The Rob BlogIt's Better Over Here.

There’s this vision I have.

I’ve had it for several years now.

It’s me, crawling across a rocky, barren desert. The horizon is expansive and there are dark, angry clouds hanging low in the sky. Before me is a line on the ground that stretches as far as the eye can see…

I’m tired. I can’t breathe and my throat is so dry I can’t swallow. My tongue is swollen and my eyes sting from the sweat that keeps streaming down my head. My clothes are torn, and my body is covered in bruises, scrapes and cuts that are bleeding. Every muscle aches, but I continue to crawl…

It seems like I’ll never get to that line, though I know I have to. Something tells me that I’ve lost a lot along the way…my dignity, my pride and a slew of other humanity soaked conventions. So I crawl and crawl…slowly.

Finally, I put my hand on that line.

I don’t really know at first what I’m supposed to do next, and then I feel something. A pair of hands, gently but surely reaching under my chin. Slowly, the hands lift my sweat-soaked head and I find myself staring into the eyes of my savior, Christ Jesus. He is kneeling in front of me. He’s smiling kindly, without a hint of the mischief that I know he’s capable of.

“Look at you,” he says softly.

I began to whimper first. My tongue is so swollen I can barely speak.

“Look at me what?”

“You made it.”

“I made it? I made it where,” I ask.

“To the end.”

He slowly stands me up and I look out across the barren wasteland. Far down the line, I see a few more weary souls crossing the line. There are much fewer people here than I expected. Somehow, I thought Heaven would be full.

Then I realize this isn’t about Heaven.

“Rob. I’m so very proud of you,” He whispers.

It’s about life.

And I begin to sob.

Earlier this week, a friend of mine posted his thoughts on the Evangelical Church and Communion. I found his post thought-provoking, noble and well spoken, though it apparently caused such a fervent response that he was urged by the leadership of his church to take it down. (It’s a shame when the church cannot partake of healthy dialogue regarding the elements of the faith. I happen to believe that even flat-out emotional debate is good from time to time, but maybe that’s just me.)

At some point, an argument was made for using pre-packaged communion elements based on saving the Church money that could be used for other ministries.

Was someone really suggesting that pre-packaged elements are cheaper? Surely not. More convenient, perhaps. Cheaper than bread, juice and reusable cups, (be that glass or metal, chalice or cup) no. That argument is just plain silly.

But, before this conversation goes any further, I think it is worth noting that my friend was commenting on the Evangelical Church as a whole, and the shift he has seen away from the sacrificial elements being taken in a reverent way. This wasn’t an indictment on any one local church, but rather a question of how we, as The Church (I know, there goes Rob on an ecumenical kick again) reverence our most sacred of rituals.

That brings me, of course, to the sacred ritual itself. There is nothing in our Church history that is more sacred and intimate than the taking of communion. Keep in mind that many of your brothers and sisters throughout history gave their lives rather than give up this very thing.

When I think about communion, I tend to try and find something that resonates with me in the same way…. In this case, I liken it to making love. That’s right. Giggle and blush if you must, but that’s the truth.

In a marriage, there is no greater intimate moment than making love to your spouse. It is the pinnacle of togetherness. It is the very physical act of saying, “I love you and I want to be as close to you as I can possibly be.” For the Christian, no ritual comes closer to that kind of commitment than taking the elements.

So, think about your wife for a moment. Do you prefer to make love to her in a cozy bed and breakfast, where the candles are lit and the rose petals have been set up across the room, or do you prefer a rent-by-the-hour motel? I think your wife could answer easily, which matters more to her. Now, you COULD make the argument that the act is the same in both places, right? I mean, either way you are getting it on…

But, one just feels a little more loving than the other, yes? One environment says, “I love you and I want you and you matter to me.” And the other says, “My own physical gratification is most important, and let’s get this over with.”

So, why would we look at communion any differently? Why would we say, “The way we do this doesn’t matter as long as our hearts are right?” It doesn’t make any sense. Of course it matters how and when we take communion!

Would you say, “Making love to my wife is so awesome. I’m only going to make love to her quarterly because otherwise it would lose its specialness.” No way! Because it is special, you want to join with her in it as often as you can, right? Right.

Look, I’m not attacking the local church I attend on Sunday mornings. I love it there, and I believe in the Church and her leadership. I’m amazed by the compassion and heart of the pastor and the people. What I am saying is that like anything else, it is healthy to reexamine what we do and why we do it from time to time and make changes that are in line with what we believe. In this case, we have a very excellent record in scripture as to how communion was received. There is no need to stray in the name of convenience.

