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The Flammarion engraving depicts the cosmology of the Bible. The earth is flat. The sun, moon and stars are affixed to a crystalline dome, which turns, dragging the heavenly bodies with it. Beyond the dome is heaven, the abode of God.

In an everyday sense, I think this cosmology makes sense. The sky does look like a dome, with lights moving across it. I can imagine God living above the dome, the earth like a womb within his infinity. It’s a comforting model of the universe, but it’s not true. There’s so much more.

For two thousand years of Christian history, the Bible was the basis of Christian life. If you were a faithful and enlightened Christian, you read and studied the Bible. This is still the case.

I know and love the Bible. Its teachings form the foundation of my moral and spiritual life. Its stories fire my imagination, and its poetry informs my own. But the Bible was never meant to be read alone. God gave us a second book to read. It’s name is Creation, and Creation is written in the changing language of science. To understand God’s second book, we need to take a journey.

In Vacation Bible School, we did an experiment once where we proved that two pieces of paper could hold up the weight of several hymnals. For those of you who don’t know, Vacation Bible School is a weeklong event for school age children to play games, eat kid friendly food and learn about the Bible. It’s a tradition that parents love, because it gives them some time off, and it’s usually very inexpensive.

I always volunteered to run the Science Station, where we used various experiments to illustrate spiritual ideas. We used invisible paints that lit up under ultraviolet light, to illustrate hidden sins. We used exploding volcanoes that used baking soda and industrial strength hydrogen peroxide to illustrate…something. And then we had the experiment with paper.

One thing you learn as a demonstrator of science experiments is to run the experiment well ahead of time, and preferably more than once. So the night before the demonstration, I took two pieces of plain white paper, rolled them into tubes, and taped them so they wouldn’t unroll. If you rolled them just right, they would stand up straight on the table. Then you put a book on them. And behold, the tubes would hold its weight.

The next day I had my supplies out. My paper, tape and hymnals. The kids swarmed around the Science Stations yelling, “What are we doing today, Pastor?”

“Well,” I said. “Today we’re going to hold up hymnals with pieces of paper.”

“No way!” the children said, almost in unison.

“Go ahead and try.” And then the children went to work folding the paper in various shapes, usually wedges, that immediately collapsed under the weight of the hymnals. Finally, after several attempts, I would roll the paper into tubes and ask the kids for help in testing the apparatus.

The kids loved this part. First one book.

“Wow!”

And then another.

“Wow!”

Then a third. Their amazement only increased. I believe we actually managed to stack four hymnals before the tubes collapsed.

What was the point of this demonstration? To show the kids that weak things can be strong, if they’re put in the proper shape.

The Apostle Paul once approached the Lord about an infirmity that he wanted the Lord to heal. God refused, telling him, “My grace is sufficient for you. For my power is shown forth in weakness.” And then Paul wrote, “For when I am weak, then I am strong.”

Even the weakest person can show strength, if they find their strength in God. Just as paper can be strong, if it’s in the proper shape. You may not feel strong. You may feel as flimsy as a piece of paper. But if you let God form your life, you will find strength you never believed possible.

God is in the business of making weak things strong. That’s what I learned at Vacation Bible School.

— Nelsonia

In church we often here about how important faith is. The Bible says that without faith, we can’t please God. The Bible says we are saved by grace through faith. Jesus commended those who had faith in God, whether they were Jewish or Gentile.

Faith is important, but we won’t need it forever. And the same goes for hope. I know that probably sounds strange, but stay with me.

We don’t know much about heaven, but we do know that in heaven, we will see God clearly. He will no longer be hidden. Thus, there will be no need for faith. We know that in heaven there will be no death or suffering. Emotional pain will be gone. Thus, there will be no need for hope.

But there will always be a need for love. Love is fundamental to human experience. Every parent knows that loving our children is more important than almost anything else. To be loved, is to feel loved. And to feel loved, is to feel valuable. And to feel valuable, empowers us to contribute to life. And that is what we want for our children, and it all starts with love. (God’s love can do the same for those who don’t feel loved by their parents.)

