To tell the truth, I was looking forward to preaching about Mary and Martha last weekend. Just plain old unvarnished Mary and Martha and Jesus, five small verses that I could turn over in the palm of my hand, ruminate over, shine the light on.
I was looking forward to getting back to the gospel stories after six weeks in Galatians, even though the last week in Galatians was pretty much pre-empted by the shootings in Baton Rouge, Minnesota and Dallas. Who is my neighbor? Whose burdens am I required to bear? Those are uncomfortable questions, but nobody said that preaching should be comfortable.
But this week seemed like the promise of the gospel came out of a different kind of discomfort. This short story of Martha and Mary and Jesus spoke to me of the importance of hospitality, and of sitting and listening: listening to God and listening to our neighbor. Coincidentally (or perhaps not coincidentally), our congregation is embarking on a mission initiative that involves listening to God and to our neighbors. And the discipline of this kind of listening will be a challenging and will make us uncomfortable and will also yield a blessing.
So, Listen. It seemed clear that this was what to preach this last weekend in my congregation. Listening is the beginning of mission. To listen is to put the other person in the center, not us. It is a holy activity.
And then there was violence in Nice, and an attempted coup in Turkey. Sunday morning, while we were in worship, three police officers were killed in Baton Rouge.
And I had this sermon which wasn't wrong, but somehow seemed like flecks of dust tossed into the air.
Listen.
Was that all I had? Had I made the wrong decision? Had I preached the wrong thing?
All I know is that I am back at it again, reading the scriptures, asking questions, imagining the people in my congregation, and especially a young man who will be confirmed on Sunday. I am looking out at the world, and wondering what to say.
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Showing posts with label social justice. Show all posts
Showing posts with label social justice. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 19, 2016
Saturday, June 27, 2015
Grace
After a long silence, I am sitting down to write something, and what I can think of is this one word: Grace.
It has been almost a month since my last sermon, and I feel at the same time a little rusty and also urgent. It will be a new pulpit, in a church called Grace. When I stood in the pulpit this afternoon, just to practice and see how it felt, I will admit: it felt odd. It felt like I needed an inch or more on the bottoms of my shoes, perhaps. I felt like I might have to stretch, just a little, to fit.
(Now I am remembering back to my teaching parish in seminary, where they gave me a stool to stand on. This certainly enhanced the preaching experience in certain areas. I also remember that in my internship congregation, they actually had a platform that they slid into the pulpit, so that it would be the right size for me.)
After a long silence, I am sitting down to write something, and what I can think of is this one word: Grace.
I've been on the road and disoriented and unsettled and I haven't written in this venue for over a week. Sometimes it seems harder to write than not to write, especially since some of the things I have been thinking about this past week have been weighty ones: racism, and violence, and my own complicity: the shame of knowing that I have not said enough, the necessity of listening more truthfully and owning what it is hard to hear. It seems petty and little to blog instead about moving to a new state and and all the big and small fears and dreams contained within. So, for over a week, I have said nothing.
But the word that I want to say before I retire this evening is still: Grace.
A while ago, I said Yes to a church called Grace, in a state that I had not visited before. I prayed and I discerned and I made lists and I talked to people, and still, sometimes, I wonder if I was not crazy.
And then I think: at the bottom, at the very foundation of everything, beneath the "yes" that I was courageous or foolish enough to say, God called me here. And that calling is Grace.
I have been thinking a lot about grace. I have always counted on it. It is my favorite thing. The grace of second, third, or infinite chances, the grace of living again, when you thought you were dead, the grace of the unexpected, unasked for gift, the grace of undeserved love. Grace has many faces. But I will admit that I never thought of my calling as Grace.
I'll admit that it doesn't feel like grace in every single moment. Sometimes it feels like sheer terror. But it is grace to be called here.
Amazing grace.
It is possible that I will have to stretch a little, to fit.
