Man Stuff

The paragraph in the church bulletin promised nothing beyond pancakes and wild hog sausage. No mention of special activities except that it would be a morning for the men of the congregation.

There was much more. I went to see who would show up at a men’s breakfast. Obviously, men – although we did have one woman come with her uncle. And being the open fellowship we are, she was made welcome and stayed for not only pancakes and wild hog sausage, but bacon and orange juice and milk and coffee that smacked slightly of that indistinct odor of blue jeans worn out in the wilderness.

A program was in the offing. An introduction and singing and an introduction of the speaker and the speaker and a prayer. The leader of the music portion was right when he said that men worshiping in song was glorious. Okay, maybe he didn’t say glorious. But there is something strangely moving when deep voices sing and sing loudly.

Looking around the room, there weren’t a lot of young men except for the teens that showed up with their fathers. Mainly forties and above and I wondered where the younger guys were. Probably at home with young moms and small children who look forward to that one morning of the week when dad is home and not in a hurry to be somewhere else.

But the rest of us were there. Thirty or forty strong, with our fill of pancakes and breakfast meats and still wondering why, exactly, the coffee tasted like it did.

During one part of the program, we were given a list of questions and were encouraged to use a few of them with someone we wanted to get to know.

One of the questions was “What would you like to be doing the moment Jesus comes again?” Before the group leader could move beyond that one, a voice from the side of the room spoke up, “I know where Terry wants to be.”

And as Terry, the group leader, paused, his friend turned to the rest of us and continued, “He wants to be baptizing his son!”

Incredible answer. In the instant when all heaven breaks loose, Terry was focused on making a relationship whole — restoring his own flesh and blood to God. The activity in the room slowed as the full meaning spread over us. And then, expressions of agreement and approval.

This was man stuff. The sharing of a simple but everlastingly important hope. You could sense every one in the room moving deeper as we saw and prayed for those special elements that distinguish just men from God’s men.

Doubtless

It happens frequently — even in a small, part-time law office like mine. People come to see me with a financial problem and in the course of our discussions they ask, “I suppose I could just not pay that debt. I mean, what could they do?”

Then I take them through the litany of things “they” could do. And after we talk about loss of vehicles and tax liens and lawsuits, the typical response is, “Well, that’s not so bad.”

Usually at that point I pause, ever so slightly. And almost every time, the individual adds, “I just don’t feel right about it, though.”

That’s a wonderful moment. In that instant, you see a person regain respect for self and connect to their values. When that resurgence begins to build is the moment I explain how I feel about legal measures to reduce or eliminate debt. “The government, through our creditor and bankruptcy laws, has made protection available for those who truly need it — and frankly, that’s not many of us.”

Then I take my clients back through the things they can do. Like adjusting their lifestyles and, thus, their spending habits, and selling things they don’t need. As momentum grows, most of these people begin to see some possibilities. They see the long road ahead and accept the responsibility of digging out. As is often said, you don’t usually get into debt in a hurry — therefore, you don’t get out in a hurry either.

That’s the way that most of life’s troubles are. We move so fast sometimes that we take a few steps down a path that seems a little strange. And rather than check our bearings, we move further. Over time we become comfortable with where we are.

And then something stops us. A consequence attaches to us and things grind to a halt. This new and peculiar environment disorients us. We tell ourselves, “It’s okay to act differently here.”

But most of us know better. Despite the pull, that small voice tells us what is right for us.

You may not have strong spiritual beliefs. But I believe that the small voice is a clear channel to the one who divided right from wrong when it came into this world. The same one who gives us things we can do to get back to where we need to be. The same one who extends grace when we’ve done all that we can do.

Regardless of the struggle you face, or how far you will have to travel to make things right, small steps are available. And as a believer, I’m convinced that God views us more in the light of where we’re heading than in a snapshot of where we are at any given moment.

Standing Room Only

Growing up in West Texas, I had a pretty well-developed system for knowing who my friends were. Friends were the guys — and occasionally the girls — you spent time with. Looking back, I’m not sure that the great majority of that time was very productive. But, even today, it seems like quality time. We played ball and pretended we were people we would never be. We shared dreams and schemes and, on occasion, the blame for schemes gone bad. In simplest terms, we were there for each other.

