Down to the Hard Work of Reconciliation – Part 4

There is great responsibility to being a follower of Jesus Christ – the responsibility of binding

and loosing, the responsibility of heaven itself.  Yet this responsibility comes with an accompanying promise: the very presence of Christ himself.

In one of the most evocative verses on what it means to be church, Jesus tells his followers that when even a very few – as few as two or three – are gathered in his name, there he is among us.

Jesus has just been speaking of gathering in the cause of restoration where there has been sin and now he speaks of being there with ‘them’ – even with the one doing the breaking . . . as in my body broken – for you . . .

Now we are come full circle to the beginning – at the start of Matthew 18, the disciples are quibbling about who will be the greatest in the coming kingdom of heaven.

Jesus replies that the change that must happen is to become as children and admonishes his followers not to put a stumbling block before another – and perhaps this has been his point all along – after all, Jesus is speaking to his disciples – to the ones he entrusts to carry his gospel message to all the world.

It’s a big job, being a disciple.  It is crucial that they, that we, get it right.  Jesus makes clear what it is not about:

It is not about getting the first prize blue ribbon in some sort of race and if they/we insist on thinking of it that way, they/we would do better to try for last place rather than first.

It is not about being recognized for one’s power and dignity of office – it’s more like being a little kid with nothing to offer.

It is not about setting up gates and entrance exams and tests and setting bars higher and higher to get in.

It is not about setting ourselves as the example unless we are prepared to be the perfect example.  It is about pointing always and only to Jesus, who actually is – the perfect example.  

It is not about valuing station, position, or wealth.  It is about seeking the lost.  Always.

Maybe Jesus was speaking about as well as to the weak ones standing right in front of him, full-blown sinners themselves.  Maybe he was reminding them that their squabbles about who gets in first are just nonsense – harmful nonsense.  Maybe he was telling them that they had to first work this out among themselves before they had anything of value to bring to the world.

Maybe he was reminding them that their journey – our journey – is one of humility, where they, where we, must always be prepared, no matter how old, how advanced, how knowledgeable in bible studies, how closely aligned to Jesus himself, they, we must always be more prepared to be corrected than to correct . . . to be chastised as to chastise . . . to be put right as to put right.

Maybe he was teaching them that correction is a gentle thing that takes great care of the one being offered the correction.

Maybe he was suggesting that when sin and sinners and sinning come up, the one in the room I must first be concerned with is myself.

Maybe he was suggesting that if a sinner be ejected, we’d better leave too. 

Maybe he was suggesting that if a penalty needs to be paid, I should be willing to pay it for you, because we are family and brothers and sisters always take up for each other.

Maybe Jesus was suggesting that unity looks like family – sloppy, messy, mistake-making, feeling-hurting, wrestling-til-we-get-it-right family.

Maybe Jesus wants us to come to those who have done wrong as Christ comes to us – in humility rather than in judgment . . . in great desire for their good rather than for our right . . . in the willingness to take on the burden of their sins as our own that they might be reclaimed.  

Maybe.

Small Enough for You

Churches that struggle do so because they lack, identity, mission, vision, community, and more. – Rob Rynders

It is the day of my ordination.  I have preached my sermonette, been questioned on the floor of Presbytery, and now stand with a group of other folk being ordained.  There are about 12 of us – all headed to serve in small, largely rural, churches.

The gentleman welcoming us, means, I am sure, well, when he says, “When I’m wrong, I’m wrong.  I said no one of any quality would want to serve in a small church.  But look at all these quality folk.”  Or something like that.

I remember being appalled as I searched out the faces of the folks from my own small rural church who had come to support me and witness this important milestone in my life and saw the woundedness in their expressions.

In seeking to compliment us, the class of new pastors, the congregations we serve were gravely insulted, told in front of God and everybody that they lacked any qualities that would appeal to any pastor worth their proverbial salt.

Nothing has changed much in the intervening eight years and I am left to wonder whether this is a phenomena of the United States or if it’s a world-wide thing – this eschewing of ‘small’ as ‘bad’ or ‘unworthy’ or ‘broken’ or anything except what it actually is: small?  What is this obsessive need to supersize everything in our lives?

Thus do I read yet another blog post on how we’re doing it wrong, as evidenced by our smallness: lacking in identity, mission, vision, community and more.  And more?  Really?  Small is per se evidence of lack, is it?  Hmmm.

Well, of course, small must be bad.  After all, everyone* says so.  Google “the problem with small churches” and you get 355 million hits in less than 6 seconds.  And we all know that if Google says it, it must be true, eh?

Or do we?

Rob Rynders may be right – at least partially.  I’m sure there are churches who struggle because of confusion or lack of clarity as to who they are or what they are about.

But does it occur, ever, to the many hypothesizers out there that struggle is actually a part of all life?  Including church life?  That struggle + difficulty + challenge is simply the landscape we inhabit both as humans and as children of God (if there is any distinction to be made there, which I doubt)?

The principal struggle I experience in serving a small church is actually financial, which I am told over and over again biblically is the least of my worries.

Most Christians I know actually have a pretty clear sense of their identity – individually and as members of a faith community (yeah, that’s church).  And they understand their and our mission here on this earth – love and serve.  Most days, they do it pretty well, if quietly.  And strangers don’t remain strangers for long in a small church – there’s just nowhere to hide.

When I get discouraged, thinking we should somehow be ‘bigger’ (whatever that may mean) than we are, I remember that small is actually a part of our identity, of who we are.  We live in a place where big in terms of numbers of people is simply not part of the landscape.  The people who live here actually prefer to avoid crowds.  In fact, one gentleman told me that he did not attend church because there were just too many people there.  He was delighted when I told him that I had the perfect worshiping community for him and he’s been faithfully attending ever since.

It’s easy to tell folks how they’re getting it wrong.  I wonder why that is?  And I am left wondering whether the diagnosticians among and within us ever find a patient who’s doing just fine?  Or one who could use a little help who actually gets the help rather than a reminder of just how very sick she is?

Small churches can mostly see just fine.  And they too are about their Father’s business.  It would be nice if money worries weren’t part of the equation, but that’s okay – that just puts us closer to our neighbors who are going through the exact same struggle.

There are folk – maybe even most folk –  who need to be drug or enticed to church.  There are churches for them.  And then there are those who need to find their own way here.  We’re the church for those folk.

Most days, I’m Presbyterian enough to believe that when folk need to be here, they’ll find their way.  And we’ll be here waiting to welcome them – the same neighbors and friends they and we have known all along, small enough you won’t get lost in the crowd.



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*Well, everyone except the Bible and Jesus – yeah – that guy:   “For where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.”  (Matthew 18.20).  And just how many original disciples cum apostles were there?  Oh, that’s right – 12.  

The Church as God’s Icon: Blessed Trinity

In the Orthodox tradition, the church is the icon – the visual sign and symbol – of the Trinity.*  Unity is

the point: from many, one.  We – the church – are the incarnation of the Trinity in the present tense.  Us.  Thus can we not be separate or separated, for the Trinity is not a unity of decision or will; rather, the Trinity is a unity of identity – unity is an integral part of who God is.  And because it is a unity of who God is, it is a unity of who we are.

