People this time of year joke about Christmas letters and fruitcake. Folks roll their eyes and grumble about both. Okay - I'll grant you that there are some bad Christmas letters. Full of so much boasting and bragging that you can barely make your way to the end of the note. And there are some bad fruitcakes. Still, I like them both...Christmas letters and holiday fruitcakes.
So I've been reading notes from friends. It's been fun -mostly- hearing what they're up to. How life is going for them. There have been a few stories of pain and loss, too.
One note nearly dropped me on the floor, though. It's from a friend I have known for over twenty years. She is a pedal-to-the-floor Jesus follower. She talks a lot about the Holy Spirit. Some might say she's a Pentecostal Christian in Methodist clothing. My friend is more conservative, theologically, than me.
She has been a tremendous blessing to me. She has offered words of encouragement to me in my life and ministry. She has prayed for me and with me. She has loved me better than I deserve.
Last year, in her Christmas letter, she said she wasn't sure their church's new pastor was going to get the job done. Because he was so unlike his predecessor. I sent her back a note and reminded her that God wires us all differently, and that every pastor -no matter how much we may love and respect them- has weaknesses. One pastor goes and another pastor arrives - the strengths of one complementing the weaknesses of the other.
So this year I open up my friend's Christmas letter and she says something like this: "I meet with Pastor Devon and Pastor Sandy every Sunday between services and pray for them. Still haven't made up my mind but continue to support him."
Okay. Does this strike you as odd? Should I be thankful that my friend, despite her reservations about the lead pastor at their church, is still praying with him...and for him? Or should I be bothered by the disconnect of a person who prays with a pastor, week after week, but is still leaning back, withholding judgment, and not sure?
The New Testament -1st John- says people will know we belong to God by the way we love one another. Jesus says the same thing in John's gospel. Praying for one another, tossing around the Holy Spirit's name, and then waiting to say, "Naw, you don't meet the qualifications I have for a (fill-in-the-blank) just right friend...neighbor... teacher...counselor...youth director...choir director...pastor...Jesus-follower" strikes me as evidence of a critical spirit and love that is conditional to the extreme.
Love doesn't mean we don't hold one another accountable. Christian love doesn't mean we shut off that part of our mind that utilizes wisdom to evaluate people and situations.
But to show up, week after week, praying for someone while inside we are still gathering information, still weighing the evidence, still seeing whether they match up with the list of qualifications we have put together for a parent, friend, coach, teacher, or pastor -there is a disconnect here.
I'm going out on some thin ice, here, but I think my friend's prayers are shallow. Only half-real. It would be more loving, more courageous, more faithful, and more prayerful if my friend would ask to sit down with her pastor. Talk honestly with him about her struggles...her concerns...and risk some honest communication. Take a risk and get to know his heart...how the world looks from where he sits. Now that would be a prayer.
When you pray for people, when you tell them you're pulling for them, when you say they can count on you, are you telling the truth? Or are you just settling for the appearance of prayer...friendship...support?
To support someone is to risk honesty.
That's where it has to start.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Do Distracted, Tired Angels Still Sing?
If you look up the word angel in the dictionary you're certainly not going to see my picture. I'm not sure I'm qualified to do certified, angel-type work.
I'm sure the shepherds, in Luke's account of the birth of Jesus, probably felt the same way. They were sort of among the "untouchables" of Palestinian society. Their work kept them dirty and prevented them from keeping Jewish kosher laws and observing many of the religious rituals. The closest thing to shepherds in modern-day life in the Midwest might be carnival workers. That interesting tribe of folks who move from town to town and set up the rides.
Even though I'm not qualified to be an angel, God asks me to show up every Christmas and tell the story. Explain to a room full of people what the birth of Jesus means. Some of the folks are half-asleep, still trying to recover from that second slice of pie at dinner. Some are grouchy because they have been dragged to church against their will. A few are intoxicated. And there are a few who are leaning forward on their chair, longing to hear a word from God.
This Christmas I was fighting a cold. I was tired and distracted. If I were a pitcher -and I suppose every preacher is a pitcher- this Christmas I would have told my "manager", "I don't think I have good stuff, Skipper."
So I felt off my game. Wooden. The music was astounding...beautiful... inspiring. The dancers were a delight. The Christmas video was just right. And I felt tired. Wooden. The words tumbling out of my mouth and falling to the ground. Instead of soaring what I had to say seemed to fall to the ground...nearly lifeless.
The good news, of course, is that Jesus is still born. Despite what I may feel like or the quality of my work. Jesus is still born. God still comes. Salvation has to do with the grace of an all-powerful love and is not dependent on my ability to be always "up." Always "on." Always able to bring the 90-mile fastball.
Sometimes God calls unlikely characters to carry a message. I wonder if any of the shepherds were distracted or tired. I wonder if they were feeling the cold or worrying about the sheep that had been left behind.
It's cool that they still showed up, isn't it?
I'm sure the shepherds, in Luke's account of the birth of Jesus, probably felt the same way. They were sort of among the "untouchables" of Palestinian society. Their work kept them dirty and prevented them from keeping Jewish kosher laws and observing many of the religious rituals. The closest thing to shepherds in modern-day life in the Midwest might be carnival workers. That interesting tribe of folks who move from town to town and set up the rides.
Even though I'm not qualified to be an angel, God asks me to show up every Christmas and tell the story. Explain to a room full of people what the birth of Jesus means. Some of the folks are half-asleep, still trying to recover from that second slice of pie at dinner. Some are grouchy because they have been dragged to church against their will. A few are intoxicated. And there are a few who are leaning forward on their chair, longing to hear a word from God.
This Christmas I was fighting a cold. I was tired and distracted. If I were a pitcher -and I suppose every preacher is a pitcher- this Christmas I would have told my "manager", "I don't think I have good stuff, Skipper."
So I felt off my game. Wooden. The music was astounding...beautiful... inspiring. The dancers were a delight. The Christmas video was just right. And I felt tired. Wooden. The words tumbling out of my mouth and falling to the ground. Instead of soaring what I had to say seemed to fall to the ground...nearly lifeless.
The good news, of course, is that Jesus is still born. Despite what I may feel like or the quality of my work. Jesus is still born. God still comes. Salvation has to do with the grace of an all-powerful love and is not dependent on my ability to be always "up." Always "on." Always able to bring the 90-mile fastball.
Sometimes God calls unlikely characters to carry a message. I wonder if any of the shepherds were distracted or tired. I wonder if they were feeling the cold or worrying about the sheep that had been left behind.
It's cool that they still showed up, isn't it?
Looking for Wrenches and Getting Trained.
In the days leading up to Christmas I found myself curious. About the best gifts or surprises people had received for Christmas. I mean beyond those deep, profound, spiritual gifts of faith in Christ, joy, God-given peace, or the healing of a broken relationship. I mean stuff. Under the tree. Wrapped up (or not).
A couple of gifts stand out in my memory. One was an o-gauge railroad set. I was in first grade. I walked into the living room of our apartment in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, beneath the Christmas tree there was this red, yellow and silver Santa Fe engine with rolling stock. It was a pretty special moment!
The second gift I remember most clearly is a very simple, GE-stereo made out of dark green plastic. With that came a membership in the Capitol Record Club. Which was a big deal for a teenager stuck in northwest Alaska where the only AM station played country and western music -long before C & W was cool.
For the last several years I have wanted to buy a very simple train set. Something that could be easily set-up. Maybe placed under the Christmas tree.
The day after Christmas my oldest son and I headed out to an area box store to get some wrenches. While we were looking over the tools I noticed a red sign that said 50% OFF CHRISTMAS ITEMS & TOYS. I have a collection of toys at home and in my office. So I walked over and found myself standing next to several boxes containing Lionel 0-gauge train sets. I looked at the boxes...studied the description of the train sets. I looked up at the sign announcing 50% off.
I don't mean to be blasphemous or anything, but it was like this shaft of light poured down on me and that Lionel train set. I'm not sure but I could almost swear I heard choirs of sales associates singing, "I've Been Working on the Railroad."
So I picked up the box, checked out, and returned home. When I walked into the house I asked my wife, Sharon, to close her eyes. I'd gone out looking for a wrench and came home with an o-gauge Chicago & North Western railroad set.
It's nothing fancy. It's nothing complicated. But my 16-month old granddaughter enjoys running it with me. Our faces light up when the train goes by and Ella presses the button that makes the whistle blow. Bryan, our oldest son, and I were chattering like kids as we reviewed a catalogue of high-end model railroad stuff.
Sometimes you go out looking for one thing and you come back with a whole lot more than you ever bargained for. So much more than you ever thought you'd find...or have.
Deep, eternal, life-changing joy is always a God-given gift. Which is almost always connected to knowing...being loved by...Jesus. In addition to this, though, there are these delightful, little joy moments that make our eyes light up in good ways. A deeply discounted 0-gauge railroad set, for example. Where the cars light up and smoke rings come out of the stack on the locomotive.
It's fun having fun.
I think "lighting up" at the little, good things in life is one sign that we're fully alive.
A couple of gifts stand out in my memory. One was an o-gauge railroad set. I was in first grade. I walked into the living room of our apartment in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, beneath the Christmas tree there was this red, yellow and silver Santa Fe engine with rolling stock. It was a pretty special moment!
The second gift I remember most clearly is a very simple, GE-stereo made out of dark green plastic. With that came a membership in the Capitol Record Club. Which was a big deal for a teenager stuck in northwest Alaska where the only AM station played country and western music -long before C & W was cool.
For the last several years I have wanted to buy a very simple train set. Something that could be easily set-up. Maybe placed under the Christmas tree.
The day after Christmas my oldest son and I headed out to an area box store to get some wrenches. While we were looking over the tools I noticed a red sign that said 50% OFF CHRISTMAS ITEMS & TOYS. I have a collection of toys at home and in my office. So I walked over and found myself standing next to several boxes containing Lionel 0-gauge train sets. I looked at the boxes...studied the description of the train sets. I looked up at the sign announcing 50% off.
I don't mean to be blasphemous or anything, but it was like this shaft of light poured down on me and that Lionel train set. I'm not sure but I could almost swear I heard choirs of sales associates singing, "I've Been Working on the Railroad."
So I picked up the box, checked out, and returned home. When I walked into the house I asked my wife, Sharon, to close her eyes. I'd gone out looking for a wrench and came home with an o-gauge Chicago & North Western railroad set.
It's nothing fancy. It's nothing complicated. But my 16-month old granddaughter enjoys running it with me. Our faces light up when the train goes by and Ella presses the button that makes the whistle blow. Bryan, our oldest son, and I were chattering like kids as we reviewed a catalogue of high-end model railroad stuff.
Sometimes you go out looking for one thing and you come back with a whole lot more than you ever bargained for. So much more than you ever thought you'd find...or have.
Deep, eternal, life-changing joy is always a God-given gift. Which is almost always connected to knowing...being loved by...Jesus. In addition to this, though, there are these delightful, little joy moments that make our eyes light up in good ways. A deeply discounted 0-gauge railroad set, for example. Where the cars light up and smoke rings come out of the stack on the locomotive.
It's fun having fun.
I think "lighting up" at the little, good things in life is one sign that we're fully alive.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Faith Enough to Sleep.
It doesn't happen often.
Usually I lay my head back on the pillow, at night, and am soon asleep.
Not last night, though.
Not last night.
After a long day I crawled into bed around midnight. Sleep never came. (And I had been careful to order a decafe coffee at an area bookstore when we stopped by around 9:30 last night!)
Every now and then I would check the clock. I slipped out of bed in the middle of the night so my tossing and turning wouldn't keep Sharon awake. Headed upstairs to the twin bed in my office at home.
As the clock approached six in the morning, I gave up the battle. Got up, showered, ironed a shirt, dressed, grabbed the morning paper, and made myself a bowl of cereal.
(Have you ever tried preaching three times without sleep? I'd not recommend it!)
I may be wide of the mark here, but I suspect the ability to sleep is tied to our confidence in God's ability to handle things in our absence. When we feel things depend on us then a part of us refuses to sleep.
Do I trust God enough to lay down all the heavy stuff I am trying to carry in my arms...my mind...my heart?
There is a beautiful story in the middle of the 8th chapter of Matthew's gospel. Jesus and the disciples get into a boat (8:23) to cross the Sea of Galilee. The freshwater lake was -and is- notorious for sudden storms. On the way across the lake a storm comes up. Matthew says the boat was about to be swamped by the waves. Verse 24 tells us Jesus was asleep in the bottom of the boat.
I love that detail.
The winds are raging, the craft is rocking, the water is slapping over the sides of the boat, and the Son of God is sound asleep! He didn't open his eyes until the frantic disciples woke him up as they shouted, "Save, Lord; we are perishing!" It is a picture of confidence in the ultimate power and goodness of the Father. It is a picture of peace.
As I lay my head down in the bottom of my small boat tonight I'll pray for that kind of peace. That kind of confidence. That kind of faith. Not just for me but for you...
Usually I lay my head back on the pillow, at night, and am soon asleep.
Not last night, though.
Not last night.
After a long day I crawled into bed around midnight. Sleep never came. (And I had been careful to order a decafe coffee at an area bookstore when we stopped by around 9:30 last night!)
Every now and then I would check the clock. I slipped out of bed in the middle of the night so my tossing and turning wouldn't keep Sharon awake. Headed upstairs to the twin bed in my office at home.
As the clock approached six in the morning, I gave up the battle. Got up, showered, ironed a shirt, dressed, grabbed the morning paper, and made myself a bowl of cereal.
(Have you ever tried preaching three times without sleep? I'd not recommend it!)
I may be wide of the mark here, but I suspect the ability to sleep is tied to our confidence in God's ability to handle things in our absence. When we feel things depend on us then a part of us refuses to sleep.
Do I trust God enough to lay down all the heavy stuff I am trying to carry in my arms...my mind...my heart?
There is a beautiful story in the middle of the 8th chapter of Matthew's gospel. Jesus and the disciples get into a boat (8:23) to cross the Sea of Galilee. The freshwater lake was -and is- notorious for sudden storms. On the way across the lake a storm comes up. Matthew says the boat was about to be swamped by the waves. Verse 24 tells us Jesus was asleep in the bottom of the boat.
I love that detail.
The winds are raging, the craft is rocking, the water is slapping over the sides of the boat, and the Son of God is sound asleep! He didn't open his eyes until the frantic disciples woke him up as they shouted, "Save, Lord; we are perishing!" It is a picture of confidence in the ultimate power and goodness of the Father. It is a picture of peace.
As I lay my head down in the bottom of my small boat tonight I'll pray for that kind of peace. That kind of confidence. That kind of faith. Not just for me but for you...
The Importance of the "G" Word (Goodbye)..
There are different pieces to the art of living well. There are different pieces to the mystery of being a pastor.
One of those is the art of saying "goodbye." When I talk with pastors and lay people I say I am really good at leaving. Saying "goodbye." We're not even close to saying that in this current chapter of life. It'll be a long while, I hunch, before I pack my boxes and leave Trinity. Move on.
But I'm good at leaving. Good at saying "goodbye." I never slip out a side door. I do my best to look people straight in the eyes, tell them I am leaving, tell them what they have meant to me, and tell them why it is time to go. I do my very best to bless the ones who have been walking with me during the current chapter. And I leave. I don't hover. I don't keep ducking back to check up on everyone. To see how my successor is doing. Like the nervous parent of a pre-schooler who isn't sure their child is going to be okay after being left at nursery school. I face people, I linger, I bless people, I say "goodbye," and I head out the door.
We do a pretty good job of welcoming people into the community of the church. We have new member classes. We have a formal ceremony in worship as people take the vows of membership. We hand people a certificate. Shake their hands.
Leaving? That is a different story. Too often people just slip out a side door. I spoke with a friend the other day. Said we had missed them in worship. He kindly explained we hadn't seen them because they were worshipping elsewhere. Okay.
I think people duck out the side door because they feel guilty about leaving a church. Not always. But often. They worry about how people will react. They may have seen other people loaded down with a "guilt trip" when they decided it was time to move on. So they slip out the side door.
Saying "goodbye" is important. When we don't have the chance to say "goodbye" I feel like we have all been cheated. Because we've shared some pretty important moments together.
A friend who serves an area church says, "Just tell me goodbye as you leave. Don't just disappear. I prayed with you through that job search eight years ago. When your daughter was arrested I went to court with you. We went on a mission trip to New Orleans together, and stood side by side rebuilding houses. So don't slip out of my life...our lives...without saying goodbye. It's okay. I'll still love you. We can be friends. If you need to leave then go ahead and leave. But say goodbye."
The summer after his senior year at Elkhart Central, our youngest song would play his favorite CD's after getting home from Creation Windows. One of the songs I heard coming from his room was Andrea Bocelli's "Time to Say Goodbye." It wasn't rock and roll. Seemed like an odd choice.
Tonight, as I wait for Michael to drive down from Chicago O'Hare for Christmas, I am wondering if he played that song as a way of saying goodbye. Sometimes the heart stuff is too much. Words can't hold everything we're saying or feeling. So he played the song. Day after day. Through that summer. Preparing us all for a chapter that was ending, and helping us prepare for the chapter ahead.
The Gospel of John is unique, among the four gospels, for the number of chapters used to describe the last few days Jesus spent with his friends in Jerusalem prior to his arrest. We're told about the last supper, the washing of the disciples' feet, and John reports -in great detail- the "high priestly prayer" Jesus offers on behalf of his friends. God shows us all sorts of truth in the account of those last few days, but one lesson is how much energy Jesus invested in saying goodbye. He didn't slip out a side door. He told his friends what was happening. He told them why it was happening. And he blessed them.
Part of living well is learning the importance of the "G" word.
Don't slip out the side door. Of church. Or of any other significant relationships in your life. Take the time to say goodbye. Heart work can be tough but we'll all survive. The people who love you just want a chance to bless you.
When it's "Time to Say Goodbye" do just that.
One of those is the art of saying "goodbye." When I talk with pastors and lay people I say I am really good at leaving. Saying "goodbye." We're not even close to saying that in this current chapter of life. It'll be a long while, I hunch, before I pack my boxes and leave Trinity. Move on.
