Sometime this afternoon, I got a "friend" request from someone on Facebook. I did not recognize the name, for a variety of reasons, one of which was the name was written in Chinese script. I saw that we had one friend in common, another missionary friend of mine from thirty years ago when I lived in Japan. Still, I really did not recognize the name. I couldn't pronounce the name. I no longer read Japanese.
So, I sent this person a message, asking them this question, "Are you one of my former students from Japan?"
He sent me back a message, writing his name in English letters and saying that he was both a student at the high school, and that he also attended the church to which I was assigned. Did I remember him?, he asked.
It was thirty years ago.
His name did sound familiar though, even after thirty years, and even though I don't have very many particularly vivid memories left. I remember the 7th grader who taught me the Japanese word for "Thief", on the first day of school, when I picked up the pencil from his desk to use as a visual aid. "This is a pencil", I said. "This is a 'dorobo (thief)", he replied. I remember a young girl who couldn't remember the difference between "Chicken" and "Kitchen" in English. She would always sing the "Kentucky Fried Chicken" song to help in remembering. I remember that I would have simple Bible Studies in English before church sometimes.
So, I accepted his friend request. Then, he sent me a message back, thanking me, and telling me one thing, which was a gift.
He told me that a year after I left Japan, he was baptized, in another Lutheran church in Kumamoto, the city where I lived. Another one of my students (I learned) is the pastor of this congregation.
I went to Japan, following the call of the Holy Spirit (so I thought). Jesus wanted me to go and help him make disciples, so I thought. I did not know how to do this, but I trusted Jesus, at least some of the time.
But we were not making conversions right and left while I was there. Many people were interested in Christianity, but not so many seemed interested in actually becoming Christian. Perhaps we were failures (so I thought).
When I found out that my former student had gotten baptized, I said, "That's wonderful!" to which he replied, "Yes, God led me."
Thirty years ago I was a missionary in Japan. I kept telling myself that I was planting seeds, and that God was changing lives, whether I could see it or not.
Thirty years later, I am a pastor, and I am in a new place. I am impatient. I want to see things happening in my new community. I am looking around for signs of some kind or another. A good old fashioned baptism would be just the ticket. But I am planting seeds, and (the Holy Spirit reminds me), God is changing lives.
Thirty years later, I am a pastor, and God is reminding me again about what the church is for. It's not for programs (although we may have them) or potlucks (although they are delicious), or just to add more people to do the work I want to get done. The church is for changing lives, whether I can see it or not.
"Yes, God led me," he said.
God, lead me too, I will pray, tonight.
Showing posts with label time. Show all posts
Showing posts with label time. Show all posts
Sunday, September 13, 2015
Tuesday, May 19, 2015
Kairos
Sunday was Confirmation Day for eleven young people in my congregation. It is just two weeks before my last Sunday as pastor here.
Because my time here is winding down, and because the pre-confirmation retreat was the same weekend that I had both a funeral and a wedding, I was not able to be with the confirmation students at their retreat. I missed being a part of their day writing their faith statements, creating their banner, designing their worship service.
But on Sunday morning, I still got to be there, to be with them, to speak some words to them, to say their names, to witness their promises.
I saw them as they processed in together with their parents. They each stopped in front of the baptismal font, where their parents marked them with the sign of the cross. I saw tears. And I felt tears.
Before the service, I was checking over parts with the other pastor, who was preaching. I asked who was reading the lessons, and discovered that the parts were open. I asked three of the confirmands if they would read, and they each said yes.
So, that morning, we heard so clearly and so passionately that for everything there is a season. We heard that we were buried and raised with Christ in baptism, and now walk in newness of life. We heard that we are light, and that our purpose is to shine.
The message that morning was about Kairos time -- not the same as the time on our watches, not chronological time, but the right time, the acceptable time, the time of opportunity. "it is your time," he said to the confirmands. "It is your time to serve, your time to follow Jesus, your time to say yes to the grace and beauty and love of God in your life." Those aren't the exact words, but that is what I heard.
This is your time -- the right time, the acceptable time. That's the message that the confirmands heard, but not just those eleven students. Is it the right time for us as well? Who is Jesus calling us to be? How is Jesus calling us to follow?
In two weeks my time here in this congregation will finish. I will not be their pastor any more. I will go to be pastor in another place, to other people. I will help them dream dreams, follow Jesus, grow in grace. It is the right time.
At the close of the service, the eleven young people processed down the center aisle to the back of the church. I followed them. A woman in the back of the church, someone I didn't know, grabbed my arm. This was her first time in our church, and she asked if I would pray for her, and for her mother, and for their relationship, and for all kinds of healing. I asked her name, and her mother's name. She told me. We took each other's hands. And there were tears. She said, I'll be back.