We all need people who care deeply about our wellbeing and work for that. We all need the companionship of compassionate others who affirm us. We all need people who show us affection. That’s not going to change, even in heaven. Paul wrote about love in his letter to the Corinthians; he compares it to every other spiritual gift and concludes that love is superior to them all. “So faith, hope, love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.”

Faith can be challenging. Hope can be daunting. But love is always within our reach. It’s a good thing to practice, because we all need loving, and we’ll be doing it literally forever.

— Nelsonia

Do you want to be a slave to other people’s approval? Or a free person subject only to your own estimation?

You may extend the sphere of your affections, or contract it, according to the needs of the moment, and in response to the intentions of the people before you. This is in your power, and according to your choice. You set the boundary of your love, and open – and sometimes close – the doors that allow it to interact with other people. Be wise and choose powerfully, asserting both your right to self-protection and liberty to risk connection with another person.

— Nelsonia

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Marcus Aurelius was an ancient Roman emperor who kept a journal of thoughts to himself, entitled Meditations. This is one of the few books I inherited from my late father.

I have a confession to make. The sin I’m going to confess is different from the ones I preached about from the pulpit. It’s not an infraction against the Ten Commandments or the Sermon on the Mount. The news won’t travel in gossip circles. But it’s a fault, nevertheless – because it goes to ingratitude, which is a sin.

I’m guilty of not appreciating the people of Green Bay, Wisconsin.

The people here are helpful, like my upstairs neighbor who spent two hours helping me put a new battery in our van when it was twenty degree below zero, or the former parishioner who showed me how to change the oil in my lawnmower, and gave us a half cord of wood for our fireplace.

The people here work hard to make the world a better place, like the two couples at my old church who organize major mission trips every other year to places like Orange, Texas to rebuild houses after hurricanes.

The people here create ministries like St. John’s Homeless Shelter, the Micah Center, and the Ecumenical Partnership for Housing to address the problem of homelessness in our community.

And – this is not a minor thing – the people here hail from a football team, the Green Bay Packers, with the most congenial and well-behaved fans in the National Football League.

There is something about the Fox Valley that nurtures high quality people. Maybe it’s the spiritual energy of the Fox River or Lake Michigan. Maybe it’s the farms, which provide a vital sustenance that sustains hard work, creativity, and compassion. Maybe it’s Providence. But whatever the cause, the people here are salt of the earth.

And I haven’t appreciated them. That’s my confession.

Our family moves a lot. I’m a Methodist minister, and moving to serve churches is part of the deal. It’s called “itinerancy.” You can refuse, but if you do, it’s a hit to your career. So most of us move, and that means we don’t have deep roots. We get to know the people, the tendrils of familiarity begin to take hold, and then the Bishop calls and we move to a new place and begin again.

But something good happened last year. I lost my church. I know that doesn’t sound good. Losing my position as a parish pastor was a traumatic experience, but it had a welcome side effect. We didn’t have to move. And so we could decide to stay, and did – mostly for the kids, but also for us, because moves are always hard. And that has given me time to reflect.

I’m someone who tends to live in the future. It’s part of being creative – envisioning things that have never existed before. But with that comes a blind spot – not appreciating what already exists: my family and friends, my accomplishments, and where I live right now – in Green Bay.

Green Bay is where my children are thriving in their schools. This is where I had my most successful parish ministry. This is where I became a hospital chaplain, a ministry where I get to help suffering people every day. And where my dream of becoming a professional author is becoming a reality. All made possible and nurtured by the people of this area.

I’ve lived in Madison, Beaver Dam, Sun Prairie, Oconomowoc, Eau Claire, Chicago – even Sweden. These places have their charms, and people who are good in unique ways. But it’s the people of Green Bay who are sustaining my present and nurturing my future. It’s freeing to appreciate that.

And that’s my redemption: to be grateful for this place, and these people, right now.

— Nelsonia

I’ve started a new spiritual practice. Each week I designate Tuesday as “Recovery Day.” This focuses my mind on the fact that I am a problem drinker – a medical condition.

