Cortisone Shot

Sometime back I mentioned in a newsletter article that I had a bad hip. The doctor suspected a torn labrum and advised me to get 6 weeks of physical therapy. If that didn’t work, he would order an MRI. That MRI was performed a few weeks ago, revealing that I do, indeed, have a torn labrum. Based on previous discussions with this doctor, I knew I had a couple of options. One was arthroscopic surgery to repair the labrum. The other was a full hip replacement. When the doctor told me I was not a candidate for arthroscopic I assumed I was headed for a hip replacement. But during an appointment last week I heard about a third option: a cortisone shot.

So, last Thursday I got the shot. Guided by an ultrasound, I was injected with a needle the size of Ethiopia. I’d heard about these things and how painful they were. I braced myself for excruciating pain. Just before the injection, I said, “Is this where you give me a bullet to bite on and a shot of cheap whiskey? Without missing a beat he said, “Standard Operating Procedure in this office is a shot of 20-year-old Macallan Scotch.” My doctor thinks he’s a comedian.

Apparently, they were out of Macallan that day, and I didn’t get the bullet either. But before I knew it the procedure was over, and I was on the way home. It wasn’t bad at all. The doc made it clear that that the shot was a temporary fix, and that someday I would still need to get the hip replaced. But for now, I’m feeling much better. This whole experience reminded me of the temporary fixes of life. It’s like when a pipe is leaking and we put duct tape over it. Or the roof is leaking, and we put a tarp over it. Or the car window is busted, and we tape a piece of cardboard over it. You can go with a temporary fix, but that’s not a permanent solution to the problem. This Sunday we will be looking at Amos 8:1-12. The passage describes how the Israelites focused on religious practices, worship, and sacrifice to ease their conscience. But their problem went deeper than that. These things were only a temporary fix. To REALLY fix the problem, they needed to root out the sin in their lives. Join us as we explore this passage together. I promise it will be easier than a cortisone shot.

pumpkin plant

Several weeks ago, my daughter planted a vegetable garden in our front yard. This is the third year Justine has done this, and she has gotten pretty good at it. Her raised garden beds, trellises, and irrigation system are impressive, and she did it all by herself. We have tomatoes, zucchini, lettuce, and peppers galore.

Not long ago we noticed something growing outside one of the garden beds. At first we didn’t know what it was, but eventually we realized it was a pumpkin plant. This is a little strange, because she did not plant pumpkins this year. In fact, in all of her past gardens she has never planted pumpkins. We decided to let it grow just to see what would happen. The thing is HUGE! It looks like it is on track to cover our entire front yard.

A closer look this weekend revealed that this plant has several small pumpkins developing. Little green orbs about the size of a ping pong ball. We have already decided how to carve them for Halloween!

We have no idea how an errant pumpkin seed found its way to our front yard. Maybe a squirrel dropped it while nibbling on somebody’s Jack-O-Lantern. Maybe a bird dropped it while carrying it to its nest. Or maybe the Great Pumpkin planted it there so Charlie Brown would have a place to hang out on All-Hallows Eve.

Isn’t it odd? You can plant seeds, pull weeds in the hot summer sun, water them every day and your plants still die. The deer will get them, or the drought, or the hailstorm. And then when you least expect it, a plant comes along that practically grows itself.

Life is like that, isn’t it? Sometimes all the work in the world leads to nothing. All your efforts are like banging your head against the wall. But then something happens that is quite unexpected. Something effortless and beautiful and intriguing. A gift from God that puts a smile on your face. I don’t know if this plant will survive the summer. We’ll have to wait and see. In the meantime, does anyone have a good pumpkin pie recipe?

a brightview view

Last week I had the opportunity to tour the Brightview Senior Living facility. This is the complex that sits on the property the church sold a few years ago. They are scheduled to open on July 8th. Karen Stewart, the Executive Director for this location, gave the tour for representatives of several organizations in the community.

We saw the “Rose Hill Salon,” the “Virginia Hills Theatre,” and the “Huntley Pub.” We saw the dining room, the gym, the game room, and the memory care unit, where we heard about the Brightview philosophy for senior living.

