It was my first year of seminary. The choir director of my local congregation asked me to put together a narrative, in three parts, interspersed between the choir’s Christmas anthems. Flattered, I imagined a one-woman drama, in which I played a character in the Bethlehem narrative. I imagined seeing the tired but proud mother, the soft cry of the baby, the choir’s lullaby, stepping over sheep and around lowing cattle in my character’s quest to worship the newborn king. So I wandered the Cokesbury store, peering into advent devotion books, peeking into a collection of Christmas drams, imagining the worship experience I would create.
Daniel Ogle asked the question we all ask, seeing one another in the Cokesbury store after classes are well underway. “What are you doing here?” After all, who in a seminary has the time, money, or inclination to shop for additional reading? I explained my quest—did he know of a female monologue set in the Christmas story?
In best rabbinic tradition, Daniel answered my question with one of his own. “What’s wrong with the magnificat?”
“Nothing. Just not what I’m looking for.”
I left the store soon after, flabbergasted by the encounter.
Yes, I knew about Mary’s monologue (Luke 1:46-55). I was ashamed of myself…I had not even considered turning to scripture. What did that say about the authority of scripture?
But the greater shame…I knew that I would choose not to use the magnificat. I wanted sweet; I wanted sappy. I would not tell my congregation that the Messiah would turn the economic order upside down, put down the mighty and exalt the low, fill the hungry and send the rich away, empty. I would give them the Messiah they wanted and expected.
I knew then that I am not as brave as Mary; I failed to cry out that God would scatter we who are proud. My congregation expected lullabies. They would revolt if I instead proclaimed scripture!
I struggle to be brave.
I strain to, at most, sneak in words of liberation and rebellion. Wearing boots instead of pumps is about as subversive as I get.
I will always have the tendency to comfort the afflicted rather than afflict the comfortable. The comforted are always so appreciative. They like me.
I sit in my comfortable chair, in my well-apportioned office, with my pretty crosses decorating the wall, thinking maybe I need some Ogle.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Praying Psalm 25
To you, Lord, we lift up our souls. We turn to you with praise and adoration, with thanks for your steadfast love and faithfulness. We are overwhelmed by the ways that you reach out to us, desiring us to turn to you. We are overwhelmed, by your presence during times of silence, by your presence in scripture and in listening. We are startled by your presence when we gather with others. We are overwhelmed when you offer through another person the smile, the handshake, the hug that we didn’t even know that we needed. We are amazed when you speak through another’s words the words that we need to hear. Thank you. We thank you.
To you, Lord, we lift up our souls. We turn to you with confusion and frustration. We have tried to follow your path, to walk in your truth, and yet…we have failed. We want to love you with every part of our being, but fear and pride get in the way. We vow to spend more time with you, and let busyness and the interests of others get in the way. We want to give more financially, but God—it’s hard—what if there isn’t enough? We want to speak the neighbor, to love neighbor—but I don’t know what to say—and what if they reject me? Worst of all, Lord, there are neighbors we never even notice. People you love, but that we walk past, drive by, and never see. We lift to our failures.
To you, Lord, we lift up our souls, because we have nowhere else to turn. Other paths lead to emptiness. Other ways lead to destruction. We have tried other ways…and in brokenness, pain, and finally humility, we turn to you, we surrender. Teach us your way. Lead us in your paths.
To you, Lord, we lift up our souls, trusting in the abundance of your love and care. We lift up the worries of this day:
A broken economy, with no consensus on how to correct this situation. The pain of job losses, the fears of who will be next. We name to you those who suffer financially.
Our worries over broken relationships—relationships that are strained. We name to you those persons who we long to reach out to more deeply and faithfully.
Our fears for those who suffer. We name to you those who are sick, those who are hospitalized, those who need your loving care and healing.
To you, Lord, we lift up our souls, trusting in your faithfulness, trusting in your steadfast love. To you, Lord, we live and pray the words your son taught: Our Father, who art in heaven…
To you, Lord, we lift up our souls. We turn to you with confusion and frustration. We have tried to follow your path, to walk in your truth, and yet…we have failed. We want to love you with every part of our being, but fear and pride get in the way. We vow to spend more time with you, and let busyness and the interests of others get in the way. We want to give more financially, but God—it’s hard—what if there isn’t enough? We want to speak the neighbor, to love neighbor—but I don’t know what to say—and what if they reject me? Worst of all, Lord, there are neighbors we never even notice. People you love, but that we walk past, drive by, and never see. We lift to our failures.
To you, Lord, we lift up our souls, because we have nowhere else to turn. Other paths lead to emptiness. Other ways lead to destruction. We have tried other ways…and in brokenness, pain, and finally humility, we turn to you, we surrender. Teach us your way. Lead us in your paths.
To you, Lord, we lift up our souls, trusting in the abundance of your love and care. We lift up the worries of this day:
A broken economy, with no consensus on how to correct this situation. The pain of job losses, the fears of who will be next. We name to you those who suffer financially.
Our worries over broken relationships—relationships that are strained. We name to you those persons who we long to reach out to more deeply and faithfully.
Our fears for those who suffer. We name to you those who are sick, those who are hospitalized, those who need your loving care and healing.
To you, Lord, we lift up our souls, trusting in your faithfulness, trusting in your steadfast love. To you, Lord, we live and pray the words your son taught: Our Father, who art in heaven…
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Mystical Morning
O God, in all ages you have imparted yourself to man and set alight the fire of faith in his heart, grant to me the faith which comes from search. Cleanse my life from all hat negates and crushes out faith, and fill it with the purity and honesty which foster it. Cleanse me from the evil which makes unbelief its friend, and drive it far from me, so that, being wiling in all things to do your will, I may know the truth which shall set me free. Through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.
- Samuel M Shoemaker in Daily Prayer Companion, as quoted in Disciplines for the Inner Life by Benson and Benson.
For years I have been drawn to images of the inner life—an interior castle, a home, a cabin, rooms in which I go to seek God and rooms in which I find my self and get to know this person I am. I speculate about getting my self out of the way, or transformation of the self, or the interior life growing and filling and somehow bursting out. I enjoy this reflection on the interior life, to delight in God’s presence, and enjoy the moments of desiring God. On good days, this inner life pops surprises, unexpectedly giving peace or joy.
Candler encouraged me to distrust this, to worry whenever I am not reaching out in love to others. To pray alone is to focus on myself, and there is a risk that I will assume that the one I meet inside is not God but me. Certainly praying with others challenges my assumptions about God.
When I pray with others, lately with Don and Kristin, and often with those who are sick, there is a sense of connection. That within me is connected somehow to that within you. The bond is strong when we open ourselves, reveal ourselves, are willing to share ourselves. Days later, I look in your face, and feel the bond still present, no longer dramatically obvious, but gentle and gracious and polite.
There is this reaching out in love with one another in communal prayer, and I delight in this presence of God.
Interesting that communal prayer is teaching me not to question my need for private experience of God. Somehow the two are intertwined; on the most straightforward level it seems that I cannot share the me with you unless I spend time alone listening for who I am. There is more, though. There is a practice in opening self to God, when in the practice and discipline it becomes physical and natural to open self. Each practice, whether praying alone or praying this with others, instructs in the other practice. In the practices, in the discipline, there is grace, there are moments of certain trust that this is God present, this is God I know and God we know together and in one another.
These words aren’t coming out as hoped. My apologies to Evelyn Underhill—I suppose the important part of every reflection is that which it fails to express.
- Samuel M Shoemaker in Daily Prayer Companion, as quoted in Disciplines for the Inner Life by Benson and Benson.
For years I have been drawn to images of the inner life—an interior castle, a home, a cabin, rooms in which I go to seek God and rooms in which I find my self and get to know this person I am. I speculate about getting my self out of the way, or transformation of the self, or the interior life growing and filling and somehow bursting out. I enjoy this reflection on the interior life, to delight in God’s presence, and enjoy the moments of desiring God. On good days, this inner life pops surprises, unexpectedly giving peace or joy.
Candler encouraged me to distrust this, to worry whenever I am not reaching out in love to others. To pray alone is to focus on myself, and there is a risk that I will assume that the one I meet inside is not God but me. Certainly praying with others challenges my assumptions about God.
When I pray with others, lately with Don and Kristin, and often with those who are sick, there is a sense of connection. That within me is connected somehow to that within you. The bond is strong when we open ourselves, reveal ourselves, are willing to share ourselves. Days later, I look in your face, and feel the bond still present, no longer dramatically obvious, but gentle and gracious and polite.
There is this reaching out in love with one another in communal prayer, and I delight in this presence of God.
Interesting that communal prayer is teaching me not to question my need for private experience of God. Somehow the two are intertwined; on the most straightforward level it seems that I cannot share the me with you unless I spend time alone listening for who I am. There is more, though. There is a practice in opening self to God, when in the practice and discipline it becomes physical and natural to open self. Each practice, whether praying alone or praying this with others, instructs in the other practice. In the practices, in the discipline, there is grace, there are moments of certain trust that this is God present, this is God I know and God we know together and in one another.
