This house - the inspiration for this story

The 83 year old man looked out of his upstairs apartment window wishing it would stop raining.  It seemed like that’s all it ever did anymore, and he couldn’t go out when it rained like this.  His cane probably wouldn’t hold up, and he would slip, or fall.  Either way, it wasn’t a satisfying image rolling around in his head.  Today he would be content to peek out at sheets of rain coming down in waves on the roof of the silver Nissan driving below his Brooks-E. Mountain St corner window view.

Days like this tended to bring back memories of his wife of 58 years.  Equal in age and life wisdom, she quadrupled him in energy and “spunkness” – the description the kids had given her when they were younger – until she left him for another life.  One he  never believed or hoped in, until that day.  The day of the car and the lights…and the rain.
“Why the hell did she have to drive all the time?” He thought to himself, feeling the new found flushness of his face.
“Because I still can,” he could almost hear her saying back to him, as smug as she always was, and as cute as she always would have been.  A tear emerged from the inside of his right eye.

Just as he was getting lost in his thoughts, that boy came around the corner again, the one that lived in the house next door, but was constantly walking over toward his house, and moving towards his entrance.  He knocked at the window, waving the boy away.  This was not a loving gesture by any means from his point of view, but the boy waved back, as if to say, “I don’t really care if you’re being mean and waving me away, I’m still gonna hang out here where you can’t come down and see me anyway.”

“Dumb kid” he muttered to himself, certain that he was quite clear as to what he wanted from the boy.  And even more clear that this generation of kids would ruin the world as he knew it.

It wasn’t like it used to be, for him or the world.  The world used to be so simple, and he used to be so loved.  She loved him.  He didn’t know why, but she did.  She always did.  Through their young adult life and through his career,  the kids and the bills – she loved him through all that.  And now, she was gone.  Sure the kids were still there, and their kids and even some of their kids, but about 3 months afer she left (he preferred to use this term), he realized their visits had been about her and not him.  Love seemed to be no more.

Despite the bumping and movement he heard in his hallway, he was tired and wanted to take a nap.  Tomorrow the senior agency would come and pick him up for his weekly appointment to “some kid doctor who couldn’t tell a cold from a cat” he would lavishly share with anyone who would listen in the waiting room.  He needed his rest.  “Damn noises in my hallway,” he spouted off, walking slowly away from the noise and towards his bedroom, where he hoped not to wake up.

In about two hours of napping, he dreamed.  Dreaming always takes so much out of you, and he was never a fan, but this time it was no use.  He couldn’t stop from dreaming.  He dreamed he was at a party.  The party must have been at his only daughter’s house.  She was so beautiful, though he never told her so, preferring to leave the “mushy” stuff to his wife.  It seemed that the party centered around him – they were celebrating him.  Whether it was his birthday or anniversary, he could not tell.  But he did see the sign that said his name, and for once his family all centered around him, smiling and laughing about his life.  He decided that he would take the opportunity during a quick lull to ask them all a question.  After all, they were all there, and he wanted to know.
“Why did you stop visiting me when she died?” He asked his room full of family members and friends.  Immediately their smiles turned to scowls, and they turned away from him, one by one.  Unsurprisingly, he opened his eyes in a cold sweat, and the daytime rain had given itself over to a nighttime drizzle.  He took a sip of the water sitting at the side of his bed.

“Finally, the son decides to show its face,” the 83 year old man thought, smirking to himself as he peered out the same corner window he gazed at .
“What?” the man watching TV in the other room asked, deafened by the volume of old reruns of Miami Vice blaring from the speakers.
He ignored his son’s question, only to ask one in return.
“Why are you here again?”
Begrudgingly, the man stood from his father’s favorite seat and said, “I told you dad, I am going to take you to the doctors office today.”  The younger man shut off the television and asked his dad if he was ready to go.
“Don’t rush me, I’m putting on my coat.”  The man reacted a bit more harshly than he should have, the son thought, and responded, “You okay dad?”
“I’m fine,” came the predictable response, with an unpredictable tag along.  “I just don’t understand why you people don’t love me.  No one loves me…like  she did.”  The last 3 words trailed off, but the meaning was clear.

Silence in the room for the next 5 minutes as the man readied himself for the doctor.  The son eventually broke the silence.

“Dad, who did you have fix your apartment door and paint the hallway?”
“No one.” The dad responded, looking at his son like he was an alien.
“Someone did it.  And did a great job too.  I asked your idiot landlord how much that was going to set you back, and he said he didn’t do it, and you didn’t ask.”