It was all quite fascinating, but the thing that impressed me most was the view from one of the independent living apartments. Pictured here is the view from the dining room. My first thought as I looked out the window was, “They will have an excellent view of Virginia Hills Church & Learning Center.” The green plot of land in the middle of the picture is where our church will sit. I tried to convince Karen that this apartment would make a good parsonage, but to no avail.

Some people, when they look out this window, might only see a muddy field; green, brown, and barren. But as I looked out the window, I saw the future: the main entrance is on the right side of the building and next to it is a landing with rocking chairs and picnic tables, where Sunday School classes can meet on nice days, and people can sit and rock and visit.

On the Brightview side is a drop off lane where preschoolers will enter the building through three doors that lead into the fellowship hall. Through these doors a comfortable greeting space can be seen, with easy chairs and couches where people can meet and chat while having a cup of coffee. On the left side of the building can be seen the edge of the multi-generational playground, where people of all ages and abilities can have fun together. On top of the building is an illuminated steeple reminding the neighborhood that this is a place where light cuts through the darkness.

The view right now is somewhat lacking. An empty lot. But the view of the future is…well…bright. It’s a “Bright View!”

The class of 2025 has left the building

Last Wednesday was the last day of our church’s preschool year. Today, the building is unusually quiet and it’s a little unnerving. This is the 38th time I have seen our preschoolers graduate and move on to kindergarten. But this year felt a little different. In the past, I have always been a little bit removed from the students. While they were in class, I was writing sermons, visiting the hospital, or preparing a Bible study. Other than greeting them at the door at the beginning of the day, I did not have too much time with the kids.

A few years ago, my daughter, who works for the preschool, called me and asked me to come down to the puppy class. “You have to see this,” Justine said, “They are SO cute!” I was surprised to hear her say this because she always claimed to dislike children. (Which is unfortunate if you work at a preschool) I moseyed on down to the puppy class and they were indeed very cute. Being around that level of cuteness is like crack cocaine. You get addicted very quickly.

So, I decided I needed to up my preschool interaction game. I started helping with the before-care program Monday – Thursday. William and I would build rockets out of Legos. He would then count down from 10, and we would blast off to adventures on Mars or the moon. Harper and I would color together. She is very good at keeping it between the lines and several of her works of art adorn the wall in my office. CJ would tap me on the shoulder and then hide behind me while I called his name and said, “Hey! Where did that kid go?” He would then pop out from behind me, and I would say, “Hey…what’s the big idea?”

In retrospect, I’m not sure how much I was helping. Mostly I just played, which is a lot more fun than writing newsletter articles. What I AM sure of is that these kids wrapped their cuteness around my heart in a powerful way. There is something very satisfying about sitting next to a child and coloring with them. It’s great for lowering your blood pressure and relieving anxiety.

The thing is, puppies become ladybugs, ladybugs become Dinosaurs, and Dinosaurs graduate and go off to kindergarten. The puppies I went to visit a few years ago are now Virginia Hills Preschool graduates. Good luck, class of 2025. I’m glad you came my way.

Baby Chicks

Allow me to introduce you to Patches, Penny, Pickle, and Pumpkin. They are the latest members of the Virginia Hills Church Preschool. The picture above is not the clearest, but we had the hardest time getting them to stand still.

Several times over the years our school has tried to hatch baby chicks with the help of an incubator. The first attempt that I can recall was the first year I was pastor at Virginia Hills. From what I remember that attempt was unsuccessful. We have had many unsuccessful attempts over the years. We get the eggs, put them in the incubator, wait the required amount of time, and then throw the eggs away when they don’t hatch.

A few years ago, Justine’s college roommate started raising chickens. She was so successful that my daughter enlisted her help in restarting this tradition. It’s a very educational project. The preschoolers get to see eggs hatching and are awed by the cuteness of the little critters.

Last year we set things up, using the latest and greatest equipment. When the time for hatching came and went, with none of the desired results, Justine borrowed some chicks from her friend so the preschoolers could at least experience the adorableness.

This year, we tried again, and it actually worked! Unfortunately, the chicks hatched over the long Memorial Day Weekend. We returned to the office and found four chicks chirping away, three grey ones and one black one. Once again, our kids missed out on the actual hatching, but they were fully immersed in the cuteness when they returned to school.