But I'm good at leaving. Good at saying "goodbye." I never slip out a side door. I do my best to look people straight in the eyes, tell them I am leaving, tell them what they have meant to me, and tell them why it is time to go. I do my very best to bless the ones who have been walking with me during the current chapter. And I leave. I don't hover. I don't keep ducking back to check up on everyone. To see how my successor is doing. Like the nervous parent of a pre-schooler who isn't sure their child is going to be okay after being left at nursery school. I face people, I linger, I bless people, I say "goodbye," and I head out the door.
We do a pretty good job of welcoming people into the community of the church. We have new member classes. We have a formal ceremony in worship as people take the vows of membership. We hand people a certificate. Shake their hands.
Leaving? That is a different story. Too often people just slip out a side door. I spoke with a friend the other day. Said we had missed them in worship. He kindly explained we hadn't seen them because they were worshipping elsewhere. Okay.
I think people duck out the side door because they feel guilty about leaving a church. Not always. But often. They worry about how people will react. They may have seen other people loaded down with a "guilt trip" when they decided it was time to move on. So they slip out the side door.
Saying "goodbye" is important. When we don't have the chance to say "goodbye" I feel like we have all been cheated. Because we've shared some pretty important moments together.
A friend who serves an area church says, "Just tell me goodbye as you leave. Don't just disappear. I prayed with you through that job search eight years ago. When your daughter was arrested I went to court with you. We went on a mission trip to New Orleans together, and stood side by side rebuilding houses. So don't slip out of my life...our lives...without saying goodbye. It's okay. I'll still love you. We can be friends. If you need to leave then go ahead and leave. But say goodbye."
The summer after his senior year at Elkhart Central, our youngest song would play his favorite CD's after getting home from Creation Windows. One of the songs I heard coming from his room was Andrea Bocelli's "Time to Say Goodbye." It wasn't rock and roll. Seemed like an odd choice.
Tonight, as I wait for Michael to drive down from Chicago O'Hare for Christmas, I am wondering if he played that song as a way of saying goodbye. Sometimes the heart stuff is too much. Words can't hold everything we're saying or feeling. So he played the song. Day after day. Through that summer. Preparing us all for a chapter that was ending, and helping us prepare for the chapter ahead.
The Gospel of John is unique, among the four gospels, for the number of chapters used to describe the last few days Jesus spent with his friends in Jerusalem prior to his arrest. We're told about the last supper, the washing of the disciples' feet, and John reports -in great detail- the "high priestly prayer" Jesus offers on behalf of his friends. God shows us all sorts of truth in the account of those last few days, but one lesson is how much energy Jesus invested in saying goodbye. He didn't slip out a side door. He told his friends what was happening. He told them why it was happening. And he blessed them.
Part of living well is learning the importance of the "G" word.
Don't slip out the side door. Of church. Or of any other significant relationships in your life. Take the time to say goodbye. Heart work can be tough but we'll all survive. The people who love you just want a chance to bless you.
When it's "Time to Say Goodbye" do just that.
The Church Ain't MGM.
Years ago the MGM film studio put out a compilation of scenes from some of their more famous movies in the form of a feature-length film. "That's Entertainment!" they called it. Later, the studio released a sequel.
More than twenty-five years ago some good folks in the church came up with something called "seeker sensitive worship." People like Bill Hybels of Willow Creek and Rick Warren of Saddleback and Walt Kallestad of Community (Lutheran) Church of Joy looked around, saw that too much Christian worship was irrelevant. They saw the church using language and symbols that got in the way of communicating the Christian message with ordinary folks who had no church background. The style of worship and preaching was static that was keeping people from hearing God.
So there was this powerful impulse to reach ordinary, unchurched people with the amazing story of God's love in Jesus Christ. Use language and images people would understand. Robes were replaced with bluejeans or khaki slacks and knit shirts. Choirs were replaced by Christian rock bands or "praise teams." The cross was taken down and worship teams began using film clips, dramas, and the latest in sound/light technology. People talked more about the type of coffee served in the coffee cafe than they did the bread and wine of communion.
We've been in this era of "seeker sensitive" worship and that approach has produced a lot of fruit. Lives have been changed. The era of the "mega church" arrived big time as churches with thousands in attendance dotted the landscape.
Like every movement, though, this movement of "seeker sensitive" worship has its limitations. The folks at Willow Creek, through their Reveal survey, have discovered that mass gatherings of people don't necessarily lead to spiritual growth. Worship has become, more and more, a passive event. People come into great auditoriums, hear outstanding musicians sing great music, watch professionally done dramas, and hear outstanding teachers
- but too many of them aren't growing spiritually. Churches are full of passive religious consumers rather than active disciples. There is all sorts of talk about community but precious real intimacy -with God or other people. (Someone sent me a note recently and told me they are glad to be in a church where people know their name!)
Last week I came across an article by Walt Kallested titled "Moving from Entertainment to Worship." The church he leads in Phoenix had a state-of-the-art campus, a tremendous staff, and 12,000 attenders each weekend. But Walt looked around and realized too many were just being entertained. People were coming because Community of Joy had great music or great children's programs or great teachers - but people weren't building meaningful relationships with other people or with God!
So the church changed direction. They focused on real worship rather than entertainment. They challenged people to stop watching and risk commitment. The changes in the church caused attendance to drop from 12,000 to 8,000.
Our church isn't in the "weight class" of a Granger Community or a Willow Creek or a Saddleback or a Church of the Resurrection (UMC), but I think we are facing some of the same challenges. God is doing all kinds of great stuff at Trinity - just amazing stuff. Lives are being changed. The community is being blessed. Jesus is being lifted up and presented to those who do not yet know him. And yet...
And yet we have folks who are sort of here and sort of not. They are ready to consume spiritual good and services, but they are unwilling to make a commitment. They're sort of here...as long as everything is cool. As long as the next church down the road isn't offering a better deal...better coffee, better youth ministry, better parking, better visuals, better music or a more entertaining teaching style.
What ends up happening, of course, is we end up shuttling people back and forth. We get folks coming our way from other churches. They discover us and think we're the best thing since sliced bread. And there are people who have been here for months...for years...heading out the door. Sometimes for good reasons. Sometimes because they are moving or it is just time...but often because there is the next, cool thing down the road. We send folks to GCC and they send folks to us. Crossroads picks up people from St. John's Episcopal and St. Thomas picks up people from Belmont Mennonite. We shuttle people back and forth but are people growing?
It all seems a little like the way people embrace a restaurant when it opens up. Folks line up to sample the menu. Experience the decor. Things are different. Not like the old place where we've been eating for years. This new place has pizza with extra thin crust. We've enjoyed deep dish pizza at our last "favorite" place but now we just sort of enjoy something different... so we go to the new place until someone else opens up down the street.
God is leading us, at Trinity United Methodist, towards a conversation about all of this. We're going to be talking about the absolute necessity of people -in the words of Walt Kallestad- "breaking out of their private, cocooned lives and fully engag(ing) with God and his people."
We'll continue to strive for worship and ministries that are creative, faithful and beautiful. We'll continue to try and meet human need. We'll continue to try and share the Good News in a language those ordinary folks outside the church will understand. But the church ain't all about entertainment
- it's about being loving God with our whole heart, loving our neighbors as ourselves, and transforming the world through service.
A lot of pastors and lay leaders say they are tired of running an "entertainment" machine. They are tired of trying to "sell" programs to indifferent consumers who insist that church is all about having their needs met. We're hungry for something deeper...something more real. And I think you are, too.
More than twenty-five years ago some good folks in the church came up with something called "seeker sensitive worship." People like Bill Hybels of Willow Creek and Rick Warren of Saddleback and Walt Kallestad of Community (Lutheran) Church of Joy looked around, saw that too much Christian worship was irrelevant. They saw the church using language and symbols that got in the way of communicating the Christian message with ordinary folks who had no church background. The style of worship and preaching was static that was keeping people from hearing God.
So there was this powerful impulse to reach ordinary, unchurched people with the amazing story of God's love in Jesus Christ. Use language and images people would understand. Robes were replaced with bluejeans or khaki slacks and knit shirts. Choirs were replaced by Christian rock bands or "praise teams." The cross was taken down and worship teams began using film clips, dramas, and the latest in sound/light technology. People talked more about the type of coffee served in the coffee cafe than they did the bread and wine of communion.
We've been in this era of "seeker sensitive" worship and that approach has produced a lot of fruit. Lives have been changed. The era of the "mega church" arrived big time as churches with thousands in attendance dotted the landscape.
Like every movement, though, this movement of "seeker sensitive" worship has its limitations. The folks at Willow Creek, through their Reveal survey, have discovered that mass gatherings of people don't necessarily lead to spiritual growth. Worship has become, more and more, a passive event. People come into great auditoriums, hear outstanding musicians sing great music, watch professionally done dramas, and hear outstanding teachers
- but too many of them aren't growing spiritually. Churches are full of passive religious consumers rather than active disciples. There is all sorts of talk about community but precious real intimacy -with God or other people. (Someone sent me a note recently and told me they are glad to be in a church where people know their name!)
Last week I came across an article by Walt Kallested titled "Moving from Entertainment to Worship." The church he leads in Phoenix had a state-of-the-art campus, a tremendous staff, and 12,000 attenders each weekend. But Walt looked around and realized too many were just being entertained. People were coming because Community of Joy had great music or great children's programs or great teachers - but people weren't building meaningful relationships with other people or with God!
So the church changed direction. They focused on real worship rather than entertainment. They challenged people to stop watching and risk commitment. The changes in the church caused attendance to drop from 12,000 to 8,000.
Our church isn't in the "weight class" of a Granger Community or a Willow Creek or a Saddleback or a Church of the Resurrection (UMC), but I think we are facing some of the same challenges. God is doing all kinds of great stuff at Trinity - just amazing stuff. Lives are being changed. The community is being blessed. Jesus is being lifted up and presented to those who do not yet know him. And yet...
And yet we have folks who are sort of here and sort of not. They are ready to consume spiritual good and services, but they are unwilling to make a commitment. They're sort of here...as long as everything is cool. As long as the next church down the road isn't offering a better deal...better coffee, better youth ministry, better parking, better visuals, better music or a more entertaining teaching style.
What ends up happening, of course, is we end up shuttling people back and forth. We get folks coming our way from other churches. They discover us and think we're the best thing since sliced bread. And there are people who have been here for months...for years...heading out the door. Sometimes for good reasons. Sometimes because they are moving or it is just time...but often because there is the next, cool thing down the road. We send folks to GCC and they send folks to us. Crossroads picks up people from St. John's Episcopal and St. Thomas picks up people from Belmont Mennonite. We shuttle people back and forth but are people growing?
It all seems a little like the way people embrace a restaurant when it opens up. Folks line up to sample the menu. Experience the decor. Things are different. Not like the old place where we've been eating for years. This new place has pizza with extra thin crust. We've enjoyed deep dish pizza at our last "favorite" place but now we just sort of enjoy something different... so we go to the new place until someone else opens up down the street.
God is leading us, at Trinity United Methodist, towards a conversation about all of this. We're going to be talking about the absolute necessity of people -in the words of Walt Kallestad- "breaking out of their private, cocooned lives and fully engag(ing) with God and his people."
We'll continue to strive for worship and ministries that are creative, faithful and beautiful. We'll continue to try and meet human need. We'll continue to try and share the Good News in a language those ordinary folks outside the church will understand. But the church ain't all about entertainment
- it's about being loving God with our whole heart, loving our neighbors as ourselves, and transforming the world through service.
A lot of pastors and lay leaders say they are tired of running an "entertainment" machine. They are tired of trying to "sell" programs to indifferent consumers who insist that church is all about having their needs met. We're hungry for something deeper...something more real. And I think you are, too.
Monday, December 8, 2008
The Parade Goes On.
Parades are a part of the American holiday tradition. You might even catch the adults in the house watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. The person in the recliner may have a Ph. D. in Semitic Languages and they'll be fascinated with that 7-story tall balloon of Snoopy. The football bowl season rolls around and people are glued to their tv watching things like the Rose Bowl Parade.
Churches have their own kinds of parades, but they usually don't include a 7-story tall Snoopy Balloon. Our parades involve people.
It's been thirty years since I first arrived at Trinity as an associate pastor fresh out of seminary. Oh, I slipped away -with the help of the Bishop- and served other churches in other areas for fourteen years- so we haven't been here non-stop for three decades.
But we've been with these folks, off and on, for thirty years. People who were in their late 40's are now in their late 70's.
What I've been privileged to witness is a parade of saints. Oh, I don't mean perfect people. Most folks get confused and think saints are perfect people. They're not. Saints are people who have been saved by the grace of Jesus Christ, and who have been set apart by God for a mission...a cause... a holy purpose.
There has been this parade of saints. People like Ross Richey and Helen DeWeese and Hewitt Grove and Virginia Manley and Jeff Holdread and Alexis Bujtas and Randy Robertson.
Ross was a retired Methodist pastor who went blind shortly after retiring, and then kept loving...serving...figured out how to help other blind people. He's gone. Ross is gone. Helen was a parish visitor. She loved encouraging and visiting people who couldn't really get out any more. Helen is gone. Hewitt is 92 years old and he has suffered more losses than a soul should experience in this life. He walks with a cane, has a smile that lights up the room, and comes at the world with a handshake that can turn coal into diamonds. Jeff is a business executive who shares my love of IU basketball. He has this twinkle in his eye...loves God...and has a heart that beats with compassion for all sorts of folks. Alexis is in elementary school and had one of the leads in our Christmas pageant last weekend. She has a deep soul, I think...is well connected to God...and has this thing about telling people she is thankful for them. Randy is an insurance agent who visits the hospitals every week...handing out magazines for people to read. He is just an amazing man... And there is Virginia.
Virginia's body gave out yesterday. She'd been ill for a long time. Virginia was something! She was an educator. She loved children. She had a razor sharp mind, was a clear thinker, and demanded clear thinking from others. Virginia, after retiring, helped our community start a volunteer tutoring outreach in our elementary schools. When new lay leaders or church staff would take their place at Trinity, I would say something like this: "There are people who, when they speak, you need to listen to what they say. They won't be right all the time but they'll be on the money about 80-90% of the time." Virginia was one of those people. She touched more lives than I can imagine.
We'll have her "Service of Death and Resurrection" in the sanctuary on Wednesday morning of this week.
There is this parade of saints. They're not perfect. Each one has had their share of struggles. Made their share of mistakes. But God's light has this way of shining through each one of them...in a unique way.
Their example, their prayers, their faith and grace, have this way of nudging the rest of us along. Hebrews 12:1-2 says: "Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith."
There is this parade. Sometimes you watch it. And sometimes you can't resist the impulse to step in, join the others, and start walking towards Jerusalem.
Churches have their own kinds of parades, but they usually don't include a 7-story tall Snoopy Balloon. Our parades involve people.
It's been thirty years since I first arrived at Trinity as an associate pastor fresh out of seminary. Oh, I slipped away -with the help of the Bishop- and served other churches in other areas for fourteen years- so we haven't been here non-stop for three decades.
But we've been with these folks, off and on, for thirty years. People who were in their late 40's are now in their late 70's.
What I've been privileged to witness is a parade of saints. Oh, I don't mean perfect people. Most folks get confused and think saints are perfect people. They're not. Saints are people who have been saved by the grace of Jesus Christ, and who have been set apart by God for a mission...a cause... a holy purpose.
There has been this parade of saints. People like Ross Richey and Helen DeWeese and Hewitt Grove and Virginia Manley and Jeff Holdread and Alexis Bujtas and Randy Robertson.
Ross was a retired Methodist pastor who went blind shortly after retiring, and then kept loving...serving...figured out how to help other blind people. He's gone. Ross is gone. Helen was a parish visitor. She loved encouraging and visiting people who couldn't really get out any more. Helen is gone. Hewitt is 92 years old and he has suffered more losses than a soul should experience in this life. He walks with a cane, has a smile that lights up the room, and comes at the world with a handshake that can turn coal into diamonds. Jeff is a business executive who shares my love of IU basketball. He has this twinkle in his eye...loves God...and has a heart that beats with compassion for all sorts of folks. Alexis is in elementary school and had one of the leads in our Christmas pageant last weekend. She has a deep soul, I think...is well connected to God...and has this thing about telling people she is thankful for them. Randy is an insurance agent who visits the hospitals every week...handing out magazines for people to read. He is just an amazing man... And there is Virginia.
Virginia's body gave out yesterday. She'd been ill for a long time. Virginia was something! She was an educator. She loved children. She had a razor sharp mind, was a clear thinker, and demanded clear thinking from others. Virginia, after retiring, helped our community start a volunteer tutoring outreach in our elementary schools. When new lay leaders or church staff would take their place at Trinity, I would say something like this: "There are people who, when they speak, you need to listen to what they say. They won't be right all the time but they'll be on the money about 80-90% of the time." Virginia was one of those people. She touched more lives than I can imagine.
We'll have her "Service of Death and Resurrection" in the sanctuary on Wednesday morning of this week.
There is this parade of saints. They're not perfect. Each one has had their share of struggles. Made their share of mistakes. But God's light has this way of shining through each one of them...in a unique way.
Their example, their prayers, their faith and grace, have this way of nudging the rest of us along. Hebrews 12:1-2 says: "Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith."
There is this parade. Sometimes you watch it. And sometimes you can't resist the impulse to step in, join the others, and start walking towards Jerusalem.
Rivers of Joy and Creeks of Sadness.
Overwhelming joy. Joy that, like some river which refuses to be contained, insists on spilling over and covering everything in sight.
That's sort of what life was like around our church this past weekend: overwhelming joy.
Things got started on Thursday afternoon and evening. We're adjacent to a public elementary school. Our congregation cares about those kids and their families. We do things like sponsoring the school's back-to-school cook out. We grill and serve the food...help direct foot traffic.
The students were having their Christmas/ holiday program in our church gymnasium/multi-purpose room Thursday night. We offer the school our facility. There's no cost. It is a great place for the program...the school doesn't have anything like it. In the afternoon the teachers walked them over to the gym...with its lighted Christmas tree and lights running the length of the stage. It was cool! Then, Thursday night nearly 1,000 students, parents and relatives filled our Trinity Life Center. Oh, man...
The flood of joy continued Saturday morning as we hosted "evaluation day" for our Upward Basketball program. It was a snowy, cold morning. Cars pulled up from 8:30 to 2:30, parents and their children came into the TLC, and you should have seen their faces! The kids could hear basketballs bouncing off the hardwood floor, and their faces lit up. Scores of volunteers from the church -men and women- were working with the kids. Last year we had about 140 children in the league...so far we have 287 signed up! In our first year of Upward Cheerleading we have more than 55 girls already registered. There was joy...and tons of sweaty little kids...everywhere you looked.