“Nope. I did not ask.  And if I did, he would have waited until I got in a damn car accident to do it.”  The words stung himself  more he thought they would.
“Well, someone must love you, because the walls didn’t paint themselves and the door didn’t fix itself.”

His son opened the apartment door for him, walked him slowly across the freshly painted hallway, and towards the newly-fixed front entrance, as a beam of sunlight shone through it’s window and splashed on the old man’s face.

I am friends with 3 of these people on Facebook. I have occasional facebook conversations with one of them.  But in 1984, these people were a major part of my life.

At some point I had to make an adjustment.  I had to be able to meet new people, say hi even when I didn’t feel like it, and open myself up to people even when it wasn’t comfortable.  With the meeting of new people came opening myself up to new ideas.  New ideas were not looked on positively by the community I was a part of in 1984, but they were important for my growth.

I think we grow fastest and best as people when we separate ourselves from our present communities for a time, and then come back to it for a time, like hopping back and forth through the middle of a river on rocks,  each side bringing a new and fresh perspective of the entirety of the river.

I grew up in Fremont, Ohio and have lived in Tucson, AZ; Pensacola, Fl; Atlanta, Ga; and Massachusetts. Each community bringing its own fresh perspectives and the ability to help me see things more clearly (and sometimes less clearly) as I continue on in life.

Sometimes I’m thrilled to have lived in all of these places and known all of these people and gathered all these perspectives, and sometimes I just want to be the little boy again.

I had way more hair back then.

There is some sweet brainstorming going on right now for the Fellowship Church Student Ministry. Aaahhh, I so love what I do!

From left to right: Wes Janke, Steve Blumer, Angela Greene, Jake Mutti

It hardly seems fair sometimes, this life we lead.  As I’ve mentioned before, this last month has been so crazy, I almost can’t believe it.
It’s been 3 days since I’ve been able to find a place to go online, 3 days since I’ve eaten anything, and approximately 3,000 miles of driving.

When I last blogged, I mentioned how I was going to watch part of our service online when Carie and I arrived into Birmingham, Michigan (a suburb of Detroit) from Fremont, Ohio.  We were attending church at my grandfather’s church and had about 15 minutes of viewing time before I had to pack it up and head to service.

So I looked up all the Panera Breads on our route and found that there was one on our path.  This good news brightened my day.  And as I drove toward my destination, I noticed that there was a section ahead on Southfield Rd. in Southfield, Michigan without power.  “Poor peeps,” I thought to myself, knowing the horrendous nature of being without power in these wintrous days.

And then I realized that the Panera Bread I needed to use was also devoid of electricity.  We had to drive another 10 minutes out of our way to join Fellowship for about 8 minutes.

After service and a delightful lunch with my grandparents, Carie and I headed back to Indiana where my parents live.  Another 5 hour drive that turned into 6 because of an accident on the freeway.

On Monday, Carie and I developed two different kinds of sicknesses.  This was hard because we couldn’t really take care of each other, though we tried.  Almost the entire day was spent on the couch attempting to not get more sick than we had been.  “Please God.  Please?”

Tuesday marked our travel day home from Indiana to Massachusetts.  Carie’s health improved, and mine grew worse, keeping me from eating anything except seven french fries to test my future.  We arrived home at 11:00pm on Tuesday night, making our trip about 13.5 hours long.  We were overjoyed to be home in Massachusetts.

And this morning, I awoke cheerful and ready for the day, with only a bit of hunger panes, and …alone.

Carie awoke about 2 hours earlier and she could hardly talk or walk and had been hit hard with the flu bug that she’d been flirting with for the last several days.  Currently I’m trying to take good care of her, but I’m not a good cook, and my own hunger is pretty ravenous.

I say all this to share with you two things:

First, our open invitation New Years Eve Party we are having tonight has been cancelled.  Carie and I have hosted a party every year since 2002-2003, but the sickness this year, compounded by the snow, has devastated the party plans, and we just cannot have it this year.  My apologies to those who were attending, and I hope you have a safe and happy New years!

Second, despite all the stuff that has happened, and despite my focusing on all the negative stuff via my posts (really just because they make for better stories), I am quite confident that God is amazing, and that in 2009 in my life and in the life of the Holmans and Fellowship Church, He is going to use us to bring in His Kingdom!

“Thank You God!  Thank You!”

Carie and I are travelling for Christmas to Indiana where my parents and most of my family live.  In spite of the craziness that marks life in December 2008 Massachusetts, we decided to make our way west.  We considered cancelling the trip more than once, but I started and brainstormed  an idea to have a Facebook school reunion at my alma mater for the 27th of December and figured it would be in poor taste to back out now.