What my friend wrote resonated deep within me, and it made me joyful, not angry or bitter to know that people still care about our sacred rituals.

Communion is special in my opinion, and I love it enough to do it often and right.

To The Faithful Underground…

I’m very pleased to announce officially that I am writing reviews as part of Thomas Nelson’s review program.

We’ll see how this goes, but so far, I think it’s a neat idea. I have had the pleasure of corresponding with Michael Hyatt twice now, which is amazing when you consider how busy the guy must be, and I have to say that he seems to be on the level. As the person leading the Social media charge at our company (Life Care Centers of America is my employer) I always get fascinated by CEO bloggers, and Hyatt is, without a doubt one of the most active. He keeps a blog, FB page and tweets interesting content all day while still running Thomas Nelson. Fantastic. Anyway, my first book came in the mail and I’m really excited about it. One of the nice things about the program is that you get to choose your books form lists that interest you. It isn’t the kind of situation where Thomas Nelson simply sends you a book and that’s that.

My first book is “The Selfless Gene” by Charles Foster , and it deals with the idea of science and religion getting along…imagine that! Well, I can’t wait to read it, and as soon as I’m done, you can expect a full review here on The Rob Blog.

This of course brings me to my next order of business… I’ve been thinking a lot about my consulting jobs. For years, I have been a PR/Marketing consultant. I love the work, and it keeps my creative juices flowing. Life Care has a policy that permits us to work a second job as long as it is approved and doesn’t interfere with my dayjob. This, of course, means that I take care of consulting work mostly at night and on lunch breaks.

Now, I know that some of you out there might have an area of expertise that you think you can monetize by consulting, so as someone who has been doing this a while, I’d like to offer a word or two of advice…

#1. Never consult on a project that you wouldn’t be willing to do for free.

What?!?!?!?! Alderman, you gotta be kidding me!

No, dear reader, I swear it’s true. You see, if you are going to go into consulting, you’d better absolutely love everything about the subject matter. The fact is that I would give away marketing advice all day long if I wasn’t careful, and that’s a good thing. It means I love it and am not as likely to get burned out. You want to lose your mind? Go ahead and consult just for the money.

#2. Never consult for free.

Yep, I said it. In seemingly complete contradiction to my first statement. But here’s the thing- I never told you to do it for free. I told you to do it because you would be willing to do it for free. Instead, ask people to pay for it. When I play music, I rarely play for free. Sure, the occasional benefit concert will come up and I’ll play for a good cause, but a normal show? Never. Why? I’m not a popular touring musician anymore. No one knows who I am. But…I am providing a night of entertainment, and even though I’d be willing to do it for free, it’s much nicer to get paid for it.

OK…there you go.

In closing, I looked at our budget for the year this past week and it almost made me pass out. It was, at first, very discouraging. I couldn’t believe that we work so hard and still have so little savings. I’ve been working hard for many years now, and to be honest, when I saw the budget it made me feel like a failure. Once the shock wore off however, I was very glad that I had spent the time to plan the year out.

Here are a few budget observations…

#1. My wife, who has been paying our bills for years, is a saint.

#2. While the situation isn’t wonderful, at least I know what it all looks like and now, I have a plan to get free from debt once and for all.

Alright, Robloggers, it’s time for me to get back to work. I have a client who needs some marketing!!!

Pleasant dreams,

Rob

The Hike

Gavin loved hiking.

Out here in the woods, with his legs chugging along, he felt almost light. The sun managed it’s way slowly through the leaves and down towards his present location, a rocky bluff on the side of the mountain. He knew he was somewhere in Western North Carolina, but he wasn’t positive of his exact location.

There was one thing he WAS positive of though. Out here he could breathe.

He sat down on the rocks and looked out over the valley below. Far beneath him, the Nantahala River snaked its way through the forest. The steady breeze was moving the leaves in the trees in a rhythm of sorts, and it was hard to hear the river, but every now and again, the two would blend into a beautiful song.

For some reason, being alone here in the mountains made him feel less lonely and closer to God. It wasn’t that he was a pantheist or anything like that, but rather that he felt he could better listen when he was alone.

Back home, things felt…cluttered. His brain didn’t seem to work amidst the constant needs of his job, church and family. He loved them of course, and would do anything for them, but it did make him at times feel tired and unable to process thought.

It hadn’t always been this way, had it? He struggled to remember.

There were a lot of things Gavin could no longer remember. He found as he got older that some memories had crawled into the far recesses of his brain and simply would not emerge no matter how hard he tried. This enraged Shelley, of course. She struggled to see why he couldn’t feel remorse for the things in his past, but how could one be remorseful for something he didn’t even remember?

