The Church isn't as dead as you think

A new patient reminded of something important this week. As we talked I learned that this vibrant 67 year old had a passion for his faith and used to be actively involved in the leadership of his church, the largest congregation in town. I was sad to learn that he had not chosen to step away from leadership but had instead been cast aside by a youth movement. The church had hired a new senior pastor in his thirties and over a period of three years he had replaced the senior leaders with younger leaders of his liking. It reminded me of an error of my youth and the tendency of that error to be repeated.

When I was in high school I was a part of a small but active youth group in a small church in Southern California. At that time there were two things about which my fellow youth groupers and I were certain. 1- We were “on fire” for the Lord, and 2- The older people in our church weren’t. Looking back I cannot put a finger on what the basis was for our certainty. We tended to focus on music preferences, worship styles (we raised our hands and closed our eyes when we sang and they didn't) and clothing. I think a more likely explanation was that we had a new young pastor who wanted to make changes and who felt the “old people” were in the way.

As with so many things, time revealed who was on fire and who was not. The pastor left within a few years and the youth pastor was soon gone as well. What happened to our “on fire” youth group? I do not know what became of all of them but I do not know of any who are still actively involved in an evangelistic church today. Maybe those old people were wiser than we thought.

There is a tendency in our culture for younger generations to dismiss and discount the wisdom and experience of previous generations. As with so many other cultural tendencies this attitude has infected the church. We keep seeking new and younger pastors and leaders with “fresh vision” and “new approaches.” Typically this is associated with criticism and a degree of disdain toward the more mature members of our fellowships. When someone older expresses a question or a concern they are often dismissed as hanging on to the past or as being resistant to God’s work.

I go to a church filled with people who have served God for decades. I think of a woman in her seventies who continues to do prison ministry and lead men to Christ, of salesmen in their fifties who consistently pray for and share their faith with their clients, of a woman in her eighties who still goes on mission trips, and of a woman in her sixties who on her own organized an outreach to the homeless in our community. The Church as a whole has sent (and continues to send) missionaries by the score around the world. We have trained leaders over the years that have gone on to impact the world in remarkable ways.

In spite of this rich history, in spite of the presence of so many who do so much for the Kingdom of God with passion and vigor, there are some who would consider a church like mine to be in desperate need of renewal, a renewal that requires fresh vision and new approaches. That many church leaders of today feel this way is borne out in the online description I found for an upcoming pastor's conference-

“This event is an honest conversation about the joys and pitfalls of restoring historic churches.  Many churches need to return to their missional and evangelistic roots of decades ago. Partner with pastors that are helping their churches make this much needed turn. The challenge is immense…”

For the people I listed above, it would come as quite a surprise to learn that they need to “return to their missional and evangelistic roots of decades ago.” 

It seems that some current church leaders seem to share another trait with my youth group of years ago. We criticized the elder members of our church, but we did not know them. There was no regular interaction, no sharing of time or experience. They may have wanted to give counsel and advice but we did not want to hear it.

Instead of steadfastly pursuing the new, I wonder if a better approach might be for some of these young leaders to seek the advice and counsel of those who have been living missional and evangelistic lives for decades. They may find that instead of new programs and approaches what the church needs is mature leaders who can train others to do what they have been doing for years, mature leaders who are just waiting to be asked.

- Bart

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Are You Ready to Die?

Death is inevitable, but few people are ready. Even patients with terminal disease often find it hard to deal with their mortality. When I think about preparing for the end my thoughts return to a patient I lost a few years ago. My attempt to help him deal with his illness failed miserably.

He had been my patient for 15 years. He had a combination of high blood pressure and high cholesterol and he came in at least twice a year. Routine follow up appointments and the occasional illness visit led to a total of over 50 meetings over the years, so I knew him rather well. He worked in hotel security for a large hotel in Irvine. He did not earn much, only about $11 an hour. In spite of the relatively low pay he took great pride in his work. He often shared work stories, most of them concerned his efforts to protect the guests and provide a safe environment in a hotel with a limited security budget.

I developed profound respect for his character. He seemed to me to be a valuable employee, someone who always did his best. sadly it was one thing he never did that proved to be his downfall. He never quit smoking. He was diagnosed with esophageal cancer, a deadly form for which there was no cure. He fought hard but the disease eventually got the best of him.

I saw him frequently in the last few years of his life,  on one occasion even driving him home when he needed a ride. I was on vacation in Florida when the phone call came that told me the end was near. He had been experiencing shortness of breath and X-rays revealed a fluid build up around his lungs. The fluid was drained and sent for testing which was positive for cancer cells, which meant that the cancer had dramatically advanced. So severe was the spread that the fluid needed to be drained every few days. There was no longer any chance that he would live much longer.

I called him on the phone and told him that the news was not good and that he was a very sick man. I asked him to come and see me as soon as I returned from vacation to discuss what this meant long term. He made an appointment for my first day back in the office and I told him the bad news. “This is bad,” I said, “there is nothing more we can do.”

He replied, “I am not ready to die.”

“I understand. But you will need to prepare for it because it is coming.”

“I refuse to accept it.”

“There is nothing more anyone can do. There is no treatment left. It is hard to accept, but you will have to.”

He got angry. More than angry. He was furious with me that I would dare to take away his hope. Convinced that I was uncaring and insensitive he left my office and went to the emergency room. He was admitted to the hospital. He died there less than two weeks later.

It was hard not to take his anger personally as I thought my genuine fondness, respect and concern were well established. Saddened that I had failed to connect as I had hoped, I took comfort in knowing that I had done my best.

