote or racist machinations of administrators, kept from becoming the Prom Queen of her senior class.

Our senior class.

As I write that, I really do not want to take anything away from the girl who is wearing the crown in the picture. It's just that this other face is so livid, it makes me wonder. . .

So, to my fellow Newark Yellowjackets on Facebook or elsewhere on the web, I ask for your help in finding our common friend. And if she reads this herself, I hope she trusts me enough to contact me and tell me the story. And if it is what I fear, I hope that she understands that I really want to hear the story, even with all the pain she may feel.

Thoughts at the Turn of the Year

(elaborated from diary, 12/29/08)

I've been thinking about changes in the new year. I want to be healthier, a better preacher, a better musician, and have a more regular prayer life. So changes need to be made in all those areas.

Exercise? Do it. I walked for 40 minutes this morning, which at my pace is about 2 miles.

Preaching? Change the creation rhythm,because the change I want is to not have pressure on Sunday mornings.

Music? Kinda like exercise, in that I should practice, both mandolin and my new pursuit, bass guitar. I should also try to understand music theory better.

Prayer Life? I am in the final discernment period about whether to become a Benedictine Oblate through the Monastery of St. Brigid of Kildare, a United Methodist house sponsored through the General Board of Discipleship. My hesitations revolve around the fact that to pledge to live in a benedictine style requires regular contact with the other members, and this is a house that has very little physical presence, and exists almost entirely online and by conference call. What physical presence it does have is located in Minnesota, and this years' annual gathering is in Northeastern Kansas. My distance from these areas and my family obligations in the summer put me in a quandary, because the Rule of St. Benedict puts high value both on regular contact with the house, and fidelity to the oblates' commitments. One of my pledges in final oblation will almost certainly be being present, mindful, and available in the most important commitments of my life, and being a dad and a husband certainly count among the highest of those.

Living according to the Rule of St. Benedict doesn't present as much of a problem to me as the proximity of the house I want to pledge oblation to. Praying the Psalms three times a day is something that to my mind presents less of a problem than maintaining community.

Colorado

This past weekend, I was in Beaver Creek (and environs), Colorado. My sister and my mom also went, and we were all there to attend the memorial service for my Uncle Tom. My cousin Kris was the organizer of this impromptu family reunion weekend. He died back in October (click here for that blog entry).
The memorial service was last Sunday, at a place called Piney Lake Ranch, 11 miles up a dirt road from Vail. It's at about 9300 ft. Kris and Tom used to camp there a lot when Kris would come visit him in the summers (she lived the rest of the year with her mother and stepfather). The main part of the "service" was planting a spruce near where Piney Lake flowed back into a creek. Then Kris, her husband, and a few of Tom's friends went further upcountry to deposit his ashes. I know where, but I think they said it was federal land, and such memorializations are illegal for some reason, so I'm not telling.
Tom wasn't the most religious of guys. He wasn't really sure how to talk to me after I became a minister, I think. We didn't talk enough to really even know that we couldn't talk. But it was clear that the usual words used in a United Methodist funeral would be wildly inappropriate. It was Thomas Merton, however, that wonderful monk of the 60's who was mystic in all the good ways that transcend all manner of religious cultural identification, who gave me the hook to be able to think and speak last Sunday. It was his belief, in New Seeds of Contemplation, chapter 8, that "If you go into the desert (monk-speak for anywhere of solitude) merely to get away from people you dislike, you will find neither peace nor solitude; you will only isolate yourself with a tribe of devils."
Instead, one goes into solitude in order to remind oneself of all that is good in the world. I think Uncle tom got this. It was views like the first three photos up top that he shared with his most trusted friends and with Kris his child. Later, he probably shared them with Kris' two daughters, too. Everything that was good about this world had been to this spot on the earth.
I am pretty sure that Uncle Tom wasn't a Christian in any institutional sense, but I don't think he was an atheist. He would probably understand what John writes in the 14th chapter of his gospel: "In my father's house there are many dwelling places. . ." I think I've been to the place that Uncle Tom's dwelling place resembles, and it is in the photos above. Oh, and the ribs and chicken are pretty good, too!

Pictures from Colorado

Staff page: Getting to Know You

I recently found a info page for a fellow novice Benedictine Oblate in Florida. I thought it was a nice little page to have available to introduce yourself internet style, so I am stealing it. Thanks to Kim Uchimura, St. Andrews' UMC, Brandon, FL.

Full Name: William Andrew Cottle, Jr.
But Please Call Me: Drew
Position: Pastor
Born where: Napa, CA,
Family Facts: Wife, Donna. Children: Josiah, 8. My mother, Sandy Williams, also lives with me.
Education: A.A., Napa Valley College (CA), 1991; B.A., University of Delaware, 1995. M.Div., Perkins School of Theology, SMU, Dallas, TX, 1999.
How I became a Christian: I was baptised in 1991 at Morningstar church in Napa, CA. I found a religious home with the United Methodist church the next year at the Wesley Foundation at the University of Delaware.
How I ended up on the Center Moreland Charge: I was appointed in July, 2007.
The most important thing I do around here is: Try to stay ahead of both congregations!