So, what are the theological implications of this experience? The whole thing speaks to me of new life, the beauty of our world, patience, perseverance, failure, and success. Doesn’t the Bible say, “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try, again?” Actually, it doesn’t, but I’m pretty sure it is implied in there somewhere.

falling down the stairs

I was in the preschool office when the call came in. Incoming Preschool Director Sofia Henry answered the phone call from Outgoing Preschool Director Dani Peeling. The look on Sofia’s face told the story. Something had happened and it was serious. She said, “I’ll be right there.” As she rose from her desk she said, “Dani has fallen down the steps at her house and they have called 911.”

As Dani was coming down the steps that morning she was hurrying because she was running late. She stumbled, landed on her bottom, and heard something crack. What she didn’t know at the time was that she had a compression fracture of the L-4 vertebrae in her back. What she did know was, lying on the floor at the foot of her stairs, she couldn’t feel or move her legs.

Several hours later, when Sofia returned to the office, she gave us a report. Dani had fallen while her husband was out of town for the first time since their kids were born. (Great timing, right?) The ambulance took her to Fairfax Hospital where x-rays revealed her fracture. She would be having surgery that night to install a hardware store full of metal that would stabilize her back. By the time Sofia left the hospital, feeling was already returning to Dani’s legs and the doctors assured her that she would make a full recovery.

As I write these words Dani is still in the hospital and is expected to go home in a few days. She will get there just a few weeks before she and her family move to Florida, another example of her impeccable timing.

Sunday afternoon, Justine and I visited her at Fairfax. She looked pretty good for someone who had just experienced such a bodacious booboo. We talked about how scarry it was, how painful it was, and how it could have been so much worse. We’ve all heard stories of people who have had similar accidents and were paralyzed for life. Our lives can turn on a dime and everything can change in an instant. Was it luck? Was it God’s intervention? Was her guardian angel watching out for her, or did the angel push her down the stairs? I don’t know. What I do know is I’m going to praise God that Dani is okay, and I’m going to be mighty careful as I go down the steps.

a little jesus

This past Sunday, our Methodist friends from Mount Vernon were given a “little Jesus,” like the one pictured above. Pastor Betsy explained that “everybody needs a little Jesus.” I had seen these things online but had not really paid much attention to them.

When Betsy explained to me that she was going to hand them out in her worship service I thought, “Okay. Whatever. Another one of those weird things that Methodists do.”

But then I saw the reaction of her congregation on Sunday. People would walk through the door, and they were greeted with, “Good morning! Have a little Jesus.” They would immediately smile and put him in their pocket. As the service progressed, I noticed little Jesus’ popping up all over the place. They were on the table at the back of the sanctuary, sitting on top of Bibles and hymnals, and, of course, one was prominently displayed on the pulpit. The lady sitting in front of me had three of them sitting on the top of her pew looking at the pulpit.

When it came time for the Baptists to worship, I showed my little Jesus to one of our members and expected them to say, “Is this one of those Methodist things?” But instead, they said, “Oh, how cute!”

I’ve got my little Jesus sitting on my desk, and every time I look at him my heart is warmed. It is a subtle, gentle reminder that Jesus is with me. It’s true. We DO all need a little Jesus from time to time

valley forge

Just a few weeks ago I finished reading the book Valley Forge by Bob Drury and Tom Clavin. It was a Christmas present from my brother, Rick.

I learned in school that the conditions at Valley Forge were harsh, but this book opened my eyes to a better understanding of what soldiers experienced there. About 1/3 of the army had no shoes. There was not enough food, and many of the soldiers died of starvation. Desertion was rampant because of the deplorable conditions.

The problem was the Continental Army supply lines. Many who were hired to transfer supplies were unreliable. One story tells how a farmer was delivering food supplies when his wagon got stuck in the mud. He just left it there and went home.

My favorite part of the book tells of the arrival that winter of Friedrich Wilhelm von Steuben. Von Steuben was a Prussian military officer who crossed the ocean to participate in the Revolutionary War. He spent that winter training the troops in the art of warfare. He is pictured here in a painting by Edwin Austin Abbey.