There was worship Saturday night and Sunday morning. All the services are places where the living Christ shows up, but Saturday night something special was going on. People were worshipping...the room was warm... the lights were beautiful. It was just right...
The river of joy continued into Sunday night as the children of Trinity put on their Christmas pageant in the TLC. They were awesome...parents and grandparents were nearly coming out of their chairs with pride and delight as the children sang their songs...delivered their lines.
It was almost too much! Sort of the way, when the family would get together, my Grandpa Owen would keep delivering more food to the table... long after you had eaten more than enough. So much joy...it left me beaming and almost exhausted.
And then there is the other side of life. I did something to my right hand late last summer while skiing at Hamilton Lake. The thing has gotten worse through the fall. Tingling and numbness...becoming more pronounced. So my family physician sent me to a hand specialist. During the morning's appointment (the hand will be as good as new after some minor surgery in January) the nurse asked for my medical history...my family history. I sat there answering her questions and suddenly I felt like weeping. Somehow that conversation tapped into an underground creek of sadness. Usually, I do pretty well getting along without the people I have loved who have gone to God's house. But sometimes I miss them... I really miss them. I studied the ceiling tiles, took a deep breath, and looked away from the nurse.
I regard it all as a gift from God. The rivers of joy and the creeks of sadness: I regard it all as a gift from God.
That's sort of what life was like around our church this past weekend: overwhelming joy.
Things got started on Thursday afternoon and evening. We're adjacent to a public elementary school. Our congregation cares about those kids and their families. We do things like sponsoring the school's back-to-school cook out. We grill and serve the food...help direct foot traffic.
The students were having their Christmas/ holiday program in our church gymnasium/multi-purpose room Thursday night. We offer the school our facility. There's no cost. It is a great place for the program...the school doesn't have anything like it. In the afternoon the teachers walked them over to the gym...with its lighted Christmas tree and lights running the length of the stage. It was cool! Then, Thursday night nearly 1,000 students, parents and relatives filled our Trinity Life Center. Oh, man...
The flood of joy continued Saturday morning as we hosted "evaluation day" for our Upward Basketball program. It was a snowy, cold morning. Cars pulled up from 8:30 to 2:30, parents and their children came into the TLC, and you should have seen their faces! The kids could hear basketballs bouncing off the hardwood floor, and their faces lit up. Scores of volunteers from the church -men and women- were working with the kids. Last year we had about 140 children in the league...so far we have 287 signed up! In our first year of Upward Cheerleading we have more than 55 girls already registered. There was joy...and tons of sweaty little kids...everywhere you looked.
There was worship Saturday night and Sunday morning. All the services are places where the living Christ shows up, but Saturday night something special was going on. People were worshipping...the room was warm... the lights were beautiful. It was just right...
The river of joy continued into Sunday night as the children of Trinity put on their Christmas pageant in the TLC. They were awesome...parents and grandparents were nearly coming out of their chairs with pride and delight as the children sang their songs...delivered their lines.
It was almost too much! Sort of the way, when the family would get together, my Grandpa Owen would keep delivering more food to the table... long after you had eaten more than enough. So much joy...it left me beaming and almost exhausted.
And then there is the other side of life. I did something to my right hand late last summer while skiing at Hamilton Lake. The thing has gotten worse through the fall. Tingling and numbness...becoming more pronounced. So my family physician sent me to a hand specialist. During the morning's appointment (the hand will be as good as new after some minor surgery in January) the nurse asked for my medical history...my family history. I sat there answering her questions and suddenly I felt like weeping. Somehow that conversation tapped into an underground creek of sadness. Usually, I do pretty well getting along without the people I have loved who have gone to God's house. But sometimes I miss them... I really miss them. I studied the ceiling tiles, took a deep breath, and looked away from the nurse.
I regard it all as a gift from God. The rivers of joy and the creeks of sadness: I regard it all as a gift from God.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
If You Post It, They Will Pray.
You can now submit your prayers to God on-line.
You don't have to go to a mosque.
You don't have to go to a synagogue.
You don't have to go to a church.
You don't have to risk getting close to another living soul -in person.
You can go to prayabout.com and ipraytoday.com and post your prayer requests. There have been toll-free long distance services, according to the article in today's New York Times, where you could ask strangers to pray for you.
Now there are prayer networks on the internet. The sites, according to the story by Allen Salkin, are not all Christian. But they share a common belief that "the more people pray for something, it has a better chance of happening."
The most common prayers are, the article says, for physical healing. The second most requested prayers are for inner peace. Over the last few months the number of people requesting prayers about financial concerns have increased sharply.
The founder of prayabout.com, Rodger Desai, is quoted as saying: "The Internet is a perfect place to create a market for support and hope."
There are good things about this phenomenon. The fact the web sites exist is a confirmation of the spiritual hunger that can turn us all towards God. It is encouraging to see people recognizing the power of prayer, and to witness people caring about one another.
But a "perfect market for support and hope?" It seems pretty clear to me God had a better idea when God created the church. On our worst days, I know, the church is like a bad web site that deserves to crash. And we do. We mess up. We talk of grace and mutter words of judgment about one another. We talk about loving the world, feeding the hungry and welcoming the stranger and clothing the naked, and then we can get so caught up in our own stuff that we are blind to the neighbor in need. So we have our bad days. But we have a lot of good days, too.
A lot of good days.
Approaching the sanctuary this morning I was approached by a woman who dissolved in tears. She was whispering into my "bad" ear and I had to turn my head to catch what she was saying. Her newly born grandchild was having physical complications, and was being considered for transport to a regional medical center. I wrapped my arms around her, I listened to her, and others quietly approached. She was surrounded by grace. Offered by living, breathing people.
After worship I noticed people standing around, in clusters, talking... listening...laughing. Toddlers were toddling...friends were telling friends they would be praying...a couple now living 3,000 miles away came over and we talked. They told me about their new life...their new chapter. There were these clusters of caring all around the room.
There is something in the human heart that hungers for real community, I believe. Person-to-person pray. In person. Doesn't matter how big Google gets...whatever the internet can do pales in comparison to the prayer support of the smallest, most rural gathering of genuine Jesus followers.
You don't have to go to a mosque.
You don't have to go to a synagogue.
You don't have to go to a church.
You don't have to risk getting close to another living soul -in person.
You can go to prayabout.com and ipraytoday.com and post your prayer requests. There have been toll-free long distance services, according to the article in today's New York Times, where you could ask strangers to pray for you.
Now there are prayer networks on the internet. The sites, according to the story by Allen Salkin, are not all Christian. But they share a common belief that "the more people pray for something, it has a better chance of happening."
The most common prayers are, the article says, for physical healing. The second most requested prayers are for inner peace. Over the last few months the number of people requesting prayers about financial concerns have increased sharply.
The founder of prayabout.com, Rodger Desai, is quoted as saying: "The Internet is a perfect place to create a market for support and hope."
There are good things about this phenomenon. The fact the web sites exist is a confirmation of the spiritual hunger that can turn us all towards God. It is encouraging to see people recognizing the power of prayer, and to witness people caring about one another.
But a "perfect market for support and hope?" It seems pretty clear to me God had a better idea when God created the church. On our worst days, I know, the church is like a bad web site that deserves to crash. And we do. We mess up. We talk of grace and mutter words of judgment about one another. We talk about loving the world, feeding the hungry and welcoming the stranger and clothing the naked, and then we can get so caught up in our own stuff that we are blind to the neighbor in need. So we have our bad days. But we have a lot of good days, too.
A lot of good days.
Approaching the sanctuary this morning I was approached by a woman who dissolved in tears. She was whispering into my "bad" ear and I had to turn my head to catch what she was saying. Her newly born grandchild was having physical complications, and was being considered for transport to a regional medical center. I wrapped my arms around her, I listened to her, and others quietly approached. She was surrounded by grace. Offered by living, breathing people.
After worship I noticed people standing around, in clusters, talking... listening...laughing. Toddlers were toddling...friends were telling friends they would be praying...a couple now living 3,000 miles away came over and we talked. They told me about their new life...their new chapter. There were these clusters of caring all around the room.
There is something in the human heart that hungers for real community, I believe. Person-to-person pray. In person. Doesn't matter how big Google gets...whatever the internet can do pales in comparison to the prayer support of the smallest, most rural gathering of genuine Jesus followers.
Just Being.
Thanksgiving was always a pretty big deal in our family. My dad, a physician, would make a big deal out of stuffing the turkey and sewing it up with some old surgical instruments. (I know - it sounds nuts.) My folks would work together to prepare the food.
Grandparents would usually be around. Siblings were all there around the table. At the end of the meal we would play a "fill in the blank" story game called "Benny and Becky's Just Right Thanksgiving." It first appeared in some national periodical back in the 30's, I think.
I've discovered that this week is my favorite holiday of the year. Oh, there's no question that Christmas and Easter are more important to us all in so many ways. They remind us of God's presence and saving power. They bring us face-to-face with a God whose power and love are breath-taking. Cosmos changing. And July 4th has its special charms. Time at the lake, maybe a round or two of skiing, fireworks over the water in the evening. But Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday.
Not because of the food. (Although Sharon is an amazing cook and always takes better care of us than we deserve.) Not because of the Macy's Parade. Not because we all get a chance to watch the Detroit Lions lose another game.
No, it is because our family gets the chance to just be together. Pastors, at both Easter and Christmas, are pretty focused on preaching and leading worship at those times of the year. We always seem to be coming and going. But the week of Thanksgiving, after preaching a brief word in the beautiful, simple, short Thanksgiving Eve service we have at Trinity, I just sort of stop. I hang out with our family. This week two of our grown sons returned home with their families. Our 16-month old granddaughter was around.
We hang out...eat...watch some football...maybe slip up to Chicago for a day...do dishes...maybe catch at movie on DVD here at home...read news headlines to one another as we sit at the kitchen table and look at The Elkhart Truth, South Bend Tribune, and New York Times. It's good. We just waste time together...share space...breathe the same air.
I love it. As good as it is I ache as the house begins to empty. My siblings head off late on Thanksgiving day. A few days later our kids go off. As Ella is carried to her car by her Mom she looks back at the house...at us. Is it my imagination or is she thinking, "Dang! Is the party over?"
There is a fire in the fireplace. I've just finished the NY Times. Caught some of Indiana's game with Cornell and watched some of the Jets' game with the Broncos. The house is quiet.
And I am so thankful. Which is right where I started this week: thankful.
Grandparents would usually be around. Siblings were all there around the table. At the end of the meal we would play a "fill in the blank" story game called "Benny and Becky's Just Right Thanksgiving." It first appeared in some national periodical back in the 30's, I think.
I've discovered that this week is my favorite holiday of the year. Oh, there's no question that Christmas and Easter are more important to us all in so many ways. They remind us of God's presence and saving power. They bring us face-to-face with a God whose power and love are breath-taking. Cosmos changing. And July 4th has its special charms. Time at the lake, maybe a round or two of skiing, fireworks over the water in the evening. But Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday.
Not because of the food. (Although Sharon is an amazing cook and always takes better care of us than we deserve.) Not because of the Macy's Parade. Not because we all get a chance to watch the Detroit Lions lose another game.
No, it is because our family gets the chance to just be together. Pastors, at both Easter and Christmas, are pretty focused on preaching and leading worship at those times of the year. We always seem to be coming and going. But the week of Thanksgiving, after preaching a brief word in the beautiful, simple, short Thanksgiving Eve service we have at Trinity, I just sort of stop. I hang out with our family. This week two of our grown sons returned home with their families. Our 16-month old granddaughter was around.
We hang out...eat...watch some football...maybe slip up to Chicago for a day...do dishes...maybe catch at movie on DVD here at home...read news headlines to one another as we sit at the kitchen table and look at The Elkhart Truth, South Bend Tribune, and New York Times. It's good. We just waste time together...share space...breathe the same air.
I love it. As good as it is I ache as the house begins to empty. My siblings head off late on Thanksgiving day. A few days later our kids go off. As Ella is carried to her car by her Mom she looks back at the house...at us. Is it my imagination or is she thinking, "Dang! Is the party over?"
There is a fire in the fireplace. I've just finished the NY Times. Caught some of Indiana's game with Cornell and watched some of the Jets' game with the Broncos. The house is quiet.
And I am so thankful. Which is right where I started this week: thankful.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Black Friday.
That's what they call today: "Black Friday."
Retailers open their doors -some of them- at 4 a.m. They feature a few extraordinary deals in every store. So crowds line up in the early morning dark, and -I'm told- the whole scene is a little crazy as people are let in to fight (sometimes literally!) for that particular item.
I don't know what to hope for.
Experts in economics tell us that consumer spending is the energy that drives the economy. Keeps factories and stores open. Provides jobs.
Others have rightly noted that an economic system dependent on constant spending, constant consuming, leads to an exhausted, depeleted planet inhabited by people who are -in the words of the hymn- "rich in things and poor in soul." If we keep spending the way we are, keep working the planet the way we are, this could have catastrophic consequences.
One of the few positives in the current economic downturn has been the realization that we don't need to have more. That we already have more than enough stuff. And that maybe it is time for us -in North America and Western Europe- to move beyond the foolishness of thinking that the next trinket we can buy will bring us happiness. Maybe this is the moment we re-discover the value of relationships and spirituality. Maybe this is the time when we see that who we are, our being, is more important than what we own or drive.
So on this "Black Friday" do we pull for the shoppers to turn out in full force, or do we hope that we'll continue to invest more in relationships than stuff?
I don't know.
Guess I'll let God sort it out. We're off to Chicago. Not to shop (I think) but to watch people, walk the streets, see the lights, and just hang out together on this beautiful day. Maybe I'll just step in one store or two...
Retailers open their doors -some of them- at 4 a.m. They feature a few extraordinary deals in every store. So crowds line up in the early morning dark, and -I'm told- the whole scene is a little crazy as people are let in to fight (sometimes literally!) for that particular item.
I don't know what to hope for.
Experts in economics tell us that consumer spending is the energy that drives the economy. Keeps factories and stores open. Provides jobs.
Others have rightly noted that an economic system dependent on constant spending, constant consuming, leads to an exhausted, depeleted planet inhabited by people who are -in the words of the hymn- "rich in things and poor in soul." If we keep spending the way we are, keep working the planet the way we are, this could have catastrophic consequences.
One of the few positives in the current economic downturn has been the realization that we don't need to have more. That we already have more than enough stuff. And that maybe it is time for us -in North America and Western Europe- to move beyond the foolishness of thinking that the next trinket we can buy will bring us happiness. Maybe this is the moment we re-discover the value of relationships and spirituality. Maybe this is the time when we see that who we are, our being, is more important than what we own or drive.
So on this "Black Friday" do we pull for the shoppers to turn out in full force, or do we hope that we'll continue to invest more in relationships than stuff?
I don't know.
Guess I'll let God sort it out. We're off to Chicago. Not to shop (I think) but to watch people, walk the streets, see the lights, and just hang out together on this beautiful day. Maybe I'll just step in one store or two...
Immovable Objects May Not Be.
Some things in life just never seem to change. The Detroit Lions losing on Thanksgiving Day. Leaves falling from the trees in northern Indiana in October and November. Cubs' fans waiting until next year. You know... there are some things that never seem to change.
That's true in our personal lives and relationships. I'm the oldest of seven children. Five of us have survived. Sometimes it seems like life has frozen us into a particular posture or position. Nothing seems to change.
One of my siblings and I have spent years sort of half seeing one another. There has been this thing -sadness, fear, resentment, a hope for change you dare not recognize because things seem stuck- between us. We'd smile at one another. We'd talk with one another. We'd offer a hug to one another when we would visit and when we would leave. But there was this thing between... Several times I would gulp, take a deep breath, and say something. Several times I would say, "Is there something we should talk about...because things don't seem right?" We never did...we never could.
Then, a week ago in Chicago, the two of us sat down in a restaurant. Just the two of us. We sat, we talked, we ate...for a couple of hours.
Do you know what? The thing between us is gone. It melted. Oh, we may stop now and then and talk about what was happening in that chapter when we had a tough time seeing one another...approaching one another. But that big thing...that deep thing...between us is gone.
I think it is a God-sized miracle. Just huge. I wouldn't predict to understand it. Like the leper who is healed in the 17th chapter of Luke, I just thank God for it.
This isn't the first time I've seen God pull off something like this. A friend in Mishawaka had a terrible relationship with his adult son. There had been no relationship to speak of for years. And then, oneday, the adult son called up and said, "Hi, Dad." The distance between them shrank to nothing over a period of days.
My old preaching professor, Will Willimon, has said that one of the most extraordinary things about Jesus is his call to change. Because his very call to change assumes that the things we think can never change -aren't so immovable.
You live through a moment when immovable things move, when the unchangable changes, and you don't smile with doubt when you read in the Bible about people walking through the sea or water coming out of a rock.
That's true in our personal lives and relationships. I'm the oldest of seven children. Five of us have survived. Sometimes it seems like life has frozen us into a particular posture or position. Nothing seems to change.
One of my siblings and I have spent years sort of half seeing one another. There has been this thing -sadness, fear, resentment, a hope for change you dare not recognize because things seem stuck- between us. We'd smile at one another. We'd talk with one another. We'd offer a hug to one another when we would visit and when we would leave. But there was this thing between... Several times I would gulp, take a deep breath, and say something. Several times I would say, "Is there something we should talk about...because things don't seem right?" We never did...we never could.
Then, a week ago in Chicago, the two of us sat down in a restaurant. Just the two of us. We sat, we talked, we ate...for a couple of hours.
Do you know what? The thing between us is gone. It melted. Oh, we may stop now and then and talk about what was happening in that chapter when we had a tough time seeing one another...approaching one another. But that big thing...that deep thing...between us is gone.
I think it is a God-sized miracle. Just huge. I wouldn't predict to understand it. Like the leper who is healed in the 17th chapter of Luke, I just thank God for it.
This isn't the first time I've seen God pull off something like this. A friend in Mishawaka had a terrible relationship with his adult son. There had been no relationship to speak of for years. And then, oneday, the adult son called up and said, "Hi, Dad." The distance between them shrank to nothing over a period of days.
My old preaching professor, Will Willimon, has said that one of the most extraordinary things about Jesus is his call to change. Because his very call to change assumes that the things we think can never change -aren't so immovable.