Eventually, of course, I found my best friend, Nancy. And I’ve poured most of my friend energy into that relationship. I’m not certain that she would say that all of that effort on my part has had happy results — or even that there has been all that much investment at times. Thankfully, our love and friendship has grown because of her enormous capacity for others.

I know that similar cues that determine friendship exist in today’s relationships. Perhaps the activities are less strenuous. And now the dreams shared are sometimes those lying broken around us. The happy times are no less happy, though. However, with the pressure of life as an adult, there seems to be less quality time for friends.

Or so I thought. A friend of mine recently went through a period of crisis. I was one of a number of folks who went to his side. Part of our function was to simply be there and absorb the moment with him. If you’ve ministered to people who are sick or who are grieving the death of someone close, you’ve probably heard this activity described as “sitting with” the suffering person.

Years ago, I was mentored in “sitting” by a long-time minister at our church, Brother Horace. A good brother at the congregation had died suddenly. I was dropping off some things at the church office that day as Brother Horace was making his way to visit the family of the deceased. “Why don’t you come with me?” he asked.

I was in my early twenties and, other than family, I had never gone to visit a bereaved family. Reluctantly, I said yes. But in the car on the way to their home, I became nervous. “Brother Horace,” I questioned, “What will I do when I get there? What will I say?”

“Simple. Say what seems right. And if you have nothing to say, just sit. Through the years, I’ve never had any one recall what I had to say, but almost every one remembered I was there. Being there is the key.”

And so it is with friendship. In my friend’s crisis, I came to realize that there was no place for me to “sit.” Those spots were taken by individuals who had been there more often. No, my place was just inside the door. Standing just a bit to the side.

I just happened to run into this friend downtown, recently. And even though my perception was that my involvement was very slight, he was effusive in his greeting. He thanked me over and over for what I had done.

The expression on my face must have been one of puzzlement. He paused as I stuttered, “I really wasn’t that much help.”

He moved closer and whispered, “But you were there!”

Friendship and love can grow in even the shallowest soil. And so I’m called back to Brother Horace’s sage advice. Say what seems right. And if you have nothing to say, just sit. And to that wisdom, I add this corollary. When there is no place to sit, just stand.

Leading a Double Life

It’s been going on for a while now. Little bits of news flowing through the ether. A glimpse of something here. A telling piece of evidence there. I wonder how long it will be before I’m found out.

Of course, that’s the beauty of it all. I won’t be found out. Because the “Joey Cope” whose answer to the Facebook question, “What are you doing right now?” is “Joey Cope is loving life!” isn’t really me.

No, it’s a young, active Joey Cope who attends university in another state. I suppose he searched Facebook using our name and found me. Then he invited me to be one of his friends. So, I have been — sort of.

I mean, I’ve been here or there or wherever you are in cyberspace. I haven’t written on the other Joey’s wall (that’s like leaving a note on his apartment door). I haven’t emailed him or invited him to be a part of a Facebook group.

But I’ve enjoyed the thrill of reading on my Facebook that Joey Cope has done this or that or something else — even though I knew it wasn’t me. And it was fun to see that someone with my name was young, active, and, from all appearances on Facebook, a very devoted follower of Jesus.

Perhaps I’m leading multiple lives as I see others around me, of all ages, behave in young, active, and very Christ-like ways while I watch with wonder.

I’m thinking a younger (acting), more active, and more Christ-like Joey Cope — the one who lives in my house — might be a life truly worth doubling.

My Own Medicine – Day Five

I love to hear someone say, “Suddenly, it all became clear to me.”

It’s not that I think it doesn’t happen that way. No, it’s just not been my experience that everything becomes clear all at once. Of course, I’m slower than most people. That may be the reason that my flashes of insight are often muted — just glimpses of a reality exposed in the flicker of a distant spark of lightning.