He slowly stood up and looked down again at the valley. So beautiful.

When Gavin was out here, it had the effect of a prescription drug. The kind of drug made just for him. The kind of drug that could lift his sadness and give him a clear head. The kind of drug the doctors told him didn’t exist for his condition.

He longed for Shelley to join him, out here in the woods. If she would, he thought, she would see me for who I really am.

But was that true? Was the person in the woods the real him or was it simply who he wished he could be? Was the real him the man back home?

It didn’t matter really, because she would never meet the man in the woods. Long ago, Shelley had been hit by a car as she was out walking. It had been a horrible accident, leaving her in the hospital for months and years of therapy afterward. You couldn’t see it now, but every step, even on carpet hurt her a little. Hiking was out of the question.

Sometimes, this seemed to be a good explanation for their entire marriage- Each of them unable to join the other. She couldn’t do the things that set him free and he couldn’t free his mind for her.

Both were cages.

He wondered for a moment, how long they could last like this.

The very thought of being without her made his head reel, and he had to reach out and steady himself by grabbing the nearest tree. He bent over, thinking he might be sick for a moment, but slowly, the feeling dread passed, as it always did. He straightened up, and gazed out over the valley.

Along the tree line in the far distance, he saw a thin black line. For just a moment, the breeze picked up, throwing leaves around him in a tiny whirlwind. The sweet smell of summer rain reached into his senses.

A storm was coming.

Gavin glanced at the ridge one more time. What he would like to do would be to find a dense grove of trees or perhaps a small cave far up in the mountains and sit protected as the storm passed over him. He would like to close his eyes and listen as the rain fell down all around him. He would like to stand in it and let the wet mountain air embrace and clear the sweat away.

Instead, he turned and began the walk back to the main trail that would lead down the mountain and then eventually back to his truck.

After all, a storm was coming.

The Trade

It isn’t every day that you get offered the chance to have one free Saturday morning to fish every month. A man would be crazy to turn it down. So why is it that I haven’t taken my mother up on her offer yet?

I guess that would require some explanation.

You see, my Mother is by far, the hardest working person that I’ve ever known. She seems able to bear any weight. She raised my brother and I and once Dad died, she stayed pretty well put together. She has never remarried. That’s probably a good thing, since I don’t think there is a man on the planet that could bear the sure embarrassment at finding out he was that much weaker than his wife…

When Mom finally made the move to Tennessee, she brought with her my Grandparents, Nana and Cappy. It wasn’t long after the move that Nana became terribly ill and eventually died. Mom cared for her up until her death with the devotion that one can only have for their mother.

She has sisters, who visit from time to time, but in the end, it’s Mom who cares for Cappy now, and she has been doing so for years. Plodding along, steady at the wheel, every single day. No help in sight. She has long ago stopped going to Church. Social life? Don’t make her laugh. Her best friends are her home-bound Father and her grandkids. (all under the age of 7)

My brother and I help when we can of course, but this is that time of life when young men throw themselves into their careers, and that doesn’t leave much time for, well, anything.

The most amazing thing is that she never complains. Never gets too tired. I can only imagine that happens at night, just before bed when she falls into a deep sleep. It’s the kind of sleep that is interrupted by her coughing, incontinent, elderly father.

So, a few months ago, my mother approached me with an idea. She would swap me a Saturday a month. I could go fishing on my day and she would watch the boys. (Typically, April is doing her Masters homework, so I can’t fish since I’m running the show.) On Mom’s day, I would watch Cappy and my boys while she does whatever she wants.

Now, this would be a no-brainer if it weren’t for the incontinence of my grandfather. I have changed plenty of diapers in my day, but it’s one thing changing your kid and another thing entirely to change your grandfather. I have done it a few times, and it isn’t something you get used to.

The idea is terrifying to me.

To be honest, I don’t know that his ego can even take it. He has a familiarity with my mom that he and I don’t share.

Now, here’s the rub. I also feel convicted that I need to do this to help my Mom out. God knows, she’s been at this far too long by herself. The scriptures tell us to care for the widow. I shouldn’t need a fishing day to be the incentive. Just the fact that mom is alone should be enough. It sucks that I’m so uncomfortable and selfish…

So, I think I’m going to do it.

I’m not exactly excited about the idea of learning hands-on elderly care (ironic eh, given the fact that I work in the elder care industry…trust me when I say that I really admire our caregivers who do this sort of thing every day all day.) but I am excited about giving my mom some time to herself.

Ok people, new adventure… Ready? Go.