In the meantime, I am here. Here with the water and the word and the tears, and the names that I know, and the names of strangers. Here where we pray and heal each other in the power and compassion of Jesus. It is the right time.
Because my time here is winding down, and because the pre-confirmation retreat was the same weekend that I had both a funeral and a wedding, I was not able to be with the confirmation students at their retreat. I missed being a part of their day writing their faith statements, creating their banner, designing their worship service.
But on Sunday morning, I still got to be there, to be with them, to speak some words to them, to say their names, to witness their promises.
I saw them as they processed in together with their parents. They each stopped in front of the baptismal font, where their parents marked them with the sign of the cross. I saw tears. And I felt tears.
Before the service, I was checking over parts with the other pastor, who was preaching. I asked who was reading the lessons, and discovered that the parts were open. I asked three of the confirmands if they would read, and they each said yes.
So, that morning, we heard so clearly and so passionately that for everything there is a season. We heard that we were buried and raised with Christ in baptism, and now walk in newness of life. We heard that we are light, and that our purpose is to shine.
The message that morning was about Kairos time -- not the same as the time on our watches, not chronological time, but the right time, the acceptable time, the time of opportunity. "it is your time," he said to the confirmands. "It is your time to serve, your time to follow Jesus, your time to say yes to the grace and beauty and love of God in your life." Those aren't the exact words, but that is what I heard.
This is your time -- the right time, the acceptable time. That's the message that the confirmands heard, but not just those eleven students. Is it the right time for us as well? Who is Jesus calling us to be? How is Jesus calling us to follow?
In two weeks my time here in this congregation will finish. I will not be their pastor any more. I will go to be pastor in another place, to other people. I will help them dream dreams, follow Jesus, grow in grace. It is the right time.
At the close of the service, the eleven young people processed down the center aisle to the back of the church. I followed them. A woman in the back of the church, someone I didn't know, grabbed my arm. This was her first time in our church, and she asked if I would pray for her, and for her mother, and for their relationship, and for all kinds of healing. I asked her name, and her mother's name. She told me. We took each other's hands. And there were tears. She said, I'll be back.
In the meantime, I am here. Here with the water and the word and the tears, and the names that I know, and the names of strangers. Here where we pray and heal each other in the power and compassion of Jesus. It is the right time.
Saturday, January 31, 2015
What a Difference a Day Makes
Today is the last day of January. Tomorrow is February 1, which seems like a seismic shift, for some reason or another. Tomorrow the calendar turns over and another month, the second month, begins. I am one month older, it is one month closer to spring, or it just just the day after Saturday, in an endless parade of days.
January seems interminable. Why does the month of January seem so long? December has the same number of days, but does not seem so long. "What, it's still January?" I catch myself saying. "It seems like it has always been January."
February, on the other hand, is the snap of a finger, the blink of an eye. It is gone before I know it, which is okay, since I am trying to get through winter and closer to the days when the sun and the warmth will re-appear, and I can plant something in the ground, and nurture it. February is a brief cold wind, except that it is really only three days shorter than January. Three measly days. Seventy-two hours.
Why does January seem so long?
Why does February seem so short?
Why do I spend my time looking forward to some other time than now?
Why do I spend my time looking back to some terrible wonderful time in the past?
Perhaps there is no 'ordinary' time. We only make it 'ordinary' because we could not bear to stand in front of the burning bush all of the time.
Maybe each moment is a seismic shift, a turn of the calendar page, a transformation, whether we want it or not.
Today is the last day of January.
Tomorrow I will wake up and it will be February 1, and the Lord's Day, and there will be a seismic shift. Or not.
It will be a New Day. Or it will just be another one of a parade of endless days. Your choice.
Somewhere, a bush will be burning.
I don't know why I know this. I just do.
January seems interminable. Why does the month of January seem so long? December has the same number of days, but does not seem so long. "What, it's still January?" I catch myself saying. "It seems like it has always been January."
February, on the other hand, is the snap of a finger, the blink of an eye. It is gone before I know it, which is okay, since I am trying to get through winter and closer to the days when the sun and the warmth will re-appear, and I can plant something in the ground, and nurture it. February is a brief cold wind, except that it is really only three days shorter than January. Three measly days. Seventy-two hours.
Why does January seem so long?
Why does February seem so short?
Why do I spend my time looking forward to some other time than now?
Why do I spend my time looking back to some terrible wonderful time in the past?