Favorites
Music: U2, Billy Crockett, Irish/Celtic music, Iona, Springsteen, African-American Gospel.
Movie: Field of Dreams, Dead Poet's Society, Stealing Home.
TV Show: Top Gear, Grey's Anatomy, Anthony Bourdain No Reservations, Ace of Cakes
Food: Chocolate, seafood, chicken.
Place to vacation: Cape Cod, Jim Thorpe.
Place to eat: Romano's Macaroni Grill, Katana and Thai Thai in Wilkes Barre.
How I spend my free time: playing mandolin, going to movies, naps, reading brain candy, walking, riding my bike.
Best books I've read recently: Eat Pray Love, Christ of the Celts, Evanovich's Stephanie Plum novels.
Prized possessions: my mandolin, my family, my library.
Nobody knows that I . . .: would love to be a chaplain for NASA.
Hero I'd most like to meet: Story Musgrave, astronaut, and the whole band of U2. Bono's great and all, but I am also interested in having a pint with Adam Clayton, someday.
My vision for the future of Center Moreland UMC is: for the church to be its best self as a Methodist church, accepting all as our open communion table testifies, and making disciples for Jesus Christ. To continue to grow through the formation of the praise band and younger adult ministries.
My vision for Dymond Hollow UMC is: to do more than just exist; to thrive through our unique ministry of our open table, to make disciples of Jesus Christ, and to continue to be distinctive through our music ministry.
Ways folks can pray for me are: to pray for my health, that I keep a proper perspective and balance between family, self, and work.

Imus, Again

Listening to the radio this morning, I heard that Don Imus, freshly back onto radio after a hiatus of some months, made a statement yesterday regarding "Pacman" Jones.

A refresher: Adam "Pacman" Jones is a football player, recently signed to the Dallas Cowboys to play defensive back. He has had a rather difficult past few years, having had multiple run-ins with the police. It is in fact, true that he is more known for the incidents than for his play on the field, though he is reportedly a talented player.

So, on Monday, Imus, who lost his last job over ill-advised comments about the Rutgers women's basketball team, asks his on-air reporter "what color is he?", the reporter replies with "black", and Imus' response is to say "Well, there you have it." How they got to that point, the course of the on-air conversation, is not something I've been able to find online yet.

Imus has since said that what he was meaning was that if Jones was arrested for doing something wrong, he would more quickly get a reputation for such things than a white player. His quote is that "What people should be outraged about is that they arrest blacks for no reason".

It is certainly true that African Americans do have a higher rate of arrests in this country than whites. It is certainly true that there is a much higher rate of African Americans who are in prison that whites. Imus, in his own defense, speaks true statements.

It is also true that folks are going to hear Imus a certain way. Because of what he has said, and what he has been portrayed to say, when he does refer in any way to American race relations, people are going to sit up and notice, and not positively. Because it's Imus, others have seen fit to comment (including, admittedly, me, here.) Sharpton has weighed in, and Jones has said that he will be praying for Imus, that it was disappointing. For Jones, it probably was dissapointing, whether Imus meant to get mileage and comedy fodder out of Jones' troubles, or that Imus had reverted back to his earlier attitudes. Either way, Jones is again not getting attention for his on-field skills.

Imus may have meant exactly what he says he meant, that he is remarking on the inequalities in the American jurisprudence system, in a sarcastic manner. His court ordered sensitivity training may have actually taken root.

But it seems to me that the wiser course may have been to not say anything at all. He must know full well that there is a segment of the population who is monitoring his speech for more evidence of racism. Like it or not, until he joins the church triumphant, he will be known as a racist. When he does pass, every obituary of him will refer to the Rutgers incident somewhere in the first two paragraphs.

It definitely needs to be highlighted, every day, that African Americans still have a tougher slog than Anglos. The possibility of an African American president has caused an uptick in white supremacist website traffic and calls of curiosity and interest. The Secret Service was part of Obama's entourage earlier than any other candidate in US history. Our nation still has prejudices, and we still have to talk about them, deal with them, eradicate them. We aren't doing it quickly, forcefully, or efficiently enough.

Imus, whether his defense of his original comment was honest or not, just isn't the guy who gets to make offhand sarcastic comments about race relations in America. He's just not the right guy.

Flexibility

We're starting to put together a praise band at the bigger church I serve, as well as install a new video system for projecting worship lyrics, art, etc.

The current line up of instrumentalists is from 2-5 guitar players, one bassist, a drummer who is pretty much using only a snare at this point, 4 singers, and me, who plays mandolin and sings. The thing is, I know the bassist would rather play straight guitar, and I think i've heard that one of the guitarsts would rather play drums. We're very much at the shakedown stage, getting to a place where we will have a stable lineup. Because it is volunteer, and the focus isn't making it big but rahter leading a worship service, these shakedowns can take a while.

I was talking about it with the musicians at my smaller church, both of whom have been session musicians, and they seemed to think that it would be a good idea for them, too.

So I am contemplating picking up the bass. I know I am not going to be any sort of prodigy, but I think I can keep a decent beat. I also don't feel like I am "leaving" the mandolin, this is just a way to be of service.

I have found out, so far, that you can get a decent one-box bass startup with guitar and amp for about $250. There are also used places around.

We'll see how the idea feels after some time.

2008 Confirmation Trip to Washington DC

These images are from my weekend's trip to Washington DC with the confirmands of the charge I serve. It was my first time taking the kids from this charge to DC, a trip I first learned to do with Rev. Doug Clark at Shavertown UMC. I've adjusted the itinerary a little in my own version, but it is still a meaningful event.

I also took the opportunity to reconnect with an old friend from way back when I was a winery tour guide in the Napa Valley, and we both marveled at how neither of us expected to be on this side of the country, being in the places in life we are now in. But we're both pretty happy with where we did end up.

The trip is a visit to the Washington National Cathedral in the morning, and the Holocaust Museum in the afternoon. Unbeknownst to me, the town we were hosted in is an important area for United Methodist history, and were were able to give attention to that history before church on Sunday morning. Considering that the trip is part of the educational content for confirmands that I teach, can you figure out what the theme is? They have until May 11 to figure it out.