People Making Bad Decisions

I spent some time on the phone today with an old friend. He doesn’t get on the internet much, so I have no fear of him reading this, and to be honest, I’d still write even if I knew he would read it.

It was in some ways, a very nice call. This is a dear old friend of mine, and we love each other like brothers, even though we don’t keep in touch like we should. We know how to make each other laugh and we dig music in the same ways. (He’s a very talented musician) In other ways though, it was a very sad call. I listened as he nonchalantly told me how he was divorcing his wife. he simply “didn’t love her as much as she loved him” and “if they’d lived together first, they never would have gotten married.”

I knew that they had been having some trouble, but I had no idea things were so bad. To make things worse, I could tell that his mind was made up and no amount of argument would change it. To make matters worse, he began telling me about another old friend and how he had gone off the deep end, cheating on his wife multiple times and then getting fired for looking at pornography on a school computer where he was a teacher. (There were other things too, far worse.) Now, he apparently was back with his wife, but wasn’t being faithful, hitting on girls 20 years younger than himself.

It hurt listening to the stories, and I simply had to shake my head and fight back the anger.

It wasn’t the cheating or the divorce that angered me. That may surprise you, so I want to make myself clear. I don’t think that divorce or cheating on your spouse are acceptable. But here’s the thing… people in this life make mistakes. They sin. They fall. We all do in some way. So, I was sad, but not angered by those things. No, what angered me was the way that they seemed devoid of shame. Somehow, cheating and debauchery were completely acceptable.

I wonder sometimes where shame has gone.

It’s tough to imagine pride without shame, but somehow, we have that in spades around here…

The History of Religion

I saw this over at Eric Wilbank’s Blog, and felt like it needed to get a re-post over here at The Rob Blog.

It’s very cool to watch this map and contemplate the movement of religion and its consequence. I like to sit back and think about the implications involved with viewing religion with eyes open. What happens when you look at things that really happened through the lens of how and when it truly happened? For some reason, a lot of Christians simply can’t fathom a world that exists outside of their Sunday-school versions… I think there is far more to be gained from an honest look.

Check it out and let me know what you think.

History Of Religion

CAFFEINE AND GREEK

A lot of people ask me what kind of Bible I read and the answer isn’t as easy as you might think.

You see, I tend to use several. Here is an approximate break down-

My standard reading Bible is the NASB. There are a few reasons for this, but the main reason is that it was the required text from Bethel Theological Seminary in St. Paul where I received my Masters degree in “Uppity Theologian Who Thinks He’s Always Right”.

For sacred occasions such as reading the Christ Birth at Christmas time, I prefer the St. John Bible. This is a hand scribed book and I never cease to be amazed at it’s beauty.

I still casually read from my NIV Bible that I was presented upon my graduation at Lee University. The inside has an inscription by President Paul Conn himself! How’s that for your tuition dollars at work?

Now things get a bit trickier.

If I’m studying the New Testament in an effort to introduce context and proper meaning, I use Marshall’s NASB-NIV Parallel. It’s a nice sturdy hardbound edition that April got for me years ago, and you can read all three translations (Greek, NASB and NIV) at once.

I also like to read The Message (not a true translation, I know…) when preparing a lecture or sermon. I thing Peterson is a linguistic genius and we can probably get closer to the spirit of the text from the Message on most days than we can from any real “translation”.

I have a small pocket version of the ESV that was presented to me on the evening of my Ordination into the ministry. I don’t read it much, but I do often keep it in my back pocket just in case.

You will notice that nowhere on the list is the King James or the New King James. I know that many pastors love the sound of the King James while screaming it. It definitely has an air of authority to it and with the proper Southern twang it can sound downright brimstone-y. A definite must-have if reminding people that they have a one-way ticket to Hell.

In my opinion, neither of these texts are better than the NASB or ESV and in most cases, The Message will serve your purpose better anyway.

Now, on to the matter of Coffee…

Starbucks or Dunkin. Period.

Growing up, my Dad always made sure we were in church. ALWAYS. I mean, if the doors were open, the Alderman clan was there.

On the rare occasion that we didn’t go, (and some Saturday mornings as well) Dad would cook the “Big Breakfast”. Sausage, biscuits, gravy, hashbrowns, scrambled eggs, juice and milk. We would sit and feast like kings.

This morning, Riley had a bad cough, so we stayed home. I was feeling industrious, so I locked myself away in the kitchen and tried to make my old man proud.

We are now stuffed and ready for a nap. I think I’m gonna read my Bible for a bit now while I drink my morning coffee.

Yes, there are leftovers if you would like to come get some…