Over a year ago I was haunted by the sense that we were missing something at Trinity. Well, not missing something really. Not missing something because our life here is full of good stuff...great ministries...all sorts of activites... There is a "buzz" about this congregation and all the ways it reaches out and serves people in the name of Christ.
I was haunted, though, by this sense that we are too busy...doing too much... "shooting" at too many targets. We were doing good stuff for God, I could see. But were we doing the right things? Did we really understand the essential stuff God wants us to be doing?
So I started walking around muttering "I think we need to do less and do it better."
I started walking around saying, "We need to welcome people better, connect new people with serving teams and small groups, and figure out how we can help grow disciples."
I had this sense we were missing something.
Then, in the middle of the summer, our staff went up to Chicago for a two-day retreat. On the train I started reading Thom Rainer's book "Simple Church." I started nodding...I felt like he had been inside my head (now there is a scary thought!). Rainer and his co-author, Eric Geiger, talk about how churches can lose their focus -and power- as they try to do too much and move in too many directions at once. Wow!
This past Sunday afternoon our leaders gathered for our annual Leadership Retreat. We talked about how we do so much...but sometimes take our eyes off the primary tasks of welcoming people, connecting new people to the Christian community in a thoughtful and loving way, and making disciples.
In our conversation we stumbled around a bit. Got caught on a point or two here and there.
But those of us in the room realized where we were: God is calling us to be a congregation focused on the challenge of making disciples of Jesus Christ for the transformation of the world.
And we are going to do that in three basic ways:
Growing in God (worship, prayer, sacraments, Bible study).
Growing Together (small groups, Bible studies, serving teams).
Growing in Service (serving, giving, leading).
We'll figure out the details as we live into the future. We'll ask every planning group and ministry team to make sure what they are doing fuels those three, primary ministries...those goals. And if something doesn't "fit" then we won't do it.
It's exciting. And a little bit scary. And a relief...as we give one another permission not to keep trying to do everything for everyone.
We didn't know we were going to end up standing here. We've been plugging along for God, doing great things for God, but I think a whole bunch of us have had this feeling that we were missing something. Doing too much. Too busy. Not focused on the right things that can make big differences in the lives of people.
So here we are. Simple Church. Making disciples. Growing in God, Growing Together, and Growing in Service.
Sometimes you don't know you're there until you arrive. And here we are - at the start of a new adventure with God and one another!
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Who's Got Nothing?
Last week the girl's basketball team of a private high school in Dallas, Texas defeated another private academy by a score of 100-0. Officials of The Covenant School apologized after they defeated The Dallas Academy on January 13th.
The score was 59-0 at halftime.
Players from Covenant were still pressing on defense in the 4th quarter, and the team -despite its overwhelming lead- was still putting up 3-point shots. The players on the Covenant bench, and some of the parents, were cheering wildly as their team approached the 100-point mark.
The head of the winning school later apologized for the 100-0 score. He said what happened was shameful. The winning coach disagreed with the head of the school, though, and said he thought what happened was just fine. His girls played hard and clean basketball.
Dallas Academy, the losing school, only has eight girls on their varsity. There are only 20 girls in the school. The basketball team hasn't won a game in four seasons. The school specializes in working with students who have "learning differences" like dyslexia and short attention spans.
Those who know me understand what a sports' fan I am. When news of this game was reported in the press, though, I stopped. My stomach sank. I wondered what has happened to us. I wondered what has happened to sportsmanship. Too often the game isn't the thing, anymore. Too often the life lessons we learn as a part of a competitive team isn't the thing, anymore. Now it is all about winning...crushing the person on the other side...embarrassing the receiver who we beat on a pass play in football... getting in the face of the player from whom we steal the ball on the basketball court.
Where is this headed? Where will it end? And when will people like you and me finally say, "Enough?"
I have a hunch. I hunch that the winning coach is going to regret what happened during that game. I hunch that score is going to haunt him. I hunch he is going to wish he had that day in his life to do over. Because it is a shamefull and mean thing that happened on that day.
God is cool, though. I wouldn't be surprised if God was -even now- beginning to work in that coach's heart. Showing him what compassion looks like...laying out some lessons about the beauty of mercy. I suspect God could be teaching him how to handle moments like this, in the future, much differently. I hope.
The score was 59-0 at halftime.