You live through a moment when immovable things move, when the unchangable changes, and you don't smile with doubt when you read in the Bible about people walking through the sea or water coming out of a rock.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Reminders of the Presence.
There is a stick about 8 inches long lying on the floor of our car. It's up front on the passenger's side. And, if you look in the back seat, you'll find a yellowing ginko leaf.
Every time I get in the car I see these two small things, which appear to be so out of place, and I smile.
Two weeks ago we were in Columbus, Ohio. We had four days with our 16-month old granddaughter, Ella. (Aka "Beautiful Ella.") We walked her to a nearby park where she picked up the stick and began hitting different pieces of playground equipment with it. She would rap it on the metal slide and hear one sound. She'd hit it against the plastic steps and hear another sound. She would whack it against the trunk of a tree and hear something very different.
Sort of simple. But a delight nontheless.
Then, on the way back home from the park, I pushed her little, pink car (she has a steering wheel and everything) over to the side of the street where piles of leaves had gathered. (I think it was some kind of leaf conference or reunion...) I picked up the ginko leaf and handed it to Ella. She didn't let go of it when we put here in the car seat.
It's been two weeks. The stick is still on the floor of our car. And the leaf is still on the back seat.
I open the door of the car, even on this snowy day, see the leaf and the stick - and smile.
They are reminders of the presence. Of one who is loved. And whose very existence makes everything else different...and better.
The other day I looked down, noticed the stick, and thought of the scene described in Luke 22:19 (RSV): "And he took bread, and when he had given thanks he broke it and gave it to them, saying, 'This is my body.'"
A reminder of the presence.
Every time I get in the car I see these two small things, which appear to be so out of place, and I smile.
Two weeks ago we were in Columbus, Ohio. We had four days with our 16-month old granddaughter, Ella. (Aka "Beautiful Ella.") We walked her to a nearby park where she picked up the stick and began hitting different pieces of playground equipment with it. She would rap it on the metal slide and hear one sound. She'd hit it against the plastic steps and hear another sound. She would whack it against the trunk of a tree and hear something very different.
Sort of simple. But a delight nontheless.
Then, on the way back home from the park, I pushed her little, pink car (she has a steering wheel and everything) over to the side of the street where piles of leaves had gathered. (I think it was some kind of leaf conference or reunion...) I picked up the ginko leaf and handed it to Ella. She didn't let go of it when we put here in the car seat.
It's been two weeks. The stick is still on the floor of our car. And the leaf is still on the back seat.
I open the door of the car, even on this snowy day, see the leaf and the stick - and smile.
They are reminders of the presence. Of one who is loved. And whose very existence makes everything else different...and better.
The other day I looked down, noticed the stick, and thought of the scene described in Luke 22:19 (RSV): "And he took bread, and when he had given thanks he broke it and gave it to them, saying, 'This is my body.'"
A reminder of the presence.
Falling Apart - Gracefully.
Health is something I have never taken for granted. The ability to get out of a chair, run across the yard, study the snow filtering down past the pale, pink light of the streetlight across the way: all of it is a miracle.
A friend of mine told me that at 50 everything seems to fall apart. I smiled when he said that. As someone who gets to the Y to workout three or four times a week, and looks surprisingly young (!), I knew the "everything seems to fall apart" statement just didn't apply to me.
My 57 must be 50 in "preacher years." About a year my eyes started giving me fits. The doctor couldn't figure it out. Things just get blurry now and then. Then, things clear up!
Late this summer I pointed out a bump on the top of my head that looked suspicious. Two weeks ago I had a second small bit of surgery on that...turned out to be a skin cancer. Nothing to write home about but still... (I did ask the doctor if he would take enough that the results would be an "on the cheap" face lift. He just smiles at my stupid jokes!)
Then, about 9 weeks ago I was skiing with friends at Hamilton Lake, and my buddy pushed the throttle forward on his high-powered boat. I was in the water, on skis, and I could feel something tear in my right hand. There have been occasional periods of numbness in my right hand and so I went to see the doctor today - and he is sending me to a hand surgeon.
Told Dr. Yoder I want the right arm in great shape by the time summer rolls around. There is another season of skiing just around the corner!
So I guess I am mortal. That isn't a bad thing to remember.
Even when things break or fall off or wear out, you know, God has blessed us with these bodies. Psalm 139:14 reminds us that we have been fearfully and wonderfully made.
I still don't take every blessed day for granted. It's all a miracle.
Falling apart -physically- is a part of life. My goal is do that gracefully! Honestly, I've got no complaints...not really.
A friend of mine told me that at 50 everything seems to fall apart. I smiled when he said that. As someone who gets to the Y to workout three or four times a week, and looks surprisingly young (!), I knew the "everything seems to fall apart" statement just didn't apply to me.
My 57 must be 50 in "preacher years." About a year my eyes started giving me fits. The doctor couldn't figure it out. Things just get blurry now and then. Then, things clear up!
Late this summer I pointed out a bump on the top of my head that looked suspicious. Two weeks ago I had a second small bit of surgery on that...turned out to be a skin cancer. Nothing to write home about but still... (I did ask the doctor if he would take enough that the results would be an "on the cheap" face lift. He just smiles at my stupid jokes!)
Then, about 9 weeks ago I was skiing with friends at Hamilton Lake, and my buddy pushed the throttle forward on his high-powered boat. I was in the water, on skis, and I could feel something tear in my right hand. There have been occasional periods of numbness in my right hand and so I went to see the doctor today - and he is sending me to a hand surgeon.
Told Dr. Yoder I want the right arm in great shape by the time summer rolls around. There is another season of skiing just around the corner!
So I guess I am mortal. That isn't a bad thing to remember.
Even when things break or fall off or wear out, you know, God has blessed us with these bodies. Psalm 139:14 reminds us that we have been fearfully and wonderfully made.
I still don't take every blessed day for granted. It's all a miracle.
Falling apart -physically- is a part of life. My goal is do that gracefully! Honestly, I've got no complaints...not really.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
The Election: Can You Feel Your Hands & Toes?
Something has shifted in the republic.
Polls had steadily predicted that the candidacy of Senator Barack Obama was overwhelming the cause of Senator John McCain. Experts speculated that some Anglo voters, in the privacy of the voting booth, simply could not bring themselves to vote for an African-American for such a high office. So the polls predicted an Obama win but experts cautioned us that the results might be much closer than predicted.
By 9:30 or so in the evening, Eastern Standard Time, voting results showed that the citizens of the United States were electing a non-Anglo to the office of President. (Note: everyone refers to Barack as "African-American" but his mother was Anglo. So I'm not sure what criteria folks are using to designate him as African-American. Honestly, as the lines between the races continue to blur in America they are going to do just that....blur. We will all, as Barack said this week in referring to himself, be some kind of "mutt.")
Something has shifted in the republic.
As someone who follows politics closely, and who studied political science at IU, it is clear to me that something profound has happened. Voters have taken America to a new place, and none of us yet quite understand what this all means for our present and our future.
As a Christian pastor, who works very hard to keep any kind of political perspective out of the pulpit, writing this requires some degree of caution. However, it is wrong to let this moment in our history pass without some kind of comment.
I've noticed some things. I've noticed that a fair number of my Republican friends are very anxious about what an Obama presidency may mean for our country. They fear a sharp turn to the left. I tell them my sense is that the man is thoughtful, surrounds himself with strong people, and will do everything humanly possible not to put our nation "in the ditch."
I've noticed that even many John McCain fans sense a decency in Obama which they admire, and they see his candidacy as a good thing for our country. Even those who do not welcome an Obama presidency see his candidacy as a sign we are moving towards justice and equality racially. Many of us who lived through the civil right's struggles of the 1960's knew this day would come -but it has come with surprising quickness and even those "right of center" see it as a hopeful and good thing.
Something has shifted in the republic.
I wouldn't pretend to understand all the factors that led to Senator Obama's overwhelming victory. Certainly the economic meltdown and uncertainty meant that any Republican candidate was going to be swimming upstream. And, certainly, people are weary of a war on two fronts that has drained us of our treasure -in lives and dollars- while failing to defeat the Islamic extremists who attacked us on 9/11.
Do you know why I believe the American people have elected Barack Obama to the presidency? I believe it has to do with his repeated reminders that we are one people -despite the attempts of political experts to break us down into competing demographic groups. I believe his election has to do with his reminder that we are not a nation of blue states or red states but that we are the United States of America.
Our citizens have lived through nearly 25 years of the politics of division. People on the right were bitter and unrelenting in their attacks on the Clintons, and people on the far left have mocked and demeaned George W. Bush. Talk radio and tv has descended into shouting matches. Bill Maher is caustic, anti-faith, and hostile to middle America. Rush Limbaugh seems to have stopped thinking rationally and uses every broadcast as an opportunity to say one more outrageous, mean thing.
We're weary of it! We're tired of it!
So there is something in us that responded to the repeated statements of the tall, junior Senator from Illinois about being one people...about working together...about claiming one another. One political commentator says he watched Barack Obama speaking in inner-city Philadelphia to a rally made up mainly of lower income black families. The one comment that drew the largest roar of approval was Senator Obama's statement about being one people...working together...not being a collection of competing red states and blue states.
Paul, in Corinthians and Romans, reminds the early Christians that we are all a part of one body in Christ. There is this human temptation for the eyes to write off the feet as unimportant, or the brain to think the arms don't count. The early Christian missionary pastor reminded Jesus-followers that we are connected...we have been given one another as a gift from God. And, Paul says, each part is important. Especially the ones we think, at first glance, really don't matter.
"Can you feel your hands and toes?" Paul was asking. "Do you realize how connected you are to one another?"
Barack, although apparently a man of deep, personal Christian faith, didn't put it quite like this, but he was asking the same question: "Do you realize how connected you are to one another?"
Something has shifted. We are in a new place as a nation. It's a good time to pray...and prepare ourselves for the hard work ahead.
Polls had steadily predicted that the candidacy of Senator Barack Obama was overwhelming the cause of Senator John McCain. Experts speculated that some Anglo voters, in the privacy of the voting booth, simply could not bring themselves to vote for an African-American for such a high office. So the polls predicted an Obama win but experts cautioned us that the results might be much closer than predicted.
By 9:30 or so in the evening, Eastern Standard Time, voting results showed that the citizens of the United States were electing a non-Anglo to the office of President. (Note: everyone refers to Barack as "African-American" but his mother was Anglo. So I'm not sure what criteria folks are using to designate him as African-American. Honestly, as the lines between the races continue to blur in America they are going to do just that....blur. We will all, as Barack said this week in referring to himself, be some kind of "mutt.")
Something has shifted in the republic.
As someone who follows politics closely, and who studied political science at IU, it is clear to me that something profound has happened. Voters have taken America to a new place, and none of us yet quite understand what this all means for our present and our future.
As a Christian pastor, who works very hard to keep any kind of political perspective out of the pulpit, writing this requires some degree of caution. However, it is wrong to let this moment in our history pass without some kind of comment.
I've noticed some things. I've noticed that a fair number of my Republican friends are very anxious about what an Obama presidency may mean for our country. They fear a sharp turn to the left. I tell them my sense is that the man is thoughtful, surrounds himself with strong people, and will do everything humanly possible not to put our nation "in the ditch."
I've noticed that even many John McCain fans sense a decency in Obama which they admire, and they see his candidacy as a good thing for our country. Even those who do not welcome an Obama presidency see his candidacy as a sign we are moving towards justice and equality racially. Many of us who lived through the civil right's struggles of the 1960's knew this day would come -but it has come with surprising quickness and even those "right of center" see it as a hopeful and good thing.
Something has shifted in the republic.
I wouldn't pretend to understand all the factors that led to Senator Obama's overwhelming victory. Certainly the economic meltdown and uncertainty meant that any Republican candidate was going to be swimming upstream. And, certainly, people are weary of a war on two fronts that has drained us of our treasure -in lives and dollars- while failing to defeat the Islamic extremists who attacked us on 9/11.
Do you know why I believe the American people have elected Barack Obama to the presidency? I believe it has to do with his repeated reminders that we are one people -despite the attempts of political experts to break us down into competing demographic groups. I believe his election has to do with his reminder that we are not a nation of blue states or red states but that we are the United States of America.
Our citizens have lived through nearly 25 years of the politics of division. People on the right were bitter and unrelenting in their attacks on the Clintons, and people on the far left have mocked and demeaned George W. Bush. Talk radio and tv has descended into shouting matches. Bill Maher is caustic, anti-faith, and hostile to middle America. Rush Limbaugh seems to have stopped thinking rationally and uses every broadcast as an opportunity to say one more outrageous, mean thing.
We're weary of it! We're tired of it!
So there is something in us that responded to the repeated statements of the tall, junior Senator from Illinois about being one people...about working together...about claiming one another. One political commentator says he watched Barack Obama speaking in inner-city Philadelphia to a rally made up mainly of lower income black families. The one comment that drew the largest roar of approval was Senator Obama's statement about being one people...working together...not being a collection of competing red states and blue states.
Paul, in Corinthians and Romans, reminds the early Christians that we are all a part of one body in Christ. There is this human temptation for the eyes to write off the feet as unimportant, or the brain to think the arms don't count. The early Christian missionary pastor reminded Jesus-followers that we are connected...we have been given one another as a gift from God. And, Paul says, each part is important. Especially the ones we think, at first glance, really don't matter.
"Can you feel your hands and toes?" Paul was asking. "Do you realize how connected you are to one another?"
Barack, although apparently a man of deep, personal Christian faith, didn't put it quite like this, but he was asking the same question: "Do you realize how connected you are to one another?"
Something has shifted. We are in a new place as a nation. It's a good time to pray...and prepare ourselves for the hard work ahead.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Play It Where It Lays.
Family and friends.
I've been thinking about family and friends.
Not sure why that is. Maybe it is being in one church for more than 12 years, and getting to know...really know...a whole group of folks. Seeing their strong places, seeing their scared places, seeing their bruised places, seeing their hopeful places, and seeing their stuck places. You know...
stuck. Like a child who keeps tripping over the same toy. Or the football player who can't seem to remember to go left on a particular pass play and always heads in the wrong direction. You get to see people's stuck places. The issue or fear or obsession that keeps tripping them up. And, of course, they have gotten to know me so well they see all my places. They know I am -on some days- all together and some days I am a total mess. You get to know one another pretty well after twelve years.
Perhaps I've been thinking about family and friends because my siblings are getting ready to do some heart work. We're spread out, the five of us, from northwest Chicago to suburban Washington D.C. So getting together will be tough, but we are getting ready to do some heart work... some counseling work. It's been over eight years since our Mom died, and her absence has changed the landscape of the universe for us. So we're going to talk with someone and try to figure out how to move into the future in a loving, connected, healthy way.
One of the wisest words of advice for human relationships I heard on the golf course: "Play it where it lies." There might be an easier shot if the ball were three or four feet to the right, you might shoot a lower score if you didn't have to navigate your way around that stubborn maple tree standing between you and the hole, but you play the ball where it lies.
When we're young many of us expend an extraordinary amount of energy looking for people who aren't stuck...bruised...fearful. There are days when we want to wash our hands of the collection of characters that make up our family.
Wisdom is, though, learning to love people where they are. "Play it where it lies." I think about the buddy who stopped by the house this week. We sat on the patio, watched the fall leaves come down and the river flow by, and talked. Some of our stuff we've been kicking around for the better part of a decade. And I love him. He blesses my life. When he walks into a room the world is a better place. But he and are a both flawed, unfinished creatures. We accept that about one another. That acceptance allows our friendship to flourish.
Simon Peter was an impulsive, talk-first-and-then-think sort of guy. Jesus loved him. Never gave up on him. Even took time to give his friend fishing advice in John 21. And Paul, in 2nd Corinthians, says if we are in Christ we are being made into a new creation.
I'm thankful for the moments when God provides healing to our broken hearts, and moves us beyond our stuck places. I do believe people can change and grow and heal. Mercy and grace are also very good things, and I'm thankful for the wisdom that tells us to love and value people where they are.
"Play it where it lies."
I've been thinking about family and friends.
Not sure why that is. Maybe it is being in one church for more than 12 years, and getting to know...really know...a whole group of folks. Seeing their strong places, seeing their scared places, seeing their bruised places, seeing their hopeful places, and seeing their stuck places. You know...
stuck. Like a child who keeps tripping over the same toy. Or the football player who can't seem to remember to go left on a particular pass play and always heads in the wrong direction. You get to see people's stuck places. The issue or fear or obsession that keeps tripping them up. And, of course, they have gotten to know me so well they see all my places. They know I am -on some days- all together and some days I am a total mess. You get to know one another pretty well after twelve years.
Perhaps I've been thinking about family and friends because my siblings are getting ready to do some heart work. We're spread out, the five of us, from northwest Chicago to suburban Washington D.C. So getting together will be tough, but we are getting ready to do some heart work... some counseling work. It's been over eight years since our Mom died, and her absence has changed the landscape of the universe for us. So we're going to talk with someone and try to figure out how to move into the future in a loving, connected, healthy way.
One of the wisest words of advice for human relationships I heard on the golf course: "Play it where it lies." There might be an easier shot if the ball were three or four feet to the right, you might shoot a lower score if you didn't have to navigate your way around that stubborn maple tree standing between you and the hole, but you play the ball where it lies.
When we're young many of us expend an extraordinary amount of energy looking for people who aren't stuck...bruised...fearful. There are days when we want to wash our hands of the collection of characters that make up our family.
Wisdom is, though, learning to love people where they are. "Play it where it lies." I think about the buddy who stopped by the house this week. We sat on the patio, watched the fall leaves come down and the river flow by, and talked. Some of our stuff we've been kicking around for the better part of a decade. And I love him. He blesses my life. When he walks into a room the world is a better place. But he and are a both flawed, unfinished creatures. We accept that about one another. That acceptance allows our friendship to flourish.
Simon Peter was an impulsive, talk-first-and-then-think sort of guy. Jesus loved him. Never gave up on him. Even took time to give his friend fishing advice in John 21. And Paul, in 2nd Corinthians, says if we are in Christ we are being made into a new creation.
I'm thankful for the moments when God provides healing to our broken hearts, and moves us beyond our stuck places. I do believe people can change and grow and heal. Mercy and grace are also very good things, and I'm thankful for the wisdom that tells us to love and value people where they are.