When the war started, General Washington was leading a group of rag-tag volunteers. Most of them had no military training, and it showed. There were numerous defeats in the early days of the war. During that winter in Valley Forge, von Steuben taught them how to fight. It is said that he was relentless in his training methods.

When the fighting resumed in the spring, the British were not expecting to face an army of professional soldiers. But the training, and the harsh conditions, made them battle worthy. At the Battle of Monmouth, the British faced a disciplined, toughened, well trained fighting force. The Americans more than held their own.

None of us likes going without shoes in the winter. And drilling from sunup to sundown is no fun. But sometimes God places us in difficult situations to harden us for the challenges we will face. As Benjamin Franklin once said, “No pain, no gain.”

3rd lieutenant

This past Sunday my wife and I visited Lincoln’s Summer Cottage in Washington D.C. The cottage shares space with the Soldiers Home, which is a home for retired veterans, even today.

I learned a lot during our tour of the building, things I had never heard of before. For example, President Lincoln spent about 1/4th of his presidency living at the cottage. It was a place where he could escape the summer heat as well as the stress of the White House. It was in a room on the second floor where he wrote the Emancipation Proclamation. He loved visiting the soldiers at the soldiers home, and he loved talking to the infantry guards that were camped across the yard.

Historian Matthew Pinsker writes that Lincoln’s son, Tad, was a frequent visitor to the camp. He would participate in drills and even eat with the soldiers. Their sergeant wrote that he was a great favorite among the men, and they bestowed upon him the title “3rd Lieutenant”, even providing him with his own uniform. He is the only 3rd lieutenant in the history of the U.S. Army.

One of the reasons Lincoln spent so much time at the cottage was that his son, Willy, had died at the White House in 1862, probably of Typhoid Fever. Naturally, his death at age 11 had a profound effect on Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln. The cottage gave them a respite from the place where Willy died.

I was touched by this story and the soldiers’ affection for Tad. I can imagine how they could have reacted to this eight year-old showing up for drills and “getting in the way.” But the child was treated with respect and dignity, and it seems that he was genuinely loved by the soldiers. There is something in the heart of man that is warmed by the presence of a child. Especially when that child appears during the ghastly circumstances of civil war. Maybe that’s why our preschoolers have come to mean so much to me. When we are surrounded by hatred, cruelty, and death, it’s good to spend time with a kid.

discombobulated

This past Sunday I was feeling discombobulated. Did you know that discombobulated is a real word? I remember my dad using it occasionally, but I always thought it was something he made up.

The Merriam-Webster Dictionary says discombobulated is an adjective used in informal speech. The definition is: characterized by confusion or disorder. It’s first known use was in the 1820s in the northern United States. The word reflects a trend where educated individuals would create new words by combining Latin prefixes, suffixes, and roots in a playful way.

The word has no etymological root; its sound was meant to be suggestive of its meaning. Other words coined in the era include confusticate (to confuse or muddle), absquatulate (to leave the room suddenly), and toploftical (arrogant or haughty).

Sunday was an off day for me. We were late getting to church because my son’s Metro train got stuck on the tracks just north of Huntington Station. We got to the Methodist Church’s worship service to run the A/V system, which did not want to cooperate. Someone had unplugged the power cord to screen #2, the tie mic faded in and out, and feedback from the pulpit mic ruptured the eardrums of everyone present.

When it came time for us to start our Baptist service, the list of announcements I’d worked on the night before was nowhere to be seen. I tried to remember what I had to say, but my discombobulation wiped my brain clean. One of the things I had wanted to announce was that Pastor Betsy, from the Methodist Church, would be preaching for me this Sunday. My wife and I will be out of town celebrating our anniversary and Betsy offered to fill in.

“Scientific studies” have suggested that discombobulation can be caused by hunger, lack of sleep, or stress. The quotation marks at the beginning of that last sentence indicate that I just made that up. But I’m pretty sure that statement is true.