Consider the Trinity: we understand God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit to be One, united in all respects.

Polytheistic beings (such as the gods of Greece and Rome) can and do disagree and have conflicts with each other.  Not so God – God as one, Father, Son and Holy Spirit, a perfect unity, does not conflict, does not disagree.  Reform theologian Karl Barth said it this way:  “The Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit are not names for different parts of God, but one name for God.”

And by extension, we the church are as God the Trinity: many and one at once.  Recall Jesus’ prayer in John 17.22 – “that they may be one as we are one”.  Who are the “they” of Jesus’ prayer?  We are.

As God’s icon or sign of God’s own Trinity-self, we are:

1. Invited into peace with God – invited by Jesus, who gives us in the form of his very self, an introduction letter to God.  Paul makes it clear that justification by faith is not so much a doctrine to be understood as the gift of wholeness to be received.  Peace with God is a grace, a gift, we receive, not a prize we earn.  Peace with God by the grace of God is the only solid ground, the only standing place, we have.

2. A looking forward people, looking into the very glory of God’s own self.  Looking back – back to who or what we were before only freezes us in time and turns us into useless pillars of salt.  We are to be, because we are, a forward looking people – looking forward and leaning into God’s own glory, which like the pillar of fire and column of smoke that led the Hebrew people out of Egypt and into the promised land, leads us into God’s own self, which is our promised land.

3. We are a poured forth people – just as Woman Wisdom, God’s Holy Spirit, was poured forth from before the beginning of time, through that same Spirit, God’s love is poured forth into our hearts that we may be daily poured forth into the world.

So church is the icon, the symbol, the sign, of God as Trinity – we many together as One are the sign to the world of the one-ness of the Loving God.  We’re the peace sign to a world at war with itself.  We’re the grace note to a world of discord.  We’re the solid ground, the standing place in a world off kilter.  We’re the glory of God shining into the darkness.  We’re the patient ones in the face of suffering, showing that there is nothing to fear.  We are the love of God poured forth into the heart of a world stretched beyond its patience, near if not beyond its own breaking point.  We are the heart of God laid bare to the world.

That, friends, is who we are. . . blessed Trinity.


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See The Church - an Icon of the Holy Trinity

But It Doesn’t Work For Me: 10 Ways to Make Sure New Folks Feel Unwelcome at Your Church

We in the church are often older than the average population.  Many of us have been coming to church since we were infants.  And we know how things ought to be.  Just ask us.  But here’s the thing we forget: the people before us made way for us, as evidenced by the fact that we’re still here.  If they hadn’t, we wouldn’t be here.  It really is that simple.  So too must we make way for those to come after.  Or they will not come.

So – you say you want young folk.  And they aren’t here.  And you wonder why.

This list is not intended to say that we never get it right.  We know when we get it right.  It’s obvious.  What is not obvious is when we get it wrong.  Hence this list.

1. Insist that things remain as they have always been.  This was
the error of the Roman Catholic church at the time of the Reformation – to insist that nothing change is to lose those for whom change is essential to their participation. . . it is to fail to recognize that the new voice may just be the voice of God come with a new or renewing message to the faithful . . . Jesus did not come as a statue at a frozen moment in time . . . he came as a living, breathing, change-bringing human being . . .

2. Resent the change new folks bring with them.  The fact is that whenever a new person walks in, things change – literally, the identity of the group is changed whenever a single part of that group is changed . . . so with the loss of some and the addition of others.  Change thus understood, is inevitable.  Sensing this do many resent rather than embrace new folk, understanding the change their very presence brings as a threat rather than an opportunity.

3. Complain . . . a lot . . . insist that words to the hymns never be changed (treat the hymns as if they’re scripture) . . . voice your confusion when familiar tunes are put with different words (refusing to learn – learning, studies show, is actually promoted by changing things up a bit) . . . treat your customary seat as if it has your name engraved upon it . . . frown whenever someone new missteps on your (unknown to them) sacred cow of how things are “supposed to be” . . . snarl when young children fuss, or better, tell young parents how your children never acted that way in church . . . bitch and kvetch instead of offering solutions to new things being tried (such as recorded music because you can’t understand the words – rather than suggesting we might include the lyrics to help those who don’t hear so well anymore) . . . Whine about missing the choir, refusing to see that there aren’t enough voices to sustain a regular choir anymore and that this preacher is not a musician.  And absolutely do not volunteer to organize one yourself.

4. Blame others for your own changing limitations.  You don’t hear as well as you used to.  Standing and sitting are not easily done.  Sometimes you may find yourself more irritable, especially in those pews, which are not user-friendly to your aging body.  When that happens, be sure to blame your discomfort or limitation on the preacher (why does she make us stand so often?  Why doesn’t she leave the words to the songs alone?  Why is the sermon so long?), the new folks with kids (I can’t hear what’s being said over that child), the bulletin (squinting at the regular-sized order rather than taking one of the large-print ones lest someone know you can’t see as well as you once did and think you weak, less than), and so forth.

5. Refuse to learn anything new.  When a new song is introduced, refuse to sing it; refuse to even look at the words; revert to #3 and let the complaining begin.  When the preacher starts a blog, refuse to read it because you do not read blogs (declared as if you were announcing that you, a vegetarian, do not eat meat or you, a law-abider, do not break into other people’s homes).  When a new service is introduced, never attend, because it’s not your cup of tea.

6. Misremember your own past.  You were change to another generation at one time in your life.  Refuse to remember that.  Refuse to recall how others before you made space for you and your ideas and new ways.  Or how it made you feel when they didn’t.

7. Insist that church is your house (my house, my rules).  Actually, church is God’s house and we are all the guests.  The rules are God’s too.  Pews are not bible-mandated (read it – if we wanted to be biblical and literal about it, Sunday would have me as the preacher sitting rather than standing and the rest of you sitting on the floor or standing around me as I taught).  Participation and ownership are not the same thing.  One is inclusive; the other is not.  Isn’t it time at this point in your life that you understood that?

8. Insist that children are interruptions, better seen than heard.  Here’s the test to know if this is you: when an old folk makes a remark from the pew during the sermon, do you laugh?  (We do at my church).  Or do you complain that she should be quiet?  Of course you don’t.  Well, if she is able to ‘participate’ from the pew, why cannot the babies and little ones?  Jesus reserved a special anger for those who would keep the children away (presumably being the ‘distractions’ that they often are).  If it displeased Jesus, why would we think it would be all right for us to do it?  More importantly, why would we think the only message we’re to get on Sunday would come from the front?  (And remember, I’m the preacher in these scenarios).  Why would we not understand that maybe, just maybe, the ‘interruption’ was the real reason we were there?  That the child had something of God to teach us?