As I reflect back on our final conversation I am reminded of how difficult it is to discuss death. I am also reminded of how important these discussions are. 

Years ago I heard the President of the American Academy of Family Physicians speak on death. His observation that, “In spite of all of the advances in modern medicine the death rate has remained constant. It is still one per person,” speaks to the reality that we will all need to be ready someday.

For people of faith it seems that being ready is less difficult, perhaps because of the assurance that there is more life to come. Something to think about!

-Bart

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The Secret to Success

Why do some people make it and others not? How is it that sometimes gifted and talented people fail miserably?

These thoughts were in my mind when I recently traveled down one of those link by link internet rabbit trails. I do not even remember where I started but I know I ended up reading a list of past Major League Baseball Rookie of the Year winners. My eye was not drawn to the recent successes such as the Angel’s Mike Trout (who has a very good chance of being considered one of the greatest players ever), but to the names on the list that have been nearly forgotten.

There are many players who, after initial success, saw their careers quickly flame out. They were stars one moment and forgotten has-beens the next. I read about the careers of players like Bob Hamelin, who won the award for Kansas City in 1994 and was out of baseball within 5 years and Mark Fidrych, who won the award and 19 games as a starting pitcher for the Detroit tigers in 1976. Fidrych won only 10 more games in his entire career.

I reflected on the elusiveness of long term success. It is one thing to do something well for a while, it is an entirely different thing to do something well for a lifetime. I thought of my major roles in life, my roles as husband, father and physician (in that order), and how being really good for one or two years would be nearly meaningless.

I then asked myself- how do you maintain excellence over the long haul? The best answer I can come up with is, “You work at it every day, and you never, ever stop trying to do better.”

When I look at the people who were the all-time greats it seems they all shared this characteristic. They were never satisfied by past success. They were always working to get better, to strengthen their areas of weakness, to eliminate flaws and fortify their strengths. They accepted criticism and instruction and made themselves a little better every day.

I will never be paid millions of dollars to ply my trade in front of thousands of people but I have been given a job to do. When my life is over it is my prayer to find myself standing before Almighty God and hear Him say, “You did well.” I am pretty sure that hearing that will make my heart grateful for all eternity and make all of the hard work seem worth it. I am absolutely sure that I will not hear those words if I do not continue to work every day to be the best I can be in whatever situation God places me.

- Bart

How Love and Baseball Changed the Life of a Little Boy

While I have a strange ability to remember numbers, facts and trivia, I have a very poor recollection of live events. I have been told by some that it is a defense mechanism designed to protect me from the painful memories of my abusive past. It is a pretty effective mechanism, as I remember very little of my childhood. There is but one area of my childhood that escaped the cloud of forgetfulness- my one season of little league baseball.

When we were 10 my twin brother and I were finally allowed to pursue baseball, our one great love. The coach took a liking to us right away, nicknaming us Heckyl and Jekyl after the two mischievous magpies in a cartoon. I remember my coach as a great man, strong, loving and with a warm smile. He praised my successes and nursed the wounds of my failures. As we had never played Little League before it took sometime before the coach recognized that we could really play the game, but once he did we played a lot. I was the starting pitcher and Bret the starting catcher. I compiled a record of 5 wins and 2 losses, we both hit over .300 and were named to the All Star team. My happiest childhood memory is of the day we beat the team coached by our coach's neighbor. He had talked up the game for a week. We won 8-3. I pitched a complete game, with the final out coming when I covered home on a wild pitch. The coach raced out of the dugout and gave me a huge bear hug. It was a moment of true joy for me.

That season was the single greatest year of my childhood, perhaps the only happy one. What made it wonderful was the love and encouragement of a man who was not my father, a man who I never saw again. But in that one season he gave a battered little boy hope for the future, a belief that if he worked hard he could be more than the failure he had been labeled at home.

Just a reminder of the difference we can make when we go out of our way to love a child. It can have an impact far greater than you could ever imagine.

- Bart

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Finding Family in an Unexpected Place

I have frequented the Ohana Cafe in Huntington Beach for years. It is a family run business and I know the family well, as I have delivered 3 of the children and provide care to members of 4 generations. It has a small town atmosphere and the regulars know one another, many have developed friendships and often share a table.

I was sharing a table for lunch this past week with another regular (who is also a patient and friend) when two people walked in and sat at the table near us. By their ages I assumed they were father and daughter- she seemed to be in her twenties and he appeared to be about my age. I made eye contact with the dad when they came in and gave him a small nod and a "How you doing?" greeting. 

When food arrived, the father reached across the table and took his daughter's hands and they bowed their heads for a prayer. It struck me that these strangers were no longer strangers, that they might actually be fellow Christians and we might actually be family. I spoke up and said, "So where do you all go to church?" He shared that they went to a baptist church in Compton. 

We talked briefly about churches, and he said that church wasn't about where you attended but where your heart was. I agreed that what you did on Sunday did not matter near as much as what you did the rest of the week. After that brief exchange we went back to our meals.

My heart was warmed by the reality of all of the things that did not matter. It did not matter that they lived in Compton and I lived in Huntington Beach. It did not matter that they were black and I was white. It did not matter what we did for a living. In that moment what mattered was that we shared a faith in Christ and that because of that faith we were family.

When the waitress brought my check I quietly paid for both meals. I left before they knew their check had been covered, praying that they would be blessed by the fact that it was not a stranger, but a brother who paid the bill.

- Bart