salvagedfaith

What are you even doing here?

Posted on January 27, 2020Leave a comment

I am exactly nine days into my renewal leave and I had a dream last night about an Administrative Council meeting.

I was back at church with all of those familiar faces, reconnecting and catching up and it was wonderful… only something was terribly wrong.

I wasn’t supposed to be there.

Last night, in reality, there was an Ad Council meeting at church and I didn’t actually go. We have great capable leaders and they are awesome without me.

But in my dream… I was there.

In my dream, I had stopped by for some reason or another. And I kept talking with people. I kept answering questions. And before I knew it, I looked at the clock and it was 10:15 pm!

I remembering a feeling of intense panic. I was on renewal leave. I wasn’t supposed to be there. I was supposed to be home with my spouse and I had completely blown him off. I turned to a colleague who was sitting next to me with terror all over my face. He looked at me, partly with pity and partly with frustration. “What are you even doing here?” he asked.

One of the things that I find incredibly difficult is disconnecting from work. Because I love it. Because I’m good at it. Because it feels good, even when it is stressful, to help other people and make things work the way they should.

So far, I confess, on this renewal leave I have checked my email once.

I was looking quickly for responses to a very last minute proposal I had about changing a meeting date when I returned. I wanted to see what the responses were so I could communicate the date change with my family.

But I also glanced and saw a notification from the hospital about a church member who had been admitted. The feelings of guilt started to creep in. What if they need me? What if no one shows up? What if, heaven forbid, someone dies while I’m gone? I had to pray to God for peace and talk myself down for about an hour. “This is why you left them in the absolutely capable hands of an amazing colleague… Even Jesus took breaks… You are not the be-all and end-all of the care system at that church… Even if you miss a funeral while you are away, that doesn’t mean that you can’t still provide care when you get back...”

But there was also that pesky internal critic: “See, this is why you shouldn’t check your email when you are supposed to be on break. It sets you on a tailspin of wanting to be there and respond and make it all better. And that’s not what this time is about.”

And you know what… that internal critic is right. There do need to be boundaries between my church life and my home life. I need to be able to have some dedicated space carved out for sabbath and family and renewal – not just during these four weeks, but every week. Every day, really.

For years I have had a signature line on my email that reads, “Fridays and Saturdays are my Sabbath days. I look forward to responding when I am back in the office on Monday.”

But in the past year, have I actually stopped checking my email on the weekends? Have I been holding firmly to that boundary?

The week before I left, I sent a pretty important email to my SPRC chair. Before bed, I checked my email, saw he had responded, and shot off a reply.

And immediately I got another back. He said something to the effect of: Are you on call 24/7?

It was a reminder that the expectations I have been putting on myself are not the same as what the congregation actually needs or expects.

Or maybe it should have been heard more like that colleague in my dream, with pity and frustration: “What are you even doing here?”

There have been legitimate emergencies and exceptions in the course of my ministry that have called me away from my Sabbath and home time. The panicked texting of a teenager in the middle of the night who feels unsafe. The early morning trips to the hospital before a surgery to pray. The call on a Saturday afternoon that someone has died. Two entire weeks spent out of state for General Conference.

But an email is not an emergency.

A meeting I am not responsible for is not an excuse for breaking boundaries.

A text or voicemail that can wait until the next day is not a sufficient reason to give up time with friends or family.

And maybe in those spaces and those moments when I am tempted to show up or respond or engage I need to keep that voice in the back of my mind:

“What are you even doing here?“

That voice comes along with other questions like:

Why have you given this energy when it can wait?
Why are you sacrificing this time you have set aside for family?
Is this really about them? Or is it about you and your own need to feel needed?
What are you avoiding by choosing to spend your time this way?
Who else can help/support/respond?

I woke up from that dream with my heart in my throat. I’m anxious that this time of renewal and rejuvenation will simply result in a return to old patterns and behaviors.

I mean, I’ve never been five hours late home, like I was in this dream… but I have spent an entire evening only partially present: checking emails, responding to texts, thinking and pondering something that needed to be done the next day.

And when I’m in that space, the truth is, I’m not really home. Not fully, anyways.

So if nothing else, one of the things I want to carry back into the real world with me is the avoidance of that little voice: “What are you even doing here?”

And I think that I can prevent that question from needing to be asked by utilizing some tools that have been really helpful during this time away. Things like changing my notification settings on my phone so that emails don’t show up during evening hours. Or, putting my phone with my wallet instead of carrying it around all the time. Or removing the Facebook app from my phone. Honestly, its randomly coming across a pastoral care concern or a church polity question on facebook that often prompts me reaching out with an email or a text or response when it could legitimately wait until the next day.

I think remembering that little voice will hold me accountable to my boundaries. I think it will remind me that I don’t have to be “on” 24/7. I think it help me think of those who are impacted by where I choose to spend my energy – for good or for bad. There is a whole lot of truth jam-packed in that little question: “What are you even doing here?”

Are you really helping?

Posted on January 23, 2020Leave a comment

One of the first lessons I have learned on this renewal leave: just because you think you are helping doesn’t mean you actually are.

You have to ask.

You have to find out what they really need.

You have to probe beyond their own discomfort and go a little deeper.

You have to listen.

For over a year, my spouse has had an ankle injury that has gone untreated. Like previous sprains or twists, he had followed the tried and true instructions of RICE – rest, ice, compression, elevation. It got better. But then it didn’t.

And for a year, I’ve been trying to figure out how I can help.

Offering to do things that would reduce time on his ankle.

Compromising and not going on the hikes or walks that I’ve wanted to take with him.

Gently encouraging him to see a doctor.

Nagging him to see a doctor.

Asking how it was feeling.

But what I never asked was: what kind of help do you need from me?

I took on his problem as if it were my own and tackled it in a thousand ways, but I never actually asked him what would be beneficial to him as he worked out solving the problem.

I ended up in the ER in mid-December with what turned out to be heartburn. But at the time it felt like I was dying and it wasn’t getting any better and while I sat on the bathroom floor in tears, he sat next to me and asked – “what do you need?”

And what I needed was to know that I was going to be okay and the only way to do that, after googling symptoms and having these red boxes keep appearing that said “go to the ER”, was to go get it checked out.

