Last night our college kids ate supper together for the last time this semester. Once a month, we get together at the Mellow Mushroom, and the church picks up the tab for all the kids who come. Like most college students, these kids aren't dummies, so they come out in droves for our free meal night. However, over the past 3 years of our doing this free meal, our meal has turned away from being a "freebie" night to a night where the kids really enjoy being together (although the notion of "free" still resonates with them!).
Last night I brought my family to our supper, because I really wants my kids to get to know these college kids. Here's why:
1. This college group is really diverse. We've got kids from all over Tennessee in our group, but we've also got kids from beyond our Tennessee borders. We've even got one person from China, a great guy we call Vic. We call him Vic because he has asked us to, since he knows we can't pronounce his given name. And the diversity goes beyond our geography. We've got pre-med types in our midst, a law school student, teachers-in-training, engineers, business school folks, writers, one in beauty school (my wife is very proud of this young lady, since my wife is a grad of the same beauty school), and a good many who have no idea what they want to do. And we are diverse in personality and interests. We've got shy ones, loud ones, and all manners between. We've got some who want to talk sports (thankfully), others who talk clothes and makeup stuff, others who are eager planning the next fun event for our group, and then the few who are fretting over finals or papers.
2. This college group revels in its diversity but embraces its oneness. These kids come from all over and think all over the political and social map, but they affirm one another in their unique expressions of humankind. In many places in our culture, including college campuses, much of the groupings are based around who is like us and who is not. Our group avoids such distinctions.
3. This college group worships in the way they live. This getting together to eat and play and share, around a table about as diverse as any you will find, is nothing short of God's best intentions for our whole world. Eating together, as one, in the midst of our difference. We do that every Sunday in our worship service. We do that every Monday night with our college folks.
I'm glad my kids get to meet and hang out with these college kids, I just hope that something like this is around for them when they go off to college....at The University of Georgia.
Scott
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
Thoughts on Good Friday
Hi,
Scott Rollins here, with some thoughts in this Holy Week.
I am writing this thought in the middle of what Christians call Holy Week, that week of the year that begins on the Sunday that is called Palm Sunday, continues on to the Maundy Thursday remembrance of Jesus’ Last Supper, to the death on the cross that is Good Friday, and Holy Saturday, the day when Jesus lays in the tomb. I write you today right in the middle of this Holy Week. And I write you to confess this to you:
I am not celebrating Good Friday this year. Even as I write that last sentence, it seems odd that I would say “celebrate” around an occasion that is wrought with death. So allow me to change that sentence to, “I am not observing Good Friday this year.” There is a Good Friday service here in town, and every year I have either participated or attended that three hour service. And I know that this year at least one of the messages will be a good one, because our associate Audrey is preaching one of them. However, I’m still not observing it.
In years past, I have been adamant about observing Good Friday and encouraging our church people to observe it. I think one reason for the lack of depth in many churches is that we shy away from the fact that the Jesus we claim to follow is a Jesus who was killed on a cross, for living in a way that got him trouble with the powers that be, and who calls his followers to live in that same way. I think one reason we the church can be so superficial in our practice of faith is that we are all about celebrations like Palm Sunday (which was a parade after all, and who doesn’t like a parade?) and Easter (which gets props from kids because of the candy and oohs and aahs from the older folks because the kids look so cute, and somewhere too the whole Jesus being raised is remembered too), but we aren’t very good with death. And Good Friday, no matter what you might see as the reason for it (I say it’s because of the way Jesus lived, some say that it was to be the substitute for the sins of the world), is full of death.
And while I do think the church needs to give that due thought, I am not doing it this year. And least not by observing Good Friday. Because, you see, I’ve been living with death for almost 2 months now.
If you read this, you probably know about my good friend Brian, who committed suicide 7 weeks ago. On the day before we started this year’s season of Lent, I spoke at Brian’s funeral. And for the 7 weeks since then, I have been living with his death. There have been times when I have been intensely sad, times when I have been just plain mad, times when I feel numb, times when I feel that his death was such a waste. And my guess is that the death of Jesus brought similar reactions from those disciples who had followed him.
You see, I’m not observing Good Friday this year, because I’d had a whole season of Good Friday this year. And the one thing that has kept me from going totally nuts in thinking about Brian’s death is the hope of what will come this Sunday. Easter. Resurrection. New life. And not just what will come this Sunday, but what will come every day. “For nothing can separate us from the love of God shown us in Jesus Christ,” the apostle Paul said.
I can’t wait till Sunday.
Scott Rollins here, with some thoughts in this Holy Week.
I am writing this thought in the middle of what Christians call Holy Week, that week of the year that begins on the Sunday that is called Palm Sunday, continues on to the Maundy Thursday remembrance of Jesus’ Last Supper, to the death on the cross that is Good Friday, and Holy Saturday, the day when Jesus lays in the tomb. I write you today right in the middle of this Holy Week. And I write you to confess this to you:
I am not celebrating Good Friday this year. Even as I write that last sentence, it seems odd that I would say “celebrate” around an occasion that is wrought with death. So allow me to change that sentence to, “I am not observing Good Friday this year.” There is a Good Friday service here in town, and every year I have either participated or attended that three hour service. And I know that this year at least one of the messages will be a good one, because our associate Audrey is preaching one of them. However, I’m still not observing it.
In years past, I have been adamant about observing Good Friday and encouraging our church people to observe it. I think one reason for the lack of depth in many churches is that we shy away from the fact that the Jesus we claim to follow is a Jesus who was killed on a cross, for living in a way that got him trouble with the powers that be, and who calls his followers to live in that same way. I think one reason we the church can be so superficial in our practice of faith is that we are all about celebrations like Palm Sunday (which was a parade after all, and who doesn’t like a parade?) and Easter (which gets props from kids because of the candy and oohs and aahs from the older folks because the kids look so cute, and somewhere too the whole Jesus being raised is remembered too), but we aren’t very good with death. And Good Friday, no matter what you might see as the reason for it (I say it’s because of the way Jesus lived, some say that it was to be the substitute for the sins of the world), is full of death.
And while I do think the church needs to give that due thought, I am not doing it this year. And least not by observing Good Friday. Because, you see, I’ve been living with death for almost 2 months now.
If you read this, you probably know about my good friend Brian, who committed suicide 7 weeks ago. On the day before we started this year’s season of Lent, I spoke at Brian’s funeral. And for the 7 weeks since then, I have been living with his death. There have been times when I have been intensely sad, times when I have been just plain mad, times when I feel numb, times when I feel that his death was such a waste. And my guess is that the death of Jesus brought similar reactions from those disciples who had followed him.
You see, I’m not observing Good Friday this year, because I’d had a whole season of Good Friday this year. And the one thing that has kept me from going totally nuts in thinking about Brian’s death is the hope of what will come this Sunday. Easter. Resurrection. New life. And not just what will come this Sunday, but what will come every day. “For nothing can separate us from the love of God shown us in Jesus Christ,” the apostle Paul said.
I can’t wait till Sunday.
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