Players from Covenant were still pressing on defense in the 4th quarter, and the team -despite its overwhelming lead- was still putting up 3-point shots. The players on the Covenant bench, and some of the parents, were cheering wildly as their team approached the 100-point mark.
The head of the winning school later apologized for the 100-0 score. He said what happened was shameful. The winning coach disagreed with the head of the school, though, and said he thought what happened was just fine. His girls played hard and clean basketball.
Dallas Academy, the losing school, only has eight girls on their varsity. There are only 20 girls in the school. The basketball team hasn't won a game in four seasons. The school specializes in working with students who have "learning differences" like dyslexia and short attention spans.
Those who know me understand what a sports' fan I am. When news of this game was reported in the press, though, I stopped. My stomach sank. I wondered what has happened to us. I wondered what has happened to sportsmanship. Too often the game isn't the thing, anymore. Too often the life lessons we learn as a part of a competitive team isn't the thing, anymore. Now it is all about winning...crushing the person on the other side...embarrassing the receiver who we beat on a pass play in football... getting in the face of the player from whom we steal the ball on the basketball court.
Where is this headed? Where will it end? And when will people like you and me finally say, "Enough?"
I have a hunch. I hunch that the winning coach is going to regret what happened during that game. I hunch that score is going to haunt him. I hunch he is going to wish he had that day in his life to do over. Because it is a shamefull and mean thing that happened on that day.
God is cool, though. I wouldn't be surprised if God was -even now- beginning to work in that coach's heart. Showing him what compassion looks like...laying out some lessons about the beauty of mercy. I suspect God could be teaching him how to handle moments like this, in the future, much differently. I hope.
Tears on the Mall.
It's been over a week since I stood on the Mall in Washington D.C. and witnessed Barack Obama take the oath of office as President. The day was sunny and bitterly cold.
Those of us who had silver, blue or purple tickets found ourselves stopped by a security process that broke down. We stood in a crowd of tens of thousands, not moving, until the three of us moved sideways and found our way onto the Mall.
It was something. Whatever your political persuasion, it was something!
Let me tell you about two small moments. A young, African-American father stood behind me and his 9-10 year old son was with him. Periodically, during the ceremony, the father would whisper in son's ear...reminding him what this meant. Then, the father would hold his son up above the crowd so the young man could see the platform on the Capitol building.
A tall, elegantly-dressed African-American woman stood a few feet to the front and right of me. She looked like she might have been 45 years old. She never said a thing. Never clapped or stamped her feet. When Barack Obama took the oath of office, though, I looked over at her and her cheeks were wet with tears.
Our country has been wrestling the issue of race ever since Africans were chained in the holds of sailing vessels and shipped to North America. Those of us who have lived through the 50's and 60's and 70's can see how far we have come. Things are so much better than they were in the past. But there is still progress to be made. The journey isn't done.
But we're making progress. We aren't where we used to be, and we aren't where were going to be.
There were tears on the Mall.
They said something deep and true.
Those of us who had silver, blue or purple tickets found ourselves stopped by a security process that broke down. We stood in a crowd of tens of thousands, not moving, until the three of us moved sideways and found our way onto the Mall.
It was something. Whatever your political persuasion, it was something!
Let me tell you about two small moments. A young, African-American father stood behind me and his 9-10 year old son was with him. Periodically, during the ceremony, the father would whisper in son's ear...reminding him what this meant. Then, the father would hold his son up above the crowd so the young man could see the platform on the Capitol building.
A tall, elegantly-dressed African-American woman stood a few feet to the front and right of me. She looked like she might have been 45 years old. She never said a thing. Never clapped or stamped her feet. When Barack Obama took the oath of office, though, I looked over at her and her cheeks were wet with tears.
Our country has been wrestling the issue of race ever since Africans were chained in the holds of sailing vessels and shipped to North America. Those of us who have lived through the 50's and 60's and 70's can see how far we have come. Things are so much better than they were in the past. But there is still progress to be made. The journey isn't done.
But we're making progress. We aren't where we used to be, and we aren't where were going to be.
There were tears on the Mall.
They said something deep and true.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
The Streets of Washington.
This city is humming. You can't miss the energy and hope and goodwill in the streets of Washington.
Having decided several months ago to come out for the Inauguration, we arrived here yesterday evening. Travled here with our oldest son, his wife and their young daughter. We're "camping out" in another son's apartment. Just down a few blocks from the famous Ben's Chili Bowl and a famous section of the city that has been the center of the African-American community.