We had different plans for that morning: Christmas shopping followed by lunch out together. Instead, we spent the morning there, with him right by my side, and me feeling more than a little foolish when the GI cocktail worked to relieve my pain.

A couple weeks later, that trip to the hospital came up again. But he was frustrated and upset and it wasn’t about the time or the money. It was because he felt like I hadn’t done the same for him.

I realized that I had never sat down with him, really listening to his fears. I hadn’t taken the time to ask him what he needed. His fears about what could be wrong, anxiety about navigating the scheduling, it had in some ways paralyzed him from taking the one step he needed to take. What he needed, the only thing he really needed, was for me to call and schedule an appointment.

Crap.

Do you know how many times I had thought about doing that? How many times I was frustrated with him for not doing so? How often I wanted to force him to go… but then backed away from that idea because I thought he would find it to be over bearing or insulting.

What if I had just asked?

What if instead of trying to fix his problems on my own, I had sat down with him and listened to what he needed and what I could do.

What if I had bypassed the assumptions and set aside all of the drama and stress and distraction in my life and had just asked:

“What do you need?”

How many times in ministry do we encounter similar problems? Someone walks into our office with a personal crisis. A staff member is having difficulty accomplishing a task. A committee is paralyzed by lack of involvement.

How often do we jump to problem-solving and offering solutions and doing the work for them? How many times have I taken on the burden of their situation and have wrestled with a thousand ways to help?

What do they actually need?

Maybe the answer is far simpler than we imagine.

Salvaging Faith in 2020

Posted on January 22, 2020Leave a comment

It’s been a while.

A long time since I just sat down to write without a deadline looming.

Without it being someone else’s project.

Without the pressure to say just the right thing for a specific audience.

It’s been a long time since I wrote just for me.

I started this blog in the summer of 2007 as a place to reflect and muse and capture all of the parts of myself, my story, my tradition that were important to keep carrying with me into the future. In many ways, the idea of salvaging all of these pieces of faith were intended to be a way of curating ideas that had value and meaning and importance in my life.

It never really mattered if anyone else read these pages, although it has been really nice to have company along the way 🙂

But somewhere in the midst of the busyness of church and other people’s projects and my marriage I just stopped writing. I stopped reflecting. I stopped looking around and processing what was happening in my life in this particular way.

But I have some time now.

Monday began a four week renewal leave from my church and one of my primary goals was to spend some of my time right here at the keyboard. Not because there is anything important I have to say, but because the very act of thinking and writing and processing itself is a spiritual practice that has been missing from my journey.

The fact that it took me a day or two to actually sit down with the laptop says a little bit of something about the hesitation that I’m feeling about doing so. I think, in part, that is because so much of my life lately has revolved around the church. I’m afraid that if I sit down to write, I’ll just get sucked back in to it all. That I’ll lose my ability to truly disconnect for a few weeks and re-center myself in who I am.

So for now, here’s a list of things I’d like to write about:

How the Rooney Rule (and its mixed results) might provide guidance for the draft Book of Doctrines and Disciplines proposed by the WCA
Does wanting to preserve the parts of our connectional nature and structure that are working make me an institutionalist? And if so, can I live with / accept that label? What does it mean to salvage the best parts of who we are and take them with us into the future, instead of starting over?
Why I think the Protocol is our best option for the mission of the church to make disciples and transform the world
What I’ve learned about what it means to equip the saints… the hard way… from failing to do so and overfunctioning in a mid-sized church.

There.

Now those things are set to the side and off my mind. I might pick them back up in the next few weeks. Or maybe not.

After all, this leave is not about the UMC or my local church or my ministry there. It is about looking out at everything else in my life. My marriage, my family, my relationship with God, the things that make me laugh and feed my soul, my friendships. It is about taking some time to dig through everything else that makes me me and working to salvage the things I might have discarded or ignored or let lie fallow for a bit.

To pick up those pieces and put them back together in a way that feels whole and good and right.

And to relearn how to preserve and protect them so that when I head back to work, they don’t take a back burner.

Recognizing the Messiah

Posted on January 19, 2020Leave a comment

Text: Isaiah 49:1-7, John 1:29-42

It only takes a spark…

As I’ve shared with you in the past, my extended family has often been to Hawaii together. My grandpa and grandma were fairly blessed in their life and made the decision long ago to spend their money bringing us together than leave money to be fought over.

So growing up, what made these trips awesome was not just the location, but the uninterrupted week or two with family – playing, swimming, hiking, laughing.

One of our favorite adventures to do each trip is to hike the Diamond Head crater.

According to the souvenir t-shirt, the hike is:

0.7 mile long trail which is unpaved and has an uneven rock and dirt surface that may be loose and slippery in places. It leads through a dark tunnel and involves climbing a steep, 99-step concrete stairway and narrow spiral staircase inside an unlit bunker. The hike took about an hour up and 45 minutes back down.

Now, in reality, that’s not a bad trip… but when you consider that we normally make the hike with kids under the age of six, the trek suddenly becomes much longer.
Little feet get tired quickly and usually by the time we get a third of the way up the crater, someone wants to be carried.

So, I decided to start singing.
A simple call and response song the kids could repeat and had energy to keep their feet moving.
“the littlest worm”

Others chimed in and pretty soon, our whole group was singing our way up the crater.
We sang all sorts of camp songs and before the kids knew it, we had made it all the way to the top of the crater – and no one had been carried!

All it took was someone singing that first note and lighting the spark.

In many ways, that is what John the Baptist did so many years ago.

As we read this morning in the gospel, John saw Jesus walking by and said something.

Well, he didn’t just say something – John the Baptist called out: Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world! Quite an introduction if you ask me!

The next day, John saw Jesus again and he shouted again, “Look! Here is the Lamb of God!”

And when his disciples heard it… they started to follow Jesus.

Not just that day. They stayed with him and then they too began to tell others the good news about Jesus.

It only takes a spark.

What does it mean to recognize the Messiah?
What does it mean to catch a glimpse of the light to all the nations?
And what does it look like to not just recognize this light, this Messiah, but to follow?
Does our encounter with this light of the world shape how we interact with others? How we share the good news?