I wonder if Jesus ever got discombobulated. Maybe that’s what was going on when he chased out the money changers at the temple. Or maybe he felt discombobulated in the Garden of Gethsemane when he asked God to let the cup of suffering pass over him. Or when he woke up from a deep sleep and didn’t know what day it was. I’m sure he did, because Jesus was fully human as well as fully divine. Discombobulation is a part of life. We all experience it from time to time. Fortunately, the Lord gives us a chance to start over the next day. Each day is an opportunity for a new beginning.

harry homeowner

Oh, the joys of home ownership! Three weeks ago, we started having trouble with our washing machine. The appliance that we bought a little less than two years ago started acting up. It was having trouble completing the rinse cycle.

I’m not “Mr. Fixit,” but I did spend a few hours trying to figure out the problem. But they don’t teach washing machine repair in seminary, so my Old Testament Survey class didn’t do me much good. Finally, I called the repair guy.

When he arrived, he looked at our machine and said, “Oh, I see the problem. You bought an X brand washer. They are not very good. You should have bought a Y brand. Armed with this knowledge, I was confident I could avoid this mistake next time I bought a washer. But that was not very helpful to someone who is running out of clean socks. When I asked if he could fix it, he said, “Sure. I CAN fix it, but I would need to come back with a helper, and it would cost an arm and a leg.” He recommended I just buy a new washer. Which, ALSO costs an arm and a leg.

So, it was off to Lowes to buy an appliance. We made arrangements to have it delivered ASAP, which in this case was the following week. Which meant I had even fewer clean socks.

The big day came for the delivery, and they brought it, just like they promised, “between 8:00 and 4:00.” They hauled it in, hooked it up, and took away the old washer. “Finally,” I thought to myself. “I can wash a load of socks.” About ten minutes into the wash cycle, however, the floor drain started backing up and it was time to call the plumber.

The plumber arrived, as promised, between 8:00 and 4:00 the next day and unclogged my drain. (Which cost TWO arms and a leg) By that time I was completely out of socks and critically low on other essentials as well. Long story short, I spent the next day (between 8:00 and 4:00) doing three weeks of accumulated laundry.

So, the bad news is that this whole episode cost me a bunch of time and money. The good news is that I have a clear drain, a new washing machine, and a drawer full of clean socks. I also am blessed to have indoor plumbing. I can wash my dishes in the dishwasher, and don’t have to use an outhouse. Indoor plumbing is great! Even if it means I have an occasionally clogged pipe. And I don’t have to haul my laundry down to the creek to wash my clothes, which would be hard on both my socks and knees. Do I complain a lot? Yes, I suppose I do. Perhaps God can teach me to count my blessings instead.

physical therapy

Several months ago, I had an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon. I was experiencing some pain in my right hip.

I found out several years ago that my hip was malformed, possibly because of a childhood disease called “Perthes.” At the time, I was told I would probably need a hip replacement by the time I was 50.

Well, since I passed 50 a long time ago, I just figured it was time to get that hip replacement. But when the doctor examined me and looked at the x-rays, he said that the hip itself did not look that bad. But he said the location of the pain suggested a “labral hip tear.” I didn’t even know I had a Labrum, much less that it could be torn.

The doctor suggested that I get six weeks of physical therapy and then come back to see him, and if it still hurt, he would order an MRI. His referral sat on top of my bookshelf for the next six months. (Cause, you know, life happens!)

So last week I finally got in to see the physical therapist. She began by moving my leg in every which direction.

“Does this hurt?” she asked.

“No” I said.

“How about this?”

“Nope.”

“And this?”

“Holy Jumping Jehosaphat!” I said. (Or something like that) “That smarted.” She then proceeded to massage, stretch, pull, and twist my leg. Some of what she did felt kinda nice, like when you wrap yourself in a warm blanket on a cold, rainy day and have three dachshunds on your lap. Others felt like she was sticking a cattle prod in my leg.

When I asked why she was torturing me, she explained that the hip and thigh muscles were tight and the first step in the healing process was to loosen them up.

As with many things in life, first steps can be painful. When we first start walking, we fall down a lot. When our leg gets broken, the doctor has to set it. When our labrum gets torn, we have to do physical therapy. (With a specially trained sadist, no less)

We want the healing process to be easy. We want God to snap his fingers and make it all better. But sometimes the way to healing is painful. Sometimes it takes hard work. So now I have to get busy. I have stretching to do today, for tomorrow I go back to the sadist therapist.

retirement celebration

This past Sunday afternoon, Jeannine and I traveled to the Upper Essex Baptist Church in Caret, Virginia. We went to support our good friends, Roy & Missi Foster, who are soon to retire after 36 years of pastoral ministry to this church. The congregation had a reception to honor them.