9. Insist that one’s apparel is the measure of one’s dedication to God  The testimony of a man I heard years ago at my home church makes the point better than I ever could: John (I can’t remember his name, so we’ll call him John) had a great epiphany when young, making his own profession of faith in a family member’s home just after he had sat in his van on their lawn with beer and joint in hand.  A brand-new Christian, he decided to come to church the next day.  Still having what he called a rebellious spirit, he came wearing his dirtiest clothes and no shoes.  He mentioned the clothes and one of the elders of the church shouted out to remind him that he was barefoot too (yes, people noticed).  Laughingly, he said, “you’re right – I’d forgotten that.”  Then he went on to say how everyone in that church made him feel welcome and made no comment on his appearance and how much difference that made – their loving him (or if you prefer, loving him anyway) – to his walk.  Some folks don’t have anything but work clothes.  Some are simply indifferent to their physical appearance.  Some are wearing their Sunday best and it just happens not to be quite as good (in our eyes) as our Sunday best.    And some are testing us, to see if we really live what we proclaim.  The whole idea of dressing up for church probably stems from rituals of purity (such as washing one’s hands or feet) before entering the house of the Lord.  But Christians have, by and large, not retained such rituals, understanding Jesus the Christ and his death on the cross to have achieved for us our ‘cleanliness’ before God.  So if it’s veneration for The Holy One you want, you might be better off to put a washing sink outside the sanctuary than to insist that men wear ties and women wear hats.

10. Always insist that worship is about you.  Forget that you have already had a lifetime of wonderful worship experiences.  Overlook that you have the skills to experience worship walking down the street.  In other words, refuse to make way for worship geared to those less sure in the faith than you.  Don’t participate in that worship.  Do not lend your support to it.  Make it always and only be about you and your needs, wants, desires.  Do not share.  Henri Nouwen, in his book The Return of the Prodigal Son, challenges us older Christians to remember that the parable has three main characters and that we are not to remain prodigals or older brothers, but rather are called out by God to become the father in the story (that’s right – we are to move towards taking on the role of God) – to become the one who runs out in greeting, the one who kills the fatted calf and celebrates the long-awaited return, the one who explains to the resentful older brother why it should be thus.  It is an important reminder: we begin our journey as prodigals or older brothers or even sometimes as both.  But we are not to remain there.  As we progress in our walk, we are called out to become the very face of God to all the other prodigals and older brothers, to understand that it isn’t all about us and live out that redemptive love and in so doing, change a world.  Or not.

If I Needed a Doctor, I Wouldn't Call You

Years ago, a well-meaning family member almost shouted at me to “do something” about another dysfunctional family member who was acting out at the time.  Let’s just take it as a given that I was the one who ‘should’ do something.  The totally frustrating, even angering, thing for me was the vast universe of presuppositions contained in that single statement.

What I said back at the time was, “what, exactly, is it that you propose that I do?”

The well-meaning family member’s response was silence and my retort a snort.

That’s pretty much how I feel about all the advice out there in ether-land about how church is being done so very, very wrong, especially by the wee tiny ones.

Everybody is pretty quick to diagnose the many (as they see it) problems.  But they’re pretty darned short on sound, concrete advice about what to do different, better.

So to all the advice-givers, I have some advice for you:

1. Stop presupposing you know what the problem is and that we don’t.

2. Stop presupposing that we’ve been busy lo these many decades doing nothing until you came along.

3. Never write another diagnosis piece without offering the cure.  Without a proposed cure, you are a waste of my time.

4. Be specific.  “Be nicer” is about as helpful as . . . well, my mother reads this, so I won’t say how helpful it isn’t, but I hope you take my point.

5. Strive for a bit more compassion.  Use those pastoral skills you were taught.

6. Think about context.  For example: I live in a remote rural county with a total population of roughly 2,400 people and declining.  The average age has to be about 60.  The folks who move here (largely in retirement) have self-selected to live in a remote geographic area.  They think and act individually rather than in a community fashion on many issues.  There are quite a few people of faith who eschew church entirely, worshiping alone at home not because church has failed them but because that’s the kind of people they are.  In the eight years I’ve been here as pastor, roughly 40 new folks have come to and through this church.  In other words, for every new person, we lose another at the rate of almost 100%.  How do you ‘gain’ ground in numbers when it’s an ageing population, which means your members will (a) die; (b) move in with the kids; ( c) go into assisted living; or (d) simply stop attending because of difficulties in hearing or embarrassment about things like incontinence in pretty short and fairly predictable order?  People literally have joined this church to die or be buried here.  Over 50% of our attendance is by people who will never join the church.  What exactly do you propose I do to increase membership when we die about as quickly as we join?  What should I do to boost the pool of leadership material when it’s leadership that many seek to avoid?

So, I ask you what I was asking the well-meaning family member those many years ago: What, exactly, is it that you propose that I do?  What should I do that I have not already done?  Really, tell me, because I’m fresh out of ideas.  So tell me and I’ll do it.  Otherwise, it’s probably best that you say nothing at all.

I’ll get specific since I’ve asked you to.  Carey Neuwhof recently posted in his blog a piece entitled, 5 Signs Your Church Culture Needs to Change.

#1?  Stop judging people.  Really?  (I realize I am overusing the word.  If you’ve a better one, I’m open to suggestions.)  Other than the simple observation that judging others is bad and Christians should stop it because Jesus doesn’t like it (which we’d all pretty much take as a given), exactly how do you propose that I as pastor help and assist my congregation to amend or change judging behavior, assuming that’s a problem in this particular location?  Most folk that I know of the Christian stripe do not think they’re judgmental even when they are.  Some honestly believe they’re offering care when they offer criticism.  And perhaps they are.  Wouldn’t it be more helpful, Carey, to pause for a moment to define what judgment is, what it looks like and some simple steps on how to overcome that tendency within ourselves individually and as a group?

#2 Handle conflict better.  I have the same response as to #1 – really?  How?  Churches embroiled in conflict know that they’re embroiled in conflict.  Telling them to stop it is silly.  Pointing out that it’s harmful is actually, I would posit, an increase in the harm.  The I’m not worthy mantra is well-played in churches.  What perhaps isn’t is the news that change is not only possible, but easier than we think.  A few well-placed suggestions on how to settle conflict in a healthy way is much more meaningful than the declarative statement to cut it out.  I’d be curious to know what’s worked for you, Carey, in your past dealings with unhealthy conflict.

Perhaps I am simply pointing out the obvious limits to the blog post as a source of important learning.  Blogs tend to be more headlines than detailed analysis.  In fact, Carey has written books about various subjects dealing with church change.  I probably do him an injustice by picking on this particular blog, which stands as one small piece of an entire body of work.

But please, fellow advice-offering ministers, believe me when I tell you: congregants in small churches, if mine is an example, have taken on very well the diagnosis that there must be something wrong with them (otherwise they wouldn’t be so small, now, would they?) and have heard precious little of the good-news gospel about themselves from the larger world.