These words aren’t coming out as hoped. My apologies to Evelyn Underhill—I suppose the important part of every reflection is that which it fails to express.
Watching and Waiting (Newsletter Article)
I’ve tried for years to grow tomatoes, not always successfully. That perfect combination of acidity and sweetness is found only on a tomato plant coaxed to grow in Georgia red clay. My grandfather, known for his gardening acumen, warned me not to plant too early. Don’t be tempted to plant tomatoes on a sunny spring day; frost may destroy your plans. Instead, watch the pecan trees. When you can see leaves on the top-most branches, then it’s time to plant tomatoes.
It’s hard to wait. In the spring, I’m eager to plant; in the summer, I’m eager for crisp fall mornings; and at this time of year I scarcely finish drying the Thanksgiving meal dishes before I start nagging, I mean encouraging, the family to put up the Christmas tree.
Yet the church knows we need to wait. We don’t dive into the Advent season with a full-scale candlelight service, but instead watch as one candle is lit this week, a second candle next week, taking weeks to light the Advent wreath candles. We don’t put out all the Christmas decorations at once, but add to them each week. We set out the manger scene, but hesitate, waiting before setting out the baby Jesus.
We don’t wait to find out the end of the story—we know that angels and shepherds and magi will arrive. But we recognize holiness in the humble birth, mystery in the Son of God born in our midst, and we hesitate. This is not like watching for the right time to plant or for the weather to change—this is a season of active waiting. We prepare ourselves, examine ourselves, consider relationships, question motives and actions. We wait as participants in the story. We watch God fulfill promises in Jesus’ birth, and in the watching and waiting we make room in our hearts for Christ’s coming.
We know that Christ has come; yet there are promises still to be fulfilled, promises of a time when the wolf will lie down with the lamb, when death will be swallowed up, and when every tear will be wiped away. We watch and wait together, in confident expectation that Christ will come again.
Come wait with me this Sunday,
Cyndi
It’s hard to wait. In the spring, I’m eager to plant; in the summer, I’m eager for crisp fall mornings; and at this time of year I scarcely finish drying the Thanksgiving meal dishes before I start nagging, I mean encouraging, the family to put up the Christmas tree.
Yet the church knows we need to wait. We don’t dive into the Advent season with a full-scale candlelight service, but instead watch as one candle is lit this week, a second candle next week, taking weeks to light the Advent wreath candles. We don’t put out all the Christmas decorations at once, but add to them each week. We set out the manger scene, but hesitate, waiting before setting out the baby Jesus.
We don’t wait to find out the end of the story—we know that angels and shepherds and magi will arrive. But we recognize holiness in the humble birth, mystery in the Son of God born in our midst, and we hesitate. This is not like watching for the right time to plant or for the weather to change—this is a season of active waiting. We prepare ourselves, examine ourselves, consider relationships, question motives and actions. We wait as participants in the story. We watch God fulfill promises in Jesus’ birth, and in the watching and waiting we make room in our hearts for Christ’s coming.
We know that Christ has come; yet there are promises still to be fulfilled, promises of a time when the wolf will lie down with the lamb, when death will be swallowed up, and when every tear will be wiped away. We watch and wait together, in confident expectation that Christ will come again.
Come wait with me this Sunday,
Cyndi
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Sheep, Goats, Harry Potter and John 3:16
Matthew 25:31-46
31“When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. 32All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, 33and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left.
34Then the king will say to those at his right hand, ‘Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; 35for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, 36I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’ 37Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? 38And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? 39And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ 40And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.’
41Then he will say to those at his left hand, ‘You that are accursed, depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels; 42for I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, 43I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.’ 44Then they also will answer, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?’ 45Then he will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.’ 46And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.”
My family enjoys the Harry Potter books and the Harry Potter movies. During the early years, when new Harry Potter books were released, Mark and I had to sneak to the book store, secretly purchasing the latest in the series—sneaking because Ed hates when we buy books instead of checking them out for free from the library—and then the whole family, even Ed, fighting over who gets to read the book first.
I have enjoyed these stories in which Harry finds out that there is more to life than what he sees in the world around him—watching Harry grow and become not only stronger but also wiser—and in this last episode, learn that there is something after this life, and that there are things worth dying for.
Each book corresponds to a school year, in which Harry and his friends attend the Hogwarts School of Magic. At the beginning of the school year, the First-Year students are lined up and their names read aloud alphabetically; one by one each student sits on a stool and a magical hat—the Sorting Hat—is placed on the student’s head. The sorting hat looks deep inside them, at their hearts and at their attitudes, at whether they are trustworthy, whether they are intelligent, and assigns each to a house where they and their housemates will form bonds that last a lifetime.
The moment of consideration varies in length—some students are easy to place, and the sorting hat takes less than a second to call out Gryffendor or Ravensclaw house. But other students, like Harry, take longer for the hat to analyze.
Harry sits on the stool and hears the sorting hat trying to place him.
“Hmm, Difficult. Very Difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There’s talent, oh my goodness, yes — and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that’s interesting....”
The hat seems to lean toward putting Harry in the Slytherin house, but Harry is reluctant to be part of Slytherin. Harry knows that the evil He Who Shall Not Be Named, Lord Voldemort, once belonged to Slytherin. Moments before, the hat placed the arrogant and elitist Malfoy into the Slytherin house, and Harry can’t help himself from thinking, “Not Slytherin, not Slytherin.”
“Not Slytherin, eh? Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it’s all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that....”
“Not Slytherin, not Slytherin.”
I read our gospel lesson from Matthew 25 where Jesus describes a time of sorting; like the Harry Potter books it seems otherworldly, like something that doesn’t really happen in the real world.
But something in me recognizes that Jesus’ words are not fiction; there is a sorting, a looking inside of me to see who I am, where I belong. Part of me feels like Harry, as though I am in a nightmare, sweating, gripping the edge of my seat, squeezing my eyes tightly shut and whispering fervently to Jesus “not the goats, not the goats. Please, please, please, put me with the sheep.”
If I am honest, it’s not just fear that I have when I read this description of Jesus separating sheep from goats. Part of me is angry and wants to shout to Jesus that the story we just read of sheep and goats is wrong. Clearly, Matthew was daydreaming when Jesus described the final judgment; Matthew did not get the story straight and has written down the wrong words.
I know how the end is supposed to work out; as a child I was taught that you are saved if you believe in Jesus Christ. One of the first memory verses I learned was John 3:16—you know this too:
For God so loved the world that he sent his only begotten son so that whosoever believeth in him should not perish but have everlasting life.
There is nothing in John 3:16 about giving drinks to thirsty people or food to hungry people. You just have to believe in Jesus.
If Matthew had been paying attention like he was supposed to, instead of goofing off, he would have written down what Jesus really said. What Matthew should have written, what Jesus must have really said, goes like this:
After dividing the people into sheep and goats, the king looks to his right, where the sheep are, and says, ‘Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for you believed in me and shall not perish but have everlasting life.
Nothing about giving clothes to people or welcoming strangers.
As a child I was taught that you are saved if you let Jesus into your heart. I learned the song, “Behold, behold, I stand at the door and knock, knock, knock…if anyone hears my voice, and shall open, open, open the door I will come in.” Once saved, always saved. All you have to do is let Jesus into your heart and then you are good to go. If Matthew had learned this song as a child, he too would know that salvation does not come because of visiting people in prison or taking care of sick people.
Part of me is angry at Matthew for getting this wrong, because the way Matthew writes this description of the final judgment not only contradicts what I was taught as a child—it contradicts what I have learned as an adult: that salvation is by faith alone, not by works. Paul knew this, and wrote the Ephesians: “For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: Not of works, lest any man should boast.” (Ephesians 2:8-9). Welcoming strangers and feeding the poor sounds like works righteousness, something that you could boast about. Matthew forgot to write down the part where Jesus said we are saved by God’s grace and by faith.
Maybe Matthew just had a rough day. Maybe this day the crowd got between Jesus and Matthew; with all those people in the way, all the noise and the jostling of the crowd, Matthew couldn’t hear Jesus clearly.
If it were only in this scripture, I might be tempted to say that Matthew had wax in his ears that morning and read on, forgetting about this description of the judgment. But this isn’t the only time that Matthew suggests that while we may be saved by grace, we will be judged by our works. The whole gospel of Matthew is filled with Jesus telling stories in which people are judged by what they do.
• Ten virgins wait through the night for a bridegroom. Five are wise, and conserve their oil. Five act foolishly, wasting their oil, and miss the wedding party when they must run for new supplies. They are judged on the basis of what they did.
• A wealthy master gives talents to his three servants. One servant receives five talents, another two, and another one. All of the servants are judged on the basis of what they did with what they had.
It’s not only Matthew—Luke and Mark also report that Jesus talks about people who are judged by what they do with what they have.
• Zacchaeus, the wee little man, comes down out of his tree, and is so excited that he gives half of his possessions to the poor. Then, after Zacchaeus gives to the poor, Jesus says, “Today salvation has come to this house” (Luke 19:9).