A long time ago the founders of Alcoholics Anonymous made a major breakthrough in the treatment of substance abuse disorders. They recognized that addiction is an illness, like any other – one that can be recovered from with proper treatment and, of course, lots of patience. In the hospital, one of my very few jokes that I share with patients is this: “There is a reason they call you patients.” It almost always elicits a chuckle, because anyone who has been seriously ill knows that you don’t get well quickly – or at least as quickly as we’d like.

I promised my Facebook friends I would give them an account on my “Recovery Day” today. I put that in quotes for a reason, because sometimes recovery feels more like a bad joke than anything you’d like to experience. Today was one of those days.

It began so well. Playing the piano for a half hour. Walking the dog in this beautiful sunny day. Then I hauled out the old Christmas tree from behind the garage and chopped the branches into kindling for our fire pit, and fashioned the trunk into what will, by this summer, be a formidable walking stick.

Then my day took a dive toward the tragic. Well, maybe that’s being needlessly melodramatic. Let’s call it ridiculous, instead.

I left a messy pile of spruce needles and dry yellow boughs on the patio, and went to dutifully pick up my children. Picking up the children was lovely. My eldest daughter was in a good mood. My youngest daughter and I had a wonderful time figuring out how to retrieve a school slip that been blown to the back of the car by the wind. I don’t like air conditioning, and it’s getting warmer. I had the windows down, and the piece of paper took flight. “Daddy, could you open some more windows?” I did. And when we got the breeze just right, the school slip took fight and wafted its way into her hands, to her delight and many giggles.

This is how memories are made. Sometimes, though, the Universe is perverse and likes to laugh at our designs. When we got home, I learned that our landlord had inspected the outside of our rental property. It is reported that there was much sighing – a bad sign, I can assure you – and I know some of it was sighing over the pile of Christmas Tree trash lying in the patio. This could result in verbal reprimands, even threats of eviction.

I cleaned up my mess. I also may have sworn a little. I’m not sure. God knows.

But this is “Recovery Day”. Anger does not serve me. I knew just what to do. Go swimming! After dropping off my eldest daughter at gymnastics I went to my trunk and discovered that my gym bag did not contain a swim suit. But anger does not serve me. So what did I do?

I got more angry. There was only one thing to do. Get some caffeine. So I drove to Starbucks, ordered a venti English Breakfast tea, and made small talk with the drive thru staff. (By the way, always treat your Starbucks barista with care and courtesy. They are some of the finest people you will find in retail, they are paid very little, and they serve a world class product. Sermon over.) As I began to slurp down my tea, I realized I did in fact have some important recovery work to do today.

I’m a member of several recovery groups, and that’s important. People who are recovering from addictive behaviors have a saying, “We get sick alone. We get well together.” The best thing that happened to me in treatment was meeting other people struggling with addiction. The education was amazing, the lectures engaging, the food stellar, and the setting inspiring. But all that pales before the power of personal relationships. Yes, we need medical treatment. Yes, we often need counselors. But most of all, we need each other to get well. That’s really what recovery is all about. It’s about getting well together.

Today was no different, but sometimes “getting well” means “getting tough.” Today was one of those days. My recovery group confronted me on my anger. Anger is not a great emotion for people with addictions. We can’t stay there for very long without risking relapse. I learned from my fellow recovery people that anger is a secondary emotion. What’s primary is hurt, or fear of hurt. They challenged me to dig deeper, a challenge that has also come from my teachers in chaplaincy school. I did not make any progress today on that, but I did take advice. And this I have found crucial in recovery. It rarely works to play my own game when it comes to treating my addiction. The group has a wisdom that is far more powerful than any individual. I am wise to listen, and to try what is suggested.

What was suggested was, “Pick up the phone.” Vent. Get angry. Not on your spouse. Not on your kids. Call another recovering person. I have never tried that before. But tonight, I promised that I would.

Paul the Apostle once said this to a church that was struggling with anger: “Be angry but don’t sin. Don’t let the sun go down on your anger.” When I get the same advice from multiple independent sources, I know the Universe is up to something. Usually, it’s something good. So, thank you God. I’ll give that a try.