Earlier this week, when I sat down to put things right with a long-time friend, I started to notice the great peace and freedom that was rolling over me. Amazing how my time was freed to think about ways to move on the difficulties that had kept the two of us apart — or at least me apart.

So yesterday I was basking in this peace and freedom and it hits me — there are other areas where I don’t feel so good. And, at that moment, I began to take inventory of those things that worry me and distract me.

I thought the list would be much longer. Not really any relationship issues on this list — except for a group project I had been avoiding. Everything else involves taking some very simple steps toward freedom and peace.

I started this morning by completing some boring paperwork for my law office. Free of that and I’m moving on. Several small projects around the house await me. More freedom in the afternoon.

Larger tasks are involved as well — but all start with small steps. And each step brings freedom and peace.

Small steps. All that’s required in reconciling relationships or ending bondage to whatever plagues you are small, small steps.

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My Own Medicine – Day Three

I had planned to plan for my meeting.

The phone call was made that put things in motion. Eventually, fifteen minutes was set aside for later in the afternoon. Good. I had time to release anger and to plan.

But life happened and I had to attend to this detail and that. When the chime on my phone warned me that the appointment was ten minutes away, I sat down purposefully to prepare. And, at that moment, I saw his car turn into our parking lot. My time for planning and rehearsing was gone and the moment was here!

As I walked toward the lobby to meet him, I realized that something had happened. A quick look back in my memory and I realized that, in answer to earlier prayer, my anger had slipped away about the time I tapped his number into my phone that morning.

Our meeting was to be short. He had another appointment close by. I felt no personal anxiety as I sat across the table from him. We exchanged pleasantries and then I grasped for the one expectation I had managed to solidify.

“I want to honor your time. So let me just say, I’ve asked for this meeting so that I can apologize and ask for your forgiveness.”

His eyes grew wider and his face, already pleasant, became more so. He sat patiently as I explained how I had judged him almost 20 years before. And then, I detailed how I had allowed that judgment to color everything that he did or said since.

He was gracious in his forgiveness. Because of my actions and withdrawal, he had not really been aware of the tension I felt. We talked about things in general. I told him that there were some present matters that I disagreed with him on and we would have opportunities to talk. But I promised that I would never allow my past judgments to interfere with honest discussions.

I teach others about this moment. Yet here I was with this glorious instant unfolding. Now, in this day three, I am committing to continued conversation bolstered by my pledge to discard old and worn judgments. With the self-imposed anger gone, I’ve started to realize that those things that I’m in disagreement with could well have solutions close by.

I may revisit this self-medication topic. For now, please know that I understand that reclaiming a friendship is not accomplished with a three-day injection — even with the best of medicine. Reconciliation is a life-time pursuit.

My Own Medicine – Day Two

Three hours passed. For most of the morning I sat in this man’s kitchen with his wife hovering close by, sometimes sitting, sometimes standing — always wringing her hands.

I had been places like this before. This man was angry at another man. And their conflict had poured over on to the little church they attended. And now, my host for the morning was pressing an ultimatum on the other members of his congregation. “They can support me or they can get out!” were the approximate words he had used at prayer meeting last week.

So, we sat for three hours and I allowed the angry man to pour out his story. As is common in these conflicts, hearing one side of the story tends to make you think that the person in the room with you is right. But experience tells you that judgment must be withheld until the other side of the story spills out.

That tale was poured over me that afternoon. But it didn’t take three hours. No, within about 5 minutes I learned that the angry man had all of his facts straight. “I did everything he is saying. But I did it 25 years ago. And I’ve apologized for the things I did wrong and the leaders from the church looked into the other things and publicly announced that I acted properly. But I’ve apologized privately to him for those things.”

In a few more interviews, I found that the events in controversy were more than two decades old. Sitting again with the angry man, I asked him if, indeed, apologies had been given — years ago.

“Yes,” he said. “But it doesn’t change anything. He was in the wrong and I don’t want him in my church.”