• Jesus tells about a rich man and a poor man, Lazarus. Outside the rich man’s home lies Lazarus, covered with sores and longing to eat what fell from the rich man's table. Both die, and the rich man is condemned for eternity. I read the story and wonder whether the rich man ever saw the beggar Lazarus sitting outside.
If I take seriously the gospels, the descriptions of what Jesus said and did, then I have to question this understanding that I have long held associating salvation with whether I let Jesus into my heart. Matthew, Mark, and Luke don’t seem to say anything about believing in Jesus; John doesn’t say anything about letting Jesus into your heart. Instead, Jesus seems to judge people based on their actions; what did they do with what they had?
When I read Matthew 25 and the judging of the nations, part of me is scared and can’t help but cry out, “Not the goats, not the goats”. Because I know, deep down, that if these actions—feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, visiting the prisoners—if these actions are the criteria for eternal salvation, then I haven’t made the cut.
I drive home from school, and stop at a traffic light on Ponce de Leon where a man with a shopping cart stands on the side of the road. His whole life is in that shopping cart, everything that he owns. I cross over into the left lane, the furthest lane from him, because I don’t have a one dollar bill, and I don’t want to give him a five dollar bill. I pick up my cell phone, pretend like I’m making a phone call, anything to avoid looking at him in the eye.
I am more than a little nervous about this great judgment separating sheep and goats--but I’m not the only one who seems a little confused, who has questions about what is going on in this scene.
Those gathered before Jesus have questions, too. They ask him, when did I see you? Those who are on the right side, who have been told they are righteous and blessed, ask, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?”
Those gathered on the left aren’t quite sure how they got there. They also have questions for Jesus: ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?’
It seems as though no one, whether on the left or the right, recognized Jesus when they encountered him.
I begin to wonder about the Jesus I let into my heart, the Jesus I said will be my Lord and Savior, do I really know Jesus? Do I recognize Jesus when I see him?
Jesus says that “as you have done it to the least of these, you have done it to me”. As you have given water to the thirsty, you have given it to me. As you have visited the lonely person whose room in a retirement home now seems like a prison cell, you have done it to me. As you have given a coat to the person shivering in the cold, you have given it to me.
I give a coat or two every year to MUST ministries, does this count? Usually the coats that I give are ones that I really don’t want anymore. Since I don’t want to bother with having a garage sale, I put clothes that are out of fashion or too small in a collection box alongside GA 20. I have to admit I never thought to peek in the box and see if Jesus was in there; seems like that would be a silly thing to do.
I tried to teach this idea of the need to be generous to the least of these—the poor, the hungry, the sick—I tried to teach this to a group of 7th graders in Sunday School. This was a long time ago—back when I had this crazy idea that I could relate to middle schoolers—of course my own kids weren’t that old yet and had not yet told me that I had no business hanging out with 7th graders. But the class and I made a pact—if I baked muffins, they would “behave”—and I told myself that if they never remembered anything that I taught in class, at least they might remember that for a year someone had cared enough to get up early on Sunday mornings and bake muffins.
One Sunday morning we sat around the table eating chocolate chip muffins and I was especially excited about the lesson. It was a lesson on caring for the least of these, and I had found some statistics on the Internet that named the least of these. You’ve probably seen the list—it goes something like this: If you went to bed full last night, then you are among the wealthiest 5% in the world. If you have a television in your home, then you are among the wealthiest 3% in the world. But instead of appreciating what they have and feeling sympathy for those without, one of the hooligans, I mean students, starting cheering, and before I knew it, my litany had turned into a nightmare. My statement, “If you had a bed to sleep in last night, then you are in the top 1% richest people in the world” was greeted with cheer!?! “Yeah! We’re number 1, we’re number 1!”
I wanted them to see beyond their homes and schools, to see people that they normally would never notice. I wanted them to see Jesus. Instead, they could only see themselves, and they marched around the classroom waving muffins and chanting “we’re number one!”.
I don’t think that you can look at statistics and see Jesus in the face of the poor, the hungry, the cold and lonely. That’s like trying to look at Jesus from a distance, from far away, like seeing a blurred image.
If Jesus is present with the hungry, the thirsty, the poor—then I guess I have at least helped Jesus a little from time to time. I bought food for Mother’s Cupboard. I have written checks to the Homeless fund. I gave money to the special offering for Bibles for the women’s prison.
But even that is problematic. My childhood Sunday School teachers didn’t say to let Jesus into your wallet; they said to let Jesus into your heart. Just giving money to Jesus is like trying to see Jesus from a distance, like the blurry way you see when you put on someone else’s eyeglasses.
My friend Alice just started a job helping a church that wants to reach out to the poor. They’ve hired her to do this for them—when someone in the area needs help, Alice talks to them, and figures out how the church should help.
One of Alice’s first clients was Margaret. Margaret’s electricity bills were past due, she didn’t have the $100 needed to pay up, and the power was about to be cut off. Margaret has two part time jobs, works more than 40 hours a week, but neither job pays more than $5.85 minimum wage, and as hard as she is trying, between day care and the cost of gas, she has a hard time making ends meet.
Alice was so proud of her church for helping out Margaret…until one of the board members asked, do you think she can pay back the $100 by volunteering at the church? Maybe do a little cleaning or working on the grounds?
It seemed to me that if the board had talked to Margaret, instead of sending Alice with their check, they would not have had such blurry vision. They would have seen clearly that this woman needing help was Jesus—and that her feet hurt from standing all day, and that she was tired from trying to make two jobs work out and tired from trying to give time for her children.
Last month at the UMW meeting, during our sharing of joys and concerns, Maree White shared a blessing and prayer request. During a family reunion, a homeless family stopped by the church, asking for help. Maree asked us to pray for the family—everything that they own is in that car. Maree called the benevolence committee—part of our gifts to the church are used in this way—so that the church could help the family.
But Maree didn’t stop there. She invited the family of strangers into the fellowship hall, invited them to join in the White family reunion, helped them load their plates with fried chicken and green beans, and even invited them to sit at the table. Maree shared this story with the UMW group, and how it had felt as though it were the right thing to do, to make a stranger feel welcome. I have to admit, I felt a little jealous of Maree. I think she served dinner to Jesus that afternoon.
I started out talking about Harry Potter and the sorting hat, but after thinking about Jesus in the face of the thirsty, Jesus in the face of the hungry, my enjoyment of Harry Potter books and movies seems to fade, as though it’s not that important. Still, I find Harry Potter and the sorting hat helpful in understanding this prophecy sorting sheep and goats. While Harry knows that part of him is brave and belongs in the House of Gryffindor, another part of Harry needs approval and recognition, desires to excel, and these qualities should place him in the House of Slytherin.
Like Harry, I too see a bit of a mix in myself. Part of me wants to love God with all of myself—with my heart, my soul, my mind, my strength—to seek out Jesus wherever he may be, to give of myself, of all I have, in response to the love God has shown me.
But another part of me wants to forget that Jesus is with the homeless person, turns away in disgust from the smell of a person who has not showered in months, whose breath smells from rotting teeth that haven’t been brushed in weeks.
Part of me wants to forget the lonely person, the older person in a retirement home who has no one to talk with. I don’t really have anything to offer such a person do I? I’m not the best conversationalist, I don’t really have the same interests, it’s really hard for me to meet and get to know people quickly.
I think about my childhood and all those preachers and Sunday School teachers who said, “just let Jesus into your heart”. No one told me that Jesus would smell, that he would be lonely, and tired, and hard to talk to.
They did teach me that Jesus gave everything up to be human, to be born, walk on this earth, and die on a cross. I guess I should have known when I memorized John 3:16, that God so loved the world, that if I invited Jesus into my heart, when he came into my heart, he wouldn’t come alone, but would bring along all those other people that he loves too.
31“When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. 32All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, 33and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left.
34Then the king will say to those at his right hand, ‘Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; 35for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, 36I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’ 37Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? 38And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? 39And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ 40And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.’
41Then he will say to those at his left hand, ‘You that are accursed, depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels; 42for I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, 43I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.’ 44Then they also will answer, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?’ 45Then he will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.’ 46And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.”
My family enjoys the Harry Potter books and the Harry Potter movies. During the early years, when new Harry Potter books were released, Mark and I had to sneak to the book store, secretly purchasing the latest in the series—sneaking because Ed hates when we buy books instead of checking them out for free from the library—and then the whole family, even Ed, fighting over who gets to read the book first.
I have enjoyed these stories in which Harry finds out that there is more to life than what he sees in the world around him—watching Harry grow and become not only stronger but also wiser—and in this last episode, learn that there is something after this life, and that there are things worth dying for.
Each book corresponds to a school year, in which Harry and his friends attend the Hogwarts School of Magic. At the beginning of the school year, the First-Year students are lined up and their names read aloud alphabetically; one by one each student sits on a stool and a magical hat—the Sorting Hat—is placed on the student’s head. The sorting hat looks deep inside them, at their hearts and at their attitudes, at whether they are trustworthy, whether they are intelligent, and assigns each to a house where they and their housemates will form bonds that last a lifetime.
The moment of consideration varies in length—some students are easy to place, and the sorting hat takes less than a second to call out Gryffendor or Ravensclaw house. But other students, like Harry, take longer for the hat to analyze.