Travelling west felt like desertion of my friends and chrch family members who have gone through so much over the last two weeks.  I’m sure there have been places and times in history and even in recent history where people have gone through worse, but from a devastating ice storm that knocked trees around like javelins to the twin snow storms this last weekend, more than one person I know have gone through dynamic trials.  Even as recently as Tuesday (Christmas Eve Eve) two families I know from Fellowship had been without power since two Thursdays prior.

So Carie and I departed Massachusetts on Tuesday afternoon after her knucklehead school decided to “rough out” the remainder of the school year.  (I know I’ll be happy about that in June, don’ t remind me)  Our trip was great for the majority!  No problems.  No major traffic issues.  And all was well.

When I gave up my driving seat to Carie late in the evening, I decided to take a quick nap as we headed toward our final destination for the evening, Erie Pennsylvania.  Before I napped, Carie mentioned that there were several sand trucks out, and she wondered if they were looking for a storm ahead.  When I woke up, I received a text from Phil Kenney, admonishing me to drive safely.

The odd thing about this text was that he sent it quite late.  If I know anything about Phil and his wonderful wife, Leslie, I know that they go to bed early most nights.  So now it was my time to wonder:

Did our final hour have poor weather in our future?

Sure enough, about a half hour outside of Erie, the roads transformed into a slushy ice skating rink, and speeds of 65-75 became 25-35 in 1.6 seconds.  This transformation, coupled with my GPS placing me in the wrong part of Erie, made for a final hour of hysteria on the part of the Holmans.

Discouraged and tense, we arrived at our hotel safely around 2am.

I have been pondering a post about my lack of Christmas spirit this year, (with  both good and bad ideas throughout) but this adventure, coupled with what we’ve already experienced in weather, tipped the scales a bit.

I have more I’d like to write, but alas, I must go.

Please give me  a Christmas gift of reasons why you are in the Christmas Spirit this year.

By the way, as I’ll explain later, please don’t mistake my lack of Christmas spirit for negativity.  I’m actually feeling quite positive about most things right now, just not in a Christmas like way.

The last several days have been an incredible whirlwind here in the Northeast. A million people have lost power, which means they’ve lost heat, and many have been without water as well.  Here’s the Lowdown:

Thursday night brought hard rain with 31-33 degree tempreatures, causing ice to form around every piece of grass and every branch of every tree (including bushes).  After driving home from an amazing concert, Carie and I were wet and cold and tired, inspiring us to hit the sack.

I woke up at 4:00 am the next morning to no electricity, and the sound of crashing trees every 5 minutes or so.  It didn’t help to look outside, because there were no lights to be able to see anything.  Looking out a window meant looking into blackness, and simply hearing the sound of crashing.  Very intimidating indeed.

On Friday morning, Carie’s school hadn’t cancelled school yet (the “super” has the same reputation as a baptist pastor in the midwest on a Sunday morning when it comes to cancellations), so I told Carie I’d go out and put some gas in the car for her, and in the process let her know if the roads were safe enough to go to her school, a 25 minute drive through backoads and lots of trees.

I thawed the car out (oddly enough the pavement on the driveway and on the roads were fine) and backed out, eventually taking a right out of the driveway.  I drove approximately 10 feet before I could no longer drive through the large tree branches draped across the roads, not to mention the power lines daring me to “see if I was man enough.”

I was not.  I backed up back into my driveway, then decided to take a left toward Holden.  I drove approximately 20 feet before I could no longer get through the trees.  (yes, there were literally trees across th road)  I told Carie that I was her new superintendant, and pronounced school to be cancelled.  Any other day this would have been a day of glorious celebration, but the house was already getting a bit chilly at this point, so it was time for further decisions.

Friday night we, like so many other families in Ct, Mass, NY, NH, and Maine, left our house which was devoid of electricity and heat, and headed into Worcester.  For whatever reason, the large city in our vicinity had major pockets of electricity, and Carie’s mother lived in one of those pockets.

Friday night a pastor from Connecticut, only about 30 minutes from Fellowship, called me, and asked me via voicemail why I never answer my phone.  I was only mildly amused at his  humor.  I called him back on Saturday morning, and he explained to me about some event he was having at his church in January.  Then he asked me how I was doing.

“Ummmm”, I said slowly.  “I’m in the midst of a major problem where no one has any power in the whole of my town, and we’re looking for shelter and tree removal help.  People are freezing, and a lot of people can’t get out of there driveways.”

“Oh”, he said shocked.  “I had no idea.”