It has been almost a month since my last sermon, and I feel at the same time a little rusty and also urgent. It will be a new pulpit, in a church called Grace. When I stood in the pulpit this afternoon, just to practice and see how it felt, I will admit: it felt odd. It felt like I needed an inch or more on the bottoms of my shoes, perhaps. I felt like I might have to stretch, just a little, to fit.
(Now I am remembering back to my teaching parish in seminary, where they gave me a stool to stand on. This certainly enhanced the preaching experience in certain areas. I also remember that in my internship congregation, they actually had a platform that they slid into the pulpit, so that it would be the right size for me.)
After a long silence, I am sitting down to write something, and what I can think of is this one word: Grace.
I've been on the road and disoriented and unsettled and I haven't written in this venue for over a week. Sometimes it seems harder to write than not to write, especially since some of the things I have been thinking about this past week have been weighty ones: racism, and violence, and my own complicity: the shame of knowing that I have not said enough, the necessity of listening more truthfully and owning what it is hard to hear. It seems petty and little to blog instead about moving to a new state and and all the big and small fears and dreams contained within. So, for over a week, I have said nothing.
But the word that I want to say before I retire this evening is still: Grace.
A while ago, I said Yes to a church called Grace, in a state that I had not visited before. I prayed and I discerned and I made lists and I talked to people, and still, sometimes, I wonder if I was not crazy.
And then I think: at the bottom, at the very foundation of everything, beneath the "yes" that I was courageous or foolish enough to say, God called me here. And that calling is Grace.
I have been thinking a lot about grace. I have always counted on it. It is my favorite thing. The grace of second, third, or infinite chances, the grace of living again, when you thought you were dead, the grace of the unexpected, unasked for gift, the grace of undeserved love. Grace has many faces. But I will admit that I never thought of my calling as Grace.
I'll admit that it doesn't feel like grace in every single moment. Sometimes it feels like sheer terror. But it is grace to be called here.
Amazing grace.
It is possible that I will have to stretch a little, to fit.
Monday, April 28, 2014
I Can't Help Thinking...
I didn't preach last weekend, which is sort of unusual for me. I have come to identify the 2nd Sunday of Easter as "Associate Pastor Sunday", and Thomas and his story have gotten really really familiar to me. I have defended Thomas from allegations of doubting, and pointed out that if all of the other disciples got to see and touch Jesus for themselves, why should it be a big deal for Thomas to get to see and touch Jesus too? I have pointed out that Thomas was not with the other disciples on Easter Evening 1, but that he had returned to them on Easter 2. I have noticed how the disciples cowered in that locked room, and how ultimately, those locked doors could not keep Jesus out.
I didn't preach last weekend, but I was listening, and I was studying anyway. I got together with my Bag Lunch Bible study to read and reflect on this gospel reading. As we were reading, I heard Thomas' voice, saying, "I will not believe. Unless I see his hands, unless I can see those marks, unless I can touch them, I will not believe."
And I thought I could hear the whole world in Thomas' words.
There is a lot more skepticism in the world than there used to be. There are more doubters than their used to be. I know a fair amount of young people who say they are agnostics or atheists. Or they are skeptical of organized religion, if not the existence of God. Sometimes, it's hard to blame them. Look around at the world for awhile. Look around at the church, too. I know a lot of good people in the church, but I know there has been a lot of hurt too.
So I heard Thomas' words, and I imagined that the world is looking at us, bearers of Jesus' name, carriers of his mission. I imagined that the world is looking for marks, for some sort of sign. Not nail-holes, but some signs of love, that we are willing to do something, bear something, suffer something, for the sake of love: something real, something they can see and touch.
Sunday afternoon I was at a meeting at my church. It was a rainy afternoon and there were about 130 people in our fellowship hall, from about a dozen different churches. There could have been more, but people had many other commitments. Some were actually setting up for homeless families to stay in our church. But the meeting at my church was unusual for a couple of reasons. People were telling stories of their lives, hard stories of juggling jobs and trying to make ends meet, stories of foreclosures with no recourse, stories of people living in fear of being deported. There were representatives of both Latino and Anglo churches in the room, and they were leading together, and we were listening to each other, stories that could transform us, if we let them.