Harry sits on the stool and hears the sorting hat trying to place him.
“Hmm, Difficult. Very Difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either. There’s talent, oh my goodness, yes — and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that’s interesting....”
The hat seems to lean toward putting Harry in the Slytherin house, but Harry is reluctant to be part of Slytherin. Harry knows that the evil He Who Shall Not Be Named, Lord Voldemort, once belonged to Slytherin. Moments before, the hat placed the arrogant and elitist Malfoy into the Slytherin house, and Harry can’t help himself from thinking, “Not Slytherin, not Slytherin.”
“Not Slytherin, eh? Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it’s all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that....”
“Not Slytherin, not Slytherin.”
I read our gospel lesson from Matthew 25 where Jesus describes a time of sorting; like the Harry Potter books it seems otherworldly, like something that doesn’t really happen in the real world.
But something in me recognizes that Jesus’ words are not fiction; there is a sorting, a looking inside of me to see who I am, where I belong. Part of me feels like Harry, as though I am in a nightmare, sweating, gripping the edge of my seat, squeezing my eyes tightly shut and whispering fervently to Jesus “not the goats, not the goats. Please, please, please, put me with the sheep.”
If I am honest, it’s not just fear that I have when I read this description of Jesus separating sheep from goats. Part of me is angry and wants to shout to Jesus that the story we just read of sheep and goats is wrong. Clearly, Matthew was daydreaming when Jesus described the final judgment; Matthew did not get the story straight and has written down the wrong words.
I know how the end is supposed to work out; as a child I was taught that you are saved if you believe in Jesus Christ. One of the first memory verses I learned was John 3:16—you know this too:
For God so loved the world that he sent his only begotten son so that whosoever
There is nothing in John 3:16 about giving drinks to thirsty people or food to hungry people. You just have to believe in Jesus.
If Matthew had been paying attention like he was supposed to, instead of goofing off, he would have written down what Jesus really said. What Matthew should have written, what Jesus must have really said, goes like this:
After dividing the people into sheep and goats, the king looks to his right, where the sheep are, and says, ‘Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for you believed in me and shall not perish but have everlasting life.
Nothing about giving clothes to people or welcoming strangers.
As a child I was taught that you are saved if you let Jesus into your heart. I learned the song, “Behold, behold, I stand at the door and knock, knock, knock…if anyone hears my voice, and shall open, open, open the door I will come in.” Once saved, always saved. All you have to do is let Jesus into your heart and then you are good to go. If Matthew had learned this song as a child, he too would know that salvation does not come because of visiting people in prison or taking care of sick people.
Part of me is angry at Matthew for getting this wrong, because the way Matthew writes this description of the final judgment not only contradicts what I was taught as a child—it contradicts what I have learned as an adult: that salvation is by faith alone, not by works. Paul knew this, and wrote the Ephesians: “For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: Not of works, lest any man should boast.” (Ephesians 2:8-9). Welcoming strangers and feeding the poor sounds like works righteousness, something that you could boast about. Matthew forgot to write down the part where Jesus said we are saved by God’s grace and by faith.
Maybe Matthew just had a rough day. Maybe this day the crowd got between Jesus and Matthew; with all those people in the way, all the noise and the jostling of the crowd, Matthew couldn’t hear Jesus clearly.
If it were only in this scripture, I might be tempted to say that Matthew had wax in his ears that morning and read on, forgetting about this description of the judgment. But this isn’t the only time that Matthew suggests that while we may be saved by grace, we will be judged by our works. The whole gospel of Matthew is filled with Jesus telling stories in which people are judged by what they do.
• Ten virgins wait through the night for a bridegroom. Five are wise, and conserve their oil. Five act foolishly, wasting their oil, and miss the wedding party when they must run for new supplies. They are judged on the basis of what they did.
• A wealthy master gives talents to his three servants. One servant receives five talents, another two, and another one. All of the servants are judged on the basis of what they did with what they had.
It’s not only Matthew—Luke and Mark also report that Jesus talks about people who are judged by what they do with what they have.
• Zacchaeus, the wee little man, comes down out of his tree, and is so excited that he gives half of his possessions to the poor. Then, after Zacchaeus gives to the poor, Jesus says, “Today salvation has come to this house” (Luke 19:9).
• Jesus tells about a rich man and a poor man, Lazarus. Outside the rich man’s home lies Lazarus, covered with sores and longing to eat what fell from the rich man's table. Both die, and the rich man is condemned for eternity. I read the story and wonder whether the rich man ever saw the beggar Lazarus sitting outside.
If I take seriously the gospels, the descriptions of what Jesus said and did, then I have to question this understanding that I have long held associating salvation with whether I let Jesus into my heart. Matthew, Mark, and Luke don’t seem to say anything about believing in Jesus; John doesn’t say anything about letting Jesus into your heart. Instead, Jesus seems to judge people based on their actions; what did they do with what they had?
When I read Matthew 25 and the judging of the nations, part of me is scared and can’t help but cry out, “Not the goats, not the goats”. Because I know, deep down, that if these actions—feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, visiting the prisoners—if these actions are the criteria for eternal salvation, then I haven’t made the cut.
I drive home from school, and stop at a traffic light on Ponce de Leon where a man with a shopping cart stands on the side of the road. His whole life is in that shopping cart, everything that he owns. I cross over into the left lane, the furthest lane from him, because I don’t have a one dollar bill, and I don’t want to give him a five dollar bill. I pick up my cell phone, pretend like I’m making a phone call, anything to avoid looking at him in the eye.
I am more than a little nervous about this great judgment separating sheep and goats--but I’m not the only one who seems a little confused, who has questions about what is going on in this scene.
Those gathered before Jesus have questions, too. They ask him, when did I see you? Those who are on the right side, who have been told they are righteous and blessed, ask, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?”
Those gathered on the left aren’t quite sure how they got there. They also have questions for Jesus: ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?’
It seems as though no one, whether on the left or the right, recognized Jesus when they encountered him.
I begin to wonder about the Jesus I let into my heart, the Jesus I said will be my Lord and Savior, do I really know Jesus? Do I recognize Jesus when I see him?
Jesus says that “as you have done it to the least of these, you have done it to me”. As you have given water to the thirsty, you have given it to me. As you have visited the lonely person whose room in a retirement home now seems like a prison cell, you have done it to me. As you have given a coat to the person shivering in the cold, you have given it to me.
I give a coat or two every year to MUST ministries, does this count? Usually the coats that I give are ones that I really don’t want anymore. Since I don’t want to bother with having a garage sale, I put clothes that are out of fashion or too small in a collection box alongside GA 20. I have to admit I never thought to peek in the box and see if Jesus was in there; seems like that would be a silly thing to do.
I tried to teach this idea of the need to be generous to the least of these—the poor, the hungry, the sick—I tried to teach this to a group of 7th graders in Sunday School. This was a long time ago—back when I had this crazy idea that I could relate to middle schoolers—of course my own kids weren’t that old yet and had not yet told me that I had no business hanging out with 7th graders. But the class and I made a pact—if I baked muffins, they would “behave”—and I told myself that if they never remembered anything that I taught in class, at least they might remember that for a year someone had cared enough to get up early on Sunday mornings and bake muffins.
One Sunday morning we sat around the table eating chocolate chip muffins and I was especially excited about the lesson. It was a lesson on caring for the least of these, and I had found some statistics on the Internet that named the least of these. You’ve probably seen the list—it goes something like this: If you went to bed full last night, then you are among the wealthiest 5% in the world. If you have a television in your home, then you are among the wealthiest 3% in the world. But instead of appreciating what they have and feeling sympathy for those without, one of the hooligans, I mean students, starting cheering, and before I knew it, my litany had turned into a nightmare. My statement, “If you had a bed to sleep in last night, then you are in the top 1% richest people in the world” was greeted with cheer!?! “Yeah! We’re number 1, we’re number 1!”
I wanted them to see beyond their homes and schools, to see people that they normally would never notice. I wanted them to see Jesus. Instead, they could only see themselves, and they marched around the classroom waving muffins and chanting “we’re number one!”.
I don’t think that you can look at statistics and see Jesus in the face of the poor, the hungry, the cold and lonely. That’s like trying to look at Jesus from a distance, from far away, like seeing a blurred image.
If Jesus is present with the hungry, the thirsty, the poor—then I guess I have at least helped Jesus a little from time to time. I bought food for Mother’s Cupboard. I have written checks to the Homeless fund. I gave money to the special offering for Bibles for the women’s prison.
But even that is problematic. My childhood Sunday School teachers didn’t say to let Jesus into your wallet; they said to let Jesus into your heart. Just giving money to Jesus is like trying to see Jesus from a distance, like the blurry way you see when you put on someone else’s eyeglasses.
My friend Alice just started a job helping a church that wants to reach out to the poor. They’ve hired her to do this for them—when someone in the area needs help, Alice talks to them, and figures out how the church should help.