Then on Saturday afternoon Carie and I helped prepare some food at a shelter in Princeton, an area that was hit particularly hard, and when we returned to our house, our power had returned, 40 hours after it removed itself from our presence.  We rejoiced, then made arrangements for church.

Church on Sunday morning was quiet, though we had about half our attendance.  Few in Holden and the surrounding areas knew that we had church, because email was non-existent.  Phone calls were made, but not everyone could be reached.

But we utilized our service as an opportunity to connect people and resources.  On Sunday evening, we had sent out meals to shelters and fire departments around the area.

An amazing thank you should go out to all the power company and tree removal workers who have worked tirelessly and throughout days and nights to get people’s electricity back on and ultimately there heat.

But I’m writing this to let you know, there are still tens of thousands of people who do not have heat and electricity and we are going into a weekend of 10 degree temperaures.  As some friends of mine said once,

Much prayer, much power.  Little prayer, little power.  No prayer…

My ordination in August of 2003

It could be that I had gone most of my life knowing what I didn’t want in a church, including my college years, but for for a few reasons, I got it right the third time out.

By the time college came and went, I moved to Atlanta to begin my life and to try to figure out what I was going to do with the rest of it.  I started as a teacher.  At this point in time, this was not for me.  After wrestling with God for a while and sharing with Him why I didn’t want to serve Him anymore (I’m glad He won), I headed to Massachusetts to help some friends of mine on their “church journey.”

This church mirrored the one I grew up in and was used to – an independant, fundamental, Bible-believing (as if the rest of the world was not), pre-millennial, King James only church.  I could stomach it for all of 11 months, until my gut told me to get the heck out of Dodge, and to me, this also included new England.

At the time, I decided some things.  First, the next place I served God would be a place where I could serve Him the way I felt called to serve Him.  Specifically in the area of music, I would be able to develop a band that could lead people into musical worship.  Not that this was the only way to worship, but it was a way God had gifted me to express that worship that found itself in my heart.  Then, the next place I followed God to would be a place that reached people in my generation and would prepare itself to change to reach people in the next generation that arose after me. (That definitely is one of the worst sentences [gramatically] I have ever written, that’s why I kept it – for your enjoyment)

So then I decided to move north to Holden, Massachusetts, and specifically Wachusett Valley Baptist Church.  “Oh Lord, not another Baptist church,” I thought to myself, “I’ll never be able to drink alcohol.”

The reason I came  to this place, complete with about 20 members (3 of which are here now), is because I felt that the vision of the pastor linked up to my own vision for serving God, and my gifts could be used to further His kingdom.  Really it was about trust and respect.  I trusted that the pastor believed that God wanted to do a great work in this generation of believers just like He did a great work in the centuries and millenia before me.  And because of that trust, I respected His position of authority- not blindly, but understood that he had the right to make the decisions for our church.

Oh yeah, and I liked him.  This always helps.

Eventually he left.  Another man came in, and by this time I had been here for a few years, and could have made things difficult for the church by “becoming the authority.”  Instead, I humbled myself (this was not easy – I’m a pretty amazing guy) and placed myself under his authority too.  If his vision for the church would have been drastically different, I would have stepped down quietly, and found another church (probably outside of the cold tundra) that shared my vision.

But what I found was that the more I respected the pastor, and the more I humbled myself to learn from him (he was only 2 years older than me), the more our visions collided, and I began to find God growing me in ways I could have never imagined.  Eventually, he mentored me into a position that could fill his position because this fulfilled the gifts God gave me.

I laugh now when people say, “Wow, you must love it here”, because it is not my love for new England or Massachusetts that keeps me here.  If this were the case, I would have left a long time ago.  No, what keeps me here is that this is where God’s vision for my life has brought me.

Because I a) sought God’s vision for my life and a church that linked up to that vision and b) humbled myself before God and the authority He placed in my life, I believe I have been successful during my time here in Holden.

As the  pastor of Fellowship Church now, when someone comes into our church community from a churched background, this is what I’m looking for. I don’t have the attitude of anyone who wants to come can come.  To me, church is more important than that.  There are plenty of other churches someone can go to in New England if they want to find a church community.  But if you love church, and are looking for a church in this area (whether you live here already or not), before you “check out” Fellowship Church, please make sure you attempt to activate letters a) and b) above, because if you don’t, eventually you will get mad at something this pastor has done, and then…

you’ll blame it on the church.

p.s.  maybe we can start a conversation about what it means to be churched or unchurched?  What do you think it means?