"Unless I see the marks, I will not believe."
Who can blame him? Who can blame them?
And where are my marks? That is what I am asking myself, while I am listening to stories, and praying that I will let them transform me.
I didn't preach last weekend, but I was listening, and I was studying anyway. I got together with my Bag Lunch Bible study to read and reflect on this gospel reading. As we were reading, I heard Thomas' voice, saying, "I will not believe. Unless I see his hands, unless I can see those marks, unless I can touch them, I will not believe."
And I thought I could hear the whole world in Thomas' words.
There is a lot more skepticism in the world than there used to be. There are more doubters than their used to be. I know a fair amount of young people who say they are agnostics or atheists. Or they are skeptical of organized religion, if not the existence of God. Sometimes, it's hard to blame them. Look around at the world for awhile. Look around at the church, too. I know a lot of good people in the church, but I know there has been a lot of hurt too.
So I heard Thomas' words, and I imagined that the world is looking at us, bearers of Jesus' name, carriers of his mission. I imagined that the world is looking for marks, for some sort of sign. Not nail-holes, but some signs of love, that we are willing to do something, bear something, suffer something, for the sake of love: something real, something they can see and touch.
Sunday afternoon I was at a meeting at my church. It was a rainy afternoon and there were about 130 people in our fellowship hall, from about a dozen different churches. There could have been more, but people had many other commitments. Some were actually setting up for homeless families to stay in our church. But the meeting at my church was unusual for a couple of reasons. People were telling stories of their lives, hard stories of juggling jobs and trying to make ends meet, stories of foreclosures with no recourse, stories of people living in fear of being deported. There were representatives of both Latino and Anglo churches in the room, and they were leading together, and we were listening to each other, stories that could transform us, if we let them.
"Unless I see the marks, I will not believe."
Who can blame him? Who can blame them?
And where are my marks? That is what I am asking myself, while I am listening to stories, and praying that I will let them transform me.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
What I Want Our Church to Look Like
1) A deeper spirituality that shows in our love for worship, prayer and one another.
2) A deeper commitment to our community, caring about the needs, concerns, gifts of our neighbors
3) To be committed to both personal and social transformation, realizing that personal transformation is a gift of the Holy Spirit, something Christ works in us as we trust his love and forgiveness
4) To be committed to create a congregation that looks more like our neighborhood and God's kingdom,
5) To look like people who really believe that we have a God bigger than we are, and a mission bigger than we are
6) To give ourselves away for the sake of Jesus, and the love of the world.
I want us to worship with heart and soul, to welcome and nurture the children, and to be deeply invested in sharing Jesus with our community through acts of love and justice.
2) A deeper commitment to our community, caring about the needs, concerns, gifts of our neighbors
3) To be committed to both personal and social transformation, realizing that personal transformation is a gift of the Holy Spirit, something Christ works in us as we trust his love and forgiveness
4) To be committed to create a congregation that looks more like our neighborhood and God's kingdom,
5) To look like people who really believe that we have a God bigger than we are, and a mission bigger than we are
6) To give ourselves away for the sake of Jesus, and the love of the world.
I want us to worship with heart and soul, to welcome and nurture the children, and to be deeply invested in sharing Jesus with our community through acts of love and justice.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Grace Grace Grace Grace Grace Grace Grace Grace Grace Grace Grace
Nothing about my life is perfect right now.
For example: recently I've been having trouble doing my most regular form of exercise, walking the dog. My heel hurts, sometimes terribly, and I end up limping like I'm about 30 years older than my actual age. I haven't been to the doctor yet, but I think I have something called plantar faschiatis.
