Free Stuff
My sheet music and other free resources are available here. Just follow this link.
These things are under a Creative Commons license that allows you to download them and copy them freely—for any non-commercial use.
Enjoy!
Store
I have books, CDs, and a video series for sale from my store page. (I wish I could just give everything away, but one must eat!)
I’m especially excited about my new book, now available: My Burden Is Light: A Pastor’s Plea for Rationality, Honesty, and Humility.
About
Merry, Mystical Missives
Here you’ll find everything I’ve sent out to the mailing list for The Merry Mystic.
Beach Training
Every summer for the last eleven years I have hosted a Karatedo Doshinkan special training on beaches of Lake Michigan. This year it isn’t going to happen: I’m just too busy finishing at my seminary and preparing (I think) for ordination. My heart is heavy — I’ll miss you so much, my training friends! Here’s a poem I wrote, a sestina about training on the beach.
Beach Training We come here every summer, to the bright shore returning. Glad to be together, full of life, we paw the sand. We anchor our stand by the water's edge and let fly the flag, White cloth flipping in the breeze, its free red circle, Drawn by the master's hand, lifting up and away. We kneel. A rush of swan's wings passes above the water. Some days we practice throwing into that icy water. With rolling motion the bodies rise and fall, like waves returning: One partner grabbing the other, sinking, turning away, The other arcing over, head-first in the water, escaping the sand. The heat of the sun and the cold of the lake chase themselves in a circle. Seagulls wheel away from the splashing, and from the flapping flag. The wind dies. Dead fish wash up. The flag Hangs flat and limp. We take a break, drink water. Aware now of our breathing, we smooth on sunscreen, sitting in a circle. Time is up: we leave the shade, to the beach returning. The sun presses us down hard toward the scorching sand. Striking, ducking, advancing, retreating, the afternoon wears away. Worn away, too, are all superfluities, worn well away. Distractions followed us all as far as the first unfurling of the flag -- A plan for dinner; a pretty girl's bare feet in the sand; A check-engine light -- they fade from heat and want of water. In their place, a new strength comes, flowing and returning, Everything else under the sun shrivels within our circle. Around the fire at night we talk, cooking and eating in a circle. The fire pops like the sand in our teeth; we wave mosquitoes away. The conversation turns to those who will not be returning, To those now gone, like him who drew the circle on the flag, Never now to train with us, here by the edge of the water. We ease our aching limbs into sleeping bags, now full of sand. Up again at dawn. Every day sweating. The sand Sticking to us like cinnamon sugar sticks to the hot circle Of a deep-fried doughnut. It isn't washing off in the freezing water. Blocking, turning, rolling, pulling in and pushing away, Moving in the old ways, here beneath the flag, Every thrust safely deflecting, every attack returning. Here by the water, burned and bleached, everything wears away In the end. Tending my tired joints, I slowly fold up the flag. From the empty circle of sand a spiral rises, like a swan returning.
Arrow Prayer
Arrow Prayer With my eyes fixed on the finish line I crouch in the starting blocks. I breathe deeply once, then wind the inner spring tightly. I flex and relax in quick restless ripples. I am an arrow, I tell myself. My bow is drawn. Dear Archer, point me where you will. I will give myself to the arc you choose for me. I will not worry about the trajectory. I will fly from you, not needing to know. I will be the best, the fastest, the smoothest, the willingest arrow. Just one thing, please: Talk to me, Archer. Fletcher, talk to me. Let me know that I cannot leave you really. I will fly from you, and to you. You will choose my trajectory, and be my trajectory. Let's go, Master. I'm ready. On your mark. Get set.