In David Kinnaman’s 2007 book, unChristian, he presents research from the Barna Group on how young adults view Christians. Words like “antihomosexual”, “judgmental”, “hypocritical”, and “old-fashioned” top the list.
And not by slight margins. Over three-quarters of those interviewed would use those words.
We just can’t downplay, Kinnaman writes, “how firmly people reject – and feel rejected by – Christians.” (p19)

Those words might be surprising to you, but I’m married to someone has often said those exact things. Our friends are mostly outside of church circles, looking in, and they would say the same things.

And I think it is because somewhere along the way, we lost that first spark of John the Baptist and Andrew and Peter.

We find ourselves living in one of two extremes…

Sometimes the church claims to have the truth and light and acts with moral superiority over those who do not. Our light shines for others, but it is like the cold light of a neon sign – barking out truths, but not sharing the warmth of God’s love with them.

On the other hand, sometimes the church is turned inward on itself and afraid of what people will think if we talk about God. We are like those who have hidden their lamp under a bushel basket and the world can’t see the grace and mercy of our faith, because we are too timid to share it.

When you think about which of those two extremes gets more media coverage… which is more in the face of people who are outside the church and maybe it’s not so hard to see why those stereotypes of Christians among young people exist.

I think in many ways, this congregation is more like those in the second extreme.

I know that if people on the outside really got to know you and how you love and follow Jesus those adjectives wouldn’t be the first things that came to mind.

But are we actually out there, breaking down those barriers and stereotypes?
Does the fact that we follow Jesus make a difference in how we treat others?
Or, have we kept the good news locked up tight in our hearts?

Today is Human Relations Day and we remember that the church is called to: “recognize the right of all God’s children in realizing their potential as human beings in relationship with each other.”

On this day we remember that the light within us was meant to be a light to the nations and every person is a beloved child of God.

It is a reminder that the love of God that flows through us must be shared through actions as well as through words.

It is a reminder that a spark becomes a blazing fire only when we seek out others for the journey.

Look at those first followers of Christ, who selflessly loved other people and shared the light of God with them.
Daniel Clendenin at Journey with Jesus writes about how they chose to follow Jesus in words and deeds.
Like the Christ that they followed, they broke down social barriers.
They ignored religious taboos that judged people as clean or unclean, worthy or unworthy.
They subverted the power structures of their time that separated people by wealth, ethnicity, religion and gender.
And they didn’t allow their own interests to cloud the message about who Christ was, and is, and is to be.

First, look at John the Baptist.
He selflessly proclaimed Christ to the extent that his own followers left him.

While we sometimes think of John the Baptist as a solitary radical who lived in the wilderness and ate locusts, he had disciples.
These were people who believed his message and committed themselves to learning from him and supporting him.
Yet John did not allow his own interests get in the way of his message.

When he cried out that Jesus was the Lamb of God, his own followers stood up and literally began following Jesus down the road.

This spark that was let loose could not be controlled and like John the Baptist, we must be willing to let people follow another road and to go a different route if that is how they can best be in relationship with Christ.

I was a chaplain at a hospital one summer and met a woman newly diagnosed with leukemia.
She was terrified of death, of her “unfinished business” and wanted to know about God.
I had many conversations with her over the weeks and then months as she waited for a bone marrow transplant. We talked about Jesus and heaven and prayed through the psalms.

I felt like her pastor… but one morning I walked in and another was standing by her bed.
He was the pastor at her grandma’s Baptist church in her hometown.

I have to admit… I was a bit jealous and territorial at first. But as heartbreaking as it was, I knew it was better for her to build a relationship with this pastor. By doing so, she could follow Christ more closely and have a church community to walk with.

Like John the Baptist, I had to let her go.

Sharing the good news of God isn’t about numbers or competition in how many followers we have.
It’s about working together to bring about the Kingdom.
And so John let his followers go.
He knew the light of Christ was bigger than his one small spark of light.

Second, look at how Christ himself invited those first disciples into a relationship.

When they heard this was the Lamb of God, they ran down the road to catch up to him.
And Jesus turns around and simply asks them: What are you looking for?

He doesn’t spout off four essential things you need to know to be a Christian.

He doesn’t make them pass a litmus test on what they believe about him.

He doesn’t ask them to join in the “sinner’s prayer.”

He asks them what they are seeking.

What are we looking for?
What do we hope to find?
Their response was really simple… maybe because they didn’t really know what to expect:
I want to know where you are staying.

And Jesus says: Come and See.

This short exchange between two seekers and Jesus tells us a lot about how the light of Christ can shine in our lives.
They are curious. They don’t have all the answers.
And Jesus gently affirms that reality.
He invites them to dip their toes in. To check it out for themselves.
He welcomes them into his life, knowing that by being in relationship with him, their lives will be transformed.

We don’t have to have it all together to follow Christ.
We don’t have to have a blazing fire built up in our hearts.
It only takes a spark.
Just a spark of curiousity.
Just a spark of desire for the God who created us.

This spring, I attended a continuing education event with Rev. Lillian Daniel, who leads a congregation in Dubuque.

She talked about how there are a lot of people in this world who identify as nones, who have no faith community they might identify with.

Some of those folks she describes as “dones.” Maybe they were part of a church. Maybe they were harmed or pushed away by people inside the church. But for whatever reason – maybe even those adjectives and stereotypes mentioned before – they are done with the church.

But there are others who are “nones” but maybe could better be described as “not yets.” They don’t know what they are missing. They are curious. They might walk into a church building and have no idea what a hymnal is or when to stand or sit and what they should wear.

But that doesn’t mean they aren’t curious.

That doesn’t mean they don’t have question.

That doesn’t mean a spark isn’t ready to ignite in their hearts.

If we follow Jesus, that spark will be enough to get us started.
Along the way, the more we see and experience and share our lives with God, the more the light of Christ will grow in us.

What I find amazing about this story is that after just one night in the presence of Jesus, Andrew decided he had to tell someone about his experience.
That little spark of light within him began to burn, began to glow and shine for others.
Andrew ran home and found his brother Simon.
And he didn’t just tell Simon about Jesus.
Andrew actually took Simon to meet him.
He helped Simon experience Jesus for himself.

Think about that difference.
That difference between telling someone about the love of God and helping them to experience it.

