The Work of the People.

The word "liturgy", we were told in seminary, means "work of the people." (At least that's what I recall on this perfect, Summer, Sunday afternoon...)

This weekend our congregation welcomed Shea Reyenga to our pulpit. Shea grew up at Trinity. Even as an elementary school student, Shea would take his turn reading scripture in our main weekend services. People would -as people do in a church- take notice of his confidence, reading ability, and "presence."

He and his family moved to the Fort Worth, Texas about five years ago. We've stayed in touch.

So, about half way through his first year at Perkins School of Theology in Dallas, I sent him a note and asked if he would want to come back this Summer and preach at the church where he grew up. He was the preacher at all four weekend services.

Shea did great. Amazing delivery...obviously a scholar...with a passion to see the church fully alive with a radical degree of devotion to Jesus Christ.

As I watched and listened to Shea, as I heard the people buzzing in the hallways between services, I was struck again by the fact that preachers are grown up by the church. I'm not sure all lay people understand this, but their gracious, patient, encouragement when we are starting out...is crucial.

Lay people at Walkerton and Door Village and Wanatah Faith and Lebanon UMC all endured my best efforts, when I was starting out. They were gracious. Didn't point out that the big words sometimes got in the way of the message. Didn't note that Jesus preached simple messages using every day illustrations...from every day life...and I could have easily left the quotes from Barth and Tillich back in the study.

I remember one Summer Sunday morning at Door Village (just outside LaPorte, Indiana), when the small sanctuary was like an oven. Just out of IU, I was preaching in a suit and tie. Finally, beaten by the heat, I looked out and took off my jacket. Told the men, "Okay, guys it's so warm you don't have to sit there in a suit and tie!" I thought I was being brilliant... truth is I was the only man in the room silly enough to even try wearing a suit and tie on that Summer morning. They knew...they already knew... and they were waiting for me to learn the lesson.

Listen to pastors and they will tell you about a Sunday School teacher who stopped them and told them, "I see a preacher when I look at you." Listen to pastors and they will tell you how they watched a youth director or pastor and began to learn the rhythms of ministry...the necessity of both faith and courage if you are to lead people in the name of Jesus.

Lay people...congregations...grow up preachers just like a gardener plants and tends tomato plants. Raises sweet corn.

Shea will learn this...more and more. His ministry will be, in large part, a product of all the Sunday School teachers and laity and youth directors who have poured love and faith into his life.

It isn't just liturgy that is the work of the people: the making of preachers and pastors is also the work of the people!

I Can Do It Myself - but It's Nice Having You Close.

Our soon-to-be-two-year-old granddaughter sat carefully on the edge of the swimming pool at a motel on the edge of Columbus. Wedged between her grandmother's legs. She wanted nothing to do with getting into the pool... despite the fact I was already in the 4' deep pool and encouraging her to join me.

Then, after about 20 minutes of swinging her legs around in the water, she was in the pool with me. I swung her around. I tossed her in the air. I encouraged her to put her face in the water and blow bubbles.

Ella watched some teenagers and was then determined to swim on her own. She would climb up out of the pool using the aluminum ladder, with the help of Grandpa, and then turn around to jump into the water like the teenagers.

"I can do it myself!" she insisted over and over again. I pointed out that she didn't know how to swim and that the water was 4' deep, but she was sure she didn't need me...she was ready to do exactly what she saw the teenagers doing.

Still, though, she let me hold her...swing her around...help her in and out of the pool.

As I held her I noticed something. She had her right arm around my neck, and she was gently patting my shoulder with her fingers. Four of them working in time. We were laughing and playing...but that hand was resting on my shoulder and she was patting me...almost as if the action was automatic. Without thought.

We spend a lot of time telling God we can do it on our own, don't we? Still, though, it is nice having God close...

I'm glad God refuses to let go of us...no matter how much we insist that we can do life on our own.

Who Do You Belong To?

(I know. The title of this entry is grammatical incorrect. Still, it works, right?)