Today has been a quiet day. We watched the concert on the Mall from the safety of the apartment. Tonight, though, we walked about six blocks to a nearby Mexican restaurant.
After dinner I stopped and spent some time talking with the driver of pedi-cab. He is from Denver. Is here for the week. He said people are smiling...hopeful.
The new administration will make its share of mistakes. Barack Obama is human. But it certainly seems like the nation is looking to this new leadership for a new and better chapter. The challenges are great but God has given us the resources to overcome.
The way ahead is going to require time, patience and sacrifice. The only way to solve the challenges -education, global warming, the economic downturn, the collapse of the family- will be for all groups to work together. Recognizing that what unites us is far more important than the things that would divide us.
I'm praying tonight.
You need to know, though, that the streets of Washington are full of hope.
Having decided several months ago to come out for the Inauguration, we arrived here yesterday evening. Travled here with our oldest son, his wife and their young daughter. We're "camping out" in another son's apartment. Just down a few blocks from the famous Ben's Chili Bowl and a famous section of the city that has been the center of the African-American community.
Today has been a quiet day. We watched the concert on the Mall from the safety of the apartment. Tonight, though, we walked about six blocks to a nearby Mexican restaurant.
After dinner I stopped and spent some time talking with the driver of pedi-cab. He is from Denver. Is here for the week. He said people are smiling...hopeful.
The new administration will make its share of mistakes. Barack Obama is human. But it certainly seems like the nation is looking to this new leadership for a new and better chapter. The challenges are great but God has given us the resources to overcome.
The way ahead is going to require time, patience and sacrifice. The only way to solve the challenges -education, global warming, the economic downturn, the collapse of the family- will be for all groups to work together. Recognizing that what unites us is far more important than the things that would divide us.
I'm praying tonight.
You need to know, though, that the streets of Washington are full of hope.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
The Season.
Years ago a friend handed me H.G. Bissinger's well-written book "Friday Night Lights." I read it over a decade ago, I think, and then tonight I watched -for the second time- Peter Berg's film of the same name.
It's a reminder of how we lose our perspective -too often- when it comes to sports. Adults behaving like brats if their team isn't winning.
It's a reminder about how we learn some important lessons while playing team sports. The coach's speech at half-time of the championship game is worth the price of admission. Coach Gary Gaines, played by Billy Bob Thornton, talks about perfection having nothing to do with winning and losing, but knowing yourself...loving the people around you...and living the moment. For good or bad those of us who have played sports continue to hear the voices of our coaches in our head long after we have moved into adulthood.
And the film is a reminder of how short the season is...adolescence... high school...football or basketball or cross country or wrestling. Just how brief and intense that whole chapter in life is.
The film ends with several of the players, dressed in street clothes with their gym bags over their shoulders, making their way to their cars. The parking lot is nearly empty. The coaches are already thinking about another season. The high school seniors look over at a group of ten or twelve year olds playing touch football.
I found myself remembering my two years playing high school football. Okay, I've got to be honest...one of my old teammates -now living in California- reads this blog. I practiced, I survived two-a-days, I played here and there, but usually I held down the bench. Leo would tell you that: I played left bench. My buddy says he remembers how much fun I was to have around. How I had something smart and funny to say. I remember being slow. I remember being small...I was a 165 pound guard going up against players over half again as heavy.
I've got to tell you, though, I have these memories. And they are precious to me.
I remember John Stasko, an upperclassman, who was made of steel.
I remember Craig Demeyer, our quarterback, who was bright and classy and rather reserved.
I remember Gary Trost, who was short and squat, and refused to give an inch.
I remember Mike, thin and small, who refused to give up and ended up being a good football player with a heart as big as an orange, fall sky.
I remember sweating through two-a-days in the August heat, running our laps on a cinder track laid down around a makeshift football field at John Glenn High School.
I remember our coach screaming at us...and pushing us too hard.
I remember the day in practice the second string quarterback was working our second offensive team. He wasn't paying attention and walked up to the take his place under center. Except he wasn't under the center...he had mistakenly walked up behind the right guard. Pressed his hands up against the butt of the lineman who was down in his stance. The player raised up slowly, looked back at Larry who had his hands on his butt, and said something like, "What are you doing back there?" We all came up out of our stance and screamed and hooted.