When we invite other people to ‘come’ – do they ‘see’ Jesus in our congregations?
Do we live our lives out there in the world in a way that others don’t just hear about Jesus, but actually experience the light of God through us?

Relationships are the primary way we share the good news of God with others.
And when we are truly in relationship with others, those negative stereotypes fall away.
We can be present, listening to their questions more than sharing our answers.
We can be honest about our own struggles, rather than worrying about appearing perfect. Because let’s be honest… we aren’t perfect and pretending to be so is where that whole “hypocritical” stereotype comes from.

During the season of Lent, coming up in about six weeks, we are going to explore together what it means to take that light out from hiding under the bushel basket.
What does it mean to unbind the gospel, to let the good news loose in our lives?
I’m really excited about the opportunity we are going to have to pray together and to learn new ways of sharing our faith with others.

Because you see, when we have a relationship with Jesus… when we follow him… it is not just something we have chosen to believe.
It is something we have experienced.
And it is a spark we can’t help but share with others.

I think in many ways, that tendency to want to hide our light under the bushel basket, to keep it locked up tight is precisely what Christian author Marianne Williamson was thinking of when she wrote:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?

Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.
Your playing small doesn’t serve the world.
There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.

We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.
It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone.
And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

That spark of light is within you… don’t hide it.
You are a beloved child of God.
So let the love of God shine out through you!
Through you, through us, through this church, God’s salvation can truly reach the ends of the earth.

Renew Our Whereabouts

Posted on January 13, 2020Leave a comment

Text: Isaiah 42:1-9, Matthew 3:13-17

This weekend, I’ve been gathered along with our confirmation students and mentors and teachers for a retreat. Our focus has been what makes us distinctly United Methodist. We’ve talked about our church structure, the way of discipleship, how we discover wo God is, and what we believe about grace.

Along the way, I keep thinking about how our time together was kind of a boot camp, a crash course in the foundations of who we are.

We’ve been talking about our shared theology as Christians and our place in the history of the church, but this was a chance to really step into a tradition.

To learn about it.
As questions.
Get ready to claim it as their own.

Earlier in the week, I read a lovely reflection by Debie Thomas. Her weekly essays at Journey with Jesus help pastors and laity alike reflect on the what the lectionary texts mean for us today.

This week, she wrote of her own experience being baptized and how it felt like such a personal commitment. She was choosing Jesus. It was all about her and her faith in that moment. As a young girl, she believed it was all about what she was doing, her obedience, her choice.

But when she thinks back on the story we just shared with you of Jesus going to the River Jordan to be baptized by John, she didn’t see it as a personal stepping out.

Instead, she saw it as stepping in.

“A stepping into a history, a lineage, a geography, an identity. In receiving baptism, Jesus doesn’t set himself apart from us; he aligns himself with us.”

For a normal person, that wouldn’t be a big deal…
To identify with others…
To join in what they were doing…

But this was Jesus!
He didn’t need us.
He didn’t need to repent and be forgiven.
He didn’t need to humble himself that way in those dirty waters of the river.

But he did.

Debie Thomas reminds us that the very first public act of Jesus was to step into our lives.
He submitted to John the Baptist… because he gives away his power.
He entered the Jordan River, that sacred place filled with so much history.

“Jesus stepped into the whole Story of God’s work on earth, and allowed that story to resonate, deepen, and find completion.”

Although it was only last week we were thinking about the babe in the manger and the wise ones who visited, this was really the first public act of Jesus.

For many at the time, this moment was the beginning of their encounter with Christ.
It was the first moment that they recognized what God was doing in their midst.
And when the Servant of God, the Beloved One, appeared before them, it wasn’t a spectacle.
It wasn’t to take over.
It wasn’t to transform everything in an moment.

It was an invitation.
An invitation for us to step in as well.
An invitation for us to surrender.
A invitation for us to enter that tradition, that history, that community of faith that has gone before us.

As Debie Thomas writes,

“To embrace Christ’s baptism story is to embrace the core truth that we are united, interdependent, connected, one. It is to sit with the staggering reality that we are deeply, deeply loved.”

I remember the day my youngest brother Darren was baptized.
He and my mom had transferred to a new church and they had missed a window for confirmation, so when it came around again, he signed up.

Unfortunately for Darren, this new church held confirmation during the seventh grade year, and he was a junior in high school.
He was about a foot and a half taller than the rest of his classmates, but Darren went through the entire class with them and was confirmed that spring.

I got to be there the day my little brother was confirmed and baptized and it was such a special moment.
All throughout the class, while he had been slightly out of place, those young kids looked up to him and they grew to be great friends.
As Darren knelt to be baptized, the pastor invited friends and family to come up and lay their hands on him.
Every single one of the kids in that confirmation class came forward and stood around us and reached out their hands to affirm and bless him.
It was quite powerful.

Darren’s baptism reminded me that whether we are young or old, whether we remember it happening to us or not, our baptisms are not private or personal events.

We are baptized in the midst of the church because those who surround us are also making commitments and vows:
the church affirms its own faith
the church pledges to act as spiritual mentors for those being baptized
the church vows their ongoing support.

In our United Methodist resources on baptism it claims that the covenant of baptism “connects God, the community of faith, and the person being baptized; all three are essential to the fulfillment of the baptismal covenant.”

Every baptism is a chance for the whole congregation to reaffirm our faith and to progress farther on the journey with Christ.

We are all stepping into live together.
“United, interdependent, connected, one.”
We are remembering that each of us, every single one, is deeply loved.

And whenever we remember our baptisms,
We have a chance to refocus on Jesus.
We have a chance to renew our whereabouts.
We have a chance to re-engage our spirits.

As we heard from the book of Isaiah this morning:
“Here is my servant, whom I uphold, in whom my soul delights; I have put my spirit upon him; he will bring forth justice to the nations… I am the LORD, I have called you in righteousness… I have given you as a covenant to the people, a light to the nations”

And this calling, this ministry is sealed when the Spirit of the Lord descends upon him in the waters of the River Jordan.

We are remind of the spirit of God hovering over the waters in creation and God speaking, “Let there be light.”

God shows up and new life is among us.
The new creation.
New things that God declares.
A new journey for us to take.