We had a church-wide meeting on the next Wednesday night. As is often the case, it wasn’t pretty, for a while. People had an opportunity to express themselves. I began to think that we were going to get to a pretty good place, when the man who was at the center of the controversy rose and walked over to where the angry man was sitting. Extending his hand, he said, “I’m obviously not doing something right. I want to ask your forgiveness. Would you please grant me that and shake my hand?”

The forty people in the small fellowship hall drew a collective breath and you could feel the oxygen levels drop. Every one seemed to remember at once the angry man’s vow to never accept this apology or shake this man’s hand.

Suddenly, the angry man’s wife stood and pulled her husband to his feet. Others around her stood with them as she gently pushed her husband’s arm forward. Hands met in that space between the men, though nothing was said.

As the contact ended, the church members in attendance broke into song — “Blest Be the Tie That Binds.” People were hugging and crying. Their hearts were lifted as they perceived the conflict to be over.

They didn’t see what I saw from the front of the room. As soon as the song began, the angry man gave a scary look to his wife, grabbed his hat and left the room. The conflict lived. The angry man remained angry. Six months later, a new church was founded in the community made up of the few who wanted the man’s anger to be their central theme.

I made one more trip to that church and to that community. I visited the angry man and I asked him why he couldn’t let the anger go.

“You know, I’ve thought about it. But I’ve lived with these feelings for 25 years and now I can’t imagine waking up without them.”

The angry man died a few years later and he was still angry.

As I pray about my personal conflict, I’m discovering that anger has become too familiar to my daily life. I’m planning to sit down with the object of my anger in the next few days. I don’t know what the outcome will be. But I’m thinking, if I can just release my anger, there would be a lot more room for good things.

To make that release, I have to look at the way that anger works in these long-term conflicts. Most of the time anger is the reaction to some deeper fear. And usually the deepest fears are over the loss of relationships.

Day two, find a time to meet. And instead of waiting until the moment of contact, begin releasing anger now.

My Own Medicine – Day One

I remember where we were standing that day. Was it 1987 or 1988? A long time ago.

I was new to the community and truly longed for inclusion and a place where I could offer assistance and receive personal fulfillment. The committee meeting had just ended through a door not ten feet away from the spot where we stood. The meeting was my first with this group. The discussion was interesting. And when I was asked my opinion, I gave it.

That’s when he spoke up. “You’re just clearly wrong,” he said. “That method won’t work. We’ve tried it.” Then to the rest of the group, “I’m telling you, it just can’t be done.”

The ink on my law degree was not quite dry at the time. I looked around the room and saw the other committee meetings looking away from him, hoping not to draw his ire. I decided to disagree with him. And as I recall it, I dissected his argument and persuaded the group to move forward.

On that spot outside the door, I pulled him aside and tried to establish a middle ground. He had made it obvious that he thought little of me and my ideas. I saw him as an intelligent person and someone worthy of getting to know.

“What was that all about,” I asked. “Why so much venom? Have I done something to offend you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My mental picture of that moment insists that he leered at me. However, I’m not sure what a leer would look like, so who knows? “You just had a stupid idea and I’m a realist. I just had to point out how stupid it is.”

I don’t remember what I said to that. I do remember my stupid idea worked. And I realized that he was not a realist — he was a negativist. No “negativist” isn’t a real word. But that’s what he was.

I’ve never forgotten that day. Nor have I ever seen him since as anything but a negativist. I’ve heard he has some socially redeeming qualities. I’ve even had some pleasant conversations with him through the years. But most often, I go back to that spot in the hallway where I decided to judge him.

Twenty years later, I’m still dealing with that decision. And my feelings toward him continue to drain my energy whenever I see him. That’s why I decided last Sunday that I’ve got to go talk to him. I know that we have disagreements over some things. Yet, I know that I can’t discuss those things with him until I stop and listen to him.

I’ve also discovered that two decades of pronounced judgment have built expectations that I’m having trouble overcoming. I expect the conversation to go badly. I expect him to treat me with disdain. And, honestly, if I enter that time with him with those expectations, all will be as terrible as I have forecast.

So over the next few days, I’ll take my own medicine as a doctor of dispute.

In this Day One, I will begin to pray for his well-being and for a dose of humility for me.