T-shirts have become a way of saying something about who we are...where we are from...the school we attended...our favorite teams. It's certainly not as high-tech as Facebook or Twitter but it is a way of communicating. Saying something to the world about who we are.

My t-shirt collection is heavy on Duke University and Indiana University. One of my favorites, though, is a very soft, 100% cotton shirt that has blue shoulders and an ivory front and back. The message on the shirt simply says PROPERTY of JP CHASE.

Two of our three sons, along with one of our two daughters in law, work for that particular bank. So I can't remember who gave the shirt to me.

I was wearing this shirt -which is really more than a t-shirt- when I walked into a Columbus, Ohio pizza place yesterday evening. It's a real simple little place. A woman behind the counter looked at me and said, "You must owe them so much money they own you!"

I smiled and said, "No, not really. Actually, I'm a Chrisitian so I belong to God." I paid for the pizza and left.

Funny, you know. I've thought about that before. I've wondered about the wisdom of any of us walking around with clothing that seems to indicate we belong to a company like Nike or JP Chase. Or that we are the property of some school's athletic department.

I like the shirt. I may wear it again...but I wonder if it is a good thing to walk around casually announcing that I belong to any one particular company.

Interesting. I wear a cross...around my neck and under my clothing. The bank thing...the name of IU or Duke or the Mucky Duck restaurant? Those are on the outside for the world to see!

Thriller.

My first experience with the music of Michael Jackson was during college. When a lot of hard rock was screaming away, I would walk through the Student Union at IU and hear The Jackson Five singing "I'll Be There" or "ABC." The music certainly wasn't Cream or The Band or Chicago or Dylan, but it was good...made the world feel lighter. Brighter.

Now, as the stories of the pressure on young Michael to record one hit record after another come out, I realize the price he paid to be successful
- and please all those adults around him who kept pushing. And pushing. And pushing him.

His appearance began to change years ago. Later in life Michael did not resemble at all the handsome young black man who first came on the scene back in the late 60's and early 70's. I've heard speculation -there is plenty of that going around right now, isn't there?- that he had over fifty surgical procedures done to change his look

The more successful he became, the more bizarre his life choices seemed to get. Poor choices, bad investments, drug abuse...you name it. It was like watching a plane come apart, slowly, high in the air. We were left to wonder where the wreckage would land.

The more successful he became, the more unhappy he seemed to be.

The more people there were in his security detail, his retinue, the more lonely he appeared.

Everyone is saying he was the greatest. Certainly, the album "Thriller" is top selling LP/CD of all time. The greatest? I'm not so sure about that. It seems like we often use the word "greatest" to describe the latest celebrity or actor or musician to die.

I wonder what Michael wanted to look like -and why? I wonder why he seemed determined to erase every trace of the face he had as a young adult. Was it an attempt, as some say, to remove any connection -in terms of appearance- with the father who pushed him...and appears to have used him for his own financial gain? Was it an attempt to become "white?" Was it an attempt to copy someone he knew...admired...had seen in a crowd...or on the pages of some magazine? Who was he trying to be... what was he trying to hide?

Everyone talks about how many times Michael Jackson had doctors work on his face to change his look. The truth is we are all tempted to hide our faces, aren't we? More often than we want to admit we spend a good part of our lives trying to take on the face of the person we want to be. We do our very best to create a mask and live behind that mask.

Always in control.
Always okay.
Never a doubt in the world.
Strong always...never weak...never dependent on another human being.
Always happy.
Successful.

There are all these masks we slip on. The difference between us and Michael, though, is our desperate attempt to become someone else... hide the real us...isn't so obvious.

The sad thing about all of this is that when God made Michael Jackson, God made him beautiful. The psalmist in Psalm 139 remembers (:13) how God was doing something good when God made him: "You created every part of me; you put me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because you are to be feared; all you do is trange and wonderful. I know it with all my heart. When my bones were being formed, carefully put together in my mother's womb, when I was growing there in secret, you knew that I was there - you saw me before I was born."

Sometimes we try running from the man in the mirror.

Grace invites us to stop running. See us as God sees us. And be whole.