One of Alice’s first clients was Margaret. Margaret’s electricity bills were past due, she didn’t have the $100 needed to pay up, and the power was about to be cut off. Margaret has two part time jobs, works more than 40 hours a week, but neither job pays more than $5.85 minimum wage, and as hard as she is trying, between day care and the cost of gas, she has a hard time making ends meet.
Alice was so proud of her church for helping out Margaret…until one of the board members asked, do you think she can pay back the $100 by volunteering at the church? Maybe do a little cleaning or working on the grounds?
It seemed to me that if the board had talked to Margaret, instead of sending Alice with their check, they would not have had such blurry vision. They would have seen clearly that this woman needing help was Jesus—and that her feet hurt from standing all day, and that she was tired from trying to make two jobs work out and tired from trying to give time for her children.
Last month at the UMW meeting, during our sharing of joys and concerns, Maree White shared a blessing and prayer request. During a family reunion, a homeless family stopped by the church, asking for help. Maree asked us to pray for the family—everything that they own is in that car. Maree called the benevolence committee—part of our gifts to the church are used in this way—so that the church could help the family.
But Maree didn’t stop there. She invited the family of strangers into the fellowship hall, invited them to join in the White family reunion, helped them load their plates with fried chicken and green beans, and even invited them to sit at the table. Maree shared this story with the UMW group, and how it had felt as though it were the right thing to do, to make a stranger feel welcome. I have to admit, I felt a little jealous of Maree. I think she served dinner to Jesus that afternoon.
I started out talking about Harry Potter and the sorting hat, but after thinking about Jesus in the face of the thirsty, Jesus in the face of the hungry, my enjoyment of Harry Potter books and movies seems to fade, as though it’s not that important. Still, I find Harry Potter and the sorting hat helpful in understanding this prophecy sorting sheep and goats. While Harry knows that part of him is brave and belongs in the House of Gryffindor, another part of Harry needs approval and recognition, desires to excel, and these qualities should place him in the House of Slytherin.
Like Harry, I too see a bit of a mix in myself. Part of me wants to love God with all of myself—with my heart, my soul, my mind, my strength—to seek out Jesus wherever he may be, to give of myself, of all I have, in response to the love God has shown me.
But another part of me wants to forget that Jesus is with the homeless person, turns away in disgust from the smell of a person who has not showered in months, whose breath smells from rotting teeth that haven’t been brushed in weeks.
Part of me wants to forget the lonely person, the older person in a retirement home who has no one to talk with. I don’t really have anything to offer such a person do I? I’m not the best conversationalist, I don’t really have the same interests, it’s really hard for me to meet and get to know people quickly.
I think about my childhood and all those preachers and Sunday School teachers who said, “just let Jesus into your heart”. No one told me that Jesus would smell, that he would be lonely, and tired, and hard to talk to.
They did teach me that Jesus gave everything up to be human, to be born, walk on this earth, and die on a cross. I guess I should have known when I memorized John 3:16, that God so loved the world, that if I invited Jesus into my heart, when he came into my heart, he wouldn’t come alone, but would bring along all those other people that he loves too.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Praying On Demand
I’m not tired of praying. I love the quiet, the listening, the stillness.
I'm not tired of praying with words. I especially enjoy praying with others who have written their prayers—I so appreciate that they took the time to write these down, to struggle and express their condition, their longings, their praises.
I'm not tired of praying. Craziest of all, sometimes I’ll be reading one of Paul’s letters, and he’ll ask his readers to pray for him…and I do. I can’t help it, he’s in trouble, and part of me cries out on his behalf. (I used to justify this by saying that 2000 years ago God knew I would be making this prayer, so it would have mattered in Paul’s situation, but that logic leads to strange outcomes What if I need to pray now to pass the exam I took 2 years ago. Would that have helped me?)
I’m not tired of praying as part of leading worship. I listen all week to the people around me. I think about the lectionary text for the week. I find myself praying at odd times during the week, preparing for Sunday morning, writing out phrases that capture this intersection. By the time Sunday morning arrives, I’ve prayed that same prayer many times; I share this with the people I love and we pray together.
I’m not tired of praying with those I visit in the hospital, although sometimes I am scared. There is so much power in these prayers. I talk a little, and listen a lot, and then ask if we can pray together. I hold a hand or touch a head, and voice the longings I have heard. They become my longings too, for healing, for hurting family members, for comfort in the fears, and in these prayers we are joined in Christ. I marvel at these moments.
I’m not tired of praying, except sometimes, when I feel as though I am a purveyor of religious services. Open the prayer for the finance committee. Say the closing prayer for the Sunday School class. The “on demand” prayer, the “isn’t it convenient to have a pastor with us” prayer drains. Unlike times when I give, by opening myself to God and sharing myself with others, these prayers feel like they are paid for, part of the job, purchased, demanded.
Yet even praying on demand, mid sentence, mind racing ahead wondering what to say next, in this tiny space, even here God can push my reluctance and force open a gap where you and I and God all meet. I tell myself I’m not tired of praying, even when I'm tired of praying.
I'm not tired of praying with words. I especially enjoy praying with others who have written their prayers—I so appreciate that they took the time to write these down, to struggle and express their condition, their longings, their praises.
I'm not tired of praying. Craziest of all, sometimes I’ll be reading one of Paul’s letters, and he’ll ask his readers to pray for him…and I do. I can’t help it, he’s in trouble, and part of me cries out on his behalf. (I used to justify this by saying that 2000 years ago God knew I would be making this prayer, so it would have mattered in Paul’s situation, but that logic leads to strange outcomes What if I need to pray now to pass the exam I took 2 years ago. Would that have helped me?)
I’m not tired of praying as part of leading worship. I listen all week to the people around me. I think about the lectionary text for the week. I find myself praying at odd times during the week, preparing for Sunday morning, writing out phrases that capture this intersection. By the time Sunday morning arrives, I’ve prayed that same prayer many times; I share this with the people I love and we pray together.
I’m not tired of praying with those I visit in the hospital, although sometimes I am scared. There is so much power in these prayers. I talk a little, and listen a lot, and then ask if we can pray together. I hold a hand or touch a head, and voice the longings I have heard. They become my longings too, for healing, for hurting family members, for comfort in the fears, and in these prayers we are joined in Christ. I marvel at these moments.
I’m not tired of praying, except sometimes, when I feel as though I am a purveyor of religious services. Open the prayer for the finance committee. Say the closing prayer for the Sunday School class. The “on demand” prayer, the “isn’t it convenient to have a pastor with us” prayer drains. Unlike times when I give, by opening myself to God and sharing myself with others, these prayers feel like they are paid for, part of the job, purchased, demanded.
Yet even praying on demand, mid sentence, mind racing ahead wondering what to say next, in this tiny space, even here God can push my reluctance and force open a gap where you and I and God all meet. I tell myself I’m not tired of praying, even when I'm tired of praying.
Monday, November 10, 2008
A Parable of the Wicked Tenants - Rewriting Mark 12:1-11
One of my favorite songs is one that I learned as a child in Vacation Bible School—maybe you know it— “I am the church, you are the church, we are the church together…”
The song captures exactly what it means to be the church. It’s you and me, working together, making sure that the church gets done everything that the church needs to do. And the church has a lot that needs to be done.
You see, being church is a lot like running a business. Like a business, there are officers and leaders who make sure that certain things get done. As a United Methodist, I know well the business of my church. At this time of year, churches are preparing for church conferences, and our district superintendents have forms, and more forms, and still more forms for local church leaders to fill out. My least favorite is the Report of Church Leadership.. Three pages consisting of slots to be filled, where we list who will be on next year’s finance committee, board of trustees, and administrative council; who will be the a director of Christian Education, the boy scout coordinator…and so on…and so on..
This is part of the business of being church. There are certain responsibilities that leadership has to make sure are carried out; leadership has to identify the right person to put in each slot.
I for one am thankful for all the many people God has sent over the years to help this church be a church. I remember when God sent Jane to our congregation. Well, actually she’d been part of our church for a long time, but she had never really been part of any smaller group, like Sunday School or United Methodist Women and we didn’t know her that well. Jane contacted our lay leadership committee to let us know that she was retiring from her job as a banker; she wouldn’t mind getting involved a little more in the church.
She even had an idea for a new ministry. Jane noticed that several payday loan businesses have popped up in this area. Maybe you’ve seen the little building in the intersection 2 blocks down? She says that if someone is having an emergency, but doesn’t have good credit, they can’t get a loan at a bank. Quite a few with no where else to turn have taken out payday loans against their next paycheck. It’s one of the few legal scams left—someone borrows a hundred bucks, pays a $10 loan fee, but when they can’t pay it back at the end of the month they end up borrowing again, and paying another fee, and the next thing you know that poor soul owes thousands at an interest rate that’s exorbitant, 200% and higher.
Jane’s idea was to combine her contacts in the local banks and our church resources to offer financial counseling services and small loans to help these people break this cycle. We weren’t quite sure about this, it didn’t sound like a business our church usually participates in, but we formed a new committee and made her chair. She has reported her findings several times to our administrative council. She is a terrific committee chair: every time we have questions about what this ministry would look like, she comes back the next month with more answers.