And through our baptism, Isaiah’s servant of God… Matthew’s beloved… invites us to follow.
The light of Christ becomes part of us.
His mission becomes our own.
His journey becomes our path.

I’m reminded of a poem from Wendell Berry called the Gift of Gravity.

For those of you who don’t know Berry, he is a writer and a farmer from Kentucky who often writes about the ordinary and mundane ways that God shows up in our lives. Hear these words about the river, about the light, about the cycle of giving and taking.

All that passes descends,
and ascends again unseen
into the light: the river
coming down from sky
to hills, from hills to sea,
and carving as it moves,
to rise invisible,
gathered to light, to return
again… “The river’s injury
is its shape.” I’ve learned no more.
We are what we are given
and what is taken away;
blessed be the name
of the giver and taker.
For everything that comes
is a gift, the meaning always
carried out of sight
to renew our whereabouts,
always a starting place.
And every gift is perfect
in its beginning, for it
is “from above, and cometh down
from the Father of lights.”
Gravity is grace.

The rain and snow that falls upon us comes from God.
It washes us clean.
It surrounds us and refreshes the ground upon which we walk…
But the light comes down from God as well.
It melts the snow and ice and warms the earth and the moisture evaporates.

It is a cycle necessary for life.
“for everything that comes/ is a gift, the meaning always/ carried out of sight/ to renew our whereabouts,/ always a starting place.”

To renew our whereabouts… always a starting place.

Like rain and light, grace is poured down upon us from God.

Whether you first stepped into the faith through baptism 1 year ago or 90 years ago, grace always gives us a fresh start.

As Berry writes, it comes down upon us to renew our whereabouts… it is always a starting place.

These waters are new life for us now.
They are the chance to re-enter the journey.
To recommit to these people.
To re-energize your spirit.
To refocus on Jesus.

After all, as Debie Thomas reminds us,

“He’s the one who opens the barrier, and shows us the God we long for. He’s the one who stands in line with us at the water’s edge, willing to immerse himself in shame, scandal, repentance, and pain — all so that we might hear the only Voice that will tell us who we are and whose we are in this sacred season. Listen. We are God’s chosen. God’s children. God’s own. Even in the deepest, darkest water, we are the Beloved.”

This is the promise of God… Amen.

Renew the Journey

Posted on January 5, 2020Leave a comment

Text: Isaiah 60:1-6, Matthew 2:1-12

Gracious God… May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts and minds be acceptable to you O Lord, our Light and our Salvation… Amen.

We find ourselves in a transitional time.
It is a transition between the season of Christmas and the ordinary time before Lent.
It is a transition between one year and the next.
The past and the present and the future all collide.
Who were we? Who will we become?
What are we willing to do to make it happen?

When astronomers from the East saw a great light in the sky, they knew the world was about to turn. They could feel in their bones that this moment, this transition, was going to change everything.
Everything they read and studied, everything revealed to them told them, deep within their bones that this light would lead them to the child born King of the Jews.
This child would lead Israel and conquer nations.
And they didn’t want to let this moment pass them by.
They wanted to be there.
They wanted to see for themselves.
This king was so important, he changed their lives, too.

I used to think of the wise men as professional star followers.
I always assumed that they knew exactly what they were doing.
But no matter how much preparation they had…
no matter how skilled they were at navigating the skies…
there are just too many unknowns.

They didn’t know what the trip would entail: how long would it take and how many provisions they should pack. Were they concerned about running out of food or water?
Afterall, there were no Casey’s or Kum & Go’s along the way.
They couldn’t guarantee safe places to rest or a friendly greeting when they finally arrived.
They believed they were looking for a king, but they didn’t know what this king looked like! They didn’t know when or if they would ever return home.

That kind of journey takes faith and trust and humility.
But maybe… it also takes a little bit of desperation.

So, there is a song by Styx that has be in my mind all week when I think all of those unknowns of the journey.

In the song we hear the words:
Every night I say a prayer in the hope that there’s a heaven
And every day I’m more confused as the saints turn into sinners…
I wake up each morning and turn on the news to find we’ve so far to go
And I keep on hoping for a sign, so afraid I just won’t know.
Show me the way, show me the way
Take me tonight to the river
And wash my illusions away
Show me the way

You know, I hear in these words someone who has been so disillusioned and frustrated by the world that they are desperate to find a new way.
Think about those wise men…
What would motivate them to seek out this King unless they were aching for something new to appear in the world?
These wise men had their eyes wide open, frantically searching for a sign, for something to lead them.

And it appeared before them.

I wrote this week in the message about seeking a clarity of vision…
I’m wondering how many of us… myself included… are more like the chief priests and scribes in King Herod’s court than those astrologers from the east.
You see, the religious professionals knew what they were looking for.
They had all of the predictions and prophecies.
When the wise ones appeared, they could easily point out exactly where it says in the scrolls of Micah and Samuel that this king would be born in Bethlehem.
But they couldn’t see.
They weren’t even looking.
They were going about their lives, blinded to the miracle that was taking place only six miles away from them.
A star, led people from halfway across the world, and they couldn’t see it.
Maybe, because they thought they could do it on their own.
Maybe, they got comfortable in their fuzzy awareness.
Maybe, they weren’t desperate enough to ask for God to show them a new way.

As this year turns, as this season turns, are you aching for something new?
Are you looking and trying to see and understand what might come next?
The year turned and all of our prayers for peace on earth feel like they have already been shattered by rumors of war. What is our path out of this mess?

There are questions that linger about the future of our denomination and so many, no matter their perspective are aching for a new possibility… could this new announcement this week be the sign we’ve been waiting for? That something different is on the horizon?

The continent of Australia is literally on fire, and for those who have been speaking out about the climate crisis wonder if maybe this, finally this, could be a turning point, a moment of desperation where we might collectively seek a different way of being in the world.

But aside from all of those global concerns, what about your own family. Your own faith journey.
I have places where I am ready to grow and deepen my relationship with our Creator and my spouse and my loved ones, places I’ve neglected and forgotten about in the busyness of life.
Places that I thought were doing okay… but that I’m now recognizing are a bit fuzzy and unclear.
I hear that happens as you get older.
Things get a bit more fuzzy and unclear and you need a little help.
We all do.
Honestly, no matter how old or young we are…
no matter how much we have studied scripture…
no matter how frequently we talk to God in prayer…
we all need help seeing God’s plans for our lives sometimes.
We all need help recognizing where God is in the midst of it all.