I remember Randy Williams rumbling down the sideline at New Carlisle to score a touchdown. (Randy was so slow that his Dad -with a cigar in his mouth- beat his own son to the end zone! The old man -must have been nearly 50- sprinted parallel to the field, behind the bench, all the way.)
I remember riding on the bus home after we had defeated our arch-rival, North Liberty, for the first time. The football is still in the trophy case. The final score was 14-7, I think. We nearly took the bus apart on the ride back to the school. North Liberty High School is no more...but it was a victory that marked some kind of turning point. Before that win we were hopeless...after the victory we believed there might be hope for us.
I remember late in one game, against South Central, getting into the game and driving my man back and into the ground. Again and again. He was perplexed. Wondering why I was pounding him with such intensity since the game was no longer a contest. But it felt good to hit my man and drive him back.
And then it was done. Over.
There is one picture of me in my uniform running onto the field with my teammates. I know where to find it in our yearbook.
The season ends and we walk away. And we don't even know, at 17 or 18, what we are leaving behind. We find our way to our cars, or we throw our gym bag over our shoulders, and we shout some last, friendly insults in the direction of our friends. We think tomorrow will be the same as yesterday. But it won't be. Tomorrow will never be exactly the way this season...has been.
We were so young...innocent...mean...stupid...cocky...eager...and beautiful.
Interesting, isn't it, how we take the seasons for granted? Push our way through them...endure them...complain about them. Then, when they are behind us, there is a yearning, now and again, to go back. To find yourself on that bus feeling alive and giddy...14-7...again.
It's a reminder of how we lose our perspective -too often- when it comes to sports. Adults behaving like brats if their team isn't winning.
It's a reminder about how we learn some important lessons while playing team sports. The coach's speech at half-time of the championship game is worth the price of admission. Coach Gary Gaines, played by Billy Bob Thornton, talks about perfection having nothing to do with winning and losing, but knowing yourself...loving the people around you...and living the moment. For good or bad those of us who have played sports continue to hear the voices of our coaches in our head long after we have moved into adulthood.
And the film is a reminder of how short the season is...adolescence... high school...football or basketball or cross country or wrestling. Just how brief and intense that whole chapter in life is.
The film ends with several of the players, dressed in street clothes with their gym bags over their shoulders, making their way to their cars. The parking lot is nearly empty. The coaches are already thinking about another season. The high school seniors look over at a group of ten or twelve year olds playing touch football.
I found myself remembering my two years playing high school football. Okay, I've got to be honest...one of my old teammates -now living in California- reads this blog. I practiced, I survived two-a-days, I played here and there, but usually I held down the bench. Leo would tell you that: I played left bench. My buddy says he remembers how much fun I was to have around. How I had something smart and funny to say. I remember being slow. I remember being small...I was a 165 pound guard going up against players over half again as heavy.
I've got to tell you, though, I have these memories. And they are precious to me.
I remember John Stasko, an upperclassman, who was made of steel.
I remember Craig Demeyer, our quarterback, who was bright and classy and rather reserved.
I remember Gary Trost, who was short and squat, and refused to give an inch.
I remember Mike, thin and small, who refused to give up and ended up being a good football player with a heart as big as an orange, fall sky.
I remember sweating through two-a-days in the August heat, running our laps on a cinder track laid down around a makeshift football field at John Glenn High School.
I remember our coach screaming at us...and pushing us too hard.
I remember the day in practice the second string quarterback was working our second offensive team. He wasn't paying attention and walked up to the take his place under center. Except he wasn't under the center...he had mistakenly walked up behind the right guard. Pressed his hands up against the butt of the lineman who was down in his stance. The player raised up slowly, looked back at Larry who had his hands on his butt, and said something like, "What are you doing back there?" We all came up out of our stance and screamed and hooted.
I remember Randy Williams rumbling down the sideline at New Carlisle to score a touchdown. (Randy was so slow that his Dad -with a cigar in his mouth- beat his own son to the end zone! The old man -must have been nearly 50- sprinted parallel to the field, behind the bench, all the way.)
I remember riding on the bus home after we had defeated our arch-rival, North Liberty, for the first time. The football is still in the trophy case. The final score was 14-7, I think. We nearly took the bus apart on the ride back to the school. North Liberty High School is no more...but it was a victory that marked some kind of turning point. Before that win we were hopeless...after the victory we believed there might be hope for us.
I remember late in one game, against South Central, getting into the game and driving my man back and into the ground. Again and again. He was perplexed. Wondering why I was pounding him with such intensity since the game was no longer a contest. But it felt good to hit my man and drive him back.