Just One String
Those who made it to my December retreat at Pilgrim Park received drafts of the first three chapters of my new book. The title of the book is Seeker, Skeptic: Christian Spiritual Practices With (Almost) No Strings Attached. It opens with this greeting:
“Yeah, they figured, being a priest, you was gonna slip ‘em the old routine. Personally, I’m for giving you a break, and what I says with the gang goes.” —Tony Scaponi to Father O’Malley in the 1944 film Going My Way
You never really know what to expect from a religious book, no matter what it says on the front and back covers. It might well turn out to be preachy, pushy, or condescending. It might turn out to be the literary incarnation of that guy who sits down next to you in the bus station and asks if you know Jesus. So thanks for taking the chance—I appreciate the nerve you’ve shown in reading this first paragraph, and I hope you’ll find the rest worth your while.
Here’s a joke that was going around my seminary a few years ago (as it was told to me by a Unitarian classmate). Question: what do you get when you cross a Jehovah’s Witness with a Unitarian? Answer: someone who rings your doorbell—for no particular reason. In a way, that’s what I’m doing with this book. I do have a few beliefs about God, and I have many conjectures, but this book is not intended to get you to adopt them. If you’re not sure what you believe about God, that’s okay; neither am I. If you’re not sure what you believe about Jesus of Nazareth, I’m right there with you. If you don’t trust institutional churches; if you have problems with various parts of the Bible; if words like missionary and evangelism make you want to pretend not to be home when the guys in the suits ring your doorbell—well, I promise you, I’m in the same club. (And would you be surprised to learn that quite a few people who were in seminary with me are in the same club too?) This book is for you, for us, the people on the margins of the Christian tradition.
But to be honest, I am ringing your bell here for a reason; I do have an agenda; and here it is. I believe in God. I believe that all people are connected to God. I believe that there are many people, both churchgoing and otherwise, who would be happier if they were more attuned to this connection. Some of the following chapters teach simple practices from the Christian tradition, practices that can help us to be more aware of our connections to God. Other chapters explore the barriers that may discourage us from engaging the Christian tradition at all. It is my hope that you will find something here that will help you experience your connection to the holy in a new way. If you are intrigued by any topic, there is some suggested further reading at the end of each chapter.
But that’s my whole conscious agenda; that’s the only string attached. I am not going to slip you the old routine. I don’t care whether you go to church, or tithe, or read the Bible daily, or believe this rather than that. I am only concerned to help you be more aware of your connection to God. It’s my belief, God takes care of the rest.
That’s what ministry is all about, for me. The next retreat at Pilgrim Park is February 12. I hope to see you there.
A Blessing of Snow
My retreat day, “Practicing the Presence of God”, was an amazing experience for me on December 4.
We had a lot of snow the night before, six to eight inches. I drove around early in the morning, cursing and grinding my teeth, until I found a way to Pilgrim Park that was actually plowed. Then I called all the participants to tell them how to come. And, amazingly, they did! There was only one person who canceled because of the weather; the 14 other people who had signed up all struggled out in the still-falling snow, carpooling and helping each other dig out, all to spend the day there at Pilgrim Park with me. Even Stephanie Crumley-Effinger made it, and all the way from Richmond, IN, driving with her husband the night before. I was so amazed and grateful.
The first person to arrive after me was Susan Hale. She greeted me with a big smile and the observation, “Isn’t this snow a wonderful blessing?” I have to admit that I hadn’t been thinking of it as a blessing until that moment. The chapel where we met is an intimate octagonal building in the woods with floor to ceiling windows all around, and the view of the woods filling up with snow was just amazing. Meagan Johnson took some great pictures—she has an album of them on Facebook.
Well, we started late, and I had to change my plans for the day, and I was pretty stressed out and tired at the beginning of it, let alone at the end. But it didn’t matter: it was a blessed day anyway. My thanks to all of you who were there to share it with me. And tell your friends: the next retreat is February 12.
May you have a blessed Christmas, friends!
These are the (mostly video) messages sent out to The Merry Mystic mailing list.
Sermons and Such
Every week, I preach in the Open Prairie United Church of Christ in Princeton, Illinois. I’m not sending most of these out to The Merry Mystic mailing list; but on the outside chance you’d like to see a sermon, here they are.