I met Roy when we were both freshmen at Averett College in 1977. We followed one another to Southeastern Seminary where we graduated in 1984. Roy and I have had many shared experiences over the years. I was a groomsman at his wedding, he officiated mine. When his dad died, I preached the funeral service for him. When my father died, he preached the funeral for me. When my wife was very sick and in the hospital, he was one of the first people I called.

We have attended preaching conferences, annual meetings of the Baptist General Association of Virginia, and met a couple times a year for lunch at the Five Guys in Fredericksburg. We have shared heartaches and sermon illustrations and jokes. We have shared advice, grief, and dreams. Roy is one of the best friends I’ve ever had.

After the celebration on Sunday afternoon, we stopped by Roy’s house for a while. We sat in his living room, and he asked me, “So, Bart. When are YOU going to retire?” Roy is a few years older than me so it makes sense that he would retire first. I know that transition is on the horizon, but I’m not ready to go there just yet. I feel like God has not yet released me from this calling. Whenever it comes, I’m glad Roy will be able to show me the way.

trinity episcopal- part two

Last week I shared how my brother and I attended the funeral service of my cousin Bernie’s wife. The service was held at the Trinity Episcopal Church in St. Mary’s County, MD.

Buried in this church cemetery is Bernie’s dad, Murvin. His tombstone is pictured here. Murvin was the son of my dad’s brother, Alfred Murvin Purdy, Sr. Uncle Murvin was born in 1907, 14 years before my dad. Murvin Jr. was born in 1930, 9 years after my father was born. Because of the age difference between my dad and my uncle, dad always said that he was closer to Murvin Jr. than he was to his brother. Since Uncle Murvin died when I was two, I don’t remember him at all. But I remember Murvin, Jr. well.

Murvin Jr. was a carpenter by trade. I remember as a kid, watching “Cousin Murvin” refinishing our basement. He took an old garage and turned it into a nice family room. It was amazing to me what the man could do with a hammer and nails. Even as a teenager I could sense the skill that the man had. The kind of skill that only comes from years of experience.

While walking back to the church from Murvin’s grave, his granddaughter mentioned how the Purdys need to have a family reunion. We do indeed. Especially since I barely know some of these people who share my surname.

What I learned from this experience is that these people are worth knowing. Not only are they talented, gifted, interesting people, but we share the Purdy sense of humor, as well as the oversized Purdy ears!

My brother and I have often talked about a Purdy family reunion. A gathering of the Richmond Purdys, and the St. Mary’s Purdys, and the Shenandoah Purdys. Everyone agrees we should do this. But life gets in the way. We get caught up in our daily lives and forget all about it until someone dies and we gather for their funeral.

It has been suggested that the “Alexandria Purdys” (That would be me) are centrally located to the rest of the family and therefore would be the most logical choice to host said reunion. (Ah…right) Perhaps this time next year, when a new church has been erected on Telegraph Road, we can host a family gathering in our new fellowship hall. Oh, if only Murvin was here to help build it!

trinity episcopal

This past Saturday, my brother and I traveled to Trinity Episcopal Church in St. Mary’s County, MD. The occasion was the funeral service for my cousin’s wife. Bernie Purdy is my 2nd cousin once removed on my father’s side. His wife, Patricia, passed away on February 13th after a long battle with COPD.

To tell you the truth, I don’t think I ever met Patricia. But I remember Bernie visiting our house when I was a kid. It had been years since I’d seen him, and during the service I met cousins I didn’t even know I had. There were some in attendance I had never met face to face but had become friends with on Facebook.

Trinity is an old historic church. It was originally founded in 1638 (more than 300 years before Virginia Hills was founded!) It is surrounded by tombstones, some of which were erected this year, and some of which are so old you cannot read the inscription. Several of these tombstones bear the name Purdy. They are about 100 yards west of the church pictured above.