But as soon as we admit it…
As soon as we start looking…
As soon as that desperation creeps in…
When we fall on our knees in humility…
It appears.
An opportunity to put our faith in the one who can see.
That invitation to trust and let God lead us.
And the reminder that we aren’t on this journey alone.

I love that this tale of the wise ones in Matthew’s gospel isn’t the story of one person.
It’s about a group of people who put their lives in God’s hands.
And that’s what church is all about, isn’t it?
We need each other for support and for guidance.
We need one another to help interpret the signs and experiences that we have.
Each one of us brings to the scripture a fresh perspective.
We each have different gifts that complement one another.
Some of you may be teachers, others healers, some may be full of hospitality and others have the ability to lead.
It will take all of our skills together on this journey, along with the grace of God.
We are the body of Christ, in this place and in this time.
And none of us can do this alone.
We must ask for help, we must look to one another for guidance, and we must be willing to admit we don’t have all of the answers.
And as this new year turns, if we want to discover something new, then we need to be a little bit vulnerable and open to however and wherever the Spirit may move.

In many ways, that is what Epiphany is all about.
Epiphany is the revelation of God to the world.
And it didn’t happen just once with some magi from a foreign place….
No, God was continually revealing Godself throughout the life, death and resurrection of Christ…
and Jesus is still being revealed to us today through the Holy Spirit.
But sometimes we need to renew our journey with God, we need to ask for help, so that once again we can focus in on Jesus.

So over the next few weeks, our journey will take us along the paths of many people in the scriptures who have experienced “little epiphanies” – people who saw a glimpse of the fullness of God.
We will walk with John the Baptist in the River Jordan.
We will follow the disciples as they heard a call and experienced his teaching and miracles, and we will end up on the mountain where Jesus stood transfigured before Peter, James and John.
As we make this journey, I hope and pray that we will see Christ clearly.
I hope and pray that through him, God might again show us a way.
I hope we will see how our own lives need to be transformed because of what we have learned.

The magi saw a star in the sky that they believed would change the world.
And they got up and did something as a result.
They honored the Christ Child not just through their gifts.
But they took risks.
They made sacrifices.
They left behind what they thought they knew because they knew something so much better was in front of them.
That’s what I hope for you and for me and for all of us in this season.
I pray that we might be able to see with new eyes and new clarity just what God has in store.

The poet W.H. Auden wrote “to discover how to be human now / is the reason we follow this star.”

That is the journey that is before us.
To discover how to be human now.
To discover how to follow Christ now.
To discover what it means to be God’s people now.

It’s a journey that will take some faith.
And some trust.
And maybe just enough desperation that we can actually, really, truly surrender.

There is a prayer from our tradition that has often been used in this turning of the year to recommit ourselves, to reclaim God’s covenant, to renew our own journey of faith.
We have a modern paraphrase of Wesley’s Covenant Prayer and as we turn into this new year, I invite you to join with me in praying it together…

An Altogether Joy

Posted on December 22, 2019Leave a comment

Text: Psalm 30:2-3, 5; 1 Thessalonians 5:12-24

One of tasks of preaching is to take a part a text, study it, let the Holy Spirit do her work, and then share the good news back with all of you in bite-sized, easy to digest nuggets of helpful information.
So imagine my dismay when I dive into our chapter from Almost Christmas for this week and I read:
“Joy cannot be manufactured, sought, or studied.” (p. 86)

Well, shoot.

I can’t break it down into three simple steps.
There is no top ten list for an Altogether Joy-filled Christmas.
You cannot create it through a project from Pinterest.

Sure… there is plenty of almost joy this time of year that does come from our blood, sweat, and tears.
A few years ago, my niece wanted nothing more than an American Girl doll. A friend of mine had one from childhood that she was now parting with as an adult and so I was able to purchase Samantha with a number of books and outfits for a fantastic price.
When my niece opened that box on Christmas Day – she was so happy that she literally burst into tears. Her squeals of joy and excitement simply could not be contained. It was overwhelming and ridiculous and everything we hoped for.
I would have paid a thousand dollars to create that kind of experience for her or my other nieces and nephews all over again.

But that joy is fleeting.
It is a burst of energy that fizzles out nearly as soon as the wrapping paper is tossed in the trash can.
I think about the feeling I have sitting by my Christmas Tree at home each night, with those gentle lights twinkling.
I feel truly happy to just be in that space.
But in a couple of weeks, we’ll pack it all back up and there will feel like there is something missing where that bright spot of joy used to be.
Maybe that’s because it was only an almost joy… when it fades we feel emptier than we did when we began.

An altogether joy is a joy that lasts… a joy that sustains us even through difficult times.
And that kind of joy cannot be manufactured, sought or studied.
Altogether Joy is a gift.
Joy is a gift of God’s grace.
It is a gift of God’s mercy.
It is the very gift of God’s presence with us.
Immanuel.
Matt Rawle writes in this final chapter of Almost Christmas, that “receiving joy often means we have to get out of the way and allow the Holy Spirit to move.” (p.93)

How do we do that?
How do we create space for God’s grace to move in our lives… even in the tough times?
I think we find guidance in the words of Paul to the Thessalonians.

Acts 17 tells us that Paul and Silas first came to Thessalonica and proclaimed Christ, but not all were open to his message.
Some of the leaders became jealous and stirred up a mob which led to a riot.
Many were arrested and Paul had to flee for his life from the city.

So when he writes back to the Thessalonian believers, he knows that hanging on to their faith in the midst of hostility has not been easy.
He knows that many have suffered because they received the gift of Christ in their lives.
He knows that in the face of such persecution, it would have been easy to abandon the message…
And yet they have continued on!

Perhaps that is because they had received the gift of God’s joy.
They knew God’s mercy.
They knew God’s grace.
They knew God’s presence.
And it sustained them even when they found themselves in the darkest places and in the toughest moments.