I'm knitting another pair of socks, in the odd moment or two, at the end of long days. I'm still working the basic pattern, with different colors and weights of yarn. The first pair came out all right, except the kitchener stitch. The second pair, with exactly the same pattern, stretched out way too big. The third pair are not exactly the same length. They all have the little holes that I haven't learned how to correct, although I've tried a few suggestions. None of these socks are monstrosities, but, they aren't perfect either.
As everyone knows, my dog is also not perfect (although there are times when I think she is nevertheless, the best part of my life). She was Possessive as a puppy and, although she's much better now, she still has Issues.
I'm currently serving a church in a first-ring suburb, a church in a changing neighborhood, a community with growing diversity, poverty, a growing immigrant population. I find many things about this stimulating. I want to be a part of a church that is diverse in age, ethnic heritage, race. But, this is easier said than done. So, my congregation is not perfect. (I'm not either, so I suppose it's a good fit.)
I'm thinking a lot about social justice, the call to do justice in our community, to stand against racism, to stand for equity, to work on behalf of the little ones. I believe in this. I try to do it. I fail a lot. Sometimes I feel like quitting. I especially want all children, no matter who they are, who their parents are, where they are from, to have a chance to thrive.
But deep down, what I'm really passionate about, even more than justice, is grace.
Nothing about my life is perfect. I'm not going to do all the things I want to do with my life (although I still habor a couple of hopes). I'm going to keep failing, and I need the courage to get up and keep trying, despite my aching feet, despite my roomy socks, despite my church full of sinners (like me). And the over-the-top, never-ending, over-flowing grace of God is the only thing I know that gives me enough courage to keep going. The only thing.
Grace -- God's love to those who waste their whole lives, to those who try with good intentions, to the clueless and the earnest, to the mean and the lowly and the hopeless and those clinging to false hopes. God's love to Marcus Borg-loving liberals and tongues-speaking Pentecostals and everyone in between.
I have to preach grace. But then, say, "Just do it." Do justice. Love kindness. Fail at it, but do it.
After all, what have you got to lose?
"Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom."
For example: recently I've been having trouble doing my most regular form of exercise, walking the dog. My heel hurts, sometimes terribly, and I end up limping like I'm about 30 years older than my actual age. I haven't been to the doctor yet, but I think I have something called plantar faschiatis.
I'm knitting another pair of socks, in the odd moment or two, at the end of long days. I'm still working the basic pattern, with different colors and weights of yarn. The first pair came out all right, except the kitchener stitch. The second pair, with exactly the same pattern, stretched out way too big. The third pair are not exactly the same length. They all have the little holes that I haven't learned how to correct, although I've tried a few suggestions. None of these socks are monstrosities, but, they aren't perfect either.
As everyone knows, my dog is also not perfect (although there are times when I think she is nevertheless, the best part of my life). She was Possessive as a puppy and, although she's much better now, she still has Issues.
I'm thinking a lot about social justice, the call to do justice in our community, to stand against racism, to stand for equity, to work on behalf of the little ones. I believe in this. I try to do it. I fail a lot. Sometimes I feel like quitting. I especially want all children, no matter who they are, who their parents are, where they are from, to have a chance to thrive.
But deep down, what I'm really passionate about, even more than justice, is grace.
Nothing about my life is perfect. I'm not going to do all the things I want to do with my life (although I still habor a couple of hopes). I'm going to keep failing, and I need the courage to get up and keep trying, despite my aching feet, despite my roomy socks, despite my church full of sinners (like me). And the over-the-top, never-ending, over-flowing grace of God is the only thing I know that gives me enough courage to keep going. The only thing.
Grace -- God's love to those who waste their whole lives, to those who try with good intentions, to the clueless and the earnest, to the mean and the lowly and the hopeless and those clinging to false hopes. God's love to Marcus Borg-loving liberals and tongues-speaking Pentecostals and everyone in between.
I have to preach grace. But then, say, "Just do it." Do justice. Love kindness. Fail at it, but do it.
After all, what have you got to lose?
"Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom."