Trinity is a tiny little church. It looked like it would seat about 75. But it is a beautiful place of worship that is still an active congregation. The pastor is Rev. Charity Humm, whom I was told is a “young, energetic woman who will keep this congregation on its toes.”

The service was marked by a traditional, liturgical funeral service, interspersed with digital music loved by the family. The pews look ancient, but the pulpit has a modern-day microphone. And the service was live streamed on Facebook!

They may be small, but they are making a difference in St. Mary’s County. I was inspired by this congregation that has been active for 387 years. What will Virginia Hills look like in 300 years?

mission statement

For several years our church mission statement has been: “To provide a loving, friendly, family atmosphere where people can meet and serve Christ, community, and one another.”

When we adopted this statement, it was a lot of work. We polled the congregation, asking them what key words described our church. We had multiple meetings to brainstorm and discuss it. Finally, we had a business meeting to vote on it.

At our constitution study committee last Sunday we were discussing whether it might be time to update our mission statement. I have thought about this in recent years but was resistant because of the amount of work involved. But it occurred to me on Sunday that our current mission statement is about 20 years old. The people who helped write it are all gone now. Is it still relevant? Especially as we look forward to opening a new building.

When I shared our current statement with Pastor Betsy not long ago her opinion was it is too long and clunky. You want a mission statement that precisely and accurately describes what you are all about. It should be a guiding light for what you are hoping to accomplish. It should emphasize what is different about OUR church and it should be easy to remember.

What do you think of when you think of our calling as a church? What words stand out? How are we different from Mount Vernon Methodist or Franconia Baptist?

Over the past three days I have been reconsidering who we are. In my mind I can think of several things that describe us: we welcome everybody, we are uplifting and affirming, we are a safe place, we respect women and invite them to be leaders, and we want to love on people. We especially want to love on families that need childcare, and the seniors that will live at Brightview Senior Living. We want to create an atmosphere where people can experience Jesus.

What else describes who Virginia Hills Church is? Text, email, or call me with your thoughts. I’d love to get your input.

Bart

vhbcpastor@verizon.net

703-541-8144

the giving crisis

I’ve been reading the book “The Giving Crisis,” by Andrew McNair. I’m not sure how I came to have this book, but it’s been sitting on my desk for several months. McNair describes how many churches are struggling financially. While many churches describe this as a “financial crisis,” McNair suggests it would be more accurate to call it a “Giving Crisis.”

In the opening pages of his book, he shares some eye opening statistics:

• Some 247 million U.S. citizens identify as Christian, but only 1.5 million tithe.

• The average weekly giver contributes less than $1,000 a year

• Of those who attend church, only 5 percent tithe.

• Eighty percent of contributors only give 2 percent.

• Only 1 percent of households making over $75,000 tithe.

McNair goes on to say, “We tithe less now than we did during the Great Depression, during which we had almost 50 percent unemployment. We are the richest generation in human history. And yet more prosperity has not made us more generous.”

McNair tells how, when he was a teenager, he worked several jobs and saved as much as he could. By the time he was 16 he had $160,000 in the bank. By the time he was 26 he had earned his first million. And yet, for all his money, he had a nagging sense of unfulfillment.

What he discovered was that money couldn’t buy happiness. He eventually learned about the joy that comes from generosity. He arranged his finances so that he would live on 20 percent of his income and give away 80 percent. He gave, not because God needed the money, but because he liked the feeling of being able to make a difference.

Now, not all of us have McNair’s gift for making money. And not all of us can make enough to live on 20 percent of our paycheck. The question is, “How much CAN we give?”

What would happen if all of our active members became tithers? We would add hundreds of thousands of dollars to our budget. Think of the impact we could have on our community. I’m not one of those pastors who always talks about money. And my intent is not to guilt anyone into giving beyond their means. But friends, we can do better! We MUST do better.

somebody to blame it on

When I was a teenager, growing up at Franconia Baptist Church, my pastor was Dr. C.L. Bishop. Dr. Bishop hired me part time to help run the offset printing press at the church. I was responsible for printing the worship bulletin, the weekly newsletter, and the Wednesday night prayer list.