In fact, we noticed right away how efficient and meticulous she is—I guess that’s to be expected from a banker—so we put her to work on the church newsletter. Yes, she was excellent: I don’t think our mailing labels have ever been straighter.
We realized we were wasting a valuable asset—with all her banking experience, maybe she could be a counter, counting the offering after worship service. Jane agreed, what a gal, and every Sunday she stays and counts until she gets the same balance 3 times. Not everyone would give up Sunday dinner with the family to make sure that the job is done right.
Jane has really made a difference in the fellowship of our church. The first time Jane showed up for one of our fellowship dinners on Wednesday nights, we realized how we could improve our system. We set up a table at the front of the serving counter, and Jane checked on whether people had a reservation and collected from those who had not yet paid. She’s a good worker. No one gets past Jane without paying for dinner.
You know, Jane’s really dependable. That’s why we asked her to be on the altar guild, making sure the church is cleaned and vacuumed before the Sunday morning services. It’s very important to have someone dependable on the altar guild…and on the trustees…because frankly, everyone else had already refused to be on the board of trustees, and Jane was the only one we could think of.
Jane is a good worker, we are so blessed that God sent her. It seems like she’s at the church every time you turn around. Well, you know that the Bible doesn’t describe anyone as retiring—except exempting Levites from heavy lifting once they reach a certain age—what else would Jane have done with all her time had she not been at the church? Sometimes she seems a little tired, but I know we’ve got several good years left in Jane.
Running a church is like running a business; it takes the right people in the right positions.
I wish that everyone God sent were as easy to get along with as Jane. Take Robert, for example. Well yes, go ahead and take him. (I know, bad joke.) I’m not sure he’s worth the trouble he’s been. We asked him to teach a Sunday School class. Nothing fancy—it’s an easy crowd, and they’re content if you just read aloud the Cokesbury curriculum.
Instead, Robert goes to some three-day Disciple training retreat and comes back all fired up wanting to start a Disciple Bible study program. To hear Robert tell it, this Disciple program is the greatest thing since sliced bread. The whole thing is probably just a stage Robert is going through. I guess everyone has to go through the phase where you read the Bible a lot.
In any case, there’s no money in this year’s budget to start a new program like Disciple. Even if he financed itself, I don’t know where Robert would hold his classes. He didn’t turn in a room reservation form by December 15, and all our classrooms are booked for the year. I know he’s excited about this Disciple Bible Study thing, but I’ve seen this enthusiasm before. It’ll pass.
What’s my job? In addition to my role on the lay leadership committee selecting which person goes on which line of the form for annual report, I help lead worship. I pray the prayers of the people. It’s an important job in our church—in fact, our church motto is that we are a house of prayer for all the nations. We even put that on our bulletin, just under the pastor’s cell phone.
This is how I lead our prayers. First, I tell everyone how glad I am to be with them on this beautiful Sunday morning. Then I ask if anyone has any joys or concerns. Mostly these tend to the concerns side, although every now and then someone raises their hand and says that their mother just turned 70 or they are celebrating their 1 ½ year wedding anniversary.
Usually there are no surprises. We have a telephone prayer tree, where whenever anyone has a prayer request they call the person at the top of the tree, who calls the next two, who call the next two, and so on down the line. So when Sunday morning comes around I already know that Jerry is going to ask for safe travels for his mother and JoAnn wants us to pray for her sister’s cousin’s brother-in-law, who is going to have surgery this week.
I give everyone plenty of time to say what they want me to pray for. Of course that fool Robert sits in the choir behind me—sometimes I think he waits until I turn with my back to the choir before he puts in his requests, like he’s trying to surprise me or something.
Then I ask everyone to bow their heads, and I pray the list of joys and concerns, making sure that everyone’s prayer request is said out loud and not leaving anyone out. I even add a prayer for the unspoken requests, just to be on the safe side. You just say what you want, doesn’t matter what nation you’re from, and we’ll pray it. If you call the prayer chain, we’ll pray your prayer twice.
We take running our church seriously; that means getting the right people in the right positions. It’s not an easy job, or one we take lightly, but we have been blessed: God has sent good people to fill our positions.
Sometimes I wonder if it’s all worth it; at times it seems as though we take one step forward, two steps backward. Talk someone into being on finance committee and next thing you know they’ve stopped coming to church. Course, some are still willing to put there names on the list saying that they’re on the committee. I guess that’s something.
I really don’t know how we’re going to keep up. Next week Anna is bringing her grandbaby to church to have her baptized, and you know what that means—we’ve got to find someone to work in the nursery now. I’ve left messages with everyone in the church directory but no one has returned my calls.
Still, I don’t mind, that’s part of my job: find the right person for every slot on the form. I know God will provide; God has sent us good people over the years to help us run this church. I’m even looking forward to the baptism service—the sermon is always shorter when the pastor knows there will be a baptism. But my favorite part is afterwards, when the pastor takes the baby and walks out into the congregation and holds that baby so everyone can see it and says, “I’d like to introduce you to the newest member of our congregation.”
The song captures exactly what it means to be the church. It’s you and me, working together, making sure that the church gets done everything that the church needs to do. And the church has a lot that needs to be done.
You see, being church is a lot like running a business. Like a business, there are officers and leaders who make sure that certain things get done. As a United Methodist, I know well the business of my church. At this time of year, churches are preparing for church conferences, and our district superintendents have forms, and more forms, and still more forms for local church leaders to fill out. My least favorite is the Report of Church Leadership.
This is part of the business of being church. There are certain responsibilities that leadership has to make sure are carried out; leadership has to identify the right person to put in each slot.
I for one am thankful for all the many people God has sent over the years to help this church be a church. I remember when God sent Jane to our congregation. Well, actually she’d been part of our church for a long time, but she had never really been part of any smaller group, like Sunday School or United Methodist Women and we didn’t know her that well. Jane contacted our lay leadership committee to let us know that she was retiring from her job as a banker; she wouldn’t mind getting involved a little more in the church.
She even had an idea for a new ministry. Jane noticed that several payday loan businesses have popped up in this area. Maybe you’ve seen the little building in the intersection 2 blocks down? She says that if someone is having an emergency, but doesn’t have good credit, they can’t get a loan at a bank. Quite a few with no where else to turn have taken out payday loans against their next paycheck. It’s one of the few legal scams left—someone borrows a hundred bucks, pays a $10 loan fee, but when they can’t pay it back at the end of the month they end up borrowing again, and paying another fee, and the next thing you know that poor soul owes thousands at an interest rate that’s exorbitant, 200% and higher.
Jane’s idea was to combine her contacts in the local banks and our church resources to offer financial counseling services and small loans to help these people break this cycle. We weren’t quite sure about this, it didn’t sound like a business our church usually participates in, but we formed a new committee and made her chair. She has reported her findings several times to our administrative council. She is a terrific committee chair: every time we have questions about what this ministry would look like, she comes back the next month with more answers.
In fact, we noticed right away how efficient and meticulous she is—I guess that’s to be expected from a banker—so we put her to work on the church newsletter. Yes, she was excellent: I don’t think our mailing labels have ever been straighter.
We realized we were wasting a valuable asset—with all her banking experience, maybe she could be a counter, counting the offering after worship service. Jane agreed, what a gal, and every Sunday she stays and counts until she gets the same balance 3 times. Not everyone would give up Sunday dinner with the family to make sure that the job is done right.
Jane has really made a difference in the fellowship of our church. The first time Jane showed up for one of our fellowship dinners on Wednesday nights, we realized how we could improve our system. We set up a table at the front of the serving counter, and Jane checked on whether people had a reservation and collected from those who had not yet paid. She’s a good worker. No one gets past Jane without paying for dinner.
You know, Jane’s really dependable. That’s why we asked her to be on the altar guild, making sure the church is cleaned and vacuumed before the Sunday morning services. It’s very important to have someone dependable on the altar guild…and on the trustees…because frankly, everyone else had already refused to be on the board of trustees, and Jane was the only one we could think of.
Jane is a good worker, we are so blessed that God sent her. It seems like she’s at the church every time you turn around. Well, you know that the Bible doesn’t describe anyone as retiring—except exempting Levites from heavy lifting once they reach a certain age—what else would Jane have done with all her time had she not been at the church? Sometimes she seems a little tired, but I know we’ve got several good years left in Jane.
Running a church is like running a business; it takes the right people in the right positions.
I wish that everyone God sent were as easy to get along with as Jane. Take Robert, for example. Well yes, go ahead and take him. (I know, bad joke.) I’m not sure he’s worth the trouble he’s been. We asked him to teach a Sunday School class. Nothing fancy—it’s an easy crowd, and they’re content if you just read aloud the Cokesbury curriculum.
Instead, Robert goes to some three-day Disciple training retreat and comes back all fired up wanting to start a Disciple Bible study program. To hear Robert tell it, this Disciple program is the greatest thing since sliced bread. The whole thing is probably just a stage Robert is going through. I guess everyone has to go through the phase where you read the Bible a lot.