And then it was done. Over.
There is one picture of me in my uniform running onto the field with my teammates. I know where to find it in our yearbook.
The season ends and we walk away. And we don't even know, at 17 or 18, what we are leaving behind. We find our way to our cars, or we throw our gym bag over our shoulders, and we shout some last, friendly insults in the direction of our friends. We think tomorrow will be the same as yesterday. But it won't be. Tomorrow will never be exactly the way this season...has been.
We were so young...innocent...mean...stupid...cocky...eager...and beautiful.
Interesting, isn't it, how we take the seasons for granted? Push our way through them...endure them...complain about them. Then, when they are behind us, there is a yearning, now and again, to go back. To find yourself on that bus feeling alive and giddy...14-7...again.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Roster Changes.
Today we blessed a pastor named Tom Thews who has been on our pastoral staff here at church for the last three and a half years. He is a tall man. With a kind and loving heart. Cares for people and loves Jesus. Tom loves food and photography and his Triumph sports car.
So we had people contribute to a love gift. We invited the congregation to come together today for a noon catered meal. Paula Dill had balloons and cool signs all over the Fellowship Hall where the meal was held. People went into the Sanctuary for a blessing time. We sang a couple of hymns, people said some things, we gave them a gift, and then people gathered around Tom and Linda to pray for them...bless them.
As the lead pastor here I do everything I can to help our congregation thank the pastors who have loved us and served Jesus with us.
I love Tom. He is going to be nearby in a South Bend parish. We'll stay in touch and I expect to see a lot of him.
Still, I felt some sadness. God is going to use Tom and Linda in the new place. Trinity has good things ahead. God is good...God is generous. But I still felt sadness watching people approach Tom and Linda...talk with him... hug them.
A friend tells me grief is cumulative. And I have said "goodbye" to a lot of good friends who have been in ministry with me. I left the staff at Trinity years ago, when I was an associate pastor, and said goodbye to my senior pastor, Mark Blaising. As a lead pastor I have said goodbye to people like Milly McCann, Ted Jansen, Kurt Nichols, Kerry O'Brien, Toni Carmer, and now Tom. I feel every departure. Most of the people I have served with have become dear friends.
I work hard to keep my game face in place. To keep leading. Do my best to see that our church is leaning forward. Moving on. But inside my heart sags a little.
It isn't just a roster change: a friend has stepped out and moved on. They're not walking these halls. They're not on the other side of the wall where I can talk to them, easily. Ask questions. Work together to solve a problem. Laugh at the nuttiness of life.
It isn't just a roster change. Something has changed. For me. For us as a church. A piece of us will be missing because God has tapped Tom on the shoulder and said, "I need you in a new place."
The cool thing, of course, is each one of these people has left something of themselves with us. There is more joy and kindness in our life at Trinity because of Tom. He leaves that with us as a gift.
So we had people contribute to a love gift. We invited the congregation to come together today for a noon catered meal. Paula Dill had balloons and cool signs all over the Fellowship Hall where the meal was held. People went into the Sanctuary for a blessing time. We sang a couple of hymns, people said some things, we gave them a gift, and then people gathered around Tom and Linda to pray for them...bless them.
As the lead pastor here I do everything I can to help our congregation thank the pastors who have loved us and served Jesus with us.
I love Tom. He is going to be nearby in a South Bend parish. We'll stay in touch and I expect to see a lot of him.
Still, I felt some sadness. God is going to use Tom and Linda in the new place. Trinity has good things ahead. God is good...God is generous. But I still felt sadness watching people approach Tom and Linda...talk with him... hug them.
A friend tells me grief is cumulative. And I have said "goodbye" to a lot of good friends who have been in ministry with me. I left the staff at Trinity years ago, when I was an associate pastor, and said goodbye to my senior pastor, Mark Blaising. As a lead pastor I have said goodbye to people like Milly McCann, Ted Jansen, Kurt Nichols, Kerry O'Brien, Toni Carmer, and now Tom. I feel every departure. Most of the people I have served with have become dear friends.
I work hard to keep my game face in place. To keep leading. Do my best to see that our church is leaning forward. Moving on. But inside my heart sags a little.
It isn't just a roster change: a friend has stepped out and moved on. They're not walking these halls. They're not on the other side of the wall where I can talk to them, easily. Ask questions. Work together to solve a problem. Laugh at the nuttiness of life.