So to my fellow pastors of small (particularly rural) churches, I would offer a different voice, the Spirit’s voice of encouragement:

1. Maybe there are things that are wrong with your church.  Work on them.  But do not let those things let you lose sight of the things that are right.  The faithful who have been there since they were born need our love, encouragement and support as much as the potential seeker walking by on a Sunday morning.

2. Maybe you’re dying.  Maybe you’re just holding steady.  And maybe holding steady is what God has pronounced good in your particular neck of the woods.

3. Never doubt the difference you make.  A whole world can tell you how you got it wrong.  But don’t forget how you got it right.  Those congregants who wear you down are busy calling folks . . . taking casseroles and crock pots to those in need . . . lovingly maintaining a building as if it were their home, because it is . . . checking in on their more feeble neighbors even when they themselves are feeble . . . bringing food for the food bank from their own cupboards . . . straightening your stole when it’s skewed because you represent them . . . crying as they face you with the offering plate as they’re moved to tears they’d hate the world to see . . . avoiding you out of shame when they’ve behaved badly . . . calling you in desperation when they haven’t been to church in years . . . those people make a difference and so do you.

Would the World Be Better if You Came to My Church?

Would the World Be Better if You Came to My Church?

I don’t know.

Do I want you to come to my church for you or for me?  Truth be told, it’s both, and I’m thinking that’s okay.

I want you here for me because in order to be church, there needs to be people.  It’s really that simple.  When it comes to church, more isn’t always better, but some is always good.  And these days, we’re kind of short on some at my church, so we need you.

But our need of you doesn’t necessarily coincide with your need of us.

But sometimes it does.

I want you to come for me, but I also want you to come for you.

Why?

I suppose it’s another pretty simple reason: I love church and it’s been good to and for me and I want to share that with you.

It’s not magic and it sure ain’t Candyland.  But there’s enough good here to want to share.

I hope you’ll come.

9 Misconceptions Non-Believers Seem to Have About Christians

1. Only stupid people believe in God.  Yes, there are people of not much intelligence who believe in God.  And there are people of stellar intellectual brilliance who do not.  But there are bright people who do believe in God and not-so-bright people who don’t.  It’s not about intelligence, so get down off your high horse.  Need some examples?  C. S. Lewis.  J. R. R. Tolkein (you know you love his books).  James Polkinghorne (physicist).  Jesus (pretty significant philosopher and teacher in his day).  Immanuel Kant.  Galileo.  Pascal.  Descartes.  Newton.  Francis Collins (genome project).  Martin Luther King, Jr. All Christians, Muslims, Jews, Hindus, etc., etc., etc. 

2. Religion (particularly Christianity) is responsible for the ills of the world.  Really?  And I thought you were bright.  It’s never that simple, is it?  People manipulating others to their own ends and to great destruction happens through the agency of religion, yes.  But would you really assert that the religion is the cause (as opposed to the means)?  To so hold, you must actually believe that but for Christianity, Adolph Hitler would have been a nice guy or that there would have been no Holocaust.  And then, of course, you’re left to explain the holocausts visited on their peoples by Stalin and Mao (avowed believers in no religion or god).  The role of religion in doing harm should never be taken lightly.  But it’s a bit glib to simply blame religion as a way of understanding the ills of the world.  God or no God, we humans have proven very capable of all kinds of horror.

3. It doesn’t make any sense.  I’ll grant you that: faith doesn’t make much sense.  But you say that as if we (practitioners) don’t know that.  It may or may not be news to you, but Christianity’s founding documents (the New Testament) include statements to the effect that the claims about Jesus are nonsensical by the world’s standards  by one of its premier thinkers (and most prolific writers of the texts we have today): Paul calls the Christian’s claims about Jesus and the cross to be foolishness to those who do not believe it (1 Corinthians 1.18ff), inexplicable to the ways and wisdoms of the world (1 Corinthians 2.14); and says that if we’ve gotten it wrong, we are the most pitiable of all people (1 Corinthians 15.19).  

4. There is nothing good about it.  We might argue about ‘good’, but I’m going to take as a given that we probably agree on some things.  So consider: the next time you visit a hospital whose name contains the name of a church or synagogue or the name of a saint or person of faith, that hospital was begun by people of faith because of their faith – that is, because of their faith in God, the people who began that hospital were moved to provide care for the sick, especially those who were poor, when no one else was.  Do you think universal education is a good idea?  A fundamental right or privilege of living in a free society?  Thank a Christian.  Universal education was born out of the Reformation idea that all should be allowed free access to the holy text of their faith.  In order to do that, all had to be taught to read.  Universal education was brought about so you could read the Bible for yourself.  The Civil Rights Movement was born in the African-American churches of the day.  The movement and the way in which it was conducted were based on scripture.  Dr. King was a prophet preacher.  Every word he spoke he understood to be divinely given.  Every reference he makes that so stirs even today comes from his interpretation of the biblical texts he often quotes.  

5. Social justice happens in spite of and not because of the church  Seeking to change the world is one of the great contributions of the church to the world.  Missionary women (and yes, missionaries have much to answer for, but you already know that.  What you may not know) in China ended the practice of foot-binding and in India the practice of sati (the wife being thrown upon the fire at the death of the husband).  They brought hospitals and books and perhaps most of all, the idea that universal education is for girls as well as boys.  So when you’re standing at an Occupy protest or fighting for the Imolakee tomato pickers or marching against war, or donating to Amnesty International, look around – chances are a bunch of the people there alongside you or who got there before you are people of faith who are there because of their faith.

6. Christianity squelches creativity  Much of the great art of the western world is inspired by, thematic of, and paid for with the dollars of Christians.  Maybe that’s a mere accident of history.  Maybe it’s because the artists were grappling with big issues.  Maybe it was God-inspired.  But like it or not, there is no running from the great tradition of Christian art.  

7. Church makes everyone be just like everyone else  Church is an institution.  And it has all the problems and foibles of one.  They are not inconsequential.  But there is something in the very structure of that peculiar institution that breeds protestors and world changers too, even as it would attempt to squash them.  

8. Church is a tyranny  The structure of the Presbyterian church was the model for our form of government in the United States.  If we appreciate that model, we must appreciate from whence it came.

9. Church uses laws to force its ways on others   Sometimes.  And sometimes that’s a bad thing – a very bad thing.  But sometimes it isn’t.  Do you think child labor was a bad thing?  Thank a Christian that you don’t have to go to work at age 6.  Think prisons should be humane?  Thank a Quaker.  Think the Magna Carta (as a check on royal power) was a good thing?  Thank the Archbishop of Canterbury.  

It’s one thing to have examined the ‘evidence’ and made your own clear-eyed conclusion.  It’s quite another to engage in the very same small-mindedness non-believers so often accuse believers of having.  Ignorance is ignorance, regardless of its peculiar bent.  And many non-believers I encounter who carry bitterness, anger, or garden-variety resentment are speaking not out of a general belief that religious people are perpetuating a harmful myth so much as out of the effects of a negative encounter in their own personal journey.