In any case, there’s no money in this year’s budget to start a new program like Disciple. Even if he financed itself, I don’t know where Robert would hold his classes. He didn’t turn in a room reservation form by December 15, and all our classrooms are booked for the year. I know he’s excited about this Disciple Bible Study thing, but I’ve seen this enthusiasm before. It’ll pass.
What’s my job? In addition to my role on the lay leadership committee selecting which person goes on which line of the form for annual report, I help lead worship. I pray the prayers of the people. It’s an important job in our church—in fact, our church motto is that we are a house of prayer for all the nations. We even put that on our bulletin, just under the pastor’s cell phone.
This is how I lead our prayers. First, I tell everyone how glad I am to be with them on this beautiful Sunday morning. Then I ask if anyone has any joys or concerns. Mostly these tend to the concerns side, although every now and then someone raises their hand and says that their mother just turned 70 or they are celebrating their 1 ½ year wedding anniversary.
Usually there are no surprises. We have a telephone prayer tree, where whenever anyone has a prayer request they call the person at the top of the tree, who calls the next two, who call the next two, and so on down the line. So when Sunday morning comes around I already know that Jerry is going to ask for safe travels for his mother and JoAnn wants us to pray for her sister’s cousin’s brother-in-law, who is going to have surgery this week.
I give everyone plenty of time to say what they want me to pray for. Of course that fool Robert sits in the choir behind me—sometimes I think he waits until I turn with my back to the choir before he puts in his requests, like he’s trying to surprise me or something.
Then I ask everyone to bow their heads, and I pray the list of joys and concerns, making sure that everyone’s prayer request is said out loud and not leaving anyone out. I even add a prayer for the unspoken requests, just to be on the safe side. You just say what you want, doesn’t matter what nation you’re from, and we’ll pray it. If you call the prayer chain, we’ll pray your prayer twice.
We take running our church seriously; that means getting the right people in the right positions. It’s not an easy job, or one we take lightly, but we have been blessed: God has sent good people to fill our positions.
Sometimes I wonder if it’s all worth it; at times it seems as though we take one step forward, two steps backward. Talk someone into being on finance committee and next thing you know they’ve stopped coming to church. Course, some are still willing to put there names on the list saying that they’re on the committee. I guess that’s something.
I really don’t know how we’re going to keep up. Next week Anna is bringing her grandbaby to church to have her baptized, and you know what that means—we’ve got to find someone to work in the nursery now. I’ve left messages with everyone in the church directory but no one has returned my calls.
Still, I don’t mind, that’s part of my job: find the right person for every slot on the form. I know God will provide; God has sent us good people over the years to help us run this church. I’m even looking forward to the baptism service—the sermon is always shorter when the pastor knows there will be a baptism. But my favorite part is afterwards, when the pastor takes the baby and walks out into the congregation and holds that baby so everyone can see it
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
It Seemed Important To Laugh
Sunday morning I stepped out of the call and response prayer box. For some reason it seemed important to include something humorous in the prayer. So I added a line about frustrations with parents, and yes, there were congregational snickers during the prayer.
It meant a lot to me to laugh with others while praying. Laughter is so much of my ongoing conversation with God, part of practicing the presence, part of living a thick life. On reflection, I realize what I wanted was not to share laughter so much as to allow my private prayer to invade the public prayer. I wanted to open myself and share of myself to people I am growing to love.
Below is the prayer, shared Sunday as part of our Homecoming sermon series, scripture selection was the Prodigal Son, Luke 15:11-32 (I added references to the Paul's Mars Hill sermon recorded in Acts 17).
Lord God Almighty,
Creater of the universe
From one ancestor you made all nations to inhabit the whole earth.
You allotted the times of their existence and the places where they would live,
so that each person would search for you, seek you.
Although we are never far from you,
it is always your desire that we turn to you,
live in in
love you with such wholeness of heart, soul, strength and mind,
that our love for you spills over into love for other people.
Yet we confess that turn all too easily from you.
We go through the days,
occupied by deadlines and pick-up times,
busyness and boredom,
more likely to wonder what we should have for supper than whether this day is pleasing to you.
We turn from you, thinking "if only".
If only my children were better behaved.
If only my parents were better behaved.
If only I could get a new car.
If only I could get away for a while.
If only.
We wake up in the middle of the night worried about the economy,
worried about retirement savings,
worried about where the money will come from to pay all these expenses.
We wake up in the morning angry, angry that friends have let us down,
angry that hard work doesn’t seem to be rewarded
angry that life wasn’t supposed to be like this,
angry that there seems to be no joy.
We forget, we are never far from you.
We forget it is always your desire that we turn to you,
live in you,
love you, and love with you.
We would turn to you.
And as we turn, we are surprised. We expect your love, yet are shocked at your joy, your delight, your welcome. We thank you. It’s all we can do. We thank you.
We lift to your care those we love, and those strangers, who hurt, who suffer from pains, who are angry at injustice, and afraid.
We thank you, we thank you, and it is with deep gratitude that we pray and live the words your son Jesus taught us:
Our Father, Who art in heaven
Hallowed be thy name
Thy kingdom come,
Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
And forgive us our trespasses,
As we forgive those who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation,
But deliver us from evil.
For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen.
It meant a lot to me to laugh with others while praying. Laughter is so much of my ongoing conversation with God, part of practicing the presence, part of living a thick life. On reflection, I realize what I wanted was not to share laughter so much as to allow my private prayer to invade the public prayer. I wanted to open myself and share of myself to people I am growing to love.
Below is the prayer, shared Sunday as part of our Homecoming sermon series, scripture selection was the Prodigal Son, Luke 15:11-32 (I added references to the Paul's Mars Hill sermon recorded in Acts 17).
Lord God Almighty,
Creater of the universe
From one ancestor you made all nations to inhabit the whole earth.
You allotted the times of their existence and the places where they would live,
so that each person would search for you, seek you.
Although we are never far from you,
it is always your desire that we turn to you,
live in in
love you with such wholeness of heart, soul, strength and mind,
that our love for you spills over into love for other people.
Yet we confess that turn all too easily from you.
We go through the days,
occupied by deadlines and pick-up times,
busyness and boredom,
more likely to wonder what we should have for supper than whether this day is pleasing to you.
We turn from you, thinking "if only".
If only my children were better behaved.
If only my parents were better behaved.
If only I could get a new car.
If only I could get away for a while.
If only.
We wake up in the middle of the night worried about the economy,
worried about retirement savings,
worried about where the money will come from to pay all these expenses.
We wake up in the morning angry, angry that friends have let us down,
angry that hard work doesn’t seem to be rewarded
angry that life wasn’t supposed to be like this,
angry that there seems to be no joy.
We forget, we are never far from you.
We forget it is always your desire that we turn to you,
live in you,
love you, and love with you.
We would turn to you.
And as we turn, we are surprised. We expect your love, yet are shocked at your joy, your delight, your welcome. We thank you. It’s all we can do. We thank you.
We lift to your care those we love, and those strangers, who hurt, who suffer from pains, who are angry at injustice, and afraid.
We thank you, we thank you, and it is with deep gratitude that we pray and live the words your son Jesus taught us:
Our Father, Who art in heaven
Hallowed be thy name
Thy kingdom come,
Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
And forgive us our trespasses,
As we forgive those who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation,
But deliver us from evil.
For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Dashing Babies Heads Against the Rocks
Yesterday I was called to pray with a young woman requesting financial assistance, and I listened to her chant her litany of health problems, describe her isolation and the pain of an abusive situation. Normally when wearing my pastoral care hat, I listen and pray back someone’s words…here is what I heard, God hear us say this together. I try to pray prayers that respect their understanding of God, but in this case I could not. She thought God had afflicted her physically and through her relationships, yet was determined to praise God in the midst of this suffering. But one day, God would bless her, and others would know that through it all she was beloved of God and had been faithful.
Today’s Psalm in Celtic Daily Prayer is Psalm 137, and this was a rare occasion when I wanted to sing the Psalm forcefully. God did you hear the Edomites saying “tear it down”, telling her that You do terrible things in order to help us grow in faith? Do you see the daughter of Babylon, the devastator who claims that you bless and curse according to our faithfulness? I wanted to dash heads of those who taught this beautiful child these horrid "truths" (but how can I get to the writer of Deuteronomy)?
Dash me against the rocks, because I can only offer a prayer for her and with her, and no more. As I listen to her story I think on two tracks—the horror of her situation, the frivolity of my response. I can give only an hour, no more, this day is spoken for and already has drained more from my family and personal time than I can afford. I have my own personal care cases, and cannot afford entanglement in another life. I offer her a prayer for God to help because I cannot or will not. I tell myself I cannot pick up every cross but only mine, but there are so many crosses lying on the floor around me.
Today’s Psalm in Celtic Daily Prayer is Psalm 137, and this was a rare occasion when I wanted to sing the Psalm forcefully. God did you hear the Edomites saying “tear it down”, telling her that You do terrible things in order to help us grow in faith? Do you see the daughter of Babylon, the devastator who claims that you bless and curse according to our faithfulness? I wanted to dash heads of those who taught this beautiful child these horrid "truths" (but how can I get to the writer of Deuteronomy)?