It isn't just a roster change. Something has changed. For me. For us as a church. A piece of us will be missing because God has tapped Tom on the shoulder and said, "I need you in a new place."
The cool thing, of course, is each one of these people has left something of themselves with us. There is more joy and kindness in our life at Trinity because of Tom. He leaves that with us as a gift.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Those People Love!
I have a place.
It's a little coffee shop on East Jackson. Another coffee shop out on highway 120 used to be my place to sit, outline a sermon, have a cup of coffee and breathe. But the old place closed up. The new shop is called Heavenly Brew. It's in a little, old house that used to be a florist shop.
HB is just right. Safe. Cozy. They know my name...and they know I like warmed-up 2% milk with my baked oatmeal.
I have a place.
This morning I noticed a woman noticing me. She was sitting with her college-age daughter, having a conversation, and as they got up to go she approached me. Held out her hand. Said, "Don't I know you...you're the pastor at the church?" I nodded and introduced myself. Told her, yes, that I was down the street at Trinity United Methodist.
She told me she lives a few blocks from Trinity. The woman belongs to a small church in Goshen. But she has slipped into Trinity a couple of times for worship or a class or a women's ministry thing.
Her face lit up. "Oh, that church!" she said. "There is great stuff going on, and the people are so welcoming...so loving! As soon as I walked in I could tell they cared...loved one another. And I felt so welcome."
Before the woman left the shop we shook hands. She threw her arms open wide and said, "Those people know how to love!"
I'll tell our people that, this weekend. Remind them about what others see and we may take for granted.
I have a place.
I think everyone wants to have a place -and often they are looking to the church to be just that place.
It's a little coffee shop on East Jackson. Another coffee shop out on highway 120 used to be my place to sit, outline a sermon, have a cup of coffee and breathe. But the old place closed up. The new shop is called Heavenly Brew. It's in a little, old house that used to be a florist shop.
HB is just right. Safe. Cozy. They know my name...and they know I like warmed-up 2% milk with my baked oatmeal.
I have a place.
This morning I noticed a woman noticing me. She was sitting with her college-age daughter, having a conversation, and as they got up to go she approached me. Held out her hand. Said, "Don't I know you...you're the pastor at the church?" I nodded and introduced myself. Told her, yes, that I was down the street at Trinity United Methodist.
She told me she lives a few blocks from Trinity. The woman belongs to a small church in Goshen. But she has slipped into Trinity a couple of times for worship or a class or a women's ministry thing.
Her face lit up. "Oh, that church!" she said. "There is great stuff going on, and the people are so welcoming...so loving! As soon as I walked in I could tell they cared...loved one another. And I felt so welcome."
Before the woman left the shop we shook hands. She threw her arms open wide and said, "Those people know how to love!"
I'll tell our people that, this weekend. Remind them about what others see and we may take for granted.
I have a place.
I think everyone wants to have a place -and often they are looking to the church to be just that place.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Reading a Book Whose Ending You Dread.
Those of us who lived through the 60's still have a place in our soul that was cracked wide open by the killings of John Kennedy, Martin Luther King, and Robert Kennedy.
In November our son, Nathan, gave me Thurston Clark's wonderful book about Bobby Kennedy's campaign for president in 1968. "The Last Campaign" is a great book. What Kennedy had to say about Vietnam sounds right on target with events in Iraq. His concern about crumbling cities, the devastation caused in the human spirit by poverty, failing education systems, and the divisions between us, ring so true today!
Kennedy visited the Mississippi Delta in April 1967 with a congressional sub committee looking into reports of starvation among black sharecroppers. Reporters were left outside when Kennedy entered a windowless shack "reeking of mildew and urine." A mother and six children were living there. A two-year old girl with a distended stomach lay on the floor, surrounded by cockroaches, playing with a single grain of rice.
Kennedy knelt down, stroked her hair, and whispered, "Hello...Hi, baby." Bobby realized the little girl was so weak from hunger she couldn't respond so he picked her up and began rocking her. He kissed her. A little boy came in and sat down on a grimy bed. Kennedy sat next to the boy. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
When Kennedy returned to his home in suburban Virginia, he told his children, "Do you know how lucky you are? Do something for your country?"
What's funny is I remember resenting Bobby Kennedy's entry into the presidential race. I thought he was late to the game. I thought he was an opportunist. I thought he was trading on his late brother's popularity.