Those negative encounters matter.  But here’s my problem with negative encounter being dispositive of the question of God or no God for anyone: I don’t know about you, but I’ve had at least my share of negative encounters with all kinds of folks: teachers, physicians, lawyers, journalists, and yes, even church folk.  But those encounters did not make me stop ‘believing’ in or seeking education, health care, justice, freedom of expression for everyone, or God.

So if you’re someone who’s had a negative encounter of the religious type, I am sorry – sorrier than I can put in words – that such happened to you.  I do not take such things lightly nor do I suggest that you should.

That a religious or spiritual journey was made unsafe for you is unconscionable.

But please, please, please remember that the person or persons you encountered in such a harmful way are not themselves God.  Nor are they representative of God.  They should not be allowed the final word when it comes to faith and things religious any more than the physician breaking his or her oath should have as to things medical.

For my own part, I will share, debate, wrestle, with you any time you care to, but I will not proselytize.  If I have anything of value to share when it comes to the life spiritual, you will know it by the fruits of my life.

In short, I will refrain from sentences that begin with “All atheists . . .”  Won’t you do the same for me?

If it weren't for the message of mercy and pity in Jesus' Sermon on the Mount, 

I wouldn't want to be a human being. I would just as soon be a rattlesnake.

                                                                        –Kurt Vonnegut, author and secular humanist

10 Ideas on Church Tweeting (tongue firmly in cheek)

I read Social Media: 40 things your ministry can do and for some reason (maybe it's obvious), I am amused.  Hence my own (very silly) list of 10 things a church can communicate in 140 characters or less:

1. Send emoticons to depict the ‘mood’ of the church at that moment – for those who keep track of such things and even for those who don’t.

2. Tweet who to vote for on American Idol (and all the other singing realities) based on scriptural analysis of the ‘best’ candidate.

3. Tweet a flash mob time and place for something really cool that turns out to be . . . well . . . a sermon.  It’ll only work once, but every preacher deserves to have an audience of thousands of young people at least once in her life . . . doesn’t she?

4. A popularity poll for the preacher – yeah, that’ll be great.

5. A contest for those actually in church that week, to see who can do the pithiest, most clever distillation of Sunday’s sermon (140 characters or less, of course).  For the brave, might even make that the church’s sign for the week – connecting various media is always a good thing.

6. (I don’t tweet with any regularity and then only from my computer, so I don’t know if this can be done, but if type size can be adjusted . . .) Weekly message from very tiny type, larger until it fills the screen . . . Jesus is coming!  (Going from whisper to shout with type size is always fun).

7. Preview Sunday’s sermon theme as if it were gossip using the looked-for abbreviations . . . “ICYMI” [in case you missed it . . .] “OH” [overheard], etc. – might look something like this: ICYMI I OH @ JC bout u!  Ck out Sundy my plc  (“In case you missed it, I overheard at Jesus’ web site [something] about you!  Check it out Sunday at my place.”

8. Just to see who’s paying attention, tweet a scripture that doesn’t exist – might actually get a conversation going.

9. And to drive everyone to distraction, tweet your entire sermon in twitter speak, one message after another – it’ll take a lot of time, but it might be fun.  And not to worry – tweet death messages are just symbols of words, so you should be okay.

10. And even for those (like me) who don’t believe in it, tweet like the rapture’s already here, just falling off in the middle of your message.

Remember: we of the larger social media world are bombarded daily with messages from friends and strangers and only a very few have the time, stamina and interest, to go the distance.  The rest of us tune out in defense against the sheer volume of it all.  So here is my serious recommendation for tweeting, fb’ing, etc., etc, etc.: Only say something if you really have something to say that someone else might actually want or need to hear.

Now there’s a thought.

Sermon Cliff Note: Brothers of Another Mother

Scripture:  Luke 1.68-79

Born so auspiciously . . . they both died so shamefully . . . one beheaded to satisfy the boredom and hurt pride of a licentious woman . . . another crucified as a talisman against the fears of an oppressed people that he would bring Rome’s unwanted attentions upon them . . . both died as the butt of the jokes of others . . . both, by their very existence, made others afraid . . . and in the meantime, they lived parallel lives of joy and despair . . . and urgency . . .

These were the pride of their family, cousins we could think of as brothers of another mother – two so intertwined in their lives and their destinies that where one left off, the other began.

One is the Son of the Most High . . . the other is His prophet . . .

Both spent their youth growing and becoming strong and wise . . .

One prepares the way for the other, who will be known as The Way . . .

Both were prophets, but to paraphrase Oscar Romero, a priest murdered for his witness against the injustices of the government where he lived, John was a “prophet of a future not his own.”

Among their ancestors, jealousy was the order of the day . . . from Cain and Abel . . . to Jacob and Esau . . . to Joseph and his brothers . . . relationship led to enslavement . . . and theft . . . and murder . . . yet for these brothers of other mothers, there would be none of that . . . from the first time they met, inside their mother’s bellies, they recognized the kindred and the call in the other . . . and the younger would walk in the path laid down for him by his older cousin . . . the path leading into his own kingship . . . and death. . .

It is a paradox where one follows the other by going first . . . first into the wilderness . . . first into the prophet’s journey . . . first into baptism . . . first into death itself . . . each and every step Jesus takes bears the footprints of John going ahead . . . preparing the way . . . the way laid out from before the very beginning of time itself . . .

Today we observe and celebrate that Christ, The Risen One, is our King . . . the king who comes to us an infant in a feed trough . . . The Resounding Yes to the proverbial parental question, were you born in a barn? . . . 

The King who is our brother of another mother too . . . bound in eternal kinship by our common Father . . . let us, like John, go and prepare His Way . . . in our own lives . . . in the life of the church . . . in the life of the world . . .

Would the World Be Better if You Came to My Church?

A little while ago, I wrote 12 Reasons Not to Come to My Church, a slightly tongue-in-cheek piece on all the trendy writing out there on how to get folks into the pews for we churchie-leading types.

I then took a moment to think about the real question -- even framing it was tricky.  Here's the best I could come up with:  would the world be better if you came to my church? (as opposed to some other church or even no church at all, I suppose).

The best answer I came up with?  I don't know.  

Do I want you to come to my church for you or for me?  Truth be told, it’s both, and I’m thinking that’s okay.

I want you here for me because in order to be church, there needs to be people.  It’s really that simple.  When it comes to church, more isn’t always better, but some is always good.  And these days, we’re kind of short on some at my church, so we need you.

But our need of you doesn’t necessarily coincide with your need of us.

But sometimes it does.

I want you to come for me, but I also want you to come for you.

Why?

I suppose it’s another pretty simple reason: I love church and it’s been good to and for me and I want to share that with you.

It’s not magic and it sure ain’t Candyland.  But there’s enough good here to want to share.

I hope you’ll come, or at least come by.


____________
*I know I left out the God part, but really, can't we take God as a given, just this once?  It is church we're talking about, after all.