Paul’s words at the end of this letter are an encouragement to keep going.
They are a reminder to keep creating space for the gift of God to take root in their lives.
In the midst of such trying times, it would be easy to be on edge, snapping at one another for the slightest thing.
It would be easy to get discouraged by setbacks.
It would be easy to listen to the voices of those who are turning back and turning away.

Instead, Paul asks them to each do their part.
Encourage those who are straggling behind.
Reach out of those who are exhausted by the fight and pull them back on their feet.
Be patient with one another and aware of when you are pushing each other’s buttons.
Look for the best in each other.
Pray.
Pray, pray, pray.
Pray always and everywhere.
Thank God for what is before us… the good and the bad.
Rejoice always.

If joy is a gift… then I think that means that we need to create space to focus on God’s mercy.
We need to focus on God’s grace.
In the best and worst moments we need to focus on God’s presence.
As Matt Rawle reminds us, “For Wesley, salvation and joy go hand in hand. There is no joy for those who feel there is no forgiveness. There is no joy for those who have no assurance of salvation. Without joy there is little for which to give thanks. Joy comes from knowing that God is near and salvation is offered to all.” (p. 90)

God is near and salvation is offered to all.
God’s gift of grace and mercy and love is not just for us.
It is for those who are falling behind.
It is for those who are discouraged.
It is for those we have forgotten.
It is even for those who are persecuting us.
And if we can find room in our heart to remember that, we might just glimpse what an altogether joy looks like.

Our Wesleyan hymn for this morning is one of my favorites… Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.
Charles Wesley’s words remind us that the newborn King has arrived not just for me.
Not just for you.
But with mercy and peace he has come to reconcile God and all sinners.
God has made a home in all places and among all peoples.
The gift of God’s presence is for all.
All nations are filled with joy in light of this gift.
All people, not just the ones who think like us.
Everyone is invited to proclaim the good news of this precious gift.

Maybe that is why, in his sermon, “The Character of a Methodist,” Wesley goes to great lengths to remind us that Methodists are not people of one opinion.
We are not people who discriminate.
We don’t boil our faith down to one issue or cause.
Because if we did, we would soon believe that we have the truth… the answer… the gift… and those who disagreed with us do not.

No, a Methodist is one who has received the love and presence of Christ.
A Methodist is one who extends the same grace to others that we ourselves have received.
A Methodist is one who never speaks evil of a neighbor, but seeks always and everywhere to share the gifts of salvation we have ourselves received.

What does this look like?
I stumbled across the story this week of a guy named Stan. Stan goes to church in Denver and his church was working to support a family who had come on hard times. Medical bills had overwhelmed them and there was nothing left for Christmas. So, among the various things the church was going to do to support them, Stan volunteered to go pick up a Christmas tree.
Stan put his son Jay in the truck and they headed up into the mountains to cut one down. But the truck slid off the icy road and crashed into a boulder. His boy was covered in glass from the windshield and both were shaken by the trauma.
As cars sped by, no one stopped…
In the midst of trying to create joy for others, they found trouble themselves.
But then a car pulled up and a couple got out. The woman began to comfort the boy and put him in their vehicle while the man helped Stan move his truck farther off the road. Then the drove Stan and Jay home. In their shock and dismay, they never got the couple’s names.
Frustrated that he had failed in his task and his truck was wrecked and eager to do something to help out this family, Stan took on the task of delivering the other items to their house. He walked up to the door, rang the bell and waited.
When the door opened, there stood the couple that had helped Stan and Jay in their own moment of need. (Story adapted from one by Steve Goodier – http://stevegoodier.blogspot.com/2008/12/surprised-by-joy.html)

That’s what an altogether joy looks like.
It goes the extra mile to help out a stranger.
It shows up when no one else will.
It is grace and mercy and presence.
It is God with flesh on.
And we discover it when we allow ourselves to accept the gifts of God in our lives.
But we also find it when we turn around and share it with others.

May it be so…

An Altogether Peace

Posted on December 8, 2019Leave a comment

Text: Ephesians 4: 1-4, 21-32

Often when I’m writing a sermon there is an audience in mind.
I ask God what it is that we, as the people of Immanuel, need to hear.
Sometimes the sermon is only for a portion of our community…
meaning sometimes it’s a teaching sermon meant to challenge those who want to go deeper.
Sometimes it is a creative sermon for those left-brain thinkers.
Sometimes I’m focused on a more basic concept for those who are newer to faith.

Today, I’m going to confess, is a sermon for me.
To be honest, it probably applies to many of you, too.
But it’s the sermon I need to hear.

I was reading through the chapter on “An Altogether Peace” in preparation for this week and felt like it was like an x-ray of my soul.

“Think about the lack of peace within your own heart,” Magrey DeVega writes. “About the unsettledness you feel about your future, the conflict you have against your own inner demons of guilt and shame, and the inability you have to tame the wild horses of anger, fear, and powerlessness… Oh, we do our best to project an ‘almost peace’… We cover up our insecurities, we put on a good face amid the chaos to convince others – and even ourselves – that things are better than they are. But on the inside, deep down inside, we are far from peaceful. We might even be afraid.” (p.15)

There is so much unsettledness in my life right now.
Unsettledness about the United Methodist Church…
Unsettledness in some personal relationships…
Feelings of anger and powerlessness as I try to imagine ways forward…
Guilt and shame for not doing more…
One of you came up to me after the Town Hall gathering last Monday night and mentioned how poised I was answering the questions that were asked… and I realized in the aftermath… I can talk about all of these things that are happening clearly and I can project that “almost” peace… but if I were to really dive into how I’m feeling about it – I would probably just altogether fall apart.

Tomorrow night at our Administrative Council meeting, one of the things we will be voting on is the recommendation already approved by our Staff Parish Relations Committee that I take a renewal leave from mid January through mid February.

According to our Book of Discipline and the strong encouragement of our Bishop, clergy are supposed to take at least four weeks of renewal leave every four years. My last leave was in the summer of 2015, so it is time… maybe past time… for another one of these times of rest and renewal.

On the one hand, I need time to connect once again to that “hidden source of calm repose,” as Charles Wesley so eloquently described God.
Just as we are looking at John Wesley’s sermon, we’ve been exploring some of Charles’ hymns.

