What can be done for an old heart like mine ...
"My eyes are dry, my faith is old,
My heart is hard, my prayers are cold.
And I know how, I ought to be,
Alive to You, and dead to me.
So what can be done, for an old heart like mine?
Soften it up, with oil and wine.
The oil is You,
Your Spirit of love,
That old song by the great-granddaddy of Christian rock (and even praise and worship music) resonates with me these days.
I'm struggling with my prayer life ... and have been for some time now.
I know, I know: That's a terrible thing for a pastor to admit.
Still, it's the truth.
But something I've struggled with for even longer is the way in which events such as that of April 16 on the Virginia Tech campus roll over me.
Not long after I arrived at the newsroom that morning, I discovered that two people were shot to death on that campus. I cut the broadcast news on and thought, "Well, at least we'll have something for the front page if nothing else breaks."
It was a news story.
It wasn't that I had no regard for the lives of those two unknown people, but at that point in time it was a news event like any other.
I left The Daily Times Newsroom on Monday around 11:30 with the understanding that two people were dead on that campus. I stopped at this church, chatted with the School of Hope girls, grabbed some Wendy’s chili, brought it back to the Newsroom and as I passed the television outside of my office I caught the CNN headline of “22 dead.”
“Twenty-two dead?” I shouted in disbelief.
It was no longer a news event like any other, but one that demanded decisions: Make sure we have enough space in the paper to cover the story. Look for local angles. Discuss the play.
Before the day was over, the number had jumped again: 33 dead, including the shooter.
It’s all work.
On Tuesday, I drove to Bristol, Virginia, for a clergy session with the Bishop.
Many ministers from United Methodist Churches in Virginia were in attendance. One such pastor even drove a Virginia Tech bus and knew at least one of the students who was killed, Ryan “Stack” Clark, the RA who was among the first two killed that morning. Other pastors lifted up the names of students and staff members who were connected to the tragedy in some manner or fashion.
I was away from the newsroom and began to think of the Virginia Tech massacre as something other than news.
Believe me, folks, I know how this all sounds. But if I'm nothing else in this life, in this role as pastor/journalist, I'm truthful. Furthermore, this is something I have struggled with since coming to Christ in 1985.
The magnitude of the sorrow only hit home Wednesday morning when I saw a father of one of the fallen students talk about his daughter on NBC's "Today Show." It was then that I felt the grief.
This seems to be the pattern for me, more often than not. The event happens, I go into coverage mode, and then when all is said and done in the newspaper world, my own emotions might kick in.
I can think of a couple of exceptions, one of which was 9/11. I learned of the attack just after 9 a.m. that day, raced to the newsroom, went straight into coverage mode, and sometime around 11 a.m. I found myself unraveling in the sanctuary of Broadway United Methodist Church. At some point, I gained my composure and returned to the newsroom. About mid-afternoon I began to think of the need to open Pellissippi Church for a time of worship and prayer at lunch the following day.
Another exception involved the death of a toddler as the result of child abuse. The event occurred while I was working the desk at the old Knoxville Journal and my emotional response prevented me from editing the story. "I can write the headline," I said, "but I can not edit the story."
That was 20-odd years ago, and even then I struggled with hardness of heart. I don't think my heart has become more hardened in those 20-plus years, but I do think I have become more aware of how my occupation affects my spiritual life -- whether it be shifting hours that interrupt a disciplined time of prayer (I tend to pray on the run, when at times my spiritual life is in need of structured and contemplative prayer), or the business of news creating grief-interruptus, urging me to attend to coverage before spiritual business.
Oh, how I wish it would be the other way around: To feel the sorrow first, to grieve as the world grieves before worrying about the press start.
Oh God, what can be done with an old heart like mine?
Please soften it up, with oil and wine.
Grace and peace ...
My heart is hard, my prayers are cold.
And I know how, I ought to be,
Alive to You, and dead to me.
So what can be done, for an old heart like mine?
Soften it up, with oil and wine.
The oil is You,
Your Spirit of love,
Please wash me anew in the wine of Your blood."
-Keith Green
That old song by the great-granddaddy of Christian rock (and even praise and worship music) resonates with me these days.
I'm struggling with my prayer life ... and have been for some time now.
I know, I know: That's a terrible thing for a pastor to admit.
Still, it's the truth.
But something I've struggled with for even longer is the way in which events such as that of April 16 on the Virginia Tech campus roll over me.
Not long after I arrived at the newsroom that morning, I discovered that two people were shot to death on that campus. I cut the broadcast news on and thought, "Well, at least we'll have something for the front page if nothing else breaks."
It was a news story.
It wasn't that I had no regard for the lives of those two unknown people, but at that point in time it was a news event like any other.
I left The Daily Times Newsroom on Monday around 11:30 with the understanding that two people were dead on that campus. I stopped at this church, chatted with the School of Hope girls, grabbed some Wendy’s chili, brought it back to the Newsroom and as I passed the television outside of my office I caught the CNN headline of “22 dead.”
“Twenty-two dead?” I shouted in disbelief.
It was no longer a news event like any other, but one that demanded decisions: Make sure we have enough space in the paper to cover the story. Look for local angles. Discuss the play.
Before the day was over, the number had jumped again: 33 dead, including the shooter.
It’s all work.
On Tuesday, I drove to Bristol, Virginia, for a clergy session with the Bishop.
Many ministers from United Methodist Churches in Virginia were in attendance. One such pastor even drove a Virginia Tech bus and knew at least one of the students who was killed, Ryan “Stack” Clark, the RA who was among the first two killed that morning. Other pastors lifted up the names of students and staff members who were connected to the tragedy in some manner or fashion.
I was away from the newsroom and began to think of the Virginia Tech massacre as something other than news.
Believe me, folks, I know how this all sounds. But if I'm nothing else in this life, in this role as pastor/journalist, I'm truthful. Furthermore, this is something I have struggled with since coming to Christ in 1985.
The magnitude of the sorrow only hit home Wednesday morning when I saw a father of one of the fallen students talk about his daughter on NBC's "Today Show." It was then that I felt the grief.
This seems to be the pattern for me, more often than not. The event happens, I go into coverage mode, and then when all is said and done in the newspaper world, my own emotions might kick in.
I can think of a couple of exceptions, one of which was 9/11. I learned of the attack just after 9 a.m. that day, raced to the newsroom, went straight into coverage mode, and sometime around 11 a.m. I found myself unraveling in the sanctuary of Broadway United Methodist Church. At some point, I gained my composure and returned to the newsroom. About mid-afternoon I began to think of the need to open Pellissippi Church for a time of worship and prayer at lunch the following day.
Another exception involved the death of a toddler as the result of child abuse. The event occurred while I was working the desk at the old Knoxville Journal and my emotional response prevented me from editing the story. "I can write the headline," I said, "but I can not edit the story."
That was 20-odd years ago, and even then I struggled with hardness of heart. I don't think my heart has become more hardened in those 20-plus years, but I do think I have become more aware of how my occupation affects my spiritual life -- whether it be shifting hours that interrupt a disciplined time of prayer (I tend to pray on the run, when at times my spiritual life is in need of structured and contemplative prayer), or the business of news creating grief-interruptus, urging me to attend to coverage before spiritual business.
Oh, how I wish it would be the other way around: To feel the sorrow first, to grieve as the world grieves before worrying about the press start.
Oh God, what can be done with an old heart like mine?
Please soften it up, with oil and wine.
Grace and peace ...
posted by Pastor Buzz at 12:07 AM
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