An Unsolicited Job Reference for Arlene: What You Should Be Wanting in a Pastor

Seminary buddy Arlene shares on FB her journey in seeking a call with 7+ years of experience as a solo pastor under her belt.

Arlene reports some of the reasons she’s been given for not being called:  shoes, hair, laugh (not sure if was that I did or that it was too loud), age, my voice . . . 

Here’s what I know about all this insanity:

1. It’s easy (for me) to reduce this to sexism (I firmly believe it is that, but it is other things as well).

2. There’s a harsh irony that lives within me that ‘appreciates’ the honesty of these folks – would it be kinder or smarter to keep that nonsense to themselves?  I think so.

3. I am learning from Arlene’s experience: should I ever be in another job interview situation, I think I’ll just take it straight on with something like this: some of you may not like my hair – or my voice – or my style of dress – or my laugh – that’s okay – I don’t like yours either, yet here I am, still willing to be your pastor . . . or something like that – ‘just being honest’ (which is vastly different than truth telling) can be a reciprocal thing – how quickly we forget that.

4. Some of us are taking ourselves wayyyyyy to seriously if another’s laugh brings discomfit.

But I didn’t write this for them.  I write this for Arlene.  And here is what I would have you know about this dear friend, beloved by so many:

I met Arlene in the summer before our first ‘official’ semester in seminary.  We, and a whole host of others, were getting a head start by taking Greek in the summer semester.  Within a few hours spent in her company, I was astonished to observe the interactions of others with this woman I barely knew.

Strangers would, within a few minutes of sitting beside her, begin to unburden themselves uninvited on her – sharing their pain and sorrow, seeking solace in the gentling of her presence.

She’s that gal – the one you can tell anything to and know that somehow, you don’t know quite how – she will hear and understand.

I realized then that Arlene already was a pastor – all she needed was the paper to make it official.

I don’t remember her shoes, but her feet are walking feet – feet that go the extra mile simply to sit with a friend or even an enemy, in need.  And they’re feet that know how to jump and dance and live.

Her laugh is contagious, inviting everyone in on the joke.

I’m not sure what the hair thing is about – all I can draw from there is my own experience, by which I continue to be surprised at how invested congregants can be in how I choose to style my hair.  It’s a bit flattering and more than a little weird.  Even my mother doesn’t have that much to say about my appearance (and believe me when I tell you that she is not silent on the matter).

Arlene points out that the reasons that she’s been given have not included anything about her pastoral skills, her theology, her preaching (silly us: that’s what we thought it was all about).

I wish churches had the wisdom of 12-Step programs, which say something like this: although you may not like all of us, you will come to love us in a very special way, the same way that we already love you.

When it comes to church, I can truthfully say that I have seldom cared much about being liked; but I care very much about loving and being loved.

Isn’t that our business – loving?

Can’t we do better than this?

Consider how my sister in the faith concludes her own musings on the hurts she has sustained:  . . . all will be well, all will be well, all manner of things will be well (borrowing from Julian of Norwich).

That’s Arlene in a nutshell.

You may not have any idea of the life journey she’s had.

It isn’t necessary that you do.

But know this: whether you love her or not, she already loves you.

And by my reckoning, that makes her someone you would be damned lucky to have in your church.


_____________
*I asked Arlene for permission to publish this, as it is her story, her experience.  She agreed, hoping that someone might draw solace and healing and perhaps feel less alone in what can be a very painful journey in seeking a call.

How Would a 3rd Grader Get Folks to Church?

She’d draw them a picture of her church and the smiling people there and proudly give them her picture to hang on their refrigerator to remind them to come when it’s Sunday

She’d grab their hand and pull them along with her so they could go meet Jesus with her

She’d tell them about the parts that for her are like recess, like when there’s candy

She would promise to stay with them the whole time so they wouldn’t have to be afraid

She would offer to share her own favorite musical instrument she gets to play during hymn sing so they could play too

She would show them where the chalk is kept for drawing on the sidewalk and take them outside so they could draw with her

She would make them a card to invite them to come, like it’s a party

She would tell them that it’s okay to talk out loud or get up and go to the bathroom any time they want in her church

She’d tell them about praying and share a time when she prayed and she just knows Jesus heard her and helped her and would promise that Jesus would help them too

She’d offer to have her mom or dad give them a ride

I think she might be pretty wise, that 3rd grader, don’t you?

12 Reasons Not to Come to My Church

Churches these days, in the United States at least, seem to desperately seek out new members.  That makes sense spiritually as well as practically, for Christians are called to evangelize, that is, to spread the word of God’s love to the world.

And in the face of dwindling numbers, as a church professional (translation: I’m a preacher/pastor), my FB page is full of posts about how to attract more people into the church, how to go where the people not in church are, how to be ‘relevant’ to the unchurched, how to market one’s church, etc., etc., etc.

But every church is not for every person.  So if you’re thinking about or looking for a church community to call your own, be warned: this may not be the church for you.

My own list of 12 reasons why you might not want to come here:

1. We’re small. . . really small . . . tiny even.  And small ain’t for everyone.  Because here’s the thing about small: it really is up to you.  So if you want a church where you can plug in to what’s already going on, slide in and slide out with little fuss, well, we’re just not the church for you, for the fact is that if you’re coming to this tiny church, you will be called on.

2. As a corollary to #1, there is no anonymity here.  There’s nowhere to hide, to be invisible, in a church this size – there just isn’t.  You will be noticed.  You will be welcomed.  And hugged.  And while hospitality is a good thing, not everyone is comfortable with being noticed.  That’s okay.  We’re just not for you.

3. Another corollary to #1, if you’ve got a great idea but no time or energy or interest to implement it, this place is definitely not for you.  This pastor loves new ideas and most times, we’ll all jump in behind someone who’s got one – but, and it’s a big thing – really – if it’s your idea, it’ll be up to you to make it come true.  We’ll help you.  But if it’s yours, baby, you run with it or it won’t happen.

4. If you insist that the church you attend have a predictable ending time, you really need to go somewhere else.  You can stare at your watch all you want; you can even install a clock where the preacher just has to see it (trust me, it’s been done) – it will make no difference.  Services end when they end.  It’s not an all-day thing, but I’m told it can feel like it.  So if you need an hour a week and no more for your spiritual sustenance, you really need to be somewhere else.

5. If you don’t want to hear about money, or be asked to give of your money, go somewhere else.  Enough said.  (I can give you the longer version some other time, but chances are if this is a deal breaker for you, we won’t get that far in the conversation, will we?)

6. If it’s all about you and your needs, please do me the favor of going somewhere else.  I have neither the time nor the energy nor the ability to meet all the needs of all the people all the time.  And it’s not my job.  Nor is it church’s job.  So you’ll just end up disappointed and angry and who needs that?  You don’t and neither do I.

