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.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)