"Play it where it lies."
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Risking the Rocking Chair.
The sixteen month old I know as "beautiful Ella" is walking. Taking about five and six steps at a time before she plops back down on the floor.
One of her favorite activities, right now, is to crawl up on a white, plastic rocking chair in the living room of her parents' home. The chair looks like one of those office waiting room chairs from the 1960's or 70's. The thing is not all that stable.
But Ella likes to crawl up on it and rock -while standing up!
Mom and Dad have warned her about this. Encouraged her to sit down. "On the bottom," they say. "Sit on your bottom." But the view is more exciting, and the rocking is more pronounced, when she pulls herself up on the plastic chair with the low sides, and stands.
Life is an exercise in risk taking, isn't it? And one of the most frustrating things for a parent is not being able to protect our children from themselves. You know the risk...you can see the accident waiting to happen...but the toddler sees only the excitement of what they want to do.
Sometimes we are able to warn the people we love and know away from a decision or course of action that is going to bring all kinds of pain their way. They listen to the warnings. They are "teachable." But so often we refuse to listen...to be coached...and we say, "I'll do it myself. I'll figure this out myself. I'll try this on for size myself." What usually results is pain. Bumps and bruises. Maybe a trip to the ER. Certainly tears. This is "learning the hard way" and it seems to be the learning option of choice for many of us.
Sometimes, unfortunately, experience is the best teacher. But the lessons can be harsh.
Jesus warned a rich, young man that if he held onto his wealth....if he continued to value money over God and relationships...he was going to be miserable. But the man wouldn't believe Jesus. He chose to hang onto money as the defining reality of his life.
Being a parent can be tough, you know? We love...we want to protect...but when you give life you release a new generation to learn lessons. You turn them loose to exercise their freedom. Sometimes they choose well... and sometimes they fall, get hurt, and end up running to you.
God knows something about having kids who insist on doing things their way...learning the hard way. I wonder if he has ever revisited his decision, in those first moments of creation, to give his sons and daughters the gift of freewill.
Sit down on the rocking chair, Ella. Sit down, please. I don't want to see you hurt. Grandpa doesn't want to see you hurt. Please.
One of her favorite activities, right now, is to crawl up on a white, plastic rocking chair in the living room of her parents' home. The chair looks like one of those office waiting room chairs from the 1960's or 70's. The thing is not all that stable.
But Ella likes to crawl up on it and rock -while standing up!
Mom and Dad have warned her about this. Encouraged her to sit down. "On the bottom," they say. "Sit on your bottom." But the view is more exciting, and the rocking is more pronounced, when she pulls herself up on the plastic chair with the low sides, and stands.
Life is an exercise in risk taking, isn't it? And one of the most frustrating things for a parent is not being able to protect our children from themselves. You know the risk...you can see the accident waiting to happen...but the toddler sees only the excitement of what they want to do.
Sometimes we are able to warn the people we love and know away from a decision or course of action that is going to bring all kinds of pain their way. They listen to the warnings. They are "teachable." But so often we refuse to listen...to be coached...and we say, "I'll do it myself. I'll figure this out myself. I'll try this on for size myself." What usually results is pain. Bumps and bruises. Maybe a trip to the ER. Certainly tears. This is "learning the hard way" and it seems to be the learning option of choice for many of us.
Sometimes, unfortunately, experience is the best teacher. But the lessons can be harsh.
Jesus warned a rich, young man that if he held onto his wealth....if he continued to value money over God and relationships...he was going to be miserable. But the man wouldn't believe Jesus. He chose to hang onto money as the defining reality of his life.
Being a parent can be tough, you know? We love...we want to protect...but when you give life you release a new generation to learn lessons. You turn them loose to exercise their freedom. Sometimes they choose well... and sometimes they fall, get hurt, and end up running to you.
God knows something about having kids who insist on doing things their way...learning the hard way. I wonder if he has ever revisited his decision, in those first moments of creation, to give his sons and daughters the gift of freewill.
Sit down on the rocking chair, Ella. Sit down, please. I don't want to see you hurt. Grandpa doesn't want to see you hurt. Please.
Prophets of Doom.
We're in the middle of a rough patch. Locally. In America. And around the world. Eighty year olds look at all this, shrug, and say, "We've been here before. We'll get through it." But for a lot of us who are younger this is the first, serious, economic valley we've found ourselves in.
Someone told me this morning about a church in our area that is telling people everything is going to crash. The dollar is going to lose all value. The economic system will come to a total halt. They are telling their people that the market signs point to the imminent return of Jesus and the end of the world as we know it.
Now prophets -spokespeople for God- are faced with two temptations. On the one hand they can minimize what is wrong. Tell people everything is okay because people like to be comforted...re-assured. Prophets can say everything is okay when it isn't. Jeremiah 6:14 talks about prophets who "heal the wound" of God's people "lightly." Who say "Peace, peace" when there is no peace.
The other direction prophets, prophets and religious writers can go is to use every crisis as a "sign" that everything is crashing, Jesus is about to return, and the age is nearing an end. There are preachers and writers who have been getting rich off this sort of message for generations. When people are already scared and uncertain it is an easy way to fill pews or sell books.
Jesus, in Luke 21:8, said there would be false prophets or teachers. Proclaiming that the current crisis was the sign that his return was imminent. But, Jesus said, don't let these pretend experts lead you astray.
In Matthew 24:36 Jesus says only God knows when this world is going to end as God begins a new age.
Grace demands we give these prophets of doom the benefit of the doubt. So I assume they think they are helping their people out..."reading" the signs of the age. Interpreting events. But I also would warn my brothers and sisters who lead Christian communities not to use difficult times and the negative energy they generate to build their congregations...fill their pews...or sell more books.
There is something sad...unseemly...about preachers feeding on the fear in the hearts of the sheep...to build up their own religious kingdoms. If that is what they are doing....if.
Someone told me this morning about a church in our area that is telling people everything is going to crash. The dollar is going to lose all value. The economic system will come to a total halt. They are telling their people that the market signs point to the imminent return of Jesus and the end of the world as we know it.
Now prophets -spokespeople for God- are faced with two temptations. On the one hand they can minimize what is wrong. Tell people everything is okay because people like to be comforted...re-assured. Prophets can say everything is okay when it isn't. Jeremiah 6:14 talks about prophets who "heal the wound" of God's people "lightly." Who say "Peace, peace" when there is no peace.
The other direction prophets, prophets and religious writers can go is to use every crisis as a "sign" that everything is crashing, Jesus is about to return, and the age is nearing an end. There are preachers and writers who have been getting rich off this sort of message for generations. When people are already scared and uncertain it is an easy way to fill pews or sell books.
Jesus, in Luke 21:8, said there would be false prophets or teachers. Proclaiming that the current crisis was the sign that his return was imminent. But, Jesus said, don't let these pretend experts lead you astray.
In Matthew 24:36 Jesus says only God knows when this world is going to end as God begins a new age.
Grace demands we give these prophets of doom the benefit of the doubt. So I assume they think they are helping their people out..."reading" the signs of the age. Interpreting events. But I also would warn my brothers and sisters who lead Christian communities not to use difficult times and the negative energy they generate to build their congregations...fill their pews...or sell more books.
There is something sad...unseemly...about preachers feeding on the fear in the hearts of the sheep...to build up their own religious kingdoms. If that is what they are doing....if.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
I Command You to Chill Out -God.
People outside the Christian movement hear us talk about "keeping the Sabbath." That usually means, to the non-Christian, a day full of religious ritural and obligations. Serious stuff. Joy is prohibited. The sort of day each week that reminds you of those long days in a stuffy classroom on a very warm, fall day. When every bone in your body longs to be outside... throwing a football or kicking leaves.
But I don't think the Sabbath was meant to be like that. I think God gave us this one day, each week, to stop. To let God's joy catch up with us. To slow down for 24 hours so that we can get in touch again the down-deep, ordinary miracle of being alive. To look around and notice, again, the people traveling with us...living with us...worshipping with us.
I have been thinking, this afternoon, about how I keep the Sabbath. Let me tell you what my Sabbath looks like. I get up early, look over a sermon manuscript, make myself some tea and pour myself a bowl of Grape Nuts, and eventually find my way to church. There are days, like today, when the worship and the music and Spirit of God just knock us all over...and nearly out. One friend walked out of the sanctuary and shook her head. "Now that's what I call church!" she said with a smile.
Then, I race home and get into bluejeans (fall-winter) or a pair of shorts (summer-spring). We head to lunch with friends. Then, I stretch out on the living room floor and the read the papers. If it is water-skiing season I may head to the lake, or we pay put the top down on the Miata and take a drive. When the weather gets cooler -like this afternoon- I lay down and watch the Colts play the Packers. Later, I'll slice up some apples, put peanut butter on them, and read a sweet little novel. Or I may go to Volcano's and pick up a stromboli. The deeper into the day I go I focus on doing nothing.
God does something with the "doing nothing." "Doing nothing" is actually very re-creative. Even well-designed machines break down when they are run non-stop. So God does good work with our play time...our stopping... our Sabbath.
Deuteronomy 5:15 says to keep the Sabbath day, as does Exodus 20:8. Keep it holy, the Bible says. I think that means to be sure to stop. For God's sake. No matter how important the stuff is that sits on the desk. No matter the length of your "to do" list. No matter how important and indispensable we think we are.
It's funny. This whole Sabbath thing sometimes clashes with the expectations congregations have of their pastors. Friends of mine, who don't serve as gracious a congregation as Trinity, are often expected to do "command performances" at Sunday class parties or choir get togethers
- even if that event falls on the pastor's Sabbath. One ouchy critic of a pastor said, "I never stop...even on my day off. I'm always available. We expect you to do stuff with us...even when you may be 'off.'" The pastor was so stunned that he didn't think to respond, "That's not Biblical. That's not Christian. Go look at Exodus 20:8."
Somehow hanging out at home, lying on the living room floor in bluejeans with the newspaper, munching an apple, watching the Colts take on the Packers, seems pretty hard to defend when the world -and duty- calls.
God says it is a holy thing, though.
Keep the Sabbath. Chill out. Slip into those bluejeans, take that walk, watch that game, read that book, tune the engine on your favorite motorcycle, go skiing, close your eyes and take a nap, play a game with the kids...just stop.
"I command you to chill out," God said.
God is still saying it.
But I don't think the Sabbath was meant to be like that. I think God gave us this one day, each week, to stop. To let God's joy catch up with us. To slow down for 24 hours so that we can get in touch again the down-deep, ordinary miracle of being alive. To look around and notice, again, the people traveling with us...living with us...worshipping with us.
I have been thinking, this afternoon, about how I keep the Sabbath. Let me tell you what my Sabbath looks like. I get up early, look over a sermon manuscript, make myself some tea and pour myself a bowl of Grape Nuts, and eventually find my way to church. There are days, like today, when the worship and the music and Spirit of God just knock us all over...and nearly out. One friend walked out of the sanctuary and shook her head. "Now that's what I call church!" she said with a smile.
Then, I race home and get into bluejeans (fall-winter) or a pair of shorts (summer-spring). We head to lunch with friends. Then, I stretch out on the living room floor and the read the papers. If it is water-skiing season I may head to the lake, or we pay put the top down on the Miata and take a drive. When the weather gets cooler -like this afternoon- I lay down and watch the Colts play the Packers. Later, I'll slice up some apples, put peanut butter on them, and read a sweet little novel. Or I may go to Volcano's and pick up a stromboli. The deeper into the day I go I focus on doing nothing.
God does something with the "doing nothing." "Doing nothing" is actually very re-creative. Even well-designed machines break down when they are run non-stop. So God does good work with our play time...our stopping... our Sabbath.
Deuteronomy 5:15 says to keep the Sabbath day, as does Exodus 20:8. Keep it holy, the Bible says. I think that means to be sure to stop. For God's sake. No matter how important the stuff is that sits on the desk. No matter the length of your "to do" list. No matter how important and indispensable we think we are.
It's funny. This whole Sabbath thing sometimes clashes with the expectations congregations have of their pastors. Friends of mine, who don't serve as gracious a congregation as Trinity, are often expected to do "command performances" at Sunday class parties or choir get togethers
- even if that event falls on the pastor's Sabbath. One ouchy critic of a pastor said, "I never stop...even on my day off. I'm always available. We expect you to do stuff with us...even when you may be 'off.'" The pastor was so stunned that he didn't think to respond, "That's not Biblical. That's not Christian. Go look at Exodus 20:8."
Somehow hanging out at home, lying on the living room floor in bluejeans with the newspaper, munching an apple, watching the Colts take on the Packers, seems pretty hard to defend when the world -and duty- calls.
God says it is a holy thing, though.
Keep the Sabbath. Chill out. Slip into those bluejeans, take that walk, watch that game, read that book, tune the engine on your favorite motorcycle, go skiing, close your eyes and take a nap, play a game with the kids...just stop.
"I command you to chill out," God said.
God is still saying it.
Users.
Something is happening. One of the great churches in North America did an in-depth survey of its many members a few years ago and found many of them are "stuck" spiritually.
Thousands of people each weekend attend seeker-sensitive worship services at this extraordinary place. People who have thought of the Christian church as nothing but lifeless hypocrites coming together for limp ritual have been surprised to find real life dramas, relevant messages, and top-notch music. The "seeker sensitive" worship has done a great job of drawing "unchurched" people into a large Christian community, but the survey has revealed many of these people are spiritually stuck. (A similar survey, which our congregation will take sometime this winter, could reveal the same thing about many "mainline" churches.)
John Ortberg, a Christian writer and pastor from the West Coast, recently spoke at a conference in the Midwest. Ortberg said that usually Christians can be divided into "admirers" (they admire Jesus but don't let his teachings and life change them in real ways) and "followers." John said in the last decade or so we have added a new category: "users."
These are people who view God in a utilitarian way: God has meaning and is worthy of worship because God can deliver what I want. So people talk about how God gives them a sense of peace, healed their marriage, smoothed out the kinks in their company's business plan, solved their fertility problems, etc.
People also take a utilitarian view of the church: our connection with a church is dependent on its ability to meet my needs and the needs of my friends...my family. Loyalty to a group of people...a place...a history...is limited. If the next place down the road has a zippy new youth program, or a fantastic coffee cafe, or a teacher whose sermons are spell-bounding and full of great jokes, then we're gone. Everything, eventually, is all about "What have you done for me, lately?"
The veteran pastor from the West Coast, who served at Willow Creek Community for years, said we have created a group of people who are "users." Even in their relationship with God. And the people they have called friends in the church. They're here today...and gone tomorrow if they think they can get a better deal done the road.
I think Ortberg is wrong. This isn't some new phenomenon. There have always been "users."
Look at the 6th chapter of the Gospel of John. Jesus has fed a crowd of thousands with five barley loaves and two fish. (A young boy had been carrying them around...and offered them up when he saw the need.) It is an amazing miracle. A cool God thing! Told several times in the New Testament gospels.
John 6:15 tells us the crowd wanted to force Jesus to be their earthly king. They wanted to march him to some Judean palace and install him as their prince!
The gospels are full of stories about how,when Jesus healed the sick bodies and broken hearts of the people, they crowded around him. Acted like he was the best thing since sliced bread. Appeared to be friends forever.
But when the Temple guards marched Jesus out of the Garden of Gethsemane, when the Romans had beaten him and were leading him out to the cross, the crowds were gone. I suppose they were out looking for another, better deal. Who wants to get mixed up with some Carpenter whose hands are tied tight by the Romans, and who can't give you the bread and fish you want?
What's the opposite of a "user?" Maybe "giver." Maybe "faithful." Or maybe there isn't a name for it. Maybe it is just a phrase: "I am here no matter what, and my loyalty to you...and to the village of the faithful that is this church...is not for sale. Not up for grabs to the highest bidder."
A new category: "user."
Christ calls us to something better...something deeper. May God grant you a loyal and devoted heart to those who love you and know you.
Thousands of people each weekend attend seeker-sensitive worship services at this extraordinary place. People who have thought of the Christian church as nothing but lifeless hypocrites coming together for limp ritual have been surprised to find real life dramas, relevant messages, and top-notch music. The "seeker sensitive" worship has done a great job of drawing "unchurched" people into a large Christian community, but the survey has revealed many of these people are spiritually stuck. (A similar survey, which our congregation will take sometime this winter, could reveal the same thing about many "mainline" churches.)
John Ortberg, a Christian writer and pastor from the West Coast, recently spoke at a conference in the Midwest. Ortberg said that usually Christians can be divided into "admirers" (they admire Jesus but don't let his teachings and life change them in real ways) and "followers." John said in the last decade or so we have added a new category: "users."
These are people who view God in a utilitarian way: God has meaning and is worthy of worship because God can deliver what I want. So people talk about how God gives them a sense of peace, healed their marriage, smoothed out the kinks in their company's business plan, solved their fertility problems, etc.
People also take a utilitarian view of the church: our connection with a church is dependent on its ability to meet my needs and the needs of my friends...my family. Loyalty to a group of people...a place...a history...is limited. If the next place down the road has a zippy new youth program, or a fantastic coffee cafe, or a teacher whose sermons are spell-bounding and full of great jokes, then we're gone. Everything, eventually, is all about "What have you done for me, lately?"
The veteran pastor from the West Coast, who served at Willow Creek Community for years, said we have created a group of people who are "users." Even in their relationship with God. And the people they have called friends in the church. They're here today...and gone tomorrow if they think they can get a better deal done the road.
I think Ortberg is wrong. This isn't some new phenomenon. There have always been "users."
Look at the 6th chapter of the Gospel of John. Jesus has fed a crowd of thousands with five barley loaves and two fish. (A young boy had been carrying them around...and offered them up when he saw the need.) It is an amazing miracle. A cool God thing! Told several times in the New Testament gospels.
John 6:15 tells us the crowd wanted to force Jesus to be their earthly king. They wanted to march him to some Judean palace and install him as their prince!
The gospels are full of stories about how,when Jesus healed the sick bodies and broken hearts of the people, they crowded around him. Acted like he was the best thing since sliced bread. Appeared to be friends forever.
But when the Temple guards marched Jesus out of the Garden of Gethsemane, when the Romans had beaten him and were leading him out to the cross, the crowds were gone. I suppose they were out looking for another, better deal. Who wants to get mixed up with some Carpenter whose hands are tied tight by the Romans, and who can't give you the bread and fish you want?