7. If you need things spiritual to be clear cut, with no room for differing views, this is definitely not the place for you.  Doctrine and dogma may have their place, but we’re a rag tag bunch of current and former Catholics, Baptists, Methodists, Lutherans, Unitarians, Reformed and Presbyterians, gathered under the Presbyterian umbrella.  And most of us are just way too old to want to arm wrestle ourselves into one worldview.  We’re pretty content, most days, to make room for each other.  We’ll make room for you too.  But none of us get to design the room alone, so it can end up looking pretty funny after awhile, with windows where there should be doors and vice versa.  If you need certainty, we are certain of a few things, but they are very few and everything else is up for discussion.

8. If you’re offended by laughter, you’d better just keep on driving when you get here.  We’re the kind of folks and I’m the kind of preacher, who like to laugh.  We celebrate communion sometimes with chocolate.  We come to the table joyous.  And we like it that way.

9. If a woman preacher is a problem, better keep moving.  Isn’t it obvious?

10. If you require entertainment, this place is not your place.  While I think I’m pretty witty, nobody is that entertaining week in and week out.  I know I’m not (and when I forget that, the folks here are quick to remind me).

11. If you’re just not that interested in things spiritual or consider yourself ‘spiritual but not religious’ - definitely give us a miss.  People come to church for all kinds of reasons.  No one here will judge your reasons.  But we are definitely about our Father’s business.  If that’s of no interest to you, there are civic clubs and groups and volunteer organizations that can better feed your desire to be of help to the world.  If you’re looking for friends, there are better places to find them.  We’ll do our best to make you feel welcome, but we won’t always get it right.  We’ll make room for you, but not always in the ways you would like.  And we are unapologetically religious as well as spiritual, spiritual as well as carnal.

12. If you think politics have no place in church or church in politics, you will not be happy here.  This is not a church that preaches on who you should vote for, but its preacher is definitely one who will challenge you to think about and enact your understanding of God as the Lord of all in the entirety of your life, which includes your life as a citizen.  So if it’s personal piety to the exclusion of public concerns that you seek, this is not the place for you.

If you’re someone living in the mountains of western Virginia and seeking out a church, I hope and trust you’ll consider McDowell Presbyterian Church and Headwaters Chapel.  We’re charming.  We’re historic.  We’re (mostly) pretty nice people.  We love Jesus and follow him the best we can.  We get mad at and fall in love with each other over and over again every day.  We’re part of the body human and the body divine.  And we’d love to have you.  But please, oh please, do think about whether you’d really love to have us too and if not, really, do give us a miss.

Sermon Cliff Note: Holding Fast & Letting Go

Archeologist Robin vanAuken writes of her vocation as being a ‘steward of the past’.

But not all that is past is created equal.  Some is treasure.  Some is trash.  Context makes the difference.

How many of us have gone through the leavings of someone we loved after they died?  How much of what they left behind did we keep?  How much did we give away or toss away?  Context matters.  Their past is not ours.

In deciding what to keep, my Great-Aunt Virginia undoubtedly asked, “might I need this”?  When I’m going through my dead Aunt Virginia’s papers, however, I do not ask whether she might have need of it. The question I ask is not about Aunt Virginia’s need; it’s about mine.  And that shift in the question changes everything.

But what has that to do with stewarding the past?  With what we of today are to keep from yesterday to carry in to tomorrow?

Everything.

It has to do with humility.

It has to do with care.

It has to do with understanding.

And it has to do with love.

Humility: some people of the past genuinely believed that the ownership of another human being was not only consistent with being a godly person, but it was so entrenched in their worldview that they genuinely believed the person over whom they claimed ‘ownership’ had a duty to be owned and not resist.  We have to be humble about our understandings when it comes to things biblical.  Sometimes we get it wrong.  Seriously, harmfully, wrong.  And almost always, our wrongness arises out of our certainties, out of our pride that we can know absolutely what God intends – not only for ourselves, but for others as well.  Our certainties, especially when they concern what someone else should do, must be tempered with humility, with the simple realization that I might be wrong.  Or those I revere who came before me might have been wrong.  Their path need not be mine.

Care – as Christians, we have a duty of care.  But care of whom?  Of what?  And to what end?  In Luke 9.60, Jesus tells a young man whose father has died to leave the dead to themselves and come now.  It’s cruel-sounding, this command not to even attend his own father’s funeral.

The call to the Christian is to be concerned with, to care about, the things which concern God.  And when it comes to the work of this world, God makes it clear that God’s focus is on the living, not the dead – on the present and not the past.

We are to take care of Jesus’ message, yes.  But it is for a purpose and not merely for its own sake.  Church is not a cemetery.  Nor is it a museum.

Jesus’ message is a living gospel proclaimed by living people to living people.  It is a word from the past, but it is a word for the present.

If we preserve Jesus’ message perfectly but keep it under glass, we have killed it.  The gospel is a living gospel or it is no gospel at all.

Understanding is necessary in order to have something worth proclaiming.  Amidst my Aunt Virginia’s papers were coupons from the 1920's . . . her ledgers of the money she spent day-to-day . . . her bridge scores . . . and stock certificates.

It takes understanding to be able to tell the important from the unimportant . . . that worth preserving unto the next generations and that which can be cast away.  Without understanding, one might  keep the bridge scores and toss the certificates.

Understanding requires intentionality.  It requires listening.  It requires learning.  It requires letting go of what we think, as if our opinions were our gospel, and being open to learn from others.  It requires a teachable spirit, one willing to learn.

Finally, stewarding the past has to do with love – a love that embraces and values the one in need standing right before us as much as we do our memories of those who have gone before – and even more.

To be good stewards of the past challenges us to examine what to keep and what to throw away.  And that requires from us large doses of humility, understanding, care and love.

Ultimately it requires that we surrender our own questions of the past and ask instead whether in the keeping or discarding we are about our Father’s business or our own.  As church, the only business we have is our Father’s.

Amen.

Revived

Revival has come and gone and July has drawn to a close.  Vacation Bible School lessons have been learned and volunteers can put their feet up until next year.  Vacation to Chicago had and memories await storing.  The local Volunteer Fire Department has commemorated the community’s vision and its 35th anniversary.  Ice cream made has been eaten and dunking preacher balls have been thrown.  And one very tired but very happy preacher is ready to say good-bye to another July.

July is my birthday month and in years past, I would celebrate from beginning to end, labeling July as “the month of Beth”.  I haven’t done that for a long time, but this month brought it back to mind in a very different way than those days when I would self-reward the whole month long.

This July’s month-of-Beth celebrations include a grandson at the age of discovery and great good humor. . . local friends, old and new sharing their journeys of faith . . . time well met at the communion table again and again and again . . . songs of faith and love and sorrow and pilgrimage whispering into my soul . . . prayers colored into lasting shapes to remember the ones prayed for by . . . young moms laughing with delight at their children racing across the lawn . . . families struggling to find their place and their way . . . time spent with my son, whom I respect as well as love, enjoy as well as treasure . . . doors opened by friends to this weary traveler . . . a hiatus in conflicts that just might become something more than a cease-fire . . . a congregant finding joy as well as meaning in the Bible as it speaks directly to him . . . old ladies sitting on lawn chairs doing their job – watching the children with joy in their existence . . . sorrys offered and accepted . . .