When he was taken from us, though, I felt the hope draining out of me. I felt like our nation had suffered a great loss. One we continue to live with today.
The book is so well-written! Still, I find myself avoiding it. Because I know how the story ends. I know the story ends on a hotel kitchen floor in Los Angeles. So have to work to open the work...make my way towards the last chapter.
Maybe the story doesn't end on the floor of a kitchen hotel in Los Angeles in 1968. Maybe the story still goes on...as members of this generation see the challenges. Refuse to settle for injustice. Call our nation to greatness by proclaiming good news to the poor and release to the captives.
Suppose it is possible a new generation could hear the voices of the prophets, of people like Dr. King and Bobby Kennedy, and finish the story in a new way?
In November our son, Nathan, gave me Thurston Clark's wonderful book about Bobby Kennedy's campaign for president in 1968. "The Last Campaign" is a great book. What Kennedy had to say about Vietnam sounds right on target with events in Iraq. His concern about crumbling cities, the devastation caused in the human spirit by poverty, failing education systems, and the divisions between us, ring so true today!
Kennedy visited the Mississippi Delta in April 1967 with a congressional sub committee looking into reports of starvation among black sharecroppers. Reporters were left outside when Kennedy entered a windowless shack "reeking of mildew and urine." A mother and six children were living there. A two-year old girl with a distended stomach lay on the floor, surrounded by cockroaches, playing with a single grain of rice.
Kennedy knelt down, stroked her hair, and whispered, "Hello...Hi, baby." Bobby realized the little girl was so weak from hunger she couldn't respond so he picked her up and began rocking her. He kissed her. A little boy came in and sat down on a grimy bed. Kennedy sat next to the boy. Tears streamed down his cheeks.
When Kennedy returned to his home in suburban Virginia, he told his children, "Do you know how lucky you are? Do something for your country?"
What's funny is I remember resenting Bobby Kennedy's entry into the presidential race. I thought he was late to the game. I thought he was an opportunist. I thought he was trading on his late brother's popularity.
When he was taken from us, though, I felt the hope draining out of me. I felt like our nation had suffered a great loss. One we continue to live with today.
The book is so well-written! Still, I find myself avoiding it. Because I know how the story ends. I know the story ends on a hotel kitchen floor in Los Angeles. So have to work to open the work...make my way towards the last chapter.
Maybe the story doesn't end on the floor of a kitchen hotel in Los Angeles in 1968. Maybe the story still goes on...as members of this generation see the challenges. Refuse to settle for injustice. Call our nation to greatness by proclaiming good news to the poor and release to the captives.
Suppose it is possible a new generation could hear the voices of the prophets, of people like Dr. King and Bobby Kennedy, and finish the story in a new way?
Sometimes Silence is Good.
After 13 years serving a congregation you get to a point where you don't have the energy to play church. You get real. You get honest.
This weekend was one of those days when we talked, in worship, about some real stuff.
You can tell when the message is getting close to the hearts of people, you can tell when you are shaking some of the foundations and assumptions of peoples' lives, because they get very, very quiet.
This weekend it was like people had stopped breathing.
We were talking about how determined Joseph and Mary were to love their son, and introduce him to the God who loves him with everything he has. They had their son circumcised and named on the 8th day after his birth. They took him all the way to Jerusalem 40 days after his birth for the Jewish ritual of purification. They took their son to synagogue every week. They told him the stories of the faith.
A look at attendance patterns in our Sunday school shows the children from our most active families are present about once every three weeks. So we talked about this. We talked about how parents fool themselves into thinking their children are getting a spiritual foundation when we are only around enough to give our children spiritual quicksand.
I challenged parents to make God a commitment -not an afterthought. I reminded them that if they are here now and then, their child is always going to feel like an outsider...a stranger. I spoke to those who are sort of on the fence about being here because they have heard of a better nursery or children's ministry or youth center or teaching ministry in another church down the road. I said what most pastors would say: "If your heart is somewhere else, then go! Don't stay on the fence, sort of here and sort of not, because you're not helping your children...our church...or the other place. Go! Be all in or all out...but make a decision!"
It was quiet.
Sometimes silence is good, I think.
The people attending the synagogue in Nazareth, when Jesus preached from the prophet Isaiah, tried to kill him. They didn't like what he was saying.
No one threw a shoe today. No crowd tried to throw me off the sledding hill at Oxbow Park.