What's the opposite of a "user?" Maybe "giver." Maybe "faithful." Or maybe there isn't a name for it. Maybe it is just a phrase: "I am here no matter what, and my loyalty to you...and to the village of the faithful that is this church...is not for sale. Not up for grabs to the highest bidder."
A new category: "user."
Christ calls us to something better...something deeper. May God grant you a loyal and devoted heart to those who love you and know you.
When the Bride Dances.
I was more than a little surprised by the choice of songs. About one hundred of us were gathered in the reception area of an Indianapolis-area country club following a Christian wedding service.
It was the moment when the bride -she looked radiant!- was to dance with her father. The DJ announced that fact. The father was sitting next to me and as he stood up he whispered, "Pray for me." I told him I would be praying for him. The prayer had nothing to do with any dance steps, but with a father's ability to dance with his daughter and keep his full-to-overflowing heart in check. I was praying he could "hold it together."
Usually, at a wedding reception when the bride dances with her father, the song drives everyone in the room to tears. But this bride had chosen the Beatles' "When I'm Sixty Four." It sort of sounds like a bouncy, British pub song. Almost impossible to dance to. And we watched...listened... and many of us smiled.
Sitting there I was struck by the precision and predictability of the elements at a wedding party. There are the pictures following the service. There is the entrance of the wedding party and this is -according to current practices- done to music fit for a hockey game with the booming voice of the DJ naming each member of the group. There is the toast by the best man...the toast by the maid of honor. There is the throwing of the bouquet...often the tossing of a garter. There is the cutting of the cake. (Which often means either the bride or groom -or both- end up wearing much of the cake on their face.)
Then -and only then- it is time for the couple's first dance...then the bride's dance with her dad...the groom's dance with his mom.
One thing follows another. In wedding after wedding.
So I sat there listening to the Beatles, thinking about the power and necessity of ritual in our lives. We Americans like to make things up as we go. We don't want to be trapped by the customs of the past. Mega- churches are filled with worshippers who insist they are tired of the old rituals. People want "new." People want "different."
Then why, at weddings, do we want these same elements...in the same order?
You see I believe there is power in ritual. In knowing what comes next. We're relieved of the stress of having to come up with something new on our own. Knowing the DJ is going to announce the bride's dance with her father allows us to focus on the moment...settle into the moment...and enjoy it. Delight in the relationships...the people side of things.
And, sometimes, the element or ritual was developed for a good reason by people years...decades...ago. Weddings are a swirl of stuff. It'd be easy for a daughter and her dad, in all the racing around and the people to greet, to slip away from one another at the end of the day without really looking one another in the eyes. Remembering. But having that dance, insisted on by the DJ, brings those two together. No wedding coordinators asking questions of the bride, no friends from work trying tell a joke to the dad: just the two of them. Holding onto one another. Moving to the music of that old Beatles' song. Looking one another over. Thinking. Remembering. Getting ready for some kind of new distance between them. Thanking. Forgiving the other for the occasional rough spot. Blessing. They may not say it but there is an unspoken blessing between them.
Someone before us thought about this, and so we have the dance. So there is this ritual.
Leviticus 7 goes into great detail about how the people are to remember God's goodness and offer their sacrifices (explaining the kind of sacrifice required and in what order it is to be given). Life among early Jesus followers is described in Acts 2:43-ff. They attended the temple together, broke bread (whether a communion meal or just sandwiches from Subway), and told one another about the good stuff God was doing in their lives and communities. Participated in a time of praise. There was a pattern.
We say we want new. And new can be such a good thing. But sometimes we seem to exhaust ourselves coming up with the next, cool thing.
Isn't it nice to know what's coming at a wedding party? Isn't it nice not having to re-invent it all every time we're together? Isn't it nice that I can lean back and watch my friend dance with his daughter, and remember when she much younger...and think about the way ahead?
It was the moment when the bride -she looked radiant!- was to dance with her father. The DJ announced that fact. The father was sitting next to me and as he stood up he whispered, "Pray for me." I told him I would be praying for him. The prayer had nothing to do with any dance steps, but with a father's ability to dance with his daughter and keep his full-to-overflowing heart in check. I was praying he could "hold it together."
Usually, at a wedding reception when the bride dances with her father, the song drives everyone in the room to tears. But this bride had chosen the Beatles' "When I'm Sixty Four." It sort of sounds like a bouncy, British pub song. Almost impossible to dance to. And we watched...listened... and many of us smiled.
Sitting there I was struck by the precision and predictability of the elements at a wedding party. There are the pictures following the service. There is the entrance of the wedding party and this is -according to current practices- done to music fit for a hockey game with the booming voice of the DJ naming each member of the group. There is the toast by the best man...the toast by the maid of honor. There is the throwing of the bouquet...often the tossing of a garter. There is the cutting of the cake. (Which often means either the bride or groom -or both- end up wearing much of the cake on their face.)
Then -and only then- it is time for the couple's first dance...then the bride's dance with her dad...the groom's dance with his mom.
One thing follows another. In wedding after wedding.
So I sat there listening to the Beatles, thinking about the power and necessity of ritual in our lives. We Americans like to make things up as we go. We don't want to be trapped by the customs of the past. Mega- churches are filled with worshippers who insist they are tired of the old rituals. People want "new." People want "different."
Then why, at weddings, do we want these same elements...in the same order?
You see I believe there is power in ritual. In knowing what comes next. We're relieved of the stress of having to come up with something new on our own. Knowing the DJ is going to announce the bride's dance with her father allows us to focus on the moment...settle into the moment...and enjoy it. Delight in the relationships...the people side of things.
And, sometimes, the element or ritual was developed for a good reason by people years...decades...ago. Weddings are a swirl of stuff. It'd be easy for a daughter and her dad, in all the racing around and the people to greet, to slip away from one another at the end of the day without really looking one another in the eyes. Remembering. But having that dance, insisted on by the DJ, brings those two together. No wedding coordinators asking questions of the bride, no friends from work trying tell a joke to the dad: just the two of them. Holding onto one another. Moving to the music of that old Beatles' song. Looking one another over. Thinking. Remembering. Getting ready for some kind of new distance between them. Thanking. Forgiving the other for the occasional rough spot. Blessing. They may not say it but there is an unspoken blessing between them.
Someone before us thought about this, and so we have the dance. So there is this ritual.
Leviticus 7 goes into great detail about how the people are to remember God's goodness and offer their sacrifices (explaining the kind of sacrifice required and in what order it is to be given). Life among early Jesus followers is described in Acts 2:43-ff. They attended the temple together, broke bread (whether a communion meal or just sandwiches from Subway), and told one another about the good stuff God was doing in their lives and communities. Participated in a time of praise. There was a pattern.
We say we want new. And new can be such a good thing. But sometimes we seem to exhaust ourselves coming up with the next, cool thing.
Isn't it nice to know what's coming at a wedding party? Isn't it nice not having to re-invent it all every time we're together? Isn't it nice that I can lean back and watch my friend dance with his daughter, and remember when she much younger...and think about the way ahead?
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Leaning Back.
Funny how a granddaughter can change your life.
I never expected this.
But I have been knocked out by the joy Ella has brought into my life.
There are a lot of things that just "get me" about her. The way she walks as she holds onto the finger of an adult. Her legs reaching out in a wide arc. Her bare feet feel the ground or surface ahead... almost like another set of hands.
There is the way she hears someone digging in the freezer in the kitchen, and she motors in on all fours saying, "Ice...ice."
There is the way, when she hears music, she begins to move her hands as if she were conducting the Chicago Symphony Orchestra...only not in an obvious way. With more subtlety.
There is even the way she, when she gets frustrated, puffs up with rage and looks like she is going to blow a gasket. The other night at a barbecue place in Columbus she lost it. The only thing on the table in front of her was a small, stuffed penguin we had bought during a visit to the Zoo that afternoon. Ella rose up, and swept her arm across the table knocking the penguin into the air. Almost as if she was saying, "Okay...the penguin's going to get it...and one of you could be next."
It's all cool.
But the thing that gets me is the way she comes up and leans back against me. She just settles into me. Stretches her arms, tilts her head back over my side as I lie on the floor, and throws her arms around my neck.
Her vocabulary is pretty limited right now, but I think what she would say in those moments is, "I feel safe. I feel safe with you...and we're sort of one."
John Wesley, who founded the Methodist renewal movement, talked a lot about the "assurance" of salvation. What he meant by that, I hunch, is we know when we lean back into the grace of God we are going to be okay. The love of Jesus is going to catch us.
There is a Christian song that talks about "leaning on the everlasting arms." It doesn't talk about leaning on the shoulder of God...or leaning on the tummy of God...or throwing our arms around the neck of God.
But I think you get the idea.
And so does Ella.
I never expected this.
But I have been knocked out by the joy Ella has brought into my life.
There are a lot of things that just "get me" about her. The way she walks as she holds onto the finger of an adult. Her legs reaching out in a wide arc. Her bare feet feel the ground or surface ahead... almost like another set of hands.
There is the way she hears someone digging in the freezer in the kitchen, and she motors in on all fours saying, "Ice...ice."
There is the way, when she hears music, she begins to move her hands as if she were conducting the Chicago Symphony Orchestra...only not in an obvious way. With more subtlety.
There is even the way she, when she gets frustrated, puffs up with rage and looks like she is going to blow a gasket. The other night at a barbecue place in Columbus she lost it. The only thing on the table in front of her was a small, stuffed penguin we had bought during a visit to the Zoo that afternoon. Ella rose up, and swept her arm across the table knocking the penguin into the air. Almost as if she was saying, "Okay...the penguin's going to get it...and one of you could be next."
It's all cool.
But the thing that gets me is the way she comes up and leans back against me. She just settles into me. Stretches her arms, tilts her head back over my side as I lie on the floor, and throws her arms around my neck.
Her vocabulary is pretty limited right now, but I think what she would say in those moments is, "I feel safe. I feel safe with you...and we're sort of one."
John Wesley, who founded the Methodist renewal movement, talked a lot about the "assurance" of salvation. What he meant by that, I hunch, is we know when we lean back into the grace of God we are going to be okay. The love of Jesus is going to catch us.
There is a Christian song that talks about "leaning on the everlasting arms." It doesn't talk about leaning on the shoulder of God...or leaning on the tummy of God...or throwing our arms around the neck of God.
But I think you get the idea.
And so does Ella.
Tracing the Source of Tears.
People come into our lives. People leave our lives.
I learned this at an early age. As missionaries our family moved around a lot. I went through first grade in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Second and third grade were in Brussels, Belguim. Fourth and fifth grade were in a public school off 16th street/Emerson on the east side of Indianapolis. I remember, the Friday afternoon before Easter break, saying goodbye to my classmates. Walking my "girl friend" to the corner. We had all been handed a bag of popcorn by our teacher as a "spring break" treat. I handed my bag of popcorn to the girl. She walked straight at the light and I turned right. So I finished 5th grade in Nome, Alaska. And that is where I stayed until the summer before my sophomore year in high school. Then, it was south to the Midwest...to Walkerton, Indiana. The last three years of high school were there.
People come and people go.
There have been other losses. My Dad died on the mission field, in Africa. Before I was four year's old. My brother, Eric, was killed in a car accident on his 5th birthday when I was off at 1st grade. More drama and loss than you'd expect to find in a life so young, right?
So Wednesday evening of this past week I am meeting with lay leaders. They ask me how I am doing...how the church is doing. I tell them. I also tell them I am going -in just a few minutes- to be presenting a Bible to a young boy named Taylor. Other children will get their Bibles on Sunday morning later in October, but I'll be walking over into the church gym in a few minutes and handing Taylor his Bible.
A friend asks, "Are you giving him his Bible tonight because he is moving away with his Dad?"
Suddenly, I can't speak. My eyes fill with tears. I nod. Taylor is a great young young man. He refers to me as "Sermon Mark." Just a few weeks ago he led our 9:15 congregation in the Lord's Prayer. The tears are a puzzle... I wipe them away and go present the Bible. It is a good moment. I tell Taylor God is good and God is going to give him a whole group of new friends. "I know it!" he says in a matter-of-fact way.
I walk out the door. Express to a friend my puzzlement over my tears. She says, "Well, you've had a lot of people walk out of your life. Those losses build up and you don't want to see someone else you love leave."
In worship today I tell the story of Taylor...the Bible...my tears. After our last service of the morning the sanctuary is nearly empty. Children are playing in the worship area. Adults are chatting. Tech people are shutting down the computers and sound system.
A friend named Chris comes up to me. We hug and watch his young grandson crawl around the communion rail. "I think I know what your tears were about," he says. I wait. "You were crying for yourself. You remembered the young boy who moved so much...all the times you had to adjust...and you know the tough work ahead of Taylor."
"Never occurred to me," I think to myself. Really...never thought of that. We stand there quietly. "The truth is," he adds, "many of the tears we cry we cry for ourselves." I don't know quite to say...but it sure feels like Jesus has tip-toed up behind me, tapped me on the shoulder, and said, "I think I know what those tears were about."
In Psalm 34 the psalmist says (:18, TNIV), "The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." Funny how God shows up, sometimes, when the sanctuary has emptied out. And you are nearly alone...but not quite. A friend is standing there...beside you.
I learned this at an early age. As missionaries our family moved around a lot. I went through first grade in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. Second and third grade were in Brussels, Belguim. Fourth and fifth grade were in a public school off 16th street/Emerson on the east side of Indianapolis. I remember, the Friday afternoon before Easter break, saying goodbye to my classmates. Walking my "girl friend" to the corner. We had all been handed a bag of popcorn by our teacher as a "spring break" treat. I handed my bag of popcorn to the girl. She walked straight at the light and I turned right. So I finished 5th grade in Nome, Alaska. And that is where I stayed until the summer before my sophomore year in high school. Then, it was south to the Midwest...to Walkerton, Indiana. The last three years of high school were there.
People come and people go.
There have been other losses. My Dad died on the mission field, in Africa. Before I was four year's old. My brother, Eric, was killed in a car accident on his 5th birthday when I was off at 1st grade. More drama and loss than you'd expect to find in a life so young, right?
So Wednesday evening of this past week I am meeting with lay leaders. They ask me how I am doing...how the church is doing. I tell them. I also tell them I am going -in just a few minutes- to be presenting a Bible to a young boy named Taylor. Other children will get their Bibles on Sunday morning later in October, but I'll be walking over into the church gym in a few minutes and handing Taylor his Bible.
A friend asks, "Are you giving him his Bible tonight because he is moving away with his Dad?"
Suddenly, I can't speak. My eyes fill with tears. I nod. Taylor is a great young young man. He refers to me as "Sermon Mark." Just a few weeks ago he led our 9:15 congregation in the Lord's Prayer. The tears are a puzzle... I wipe them away and go present the Bible. It is a good moment. I tell Taylor God is good and God is going to give him a whole group of new friends. "I know it!" he says in a matter-of-fact way.
I walk out the door. Express to a friend my puzzlement over my tears. She says, "Well, you've had a lot of people walk out of your life. Those losses build up and you don't want to see someone else you love leave."
In worship today I tell the story of Taylor...the Bible...my tears. After our last service of the morning the sanctuary is nearly empty. Children are playing in the worship area. Adults are chatting. Tech people are shutting down the computers and sound system.
A friend named Chris comes up to me. We hug and watch his young grandson crawl around the communion rail. "I think I know what your tears were about," he says. I wait. "You were crying for yourself. You remembered the young boy who moved so much...all the times you had to adjust...and you know the tough work ahead of Taylor."
"Never occurred to me," I think to myself. Really...never thought of that. We stand there quietly. "The truth is," he adds, "many of the tears we cry we cry for ourselves." I don't know quite to say...but it sure feels like Jesus has tip-toed up behind me, tapped me on the shoulder, and said, "I think I know what those tears were about."
In Psalm 34 the psalmist says (:18, TNIV), "The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." Funny how God shows up, sometimes, when the sanctuary has emptied out. And you are nearly alone...but not quite. A friend is standing there...beside you.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Fooling Around.
When summer finally arrives in north Indiana I spend as much time as I can on or near the water. The season is short so I make sure I am ready to get in the water when the temperature warms up.
Usually, each summer, we find our way up to Mackinac Island for a few days. (No swimming there!) Then, further south, we manage a few days around the beautiful little town of South Haven. There are trips up to Warren Dunes State Park in southwestern Michigan...a place we have visited since we were teenagers. It's a good place to swim, to lie on the sand and read a good book, and to watch the setting sun set someplace over Wisconsin in a blaze of orange glory.
In a recent years, though, I get down to Koontz Lake in Marshall County. It's about an hour's drive from us. My in-laws live on the lake there, and I enjoy skiing behind their boat every chance I get. It is one of those small moments of life when I feel so alive I about joy right out of my skin! Good water, few other boats, and the sun low on the horizon as the fishermen come out...it is a sweet time to ski! So I ski every chance I get...or I get in the water with my 14-month old granddaughter, Ella, and we play.
I guess I'm saying I've gotten my money's worth out of the lake this summer. I've savored it...soaked it up.
This Sunday afternoon we went down. The cooler nights have made the water to chilly too slip into. So while a gentle rain fell I took my Bible, calendar, notebook and pens out to the ski boat...and sat in it while it was cradled above the water by the Shore Station. I sketched out some sermons for the coming year while listening to the rain, watching each raindrop create a circle where it hit the surface of the lake, and drank down a Coke Zero. (How's that for product placement? And the folks in Atlanta didn't pay me a dime!)
It was good. Really good. The rain slowed to a stop, the sun came out, and I noticed the neighbor a few doors down working in his yard.
I first knew him when he was younger, had a full head of dark hair, and two young children. For the last 4 or 5 years he and his wife have been rebuilding their lake home. Every time I walk past I see 2 x 4's stacked up in the yard, or insulation piled high waiting to be installed, or boxes of siding. It's been like the Great Wall of China...a never-ending project.
The thing I realized, as I sat in the boat this past Sunday afternoon, is that I haven't seen him out in the water...or in his boat. All summer. He and his wife have built this awesome deck on the front of the house, overlooking the lake, but I've not seen them out there with a good book and a cold root beer. Everything has been work.
Now, the season is ending and he is still trimming shrubbery. Working on the yard. Getting the place ready for his retirement...in three or four years.
He'll be ready then. But it seems, from where I sit in the boat, he has missed this season.