Perhaps there is no 'ordinary' time. We only make it 'ordinary' because we could not bear to stand in front of the burning bush all of the time.
Maybe each moment is a seismic shift, a turn of the calendar page, a transformation, whether we want it or not.
Today is the last day of January.
Tomorrow I will wake up and it will be February 1, and the Lord's Day, and there will be a seismic shift. Or not.
It will be a New Day. Or it will just be another one of a parade of endless days. Your choice.
Somewhere, a bush will be burning.
I don't know why I know this. I just do.
Monday, December 2, 2013
On the First Day of Advent
I consider the word "eschatology."
It's not a word I use in everyday conversation. Sunday's lessons were all over 'eschatology', though I can tell you now that no one used the "E" word. Not even once.
The first time I heard the word was in high school. I was going through my first wave of serious religious doubt, and I tried to calm my anxiety by reading books about Jesus from the religion section of the public library. I know, it was a weird idea, right? But many of the writers said that the "historical Jesus" was an "eschatological prophet", whatever that meant.
Later I learned that "eschatological" means "about last things." To consider eschatology is to consider where we are going to end up, what the last page of the story is going to say, what is the climax and the denouement of history. Are we going around in endless circles, or is there a plot, a story, with twists and turns and lessons learned: a final reckoning? What do you say?
So we begin advent with this sense that we are waiting for something, that there is an End point somewhere Out There.
But today was the first Sunday of Advent, and we do know that we are waiting. We are counting down the Sundays until Christmas, and the days until Christmas. There are candles to light that will help us to count, and there are Advent calendars too. Some of them have chocolate, and some of them have stickers.
We unveiled a countdown clock this morning at worship. 23 days, 13 hours,and innumerable minutes before Christmas, was what it said. I found it difficult to look away. The minutes were ticking away. I should be doing something. The time is short, after all.
It's a great visual aid, useful on many levels. The time is short, after all. But I can't help thinking that Christmas is not really the end point. Christmas is a way station, a still point, an inn with a manger and a baby we can hold. But the dream, the vision, the end point, the last page is this: the place where God will wipe away every tear from our eyes, where the nations will come to feast, where the lame will leap for joy.
Christmas is not the end. Christmas is the beginning, the beginning of God-with-us.
Advent is before the beginning. It is the pause before you begin. It is the breath you hold, the time before the downbeat.
Advent is not the journey. God is with us on the journey. All the way until the last page. Advent is that moment right before you say something, and you don't know what to say, and then you realize that God must give you words. And then, you wonder if God will give you the words, and you stand there exposed and uncomfortable.
And then you say, "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me."
It's not a word I use in everyday conversation. Sunday's lessons were all over 'eschatology', though I can tell you now that no one used the "E" word. Not even once.
The first time I heard the word was in high school. I was going through my first wave of serious religious doubt, and I tried to calm my anxiety by reading books about Jesus from the religion section of the public library. I know, it was a weird idea, right? But many of the writers said that the "historical Jesus" was an "eschatological prophet", whatever that meant.
Later I learned that "eschatological" means "about last things." To consider eschatology is to consider where we are going to end up, what the last page of the story is going to say, what is the climax and the denouement of history. Are we going around in endless circles, or is there a plot, a story, with twists and turns and lessons learned: a final reckoning? What do you say?
So we begin advent with this sense that we are waiting for something, that there is an End point somewhere Out There.
But today was the first Sunday of Advent, and we do know that we are waiting. We are counting down the Sundays until Christmas, and the days until Christmas. There are candles to light that will help us to count, and there are Advent calendars too. Some of them have chocolate, and some of them have stickers.
We unveiled a countdown clock this morning at worship. 23 days, 13 hours,and innumerable minutes before Christmas, was what it said. I found it difficult to look away. The minutes were ticking away. I should be doing something. The time is short, after all.
It's a great visual aid, useful on many levels. The time is short, after all. But I can't help thinking that Christmas is not really the end point. Christmas is a way station, a still point, an inn with a manger and a baby we can hold. But the dream, the vision, the end point, the last page is this: the place where God will wipe away every tear from our eyes, where the nations will come to feast, where the lame will leap for joy.
Christmas is not the end. Christmas is the beginning, the beginning of God-with-us.
Advent is before the beginning. It is the pause before you begin. It is the breath you hold, the time before the downbeat.
Advent is not the journey. God is with us on the journey. All the way until the last page. Advent is that moment right before you say something, and you don't know what to say, and then you realize that God must give you words. And then, you wonder if God will give you the words, and you stand there exposed and uncomfortable.
And then you say, "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me."
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