Grace for the Martyr

About a year ago I decided to go to a lecture at Central Methodist
College. I had told several members of my congregation about the
lecture, and although I was overwhelmed with work and sermon
preparation, I decided to be a martyr and attend in case anyone from
my congregation showed up. (No one did.)

When I arrived about 15 minutes before the presentation, the large
auditorium where I assumed that the lecture would take place was
empty. Central Methodist isn't a large campus, and so I went to the
nearest building with lights on and a crowd. Sara, my mentor in the
candidacy process, sat down near me, and expressed surprise that I had
come to a poetry reading. It turned out that the lecture I planned to
attend had been canceled, and Sara invited me to stay for Scott's
poetry reading. I had heard Scott read poetry once before at a
University of Missouri Christian faculty and staff meeting, and knew I
wouldn't be disappointed.

What amazed me on this occasion was how much I needed to hear poetry.
At the time I felt inundated with words, looking for the right words.
Each week's sermon, hymn selection, written prayers, call to
worship—so many words, and so much self-imposed stress on getting the
best possible words to express the morning theme in worship. There
was such a sense of relief in just listening to Scott read his poems.
I needed to hear and join in with someone else's words of prayer.

(Scott has a new book out, Compass of Affection: Poems New And
Selected. Hint, Hint to Ed.)

sound to bring comfort

GE has a beautiful commercial that they aired recently. It depicts
images of women and babies from many cultures, with a woman's voice
singing "da da dum day dum day dum" over and over, to the sort of tune
one sings without even thinking when rocking a baby—a mother using
sound to bring comfort to her child.Since the commercial is by GE, and
it praises ultrasound, which uses "sound to bring comfort" to pregnant
women.

Other comforting sounds?
Listening in the hallway to your child breathing,
dad snoring on the couch,
steady beep of a heart monitor,
"The Lord is my shepherd",
"What's for supper, mom?",
"the peace of Christ with you",
"praise God from whom all blessings flow",
"hey, dear",
the click of the heater turning on fifteen minutes before the alarm goes off,
"And God said, it is good",
a group of men and women in the geriatric ward singing "this little
light of mine",
the beep of the coffee maker signaling that the coffee is ready,
"For my yoke is easy and my burden is light",
"Come, Lord Jesus"

Stations of the Movie

In my liturgical writing class, we have been talking about liturgical
practices for the season of lent. Today someone mentioned the
"stations of the cross" as a practice of their home church. Last year
my parents' church set up a "stations of the cross" time of devotion
for the week before Easter. My mom was asking about this, and so I
explained to her that at each station is a place of rest where one
prays and remembers a station, or scene, of Jesus' passion. I
explained to her that some of these are stations that depict a time in
the gospel narrative, such as Pilate condemning Jesus. Other stations
are from tradition, such as Jesus' stumbling or Jesus meeting his
mother. Then Mark chimed in with his words of wisdom and added, "and
some of the stations are from the movie Ben Hur".

Illusion of Holiness

For the last year at Candler, whenever I have talked with other students about dreams of future ministry, I have asked, "Have you ever been part of a healthy church? What did it look like?" So far, I have heard two positive replies.

One described a church in which the leading elders made it a point of demonstrating servant leadership by taking on the most menial tasks. The most senior leaders were the ones that had the right to take out the garbage. Amazing.

Recently a student described a church in which the leadership was very honest. There were no secrets. Issues were addressed immediately and publicly.

I do think that secret keeping is symptomatic of church problems, similar to secret keeping by families. I guess twice I've been sideswiped by learning about a big secret about something that had happened a few years before joining the church. I shared these thoughts with a chaplain friend, any he responded that it's a lot more difficult for a church to heal than for a family to heal. A family can get honest and make healthy changes. A church has to give up the
illusion of holiness before she can even start being honest.

Pizza Crust to You!

I was riding home from school with a fellow Candler student, and we
were doing the usual...comparing churches. One of the most important
parts of worship at the church where I am now is the "passing of the
peace". Since every Sunday is a mini "family reunion" it's important
to shake hands and welcome one another. My friend described the first
time she went to a service which included the "passing of the peace".
Afterwards she asked her companion "what's all that pizza crust stuff
they were saying"--her interpretation of "the peace of Christ".

It reminded me of two of our visits to churches when we moved here.
At one church, during the passing of the peace, instead of saying "The
peace of the Lord with you" an older woman said to my son, "you need a
haircut". Yes, everyone in our family except Mark already believes
that he needs a haircut, but there are other more serious forms of
rebellion that the family is dealing with, and forcing him to get a
haircut is low on the priority list. It was such a thoughtless thing
for her to say.

Just after we moved to Georgia I took Mark with me to visit the church
that I grew up in. The church was having a homecoming, and two of the
previous members who had been called into the ministry were each
providing a 5-minute (ha!) homily. I was looking forward to
attending, because my old friend from that church had gone into the
ministry, and would be preaching.

Kenny (name changed), who was a few years younger than me, had been
called into the ministry and was a youth pastor. Although I didn't
know Kenny well when growing up, since he was a few years younger, I
looked forward to seeing him again. I introduced myself to him, and
it was great to hear his story. I introduced my son Mark,
14-years-old, and Kenny immediately asked him, "Is Jesus Christ your
Lord and Savior? Do you love Jesus with all your heart?" I was so
furious—it seemed to convey an attitude of caring more about the
number of souls saved than actually caring who Mark is as a person.
Later I decided that Kenny was probably just nervous.

At the time, I felt sorry for Mark. He grew up in Missouri, and
that's not a question I ever heard anyone in Missouri ask. I wondered
whether Mark was prepared for this move to the buckle of the Bible
belt.