It was just quiet.
And I think that is okay.
This weekend was one of those days when we talked, in worship, about some real stuff.
You can tell when the message is getting close to the hearts of people, you can tell when you are shaking some of the foundations and assumptions of peoples' lives, because they get very, very quiet.
This weekend it was like people had stopped breathing.
We were talking about how determined Joseph and Mary were to love their son, and introduce him to the God who loves him with everything he has. They had their son circumcised and named on the 8th day after his birth. They took him all the way to Jerusalem 40 days after his birth for the Jewish ritual of purification. They took their son to synagogue every week. They told him the stories of the faith.
A look at attendance patterns in our Sunday school shows the children from our most active families are present about once every three weeks. So we talked about this. We talked about how parents fool themselves into thinking their children are getting a spiritual foundation when we are only around enough to give our children spiritual quicksand.
I challenged parents to make God a commitment -not an afterthought. I reminded them that if they are here now and then, their child is always going to feel like an outsider...a stranger. I spoke to those who are sort of on the fence about being here because they have heard of a better nursery or children's ministry or youth center or teaching ministry in another church down the road. I said what most pastors would say: "If your heart is somewhere else, then go! Don't stay on the fence, sort of here and sort of not, because you're not helping your children...our church...or the other place. Go! Be all in or all out...but make a decision!"
It was quiet.
Sometimes silence is good, I think.
The people attending the synagogue in Nazareth, when Jesus preached from the prophet Isaiah, tried to kill him. They didn't like what he was saying.
No one threw a shoe today. No crowd tried to throw me off the sledding hill at Oxbow Park.
It was just quiet.
And I think that is okay.
Does It Work?
It's pretty difficult to justify violence as a solution to the problems of humanity when you look at what Jesus said and did. Early followers of Jesus were pacifists. Early Christians refused to serve in the Roman military, I've read.
But I'm not a pacifist. During the days leading up to World War II the Protestant theologian, Reinhold Niebuhr, advocated a forceful response to Nazism. He talked about the fact that love sometimes is working for justice. Taking on the people bent on destroying others. So I'm not a pacifist.
And still.
Israeli ground troops have moved into the Gaza Strip. Periodic rocket attacks by Hamas have been going on for months. I understand the Israeli response. What is a nation to do when it is under attack?
Those Palestinians, those fundamentalist Muslims, who refuse the right of Israel to exist are passionate but short-sighted. Israel has a right to exist. And the Palestinians have a right to develop a state that is ready to be a partner with the other nations in the Middle East -including Israel.
Here is the question that troubles me: will this military action in Gaza work? The option of killing those who wish us harm must, it seems to me, be a last option. Military attack against fundamentalists, or those who are convinced they are the victims of injustice, tends to inflame the problem. Our force tends to create more enemies and more violence.
Instead of non-violent answers being the product of deluded idealists perhaps it should be considered because they can work. What would happen if Israel poured medical resources into Gaza? What would happen if Israel made sure every Palestinian child had a good education and proper nutrition?
So jets are flying and tanks are rolling. I am praying.
And I keep asking myself the question, "Will this work?"
But I'm not a pacifist. During the days leading up to World War II the Protestant theologian, Reinhold Niebuhr, advocated a forceful response to Nazism. He talked about the fact that love sometimes is working for justice. Taking on the people bent on destroying others. So I'm not a pacifist.
And still.
Israeli ground troops have moved into the Gaza Strip. Periodic rocket attacks by Hamas have been going on for months. I understand the Israeli response. What is a nation to do when it is under attack?
Those Palestinians, those fundamentalist Muslims, who refuse the right of Israel to exist are passionate but short-sighted. Israel has a right to exist. And the Palestinians have a right to develop a state that is ready to be a partner with the other nations in the Middle East -including Israel.
Here is the question that troubles me: will this military action in Gaza work? The option of killing those who wish us harm must, it seems to me, be a last option. Military attack against fundamentalists, or those who are convinced they are the victims of injustice, tends to inflame the problem. Our force tends to create more enemies and more violence.
Instead of non-violent answers being the product of deluded idealists perhaps it should be considered because they can work. What would happen if Israel poured medical resources into Gaza? What would happen if Israel made sure every Palestinian child had a good education and proper nutrition?
So jets are flying and tanks are rolling. I am praying.
And I keep asking myself the question, "Will this work?"
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