Yes, July has passed.  It was a very good month.  And I am grateful.

VBS Day 1

VBS Day1

• 15 minutes late to start
• No teens
• Curriculum changed & point of whole theme lost
• No-show volunteers
• Disorganized chaos
• Controlling leader grabs papers out of another’s hands, hurting feelings along the way (yep, that was me)
• Last-minute changes throwing a carefully created schedule into meaninglessness
• Laughter in the halls
• Children running and playing in the yard
• Mommies trying to leave little ones
• Songs sung with hand motions
• Paper plates cut into animal shapes come alive with a little glue and a lot of imagination

Yep, it’s summer in America, where Vacation Bible School is in full swing.

5 Things About Being a Pastor That Make Me Laugh Out Loud (Sometimes)

1. How the physical activity of keeping house in a church becomes invested with moral significance:  there’s a ‘right’ and a ‘wrong’ way to do just about everything, instead of merely a preferred or habitual way.  Thus when I as pastor put the candles to one side rather than having one on each side, do I risk damnation.  Who knew?

2. That people sometimes assume I know things – all things – especially when it comes to pastoral care, as in who’s sick, who’s in the hospital, etc.  Investing me with magical powers of knowing isn’t always funny, but sometimes it’s hysterical.

3. That my physical appearance and mode of dress are the object of interest and comment, negative as well as positive.  When I began this journey, I had no idea my hair style would be seen as significant to my ministry.  It’s flattering, scary and sometimes funny to be the object of so much attention.   Really?

4. How those not involved in a church don’t know what to do with me.  Some immediately declare the state of their own faith or lack thereof, apparently fearful that I am going to do a Presbyterian snatch and grab.  Some just wander off, as if I’ve got a mild disease they’d like to avoid but are too polite to say so.  And some invest me with a degree of goodness that I do not possess (church folk seldom make that mistake!)  I especially pity those beside me on airplanes, as they’ve nowhere to go.

5. How the lives of people within the church are not to be the subject of my assessment or comment, but my life choices are open for discussion by any and all.  Thus I am not to tread into the sacred ground of how much money any one person gives or doesn’t give – that is none of my business.  But whether I serve beer to friends at a cook-out is material for the open reflection of the public domain.  I had no idea that I would be public property.  I guessed I’d be the subject of attention and focus, but have been taken by surprise the degree to which an entire community can actually care about what I do.

Sermon Cliff Note: How God Is Is Who We Are

To understand God as Trinity is to understand ourselves as church.
In the Orthodox tradition, the church is the icon – the visual sign and symbol – of the Trinity.  We – the church – are the incarnation of the Trinity in the present tense.
Trinity is not a unity of decision or will; rather, the Trinity is a unity of identity – unity is an integral part of who God is.  And because it is a unity of who God is, it is a unity of who we are.
But what does it mean to be one?  As Paul points out in 1 Corinthians 12:

For in the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body . . . the body does not consist of one member but of many.  If the foot would say, “Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body,” that would not make it any less a part of the body. . . there may be no dissension within the body, but the members may have the same care for one another.  If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it.  Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it.

Thus, quite literally, to wage ‘war’ against each other is to wage war against ourselves.  In a very real sense, if I kill you, I die.
I am church and so are you, for without you or without me, there is not church, for we are always and only church together.
A poured forth people, we are God’s own icon. . . of the one-ness of the Loving God.  We’re the peace sign to a world at war with itself.  We’re the grace note to a world of discord.  We’re the solid ground, the standing place in a world off kilter.  We’re the glory of God shining into the darkness.  We’re the patient ones in the face of suffering, showing that there is nothing to fear.  We are the love of God poured forth into the heart of a world stretched beyond its patience, near if not beyond its own breaking point.  We are the heart of God laid bare to the world.
That is who we are.

Jesus Came to Church Today

Today leading worship at Headwaters, I and all the rest (all six of us, in fact), looked to see a fellow coming in and taking a seat at the back right at the end of my sermon.  A less charitable observer than I might think he came at just the right time.

I don’t wear my glasses when I preach, because I haven’t been able to make bifocals work for me and so the glasses have to come off in order for me to see the printed page, which leaves me virtually blind to anything further away.

So when I looked up, I recognized that it was a man and saw that he was a bit scruffy – not homeless scruffy – more just off the construction sight – like a carpenter scruffy.

And the unbidden thought that immediately arose within my consciousness was Wow.  Jesus just came to church.

It made me smile, this fancy.  And the feeling stayed with me – through the prayers and the singing and the blessings.

It’s Palm Sunday and we were full of palm waving, procession imagining, Pilate-to-Jesus contrasting.  Wondering what it would be like to join Jesus’ procession, I was given a tiny peek when I thought maybe, just maybe, Jesus had joined ours.

What would it be like if Jesus walked into church today?

Lovely.

Simply

lovely.

Kent – that’s his name – Kent and I spoke briefly after church.  He apologized for not being better dressed.  While assuring him it was no problem, I wish I’d had the umph to tell him what a blessing his wardrobe was to me today, the day when I thought that maybe I was seeing Jesus.

And you know what?

I was.

Belching, Scratching and Farting Our Way to Jesus

I’m betting all those folks Jesus hung out with – you know: the sinners, the NOKP*, the dirty and unkempt ones, the mean ones and the sly ones, the showing-too-much-in-that-dress ones – yeah, those folks – well, I’m betting that even when they came into the ‘fold’ by following Jesus, they were still who they were before in many ways.

I’m betting they still belched and scratched and farted at the dinner table.

I’m betting they still got told that ‘we don’t wear that kind of dress here, dear.’

I’m betting they still drank too much from time to time.

I’m betting that all in all, they remained a pretty ragtag profane bunch.  And I’m betting that some, if not most, folks who considered themselves part of the in crowd still cringed when they saw them coming.

Why am I so sure?

Well, the truth is I’m a pretty profane gal, all things considered.  I still laugh too loud and get too mad and point my finger and want to, even if I don’t, wear that slutty dress.  And every now and then, under the robes, I still belch and fart and scratch.

But now I know Jesus.  I may not know you, but I know Jesus.  And yes, that has made me a better person than I was, but that’s almost beside the point, except to the extent that it helps or hurts you to know Jesus too, because while I’m better, I am far, far, far, from perfect.  And I’m okay with that.

So to all of you who think you might like to get to know Jesus too and that maybe you could do that in a church, but aren’t sure (or more sadly, are sure) of the welcome you’ll receive there, all I can tell you is this: come belching and scratching and farting and drinking and laughing too loud and wearing your favorite slutty dress . . . and . . . and . . . and be kind enough in your coming to realize that if you get dirty looks from some, that’s just our way of belching or farting a greeting your way.  And try not to mind too much – we just don’t know any better.








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*For those who don’t recognize the acronym, Not Our Kind of People