One of the occupational hazards of preacher types is you connect things you see in life to scripture. So as the day turned sunny and I watched the man work in the yard, I found myself thinking of the Parable of the Rich Fool Jesus tells in Luke 12. The guy's farm was doing very well. Instead of sharing the excess grain, or enjoying life, he said, "You know, I'll build some more barns and silos. I'll pile up the grain and then I'll be set for life. Then, I'll take some time to live and love." The man thought he had planned well, Jesus says, but the problem with his plan is that very night he was going to die.
God hates for us to miss life. "You fool!" God says to the man. "This very night your life will be demanded from you. Then who will get what you have prepared for yourself?"
Remembering that parable, I shook my head as the neighbor made one more trip to edge of his property with an armful of yard clippings. "You fool," I thought to myself.
Maybe I see it clearly. Maybe I've got it right.
Or maybe I am just a guy who would rather ski or read a book or watch the White Sox come back against the Tampa Bay Rays than do yard work. Maybe I've got my own blind spots. Maybe there are things I am missing as badly...as completely...as my friend who never seems to stop and notice the lake. Missed opportunities to love...to serve...to learn...to grow...to heal.
Maybe the fool is on the hill...working in his yard. Barely noticing the sun bouncing off the surface of the water on this autumn evening.
Or...it could be...the fool is in the boat. Able to see what the neighbor is missing and unable, for the life of him, to catch a glimpse of the holy and good things of life he is missing...putting off...until. Someday.
Usually, each summer, we find our way up to Mackinac Island for a few days. (No swimming there!) Then, further south, we manage a few days around the beautiful little town of South Haven. There are trips up to Warren Dunes State Park in southwestern Michigan...a place we have visited since we were teenagers. It's a good place to swim, to lie on the sand and read a good book, and to watch the setting sun set someplace over Wisconsin in a blaze of orange glory.
In a recent years, though, I get down to Koontz Lake in Marshall County. It's about an hour's drive from us. My in-laws live on the lake there, and I enjoy skiing behind their boat every chance I get. It is one of those small moments of life when I feel so alive I about joy right out of my skin! Good water, few other boats, and the sun low on the horizon as the fishermen come out...it is a sweet time to ski! So I ski every chance I get...or I get in the water with my 14-month old granddaughter, Ella, and we play.
I guess I'm saying I've gotten my money's worth out of the lake this summer. I've savored it...soaked it up.
This Sunday afternoon we went down. The cooler nights have made the water to chilly too slip into. So while a gentle rain fell I took my Bible, calendar, notebook and pens out to the ski boat...and sat in it while it was cradled above the water by the Shore Station. I sketched out some sermons for the coming year while listening to the rain, watching each raindrop create a circle where it hit the surface of the lake, and drank down a Coke Zero. (How's that for product placement? And the folks in Atlanta didn't pay me a dime!)
It was good. Really good. The rain slowed to a stop, the sun came out, and I noticed the neighbor a few doors down working in his yard.
I first knew him when he was younger, had a full head of dark hair, and two young children. For the last 4 or 5 years he and his wife have been rebuilding their lake home. Every time I walk past I see 2 x 4's stacked up in the yard, or insulation piled high waiting to be installed, or boxes of siding. It's been like the Great Wall of China...a never-ending project.
The thing I realized, as I sat in the boat this past Sunday afternoon, is that I haven't seen him out in the water...or in his boat. All summer. He and his wife have built this awesome deck on the front of the house, overlooking the lake, but I've not seen them out there with a good book and a cold root beer. Everything has been work.
Now, the season is ending and he is still trimming shrubbery. Working on the yard. Getting the place ready for his retirement...in three or four years.
He'll be ready then. But it seems, from where I sit in the boat, he has missed this season.
One of the occupational hazards of preacher types is you connect things you see in life to scripture. So as the day turned sunny and I watched the man work in the yard, I found myself thinking of the Parable of the Rich Fool Jesus tells in Luke 12. The guy's farm was doing very well. Instead of sharing the excess grain, or enjoying life, he said, "You know, I'll build some more barns and silos. I'll pile up the grain and then I'll be set for life. Then, I'll take some time to live and love." The man thought he had planned well, Jesus says, but the problem with his plan is that very night he was going to die.
God hates for us to miss life. "You fool!" God says to the man. "This very night your life will be demanded from you. Then who will get what you have prepared for yourself?"
Remembering that parable, I shook my head as the neighbor made one more trip to edge of his property with an armful of yard clippings. "You fool," I thought to myself.
Maybe I see it clearly. Maybe I've got it right.
Or maybe I am just a guy who would rather ski or read a book or watch the White Sox come back against the Tampa Bay Rays than do yard work. Maybe I've got my own blind spots. Maybe there are things I am missing as badly...as completely...as my friend who never seems to stop and notice the lake. Missed opportunities to love...to serve...to learn...to grow...to heal.
Maybe the fool is on the hill...working in his yard. Barely noticing the sun bouncing off the surface of the water on this autumn evening.
Or...it could be...the fool is in the boat. Able to see what the neighbor is missing and unable, for the life of him, to catch a glimpse of the holy and good things of life he is missing...putting off...until. Someday.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
It's a Kinship Thing: New Day for United Methodists in Indiana.
Nothing remains the same. Change is one of the constants in life.
I thought of that yesterday as some 1,600 Hoosier United Methodists gathered in one of the buildings of the Indiana State Fairgrounds. We were there to vote to finalize our decision to go from two annual conferences to one. (An annual conference, for those of you non-Wesleyans out there, is the body in Methodism that ordains pastors, connects churches to one another, coordinates camping, and assigns preachers to congregations.)
During the gathering I found myself remembering the people...faces...who made up our North Indiana Conference. It felt strange not to have my Mom, Anita, there for this big moment...she was there for so many big moments in earlier years as Lay Leader. I missed Don LaSuer's smile and Virgil Bjork's quiet reason.
We're not supposed to use the word "merger" for this. Because this is not a "merger" but a new thing. It's a mix, though. It's a merger. It's a blending of two predecessor conferences...structures...all of that. But it is a new thing, too.
Beneath the loud praise songs and the talk of a new conference really organized around the mission of making disciples of Jesus Christ for the transformation for the world (wasn't that the purpose of the old North Indiana Conference and the South Indiana Conferences, after all?), a part of why we are doing this is we have been growing smaller and older for the last 30 years. We've not done a good job of reaching out to, speaking the language, of new generations and new communities. We've got too many churches that are going through the motions. They appear to be religious museums. And we have too many pastors who lack passion and courage. Still, across Indiana, there are these outposts of new life and growth and renewal.
The whole thing is messy. Our Bishop and leaders are doing their best, but this new thing is messy and ragged. Sort of like working on a jet airliner while it is in the air!
Three thoughts came to mind as I got in the car, at the end of the afternoon, and headed north: It's about relationships. Rambling around in the big building, yesterday, I bumped into Paul Fulp, Ted Blosser, and Kent Millard...all friends from South Indiana. We hugged, talked trash, loved on one another, and agreed it would be good to be together. Whatever that invisible line that ran east to west across central Indiana, and separated us from one another, I am glad it's gone!
The second thought was this: Jesus saves. Not a new structure or a new mission statement. Jesus saves. The grace of God in Jesus can heal and save the world...one life at a time. It's worth remembering. Worth giving our lives to.
A friend, Don LaSuer, would say to me that we always had this way of turning salvation by grace into salvation by works. "We do our best to make grace something we do or earn," he'd say to me.
We do our best to capture, focus, this grace within the framework of an ecclesiastical structure. If we could only get the right conference structure, the right kind of mission statement, every church leader to read that book about five fruitful practices, then things will go well. But our structures are imperfect...never complete. (See 1 Corinthians 13.)
Third, we've got to take the risk of surrendering to this love in a new and radical way. Taking the good news to people in their own language with a kind of passion that will make the world think we've dipped into the wine cellar early in the day (see Acts). If we aren't going to be reckless and bold with the grace of God, getting to know and love the "strangers" down the street, loving and serving them before we ever dare to share the Gospel in words...then all of this new stuff will have been a waste.
I see how I have been an obstacle to growth for the Kingdom of God. Forgive me, Lord. Set my heart on fire with a new love for you, and teach me to let go of the old and familiar so I can receive the new and the unlearned.
I thought of that yesterday as some 1,600 Hoosier United Methodists gathered in one of the buildings of the Indiana State Fairgrounds. We were there to vote to finalize our decision to go from two annual conferences to one. (An annual conference, for those of you non-Wesleyans out there, is the body in Methodism that ordains pastors, connects churches to one another, coordinates camping, and assigns preachers to congregations.)
During the gathering I found myself remembering the people...faces...who made up our North Indiana Conference. It felt strange not to have my Mom, Anita, there for this big moment...she was there for so many big moments in earlier years as Lay Leader. I missed Don LaSuer's smile and Virgil Bjork's quiet reason.
We're not supposed to use the word "merger" for this. Because this is not a "merger" but a new thing. It's a mix, though. It's a merger. It's a blending of two predecessor conferences...structures...all of that. But it is a new thing, too.
Beneath the loud praise songs and the talk of a new conference really organized around the mission of making disciples of Jesus Christ for the transformation for the world (wasn't that the purpose of the old North Indiana Conference and the South Indiana Conferences, after all?), a part of why we are doing this is we have been growing smaller and older for the last 30 years. We've not done a good job of reaching out to, speaking the language, of new generations and new communities. We've got too many churches that are going through the motions. They appear to be religious museums. And we have too many pastors who lack passion and courage. Still, across Indiana, there are these outposts of new life and growth and renewal.
The whole thing is messy. Our Bishop and leaders are doing their best, but this new thing is messy and ragged. Sort of like working on a jet airliner while it is in the air!
Three thoughts came to mind as I got in the car, at the end of the afternoon, and headed north: It's about relationships. Rambling around in the big building, yesterday, I bumped into Paul Fulp, Ted Blosser, and Kent Millard...all friends from South Indiana. We hugged, talked trash, loved on one another, and agreed it would be good to be together. Whatever that invisible line that ran east to west across central Indiana, and separated us from one another, I am glad it's gone!
The second thought was this: Jesus saves. Not a new structure or a new mission statement. Jesus saves. The grace of God in Jesus can heal and save the world...one life at a time. It's worth remembering. Worth giving our lives to.
A friend, Don LaSuer, would say to me that we always had this way of turning salvation by grace into salvation by works. "We do our best to make grace something we do or earn," he'd say to me.
We do our best to capture, focus, this grace within the framework of an ecclesiastical structure. If we could only get the right conference structure, the right kind of mission statement, every church leader to read that book about five fruitful practices, then things will go well. But our structures are imperfect...never complete. (See 1 Corinthians 13.)
Third, we've got to take the risk of surrendering to this love in a new and radical way. Taking the good news to people in their own language with a kind of passion that will make the world think we've dipped into the wine cellar early in the day (see Acts). If we aren't going to be reckless and bold with the grace of God, getting to know and love the "strangers" down the street, loving and serving them before we ever dare to share the Gospel in words...then all of this new stuff will have been a waste.
I see how I have been an obstacle to growth for the Kingdom of God. Forgive me, Lord. Set my heart on fire with a new love for you, and teach me to let go of the old and familiar so I can receive the new and the unlearned.
Monday, September 29, 2008
The Devil and American Bandstand.
Some of us are old enough to remember when Dick Clark's "American Bandstand" was a big deal on Saturdays for teenagers. There was this playlist of top songs. They'd change from week to week. Sometimes a song was "hot" and climbing "up the charts." And sometimes the song was stalled or dropping. People just weren't buying it the way they were the week before.
Those of us who grew up in the Chicago area in the 1960's used to listen to the disk jockeys on WLS-AM and WCFL-AM play down (or up) the top 30 popular songs every afternoon. You went from #30 to #29 to #28. Until, right before the end of the show, the hotest song in the country was played.
Today my copy of Outreach magazine came in the mail. It's a pretty good resource for Christian leaders looking for creative ideas about reaching out...serving people in need...putting the Christian message to work in tangible ways...welcoming guests.
I'm sure the folks who put Outreach together are good folks. No doubt about that. I'm sure they mean well. But this special issue is covered in red and the headline on the front cover says: The Outreach 100 Largest-Fastest Growing Churches in America."
The churches are listed. Fastest growing. Largest. Overall. By denomination.
I was tempted to toss the magazine in the trash because nothing good can come from a list like this. Especially if your church -as our's last year- is on an attendance plateau. No one is beating down my door to ask how we are setting attendance records. God is doing some cool things at Trinity. Amazing things. Ordinary people are falling in love with God and putting their lives on the line in good ways. But we're not going to be among the top 100 in Outreach. We wouldn't be in the top 200 or 300. We're pretty big but we're not that big and we're not that hot.
Years ago, when the "church growth movement" was getting up a head of steam, our denomination used to hand out awards every year to "hot churches." It was sort of like recognizing the folks, in the insurance industry, who have made the "million dollar club."
A friend of mine watched these awards being handed out, and he said, "This is demonic." I thought he was a grumpy preacher who had been turned sour by life.
You know what? I think my friend was right.
I can't, for the life of me, figure out how the Kingdom of God is served by a Christian magazine putting on a special issue on The Outreach 100 Largest-Fastest Growing Churches in America. The ones who make it may be wise enough to thank God from whom all blessings flow, and celebrate what God is doing in their midst with appropriate humility. Or they find pride an unwelcome intruder...a parasite they can't get rid of. Perhaps they start feeling the pressure to keep it going...keep it growing...push the pedal to the floor and keep it there.
Those churches that are out there, doing their best for God, blessing their communities in the large and small ways that healthy churches do, but aren't on the list of the 100 Largest or 100 Fastest Growing may succumb to some kind of despair. Find themselves looking down on, devaluing, the blessed, good stuff the risen Christ has been doing in them and through them. They may feel like failures because their tech team and resources can't compare to the half-million dollars a nearby mega-church has invested in lights and sound systems and projection screens.
It's a good thing to be reminded that God is doing good things in big ways. Yep. It's a good thing to hear stories of churches where the Spirit of God stirred people to break through all sorts of racial or geographical or attendance barriers.
I think our preoccupation with size is demonic. Healthy churches have this way of growing. Jesus talks, in John 15, about the vine that is pruned so it can bear fruit. Grow. But listing the 100 largest or fastest growing churches is evidence of the poverty of our spirituality in North America.
We're like some kind of religious disk jockey, counting down the top hits. It's a devilish activity.
Jesus wants us to focus on faithfulness: the Devil wants us to fixate on size.
Those of us who grew up in the Chicago area in the 1960's used to listen to the disk jockeys on WLS-AM and WCFL-AM play down (or up) the top 30 popular songs every afternoon. You went from #30 to #29 to #28. Until, right before the end of the show, the hotest song in the country was played.
Today my copy of Outreach magazine came in the mail. It's a pretty good resource for Christian leaders looking for creative ideas about reaching out...serving people in need...putting the Christian message to work in tangible ways...welcoming guests.
I'm sure the folks who put Outreach together are good folks. No doubt about that. I'm sure they mean well. But this special issue is covered in red and the headline on the front cover says: The Outreach 100 Largest-Fastest Growing Churches in America."
The churches are listed. Fastest growing. Largest. Overall. By denomination.
I was tempted to toss the magazine in the trash because nothing good can come from a list like this. Especially if your church -as our's last year- is on an attendance plateau. No one is beating down my door to ask how we are setting attendance records. God is doing some cool things at Trinity. Amazing things. Ordinary people are falling in love with God and putting their lives on the line in good ways. But we're not going to be among the top 100 in Outreach. We wouldn't be in the top 200 or 300. We're pretty big but we're not that big and we're not that hot.
Years ago, when the "church growth movement" was getting up a head of steam, our denomination used to hand out awards every year to "hot churches." It was sort of like recognizing the folks, in the insurance industry, who have made the "million dollar club."
A friend of mine watched these awards being handed out, and he said, "This is demonic." I thought he was a grumpy preacher who had been turned sour by life.
You know what? I think my friend was right.
I can't, for the life of me, figure out how the Kingdom of God is served by a Christian magazine putting on a special issue on The Outreach 100 Largest-Fastest Growing Churches in America. The ones who make it may be wise enough to thank God from whom all blessings flow, and celebrate what God is doing in their midst with appropriate humility. Or they find pride an unwelcome intruder...a parasite they can't get rid of. Perhaps they start feeling the pressure to keep it going...keep it growing...push the pedal to the floor and keep it there.
Those churches that are out there, doing their best for God, blessing their communities in the large and small ways that healthy churches do, but aren't on the list of the 100 Largest or 100 Fastest Growing may succumb to some kind of despair. Find themselves looking down on, devaluing, the blessed, good stuff the risen Christ has been doing in them and through them. They may feel like failures because their tech team and resources can't compare to the half-million dollars a nearby mega-church has invested in lights and sound systems and projection screens.
It's a good thing to be reminded that God is doing good things in big ways. Yep. It's a good thing to hear stories of churches where the Spirit of God stirred people to break through all sorts of racial or geographical or attendance barriers.
I think our preoccupation with size is demonic. Healthy churches have this way of growing. Jesus talks, in John 15, about the vine that is pruned so it can bear fruit. Grow. But listing the 100 largest or fastest growing churches is evidence of the poverty of our spirituality in North America.
We're like some kind of religious disk jockey, counting down the top hits. It's a devilish activity.
Jesus wants us to focus on faithfulness: the Devil wants us to fixate on size.
"How Are You Doing?" Takes Time.
One of regular parts of life for me is the daily trip to the local YMCA. (Okay, let's be honest: It's a time I make about four or five times a week... not daily!)
After awhile you begin to notice the other "regulars." There is Betty, the woman who sits at the registration desk and "buzzes" us through the locked doors. It took me awhile to win her over with my enthusiastic "Good morning, Betty" greeting. But after a few months she started smiling and making sure I had the best towel in the stack to use after my shower. There is Dick, the retiree, who monitors the Cybex (light weights) room and the cardio area (stairclimbers and treadmills and other cool stuff). There is Ernie, the ex-Navy guy who is in his mid 70's and steps carefully, painfully, onto and off of the machines.
And there is another guy. I'll call him "Thomas." Thomas runs the laundry at the Y. He picks up the towels from the locker rooms. He replaces soap in the dispensers in the showers. He cleans out the drains when they're clogged.