I remember one day I made a mistake. I screwed up the weekly prayer list so badly that the church secretary had to retype the whole thing. I’ll never forget having to tell my pastor that I had messed up. And I’ll never forget his response. With a twinkle in his eye, and a smile on his face, he said, “That’s okay. We’ll find somebody else to blame it on.”

He was kidding, of course. The secretary retyped the list and I ran it off without incident. But my pastor taught me a valuable lesson. We all make mistakes. None of us is perfect. When you goof things up, admit it, fix it, and move on.

I was reminded of this yesterday. I had been asked to officiate a funeral service at Everly-Wheatley Funeral Home and put it on my calendar for 12:00 noon. The problem was the service was at 11:00. The funeral director called at 11:15 asking where I was. I’m not sure what happened. Maybe I was given the wrong time, maybe I put it in my calendar wrong. The point is, I was late.

When I arrived at the funeral home I apologized profusely to the funeral director and family. As we were walking into the chapel the funeral director, Andrea, said, “We all make mistakes. Nobody’s perfect.”

As it turned out, the service turned out to be a comedy of errors. The sound system wasn’t working, the wrong song was played in the middle of the service, and even though everyone was asked to turn off their cell phones, one went off in the middle of the eulogy. The family said the deceased would have laughed his bottom off.

As I was talking to Andrea after the service I said, “You seemed pretty unflappable in the midst of all that chaos. How do you maintain your composure when things go wrong?" She replied, “Well pastor, my philosophy of life is this. If I can do something about it, I’ll do it. If I can’t do anything, I let it go.”

I’m grateful that I live among forgiving people. My family, my congregation, and the local funeral directors cut me a lot of slack. And as you know, few people need more slack than me!

i’m having a girl

This morning, during the preschool before-care program, one of our little boys came in with some good news. He ran up to me with a big smile on his face and said, “Guess what Pasta Bort. I am going to have a girl!”

I thought I knew what he was telling me, but I was not sure. So, I asked him, “Is Mommy having a baby?” He said, “No. Mommy has a baby in her tummy. And it is a girl.” He then proceeded to tell everyone in his classroom about “his girl.”

The more I think about it, the more I understand how right he was. It is not just mommy that is having a baby. It is the whole family. And his parents have wisely explained that he is an important part of this event.

What an exciting time in the life of this family! I am sure there will be a time of adjustment. There will be challenges along the way. But this young man has so much to look forward to. He will be the big brother, the protector, the teacher. He will show her the ropes. He has an important job in this family’s journey.

So it is in the lives of all of God’s children. God gives us blessings, but he also gives us responsibilities. Each of us is gifted in such a way that we can make a real contribution to His kingdom. It is important work, and the Lord asks us to be a part of it.

This kid was absolutely right. He IS having a girl. And what a lucky little girl she is. I cannot wait to meet her and welcome her to our preschool!

god sightings

In our Wednesday night book study, we are joining our Methodist friends on Zoom to study the book “Get Their Name.” This book was written to help us learn to share our faith in a natural, effective way.

Last week, we focused on chapters 1 & 2, and part of the discussion revolved around the question, “How have you experienced God in the past week?”

If I asked you that question what would your answer be? If you are like me, a question like that causes immediate brain freeze. You know God has been there, you know you have been blessed, but for the life of you, you can’t think of examples.

It’s only when we think about it for a while that the answers become clear. So, it is helpful to our evangelistic efforts to practice answering that question. In our congregational life we can practice whenever we meet: When we meet for worship, or Bible study, or choir practice, or Thursday night dinner, or fellowship meals on the first Sunday of the month.

Being able to identify God’s presence and share it with others takes practice. So, let’s practice that for a moment. How have you experienced God lately? Perhaps you have seen the face of God in a preschooler’s smile. Or in the way the preschool staff rallies and works twice as hard as usual because five of their colleagues are out sick, (and their heroism drips off them like a boss.) Or when you get an unexpected email from a church member who wants to volunteer to be on the constitution study committee. When you step outside after a polar vortex and temperature is rising, and the day will be the warmest in weeks. When you share a Bible story with preschoolers and one of them impulsively jumps up and gives you a big hug. (And you think to yourself, “How did she know I needed that?”)

Yup, He’s there alright. We just need to look for Him.