All was then at peace. Except, that would be a lie. Angst continued. And there is only one cure for that. Wandering at Walmart. (I have a separate post on that, so I’ll not repeat myself here, except to say, there’s nothing like some focused shopping to take the edge off uncomfortable emotions.) I bought some equipment I’ve long needed for brewing coffee that should save me enormous amounts of money by cutting back on trips to Starbucks, which I love, but let’s face it, you really can become poor by getting in the drive through lane too often there. I also bought a treat for myself – organic grape juice and organic blue corn chips, to go along with the homemade guacamole that I will be consuming as soon as this post is published.

Things got better after Walmart. I went to Starbucks – I know, the irony of it! – and had a nice talk with the store manager. Then I sat down with my cup of Zen tea and had a very nice talk with my brother about his upcoming concert. We closed down the store. And then, I knew just what to do. I knew just where to go to help myself the most.

I went home. I said hi to my spouse. I printed off the essay that my eldest daughter is writing so that she can get a scholarship for Art Camp. I took away my youngest daughter’s Fire tablet, after lovingly explaining that I would charge it for her. Then I sat down to write this post. To fulfill a promise I made to my Facebook friends, that I would update them on my Recovery Day. I have just 10 minutes more to make good on that promise. And I will. That’s what recovery is all about. Keeping promises we make to others, and ourselves.

Love and blessings to you all,

– Nelsonia

If you want to have happy birthdays
Follow your gifts and passions.

Gifts are what you do really well.
Passions are what really interests you.

Your gifts form a circle.
Your passions, a second one.

Where these circles overlap
You will find your Calling.

Your Calling is what God created you to do.
Follow God’s Calling.

Your Calling will help you engage with life.
Your Calling will lead you to work you love.

By living out your Calling
You will bless the world, honor yourself, and glorify the Creator.

Life may still be hard.
You may have many trials.

But if you follow your Calling,
You will walk the Earth with confidence and grace.

Then every birthday can be your happiest one –
For the rest of your life.

– Nelsonia

When someone learns I’m a pastor, three questions flash through their minds. I see the questions on their brow, the slightly skeptical furrow of apprehension. The questions are asked, whether I know it or not. And the answers are crucial to whether they will trust me.

These are the questions: Will you judge me? Will you try to change me? And will you listen to my story?

More than anything else, people are afraid of being judged. It might be a person with a large tattoo who’s chain smoking in front of me. Someone who quit Christianity because they wanted to pursue a dance career (true story). Or a wealthy lady who is obviously high, strutting to the counter of the coffee shop where I study. “Are you OK with me?” they silently ask, as I regard them. “Do you think I’m a bad person?”

When I was in treatment, there was a young woman – I’ll call her Pam – who was there for marijuana addiction. Pam had long, curly red hair, and was tan from long hikes in the woods. She knew I was a pastor and always regarded me warily – and never spoke to me.

On the last day of treatment, we went around the room and Pam told each of us how we had impacted her recovery. When my turn came, Pam looked at me and said, “You surprised me. Until I met you I thought all pastors just wanted to convert me. But you didn’t. You listened.” With Pam, I got it right. I didn’t judge her or change her.

People don’t like to be changed (even when they need to, and know it). People want to be accepted. And to feel accepted, they need someone – anyone – to listen to their story.

One night, a pastor I know was working on his sermon at Caribou Coffee. A young man sat next to him, working on a laptop. The pastor felt a connection between them, so he struck up a conversation. He had been a member of his youth group years ago. The pastor didn’t remember the young man being upset. He didn’t hear him say anything worrisome. But years later he learned that their conversation had ended his suicidal thoughts that night.

Impacting someone’s life is more about listening than having answers. The pastor didn’t even know there was a problem, but his presence may have saved this young man’s life.

I’ve learned: I can’t do very much sometimes. I don’t know everything. But I can try to answer the three questions that every person asks. I try to answer them right, because I know that people will be listening. Hopefully, through my words and presence, I will say this:

No, I will not judge you. No, I won’t try to change you. And yes, I’m going to listen to your story.

— Nelsonia