I've been going to the Elkhart Y for more than 12 years, and it wasn't until about 8 months ago that I learned Thomas' name. When I would see him I would say, "Good morning, Thomas." Or I would thank him for what he does, "Thanks for taking care of the towels and the shower room, Thomas." And when I would be on my way out I'd say, "Have a good day, Thomas."
What did I get back? Nothing. Maybe a grunt. But usually nothing.
Then, a week ago, he walked up behind me and said, "How are you doing?" I didn't say anything because I thought he was talking to another guy standing nearby. Then, I realized he was talking to me!
For the last week every time he sees me, Thomas says, "Good morning." Or, "How are you doing?" Or, "Have a good day."
I am sort of surprised. I didn't think our relationship was ever going to move off a grunt. Not get to this place.
I've been thinking about this all day. Since this morning when Thomas asked, again, how I was doing.
It's a reminder, I think, that sometimes "How are you doing?" takes time. Relationships require patience. You just keep plugging away.
Sort of like putting out a humming bird feeder. You get it all set out, just right, but nothing happens. You keep cleaning the feeder, mixing the sugar and water, filling it up, and watching...waiting. It seems like a silly, hopeless thing to do. Then, oneday, you notice this small bird hovering, darting, moving, feeding.
In my line of work we encourage people to reach out to other people. Take the initiative in showing care and interest. Listening to the other person's life. In my line of work -as a pastor- we nudge people to build relationships, and invite others to swing by our church and give our donuts and coffee, our love and heart, our groups and worship, a try. "Go make disciples," we say quoting Matthew 28. "Go tell others."
I know it can be a frustrating thing. You mention to your lunch buddy, every year in November, the possibility of coming to Christmas Eve worship with you. You talk to kid on the soccer team about youth fellowship or summer camp. Nothing. Nada. (Is that how you spell that?) You feel like you are in a rowboat and you are nudging an iceberg the size of Texas.
Maybe it never moves. Maybe nothing changes.
Or, maybe, oneday you turn around and Thomas is saying, "How are you doing?"
After awhile you begin to notice the other "regulars." There is Betty, the woman who sits at the registration desk and "buzzes" us through the locked doors. It took me awhile to win her over with my enthusiastic "Good morning, Betty" greeting. But after a few months she started smiling and making sure I had the best towel in the stack to use after my shower. There is Dick, the retiree, who monitors the Cybex (light weights) room and the cardio area (stairclimbers and treadmills and other cool stuff). There is Ernie, the ex-Navy guy who is in his mid 70's and steps carefully, painfully, onto and off of the machines.
And there is another guy. I'll call him "Thomas." Thomas runs the laundry at the Y. He picks up the towels from the locker rooms. He replaces soap in the dispensers in the showers. He cleans out the drains when they're clogged.
I've been going to the Elkhart Y for more than 12 years, and it wasn't until about 8 months ago that I learned Thomas' name. When I would see him I would say, "Good morning, Thomas." Or I would thank him for what he does, "Thanks for taking care of the towels and the shower room, Thomas." And when I would be on my way out I'd say, "Have a good day, Thomas."
What did I get back? Nothing. Maybe a grunt. But usually nothing.
Then, a week ago, he walked up behind me and said, "How are you doing?" I didn't say anything because I thought he was talking to another guy standing nearby. Then, I realized he was talking to me!
For the last week every time he sees me, Thomas says, "Good morning." Or, "How are you doing?" Or, "Have a good day."
I am sort of surprised. I didn't think our relationship was ever going to move off a grunt. Not get to this place.
I've been thinking about this all day. Since this morning when Thomas asked, again, how I was doing.
It's a reminder, I think, that sometimes "How are you doing?" takes time. Relationships require patience. You just keep plugging away.
Sort of like putting out a humming bird feeder. You get it all set out, just right, but nothing happens. You keep cleaning the feeder, mixing the sugar and water, filling it up, and watching...waiting. It seems like a silly, hopeless thing to do. Then, oneday, you notice this small bird hovering, darting, moving, feeding.
In my line of work we encourage people to reach out to other people. Take the initiative in showing care and interest. Listening to the other person's life. In my line of work -as a pastor- we nudge people to build relationships, and invite others to swing by our church and give our donuts and coffee, our love and heart, our groups and worship, a try. "Go make disciples," we say quoting Matthew 28. "Go tell others."
I know it can be a frustrating thing. You mention to your lunch buddy, every year in November, the possibility of coming to Christmas Eve worship with you. You talk to kid on the soccer team about youth fellowship or summer camp. Nothing. Nada. (Is that how you spell that?) You feel like you are in a rowboat and you are nudging an iceberg the size of Texas.
Maybe it never moves. Maybe nothing changes.
Or, maybe, oneday you turn around and Thomas is saying, "How are you doing?"
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
New Creation and Jump Ropes.
God has a way of stretching us. In some surprising ways. Some of the stretching is painful beyond belief. A job loss. Unanswered prayers (at least they're not answered in the ways we want them answered!) The break up of a relationship. And other times the stretching is surprising... an easy blessing...that makes us smile and shake our heads in disbelief.
At our church we -like many- we have a mid week program. We call it TNT. Which sounds kind of silly and a little explosive. (TNT stands for "Trinity Night Together.") There is a meal...worship time...classes. One element every Wednesday night is an "open gym" for elementary age children. Kids from inside the church and outside the church (our church and neighborhood have sort of blended together so I'm not sure where each starts and stops).
Tonight I went into the gym to hang out with the kids. Those few minutes are a blast! Some of the 3rd and 4th grade girls turned to me and thrust a jump rope in my hand...asked me to swing it around so they could jump.
I had a basketball in one hand...I thought I was going into the gym to shoot hoops with the boys. But I swung the jump rope. And there was a lot of concentrated joy in that place...and it sort of soaked into me.
They don't tell you in seminary that you are going to end up playing jump rope with 2nd, 3rd and 4th graders. It might be a good idea if they did. It might be a good idea if they told us that carrying a cross will be heart crushing on some days, but there will be moments when some little girl with pigtails will grab us by the arm and say, "Pastor Mark, hold the rope and swing it for us!"
I'd never -in all my years- really swung a jump rope like that. It felt a little...uh...different. But good.
God keeps teaching me new lessons. Some hard. And some delightfully easy.
At our church we -like many- we have a mid week program. We call it TNT. Which sounds kind of silly and a little explosive. (TNT stands for "Trinity Night Together.") There is a meal...worship time...classes. One element every Wednesday night is an "open gym" for elementary age children. Kids from inside the church and outside the church (our church and neighborhood have sort of blended together so I'm not sure where each starts and stops).
Tonight I went into the gym to hang out with the kids. Those few minutes are a blast! Some of the 3rd and 4th grade girls turned to me and thrust a jump rope in my hand...asked me to swing it around so they could jump.
I had a basketball in one hand...I thought I was going into the gym to shoot hoops with the boys. But I swung the jump rope. And there was a lot of concentrated joy in that place...and it sort of soaked into me.
They don't tell you in seminary that you are going to end up playing jump rope with 2nd, 3rd and 4th graders. It might be a good idea if they did. It might be a good idea if they told us that carrying a cross will be heart crushing on some days, but there will be moments when some little girl with pigtails will grab us by the arm and say, "Pastor Mark, hold the rope and swing it for us!"
I'd never -in all my years- really swung a jump rope like that. It felt a little...uh...different. But good.
God keeps teaching me new lessons. Some hard. And some delightfully easy.
Monday, September 22, 2008
What's Overhead?
Sometimes life feels like one of those crab boats bouncing around in the Bering Sea. People say that being a commercial fisherman is one of the most dangerous jobs in the world.
Crabbing in the Bering Sea has nothing on just doing ordinary life. Navigating your way from Sunday through Saturday. A friend of mine, who used to work the second shift for a large city police force, said that by the end of the week he would begin to think that the whole world had lost its mind. "And," he would add, "I could tell I was about to lose my own mind because of the craziness out there!"
Like one of those boats bouncing around on the sea, life rolls us. We are in danger of losing our footing, or we just go over...grabbing at doors and bunks and people standing nearby to stop our slide.
There are odd little habits we pick up along the way, aren't there? One of the things I do is check the sky first thing in the morning. I do the same thing at night.
The alarm goes off, I crawl out of bed, and head out the front door. I pick up two local newspapers that are delivered to the house, and then I stop. I stand three feet from the front door and look straight up.
I do that for two reasons. The first reason is to see if the sky is clear or if we are in for a cloudy day here in northern Indiana. The second reason is to locate a star that I have come to count on. I don't know the name of the star. I don't know the constellation in which it finds itself. I just know the star is right above my head...straight up. When I've found my star I step back in the house and move on into the day.
There is something about knowing the star is where it needs to be. It tells me that no matter how crazy life can get, I'm still here...and I'm not lost. Not to God. The star above my head reminds me of the God who doesn't lose sight of me. The God who always is.
What was it God said to Moses when Moses demanded to know the name of God? "I AM...I WILL BE WHO I WILL BE." Jesus, in the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 6), tells us not to be anxious - God has his eye on us. God cares for us.
In the early morning dark I step outside the front door, pick up my newspapers, and locate my star. It's just something I need to do.
Crabbing in the Bering Sea has nothing on just doing ordinary life. Navigating your way from Sunday through Saturday. A friend of mine, who used to work the second shift for a large city police force, said that by the end of the week he would begin to think that the whole world had lost its mind. "And," he would add, "I could tell I was about to lose my own mind because of the craziness out there!"
Like one of those boats bouncing around on the sea, life rolls us. We are in danger of losing our footing, or we just go over...grabbing at doors and bunks and people standing nearby to stop our slide.
There are odd little habits we pick up along the way, aren't there? One of the things I do is check the sky first thing in the morning. I do the same thing at night.
The alarm goes off, I crawl out of bed, and head out the front door. I pick up two local newspapers that are delivered to the house, and then I stop. I stand three feet from the front door and look straight up.
I do that for two reasons. The first reason is to see if the sky is clear or if we are in for a cloudy day here in northern Indiana. The second reason is to locate a star that I have come to count on. I don't know the name of the star. I don't know the constellation in which it finds itself. I just know the star is right above my head...straight up. When I've found my star I step back in the house and move on into the day.
There is something about knowing the star is where it needs to be. It tells me that no matter how crazy life can get, I'm still here...and I'm not lost. Not to God. The star above my head reminds me of the God who doesn't lose sight of me. The God who always is.
What was it God said to Moses when Moses demanded to know the name of God? "I AM...I WILL BE WHO I WILL BE." Jesus, in the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 6), tells us not to be anxious - God has his eye on us. God cares for us.
In the early morning dark I step outside the front door, pick up my newspapers, and locate my star. It's just something I need to do.
Why Isn't Anyone Using the "S" Word?
As the pennant races in baseball wind down, the political race between Senator Barack Obama and Senator John McCain heats up. I listen to both men closely. This election is a "big deal" for our country, I believe.
One news channel (I probably ought to watch more baseball and less 24 hour news channels!) has a habit of putting video clips of both men speaking side by side. It allows us to listen to both men "in their own words."
I keep listening.
I keep listening for the "S" word.
I keep listening for the word "sacrifice."
But I haven't heard it. Or, if it has been spoken, I have missed it. Both candidates tell us what we want to hear...they both go through a litany of needs and tell us they will see the government does something to meet our needs...satisfy our wants. I am waiting for one of these two men to get honest enough, to respect the American people enough, that they will say something like this: "We are facing great challenges, and those challenges -whether in education, the revitalization of our great cities, the rebuilding of healthy family life, the battle against fundamentalist terrorism, the recovery of our economy, the threat of global warming- can be overcome but only if we are all willing to sacrifice. So I am challenging you -all of us- to think beyond our own narrow interests and look to the greater good. All of us are going to have to give up things we want, all of us are going to have to give, or we aren't going to make it."
The ironic thing is that sacrifice turns out -in the end- to be selfish. When we are willing to sacrifice so that cities can be rebuilt, terrorists can be overwhelmed by a vision of justice and a global community committed to peace, families can be healthy and functional, and the planet can heal then we will have done something good for ourselves...and our grandchildren...and their grandchildren. Sacrifice turns out to be a selfish thing (in the very best sense of the word).
Selfishness leads to short-sighted answers that please us today but turn out to be no answers at all!
Paul, in Philippians 2, encourages us to look not just to our own selfish interests but to the interests of others. Doing our best to copy a certain Jewish carpenter from Nazareth by the name of Jesus.
Okay, Senator McCain and Senator Obama: we're waiting. Do something risky. Try something bold. Don't tell us what we want to hear but tell us what we need to hear. Take a deep breath and speak the "S" word. We can take it. We're big boys and girls. There is more to us than you think.
One news channel (I probably ought to watch more baseball and less 24 hour news channels!) has a habit of putting video clips of both men speaking side by side. It allows us to listen to both men "in their own words."
I keep listening.
I keep listening for the "S" word.
I keep listening for the word "sacrifice."
But I haven't heard it. Or, if it has been spoken, I have missed it. Both candidates tell us what we want to hear...they both go through a litany of needs and tell us they will see the government does something to meet our needs...satisfy our wants. I am waiting for one of these two men to get honest enough, to respect the American people enough, that they will say something like this: "We are facing great challenges, and those challenges -whether in education, the revitalization of our great cities, the rebuilding of healthy family life, the battle against fundamentalist terrorism, the recovery of our economy, the threat of global warming- can be overcome but only if we are all willing to sacrifice. So I am challenging you -all of us- to think beyond our own narrow interests and look to the greater good. All of us are going to have to give up things we want, all of us are going to have to give, or we aren't going to make it."
The ironic thing is that sacrifice turns out -in the end- to be selfish. When we are willing to sacrifice so that cities can be rebuilt, terrorists can be overwhelmed by a vision of justice and a global community committed to peace, families can be healthy and functional, and the planet can heal then we will have done something good for ourselves...and our grandchildren...and their grandchildren. Sacrifice turns out to be a selfish thing (in the very best sense of the word).
Selfishness leads to short-sighted answers that please us today but turn out to be no answers at all!
Paul, in Philippians 2, encourages us to look not just to our own selfish interests but to the interests of others. Doing our best to copy a certain Jewish carpenter from Nazareth by the name of Jesus.
Okay, Senator McCain and Senator Obama: we're waiting. Do something risky. Try something bold. Don't tell us what we want to hear but tell us what we need to hear. Take a deep breath and speak the "S" word. We can take it. We're big boys and girls. There is more to us than you think.
Grace as Credit.
One of the short detours in my life took place during college. My Grandpa Owen had connections in the banking business, and somehow he got me hired -for the summer- by a South Bend bank. They figured that if I was Bill Owen's grandson I must have something on the ball when it came to numbers and finance, and they foolishly put me in their "officer trainee program." The bank survived two summers' of my well meaning but inept performance, and then they decided never to have me back.
So numbers...finance...banking...is not my thing.
The current financial crisis in the United States, right now, seems to be profound. I wouldn't pretend to understand what has caused it and what the details of the government "bail out" should be. As near as I can figure the real critical moment was the drying up of the credit markets.
One financial expert said that credit is to the economy what oil is to an internal combustion engine: it keeps everything moving. So the credit market tightened to the point where no one was going to be able to do anything...build buildings, hire new workers, buy land.
I've been thinking about the role that credit (appropriate, responsible credit - not out of control "anything goes" kind of credit) plays in the economy, and wondering if there might be some parallels with the Christian notion of grace. Forgiveness...unmerited love, that's what grace is about. Paul, in 1 Corinthians 13, talks about a kind of love that doesn't keep track of wrongs but rejoices in the right. That doesn't rejoice in the wrong but rejoices in the right.
Grace is the oil that keeps relationships going...that helps us hang in there with one another over the long haul. We are well into my 13th year as senior pastor at Trinity Church, and I find myself remarking -now and then- "We've been together long enough that I have given you all sorts of reasons to write me off." Give someone like me long enough, and I am going to stumble...make bad calls...until my humanness becomes almost more than anyone can bear.
We won't make it together if we don't extend the relational credit -grace- to one another. Grace "primes the pump" for a new chapter. Except that with grace there is no compounding interest we have to pay back.
One of the opportunities I have, as a Christian pastor, is to meet with engaged couples. They often tell me that they want to be passionately in love with one another after 50 years. They tell me that they want to be holding hands when they are 80. They tell me that they want their kisses to be tender and passionate decades after the day of their wedding.
A key to that is living by grace. Forgetting the junk of yesterday, giving the other person another chance, and moving on. Because when the credit market we know as "grace" dries up then everything stops. The relationship, like earth dried by the merciless sun, cracks wide open and blows away.
So numbers...finance...banking...is not my thing.
The current financial crisis in the United States, right now, seems to be profound. I wouldn't pretend to understand what has caused it and what the details of the government "bail out" should be. As near as I can figure the real critical moment was the drying up of the credit markets.
One financial expert said that credit is to the economy what oil is to an internal combustion engine: it keeps everything moving. So the credit market tightened to the point where no one was going to be able to do anything...build buildings, hire new workers, buy land.
I've been thinking about the role that credit (appropriate, responsible credit - not out of control "anything goes" kind of credit) plays in the economy, and wondering if there might be some parallels with the Christian notion of grace. Forgiveness...unmerited love, that's what grace is about. Paul, in 1 Corinthians 13, talks about a kind of love that doesn't keep track of wrongs but rejoices in the right. That doesn't rejoice in the wrong but rejoices in the right.
Grace is the oil that keeps relationships going...that helps us hang in there with one another over the long haul. We are well into my 13th year as senior pastor at Trinity Church, and I find myself remarking -now and then- "We've been together long enough that I have given you all sorts of reasons to write me off." Give someone like me long enough, and I am going to stumble...make bad calls...until my humanness becomes almost more than anyone can bear.
We won't make it together if we don't extend the relational credit -grace- to one another. Grace "primes the pump" for a new chapter. Except that with grace there is no compounding interest we have to pay back.
One of the opportunities I have, as a Christian pastor, is to meet with engaged couples. They often tell me that they want to be passionately in love with one another after 50 years. They tell me that they want to be holding hands when they are 80. They tell me that they want their kisses to be tender and passionate decades after the day of their wedding.
A key to that is living by grace. Forgetting the junk of yesterday, giving the other person another chance, and moving on. Because when the credit market we know as "grace" dries up then everything stops. The relationship, like earth dried by the merciless sun, cracks wide open and blows away.
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