I went to Massachusetts General Hospital last night to visit a guy in our church who is going through some major stuff right now in the form of cancer.  He is a real trooper.  With his wife and two kids, there is no doubt in my mind they have shown considerable strength through the process.  I remember sitting in a Starbucks with this very same man only a few months or so before his diagnosis and he told me:

“I’ve been to a lot of churches around the country, and have seen a lot of crap.  Now I’m looking for a church where my family is going to be treated like family, because our family is not local, and we really want to connect.”

I said:  “So we’ll see you Sunday?”  (half-jokingly)

Last night as I drove to the hospital around 11:00 pm, I thought about this earlier conversation, and I prayed that his prayers had been answered through this time.

Then I arrived and found that a few members of his life group had been there before me already, and another member was currently watching their kids through this very difficult evening.

I think he found his church.

Today marks the beginning of the 2nd year of a new pastor at Fellowship Church – me.

I wanted to take some time to write out my thoughts about our church, and try to convey my deepest appreciation for who we are as a group of people seeking to lead others into a growing relationship with Jesus Christ.
First of all, thank you for your patience and understanding in my first year in this position.  I realize it is only that, a position, and God uses anyone to do His work, but I also believe that pastors have a great responsibility to be an earthly leader of the kingdom of God.  This involves humility, courage, patience, self-sacrifice, and love.  In fact, a pastor who does not have these characteristics would probably be best suited using his or her gifts in another way.
My prayer is that my ministry to you is washed over with these qualitites, and that they would not only occur in my every day life, but they would be clearly evident as I talk and minister to you.
Also (and this is for the future), I hope that as a church we can begin to grab on to our culture – that is, our strengths, personalities, likes and dislikes, and the dominant gifts we’ve been given – and, in doing so, we will unite in such a way as to spread that culture to make a difference for Christ in the New England area in which we find ourselves.
That being said, I look forward to seeing and participating in where God brings us as a group of people who love and genuinely want to have relationship with Him and with one another.
You see, one of the greatest triumphs of Fellowship to date, I believe is the relationships that have been created and have given us even more potential to grow than we would have had without those relationships.
As we grow in our walk with Christ, let’s move forward with our mission by igniting a movement here in Central Massachusetts.
How?
The easiest way to “ignite a movement” is to be passionate about what unites us, which in this case, is Jesus.
Grab on to this:  I’m not talented or handsome enough (can I get an amen?)for a church to be united around me, and if I was, I’m sure some day it would fall apart anyway.  If I am anything it is simply this: I am a single part of what God is doing here at Fellowship…

I almost said Fellowship Church, but I think I’ll say Fellowship movement this time.

Thanks for your love and care to Carie and I, and please feel free to respond to this letter any way you see fit.  Let’s ignite the movement!

Marty

Abba Father from Marty Holman.

Last night I met Carie, my wife,  at her place of employment as the school had an open house for parents.  We met early so we could have dinner before the big event.  She asked what I felt like, I said quickly and methodically, “Chinese.”

She said she knew just the place we could go.  The Fung Wong in Clinton.  The following is my story:

The Fung Wong sits immediately off route 110 where Clinton and Lancaster, Massachusetts meet.  It looks like a trashy  bar, and at least at 5:15 pm mirrors one in every way.  As Carie and I walked in, there were 4 people at the bar, and no one eating in the restaurant.  I quickly learned why.

The decor screamed 70′s with the walls all tore up and the seating had cuts and scratches all over it.  I was beginning to figure out this place was staying in business from take out.

The people at the bar were drunk and loud, with one woman using the “F” word repeatedly about the other men in the bar, when they all shooshed her because “this is a restaurant and there are people over there,” she quickly said “F!@#$% that, I don’t care.”  Later on, her high school aged daughter came in, and it didn’t get quieter, it got louder.  This went on for about 20 minutes while we waited for our food.  We would have left, but by this time we didn’t have enough time to go somewhere else.  Oh well, at least we had each other.

By the time my food came out, my stomach was unsettled enough where, although it was decent, I just couldn’t eat much of it.  Teryaki chicken doesn’t taste quite the same in the midst of chaos and nastiness.

Later on, one of the guys was talking to the owner and they were talking about remodeling the place.  In my head I thought, this place doesn’t need to be remodeled, it needs to be torn down. It’s a dump, and it will stay that way with this kind atmosphere.  The conversation reminded me of when some church leaderships get together and talk about cosmetic changes that really need to be complete makeovers.

They think to themselves that if they change this or that, get some drums or grow some flowers out front, everything will be better.  But the truth is that people looking in from the outside know there is something not right about about what’s going on here.  So they don’t want to come back.

And I will never again go to Fung Wong.