As verses three and four of his hymn, we are reminded:
God is our rest in toil, our ease in pain, the healing of our broken hearts….
In war, God is our peace.
In loss, God is our gain.
God is the one who allows us to smile even in the face of the tyrant’s frown.
In God, we find glory and a crown where we had only before been filled with shame.
Plenty in our need, power in our weakness, freedom for our bondage, light in our darkness, joy in our grief…

When everything felt like it might be falling apart for the disciples – Christ gave them his peace.
As DeVega reminds us, It wasn’t like the Roman peace – the pax romana – which came by brute force and conformity and oppression for all who opposed their power.
No, the peace of Christ is different. “[it] would not be sustained by fear or oppression. It would not be born of anger or revenge. This peace would not be through the accumulation of power. It would be born of love.” (p. 24)

So, this Advent, when everything feels like it might be falling apart, my troubled and unsettled heart is waiting…
Waiting for Christ to breathe his spirit of peace upon me like he did those disciples.
Waiting for the altogether peace of Christ to be born once again into my heart.

But the other reason I need that time of renewal is that peace is not only an inward sentiment.
It is also an outward and communal and public demand of our faith.
And I need to connect with that “source of calm repose” if I’m going to help lead our church and our community through the coming year.

You see, just like the first-century Christians Paul was writing to in Ephesians, we find ourselves in a world that is fractured by power and tribalism.
If we were not in the midst of a debate about the inclusion of LGBTQ+ people in our church, something else would be creating turmoil.
We lack peace not only in the church – but also in our families, our state, our nation, because we have stopped seeing one another as people who are worthy of forgiveness, mercy, and justice.

I once believed that the opposite of peace was war.
I believed that we would finally have peace in our lives when we laid down our weapons and stopped fighting.
But I’m not sure that is true anymore.
Even if all the swords and guns in the world were destroyed does not mean that peace will come.
Peace, you see, must be bigger than a lack of conflict.
Peace must encompass more than the fights we find ourselves in.

The peace that we seek is like the peace of Isaiah in chapter 65….

I will rejoice over Jerusalem
and take delight in my people;
the sound of weeping and of crying
will be heard in it no more.
20 “Never again will there be in it
an infant who lives but a few days,
or an old man who does not live out his years;
21 They will build houses and dwell in them;
they will plant vineyards and eat their fruit.
23 They will not toil in vain
or bear children doomed to misfortune;
25 The wolf and the lamb will feed together,
and the lion will eat straw like the ox…

In the Hebrew Scriptures THIS VISION, lifted up by the prophets, is Shalom.
Shalom is a Hebrew word that means peace, not only in terms of fighting and conflict – but it describes the wholeness of life.
This isn’t just a world in which there isn’t conflict, but there is life!
As one commentator put it, “everything fits together, the relationships work like they were designed to, and things just work right.” (http://listeningtoscripture.com/Textual_Studies/Isaiah/12isaiahspeace.html)
Paul Hanson says that shalom is “the realm where chaos is not allowed to enter, and where life can be fostered free from the fear of all which diminishes and destroys.”

Doesn’t that sound amazing?
A life free from the fear of all that could destroy us?
A life of fullness of health and prosperity for not only yourself, but others too?
We keep talking in the church about schism and conflict and fighting…
What would it look like if we let shalom guide the decisions we make in the next year together.
What would it look like if let go of our fears of all that might destroy us and instead focused on creating a church of health and prosperity for all?
What if we sought the unity of the Spirit and remembered we were called together into one body by the one Lord and God and Father of all?
What if that image of peace we shared with the children included progressives and traditionalists, blacks and whites, straight folks and LGBT folks gathered together, breaking bread, sharing ministry?

How do we get there?
Well, in his letter to the Ephesians, Paul has some advice about what it means to allow the breath of God, shalom, peace, to unite us together by the Spirit.
Magrey DeVega summarizes them into seven points in our “Almost Christmas” study, but if I were to whittle them down even farther, I’d put Paul’s lessons this way:
Seeking peace means that we have to be willing to put another person at the same level as ourselves.

We have to hold them in high enough esteem and worth that we are willing to speak the truth to them without manipulating or distorting or demeaning.
And we have to value them enough that we don’t let our anger pour over into diminishing them as a person through our words or actions.
We have to believe that they are worthy of the same love, forgiveness, compassion and respect that we ourselves have received from Christ.

It’s easy to say those things…
It’s far harder to live them.
There is a person in my life that makes my blood boil. When they enter the room, I can feel my heart rate go faster.
Maybe you know someone like this?
Maybe that co-worker who is just incredibly annoying…
Or your inappropriate uncle who you are upset with before they even open their mouth…
That person who just pushes all of your buttons just by existing…
Well, I was in a situation where I was around this particular person recently and I could feel it in my body…
My blood pressure was rising and I was anxious and not at all at peace.
In fact, I wanted to punch them in their face.

But I didn’t.
Seeking peace isn’t punching someone in the face.
It is being willing to see them as myself.
And so I started to pray…
John is a child of God.
John is a child of God.
John is a child of God.
And you know what…
My blood pressure went down.
I could breathe deeper.
I couldn’t do that on my own… but with God’s spirit of peace…

I have to admit, I still have work to do with this person.
I’m not yet at a place where I truly see them with enough value and worth that I can really speak the truth to them in love without letting my anger spill out all over first.
But I’m working on it.
I’m praying about it.
With God’s help…

What if those things applied here at Immanuel… ?
In our families…?
In our politics…?
How might the peace offered to us by Christ transform this world?

Jesus calls us to be peacemakers and to be a shining city on a hill, an example to all.
And Paul tells us the only way to do that is to let the Spirit of God to enter our lives and transform them.

If we were to try to do this all on our own, we’d probably go around punching people in their faces.

But what if we really did let the Spirit of Peace be born once again in our hearts.

What if we let it transform us.
To set us right inside.
To set us right with one another.
To set us right as a people.

Maybe then when the chaos and unsettledness and guilt and shame are able to melt away from our hearts… and then our community… and then our church… maybe then people will look at us with wonder and say – what is it that they have figured out?
And when they do, we can point to the One who brought us an altogether peace.
Amen.