Dash me against the rocks, because I can only offer a prayer for her and with her, and no more. As I listen to her story I think on two tracks—the horror of her situation, the frivolity of my response. I can give only an hour, no more, this day is spoken for and already has drained more from my family and personal time than I can afford. I have my own personal care cases, and cannot afford entanglement in another life. I offer her a prayer for God to help because I cannot or will not. I tell myself I cannot pick up every cross but only mine, but there are so many crosses lying on the floor around me.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Prayer for Epiphany
Feb 20 was my first time behind the rail at First Marietta. I led the prayers of the people with the following (the "speak your word, Lord" was followed by the congregation responding "your servants listen":
Gracious God,
Your Word comes to us, calls us, challenges us.
As we pray, speak your word, Lord.
Your servants listen.
Speak words that strengthen all who respond to your call.
Fortify those who face resistance and rejection.
Speak your word, Lord. Your servants listen.
Speak words of power, words bringing peace and healing
to places of bloodshed and danger:
Iraq, Afghanistan, Somalia and the Sudan.
Speak words of comfort and presence
to those who live in the midst of danger to body and soul.
Speak words of assurance
to those who feel helpless,
to those who suffer in the midst of natural disasters.
Speak your word, Lord. Your servants listen.
When questions nag, when spirits droop,
when it seems as though all is out of control,
speak words that assure of your love,
words that provide serenity in the midst of doubt,
that all may live fully and faithfully.
Speak your word, Lord. Your servants listen.
When jealousy, self-interest, or quick tempers
would render Your words into resounding gongs or clashing symbols,
speak words reminding us of Your more excellent way,
words encouraging us to hear you in other persons.
Speak your word, Lord. Your servants listen.
When your words are difficult,
when it seems easier to dilute them or postpone saying anything at all,
strengthen our hope in You;
let your unfailing love rest upon us,
that we may have courage to speak with confidence.
Speak your word, Lord. Your servants listen.
Trusting in your promises,
confident in your words,
we offer these prayers in the name of your Son, Jesus Christ
and through the power of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Gracious God,
Your Word comes to us, calls us, challenges us.
As we pray, speak your word, Lord.
Your servants listen.
Speak words that strengthen all who respond to your call.
Fortify those who face resistance and rejection.
Speak your word, Lord. Your servants listen.
Speak words of power, words bringing peace and healing
to places of bloodshed and danger:
Iraq, Afghanistan, Somalia and the Sudan.
Speak words of comfort and presence
to those who live in the midst of danger to body and soul.
Speak words of assurance
to those who feel helpless,
to those who suffer in the midst of natural disasters.
Speak your word, Lord. Your servants listen.
When questions nag, when spirits droop,
when it seems as though all is out of control,
speak words that assure of your love,
words that provide serenity in the midst of doubt,
that all may live fully and faithfully.
Speak your word, Lord. Your servants listen.
When jealousy, self-interest, or quick tempers
would render Your words into resounding gongs or clashing symbols,
speak words reminding us of Your more excellent way,
words encouraging us to hear you in other persons.
Speak your word, Lord. Your servants listen.
When your words are difficult,
when it seems easier to dilute them or postpone saying anything at all,
strengthen our hope in You;
let your unfailing love rest upon us,
that we may have courage to speak with confidence.
Speak your word, Lord. Your servants listen.
Trusting in your promises,
confident in your words,
we offer these prayers in the name of your Son, Jesus Christ
and through the power of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Friday, June 15, 2007
12 Pounds of Wisdom
Since returning from the Middle East I've had difficulty communicating with our puppy Sophie. She has been persistent in trying to get me to do something--but it's taken me all week to realize that it's not a walk or playing in the grass or food that she wants in the morning. Instead, she wants to swing. For the last three mornings I have followed her lead and lifted her up to the swing, where she snuggles next to me as I drink a cup of morning coffee. The original owners, who named the dog, knew what they were doing!
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
End Times
Our Disciple class met for the last time--it was sad, and yet nice. By the end of the program, I'm usually ready for a break from the weekly reading and study requirements. Even with a three-week break while I was out of the country, I was still ready for the end.
Since our Pastor wasn't able to meet with us, instead of communion we had a "love feast". We met in our (Ed and my) home, and I served dishes that I had eaten while in the Middle East. I cheated--went to Harry's and bought the appetizers from the deli and a mix for the falafel. I made baklava, which took 3 times as long as the directions indicated. Well worth it though!
The beautiful part was the recognition of the spiritual gifts we have seen in one another during the course of the year. So often we don't always see these gifts in ourselves until someone else points them out.
Saturday, December 9, 2006
Emerging Humor
I have been procrastingating on writing a paper for my Systemmatic
Theology class. I'm looking at the emerging church movement, in
particular the missional praxis, and describing how the movement
redefines one, holy, catholic, apostolic. (I always go for papers
with a tight focus).
Unfortunately, it's so easy to get bogged down wasting time exploring
websites for people in these "conversations". I fell in the floor
laughing when I found this website listing "you might be emerging if":
http://purgatorio1.com/?p=105
Friday, October 20, 2006
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.
Thursday, April 20, 2006
I took the Theological Worldview Quiz, and decided that it was a good thing that I am at a United Methodist Seminary.
You scored as Evangelical Holiness/Wesleyan. You are an evangelical in the Wesleyan tradition. You believe that God's grace enables you to choose to believe in him, even though you yourself are totally depraved. The gift of the Holy Spirit gives you assurance of your salvation, and he also enables you to live the life of obedience to which God has called us. You are influenced heavly by John Wesley and the Methodists.
What's your theological worldview? created with QuizFarm.com  |
Monday, February 20, 2006
A Wee Little Sermon about a Wee Little Man (Zacchaeus)
I know Zacchaeus. He's hopping around, trying to see over the heads
of the crowd, frustrated. He's heard about Jesus, rumors about a
prophet who eats with sinners and even invited a tax collector to
follow him. It's a once in a lifetime opportunity, this chance to see
Jesus, and Zacchaeus can't see through the crowd.
I know Zacchaeus, because I am Zacchaeus. Finally at seminary, a once
in a lifetime opportunity, a chance to see Jesus…and instead I am
hopping around, trying to see over the heads in the crowd, unable to
see Jesus. Sometimes it's Old Testament. When the words "For unto us
a child is born, unto us a son is given", … are transformed from an
astonishing prophesy into Isaiah encouraging King Ahaz to stand firm,
hold out for help from the Assyrians.
It happens in ethics, two weeks studying process theology; everything
is part of God. In this model, God isn't powerful; God doesn't
intervene, but instead whispers possibilities. I look and look, and I
cannot see Jesus in the model.
It happens sometimes at my con ed placement, at the hospital. I know
I'm supposed to see Jesus when visiting the sick in the hospital. But
they don't look like Jesus. A patient shares that she is an
alcoholic, and bipolar, and cuts herself on her arms because she feels
empty inside and just wants to feel something, then I ask, "where are
you Jesus, I don't see you."
I look for Jesus with the older people in the geriatric ward. A few
seniors sit in the lounge. I turn off the tv and start singing old
hymns, What A Friend we have in Jesus, and patients shuffle out of
their rooms and join in the singing, not sure what is going on but
there's something familiar about Amazing Grace; maybe they also hope
to see Jesus.
This time I showed them pictures cut from old magazines.
They look at a picture of a boy with a baseball cap, and talked about
the games they played sixty and seventy years ago—they didn't play
baseball, they played stickball in the street. They kicked the can,
and they pretended to be cowboys and chased the Indians.
They look at a picture of a toddler in straw hat too big for his head.
Anna said, "He's working in the garden, that's why he has a straw
hat". Willie added, "That's his granddaddy's hat. He's wearing his
granddaddy's hat." They agree. That has to be granddaddy's hat.
Another picture--a girl on hilltop. The sun is shining, and she
stands with arms outstretched. They remembered summer days when they
held out arms and spun around and around until they were too dizzy to
walk. They remembered rolling down the hill, over and over, and then
afterwards being itchy from the grass.
We talked about how when a child smiles, you know that the child is
happy, and that makes everyone else happy. When a child is sad, you
can tell, and it makes you sad too. You can see straight through to
the inside of a child.
I asked them, where is God in this picture? Someone said, "God loves
the children." B.J. said, "That's what God sees when he looks at us.
God sees what we are really like, he sees us the way we are inside."
That's right, says Willie. He sees us on the inside. He loves us
just how we are, just like the children." I tell them about
Zacchaeus, climbing a tree, wanting to see Jesus.
I tell them about Zacchaeus, who leans out from a branch of a sycamore
tree trying to get a better view of Jesus. He's been working hard to
see Jesus, out of breath from racing to get ahead of the crowd,
scratched from climbing branches, eyes burning from late nights
studying, writing colloquy papers and just trying to see past the
crowd and understand what exactly is going on here…and Jesus, on his
way to Jerusalem, sees Zacchaeus the way he really is, a sinner in
need of a physician, a blind man longing to see, and most of all, a
son—no, a beloved son of Abraham, and Jesus calls out to him and says,
Come down. I've been looking for you.
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