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Praying for Haiti
I haven't felt much like posting this week. Besides only sleeping a few hours every night, working on details of a Martin Luther King Day service on Monday, I've been thinking about that line from Casablanca, Rick telling Ilsa that, "the problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world."
So, although I've been thinking about a lot of things (including whether or not I have a mission in my life), the earthquake in Haiti has been overwhelming.
The ELCA website has resources for worship and donating.
The wonderful website pretty good lutherans has links to several tributes to Seminarian Ben Larson, who was killed in Haiti this week.
I was particularly moved by these powerful words.
Someone else said to me yesterday at church that there was an earthquake of similar magnitude recently somewhere else. There, about 80 people died.
"It's not the earthquake that killed people," she said. "It's poverty."
O God, where hearts are fearful and constricted, grant courage and hope. Where anxiety is infections and widening, grant peace and reassurance. Where impossibilities close every door and window, grant imagination and resistance. Where distrust twists our thinking, grant healing and illuminaiton. Where spirits are daunted and weakened, grant soaring wings and strengthened dreams. All these things we ask in the name of Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord. Amen.
-Prayer for time of conflict, crisis, disaster, from ELW
O God, open our hearts to feel the earth quake from the oppression of poverty, and free our hearts and our hands to work to heal those things that deal death and suffering. Amen.
So, although I've been thinking about a lot of things (including whether or not I have a mission in my life), the earthquake in Haiti has been overwhelming.
The ELCA website has resources for worship and donating.
The wonderful website pretty good lutherans has links to several tributes to Seminarian Ben Larson, who was killed in Haiti this week.
I was particularly moved by these powerful words.
Someone else said to me yesterday at church that there was an earthquake of similar magnitude recently somewhere else. There, about 80 people died.
"It's not the earthquake that killed people," she said. "It's poverty."
O God, where hearts are fearful and constricted, grant courage and hope. Where anxiety is infections and widening, grant peace and reassurance. Where impossibilities close every door and window, grant imagination and resistance. Where distrust twists our thinking, grant healing and illuminaiton. Where spirits are daunted and weakened, grant soaring wings and strengthened dreams. All these things we ask in the name of Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord. Amen.
-Prayer for time of conflict, crisis, disaster, from ELW
O God, open our hearts to feel the earth quake from the oppression of poverty, and free our hearts and our hands to work to heal those things that deal death and suffering. Amen.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
How I Discover that Knitting Can Be Therapeutic
At long last I have finally finished my very first prayer shawl, fringe and all. I wove in the ends and put in the Prayer Shawl label. I believe it has even been blessed.
In the meantime, I also began and completed a pink baby blanket. (It has yet to be "blocked", but otherwise, I think it's done.) I don't know who it's for, yet. But I've had the pink yarn for a couple years, from another time I got an idea or two, so I threw caution to the wind and just decided to do a pink shawl in faith that eventually, the baby would appear.
Now I'm starting a simple scarf, but with one interesting detail: the scarf is supposed to have a hole in the middle of it.
I do believe I'm on a roll.
I had a strange, rare feeling when I was folding up the completed shawl, and as I finished binding off on the baby blanket. It's a feeling that I don't get that often in my line of work. It's not satisfaction; I feel satisfied every time I baptize baby, or take communion to a shut-in, or have a deep conversation, or preach a sermon.
It's more a sense of completion, a sense that something is finished, whether perfect or not.
I hardly even get that sense in my life. Almost everything I do (and including and especially the social justice work) is ongoing. I take communion to Mary this month; I'll take communion to her again next month. I prepare lessons and write sermons and plan worship, and then I do it again. And in our community, we work toward racial justice, toward healthier communities, co-creators with God in finishing the world.
But each step is just that: the next step.
The world is not finished yet.
The shawl, though: that is finished, it is put in the bag, and it will be given to someone, complete with prayers. There were a couple of flaws in the yarn, and I was learning how to join yarn, but it's done and prayed over now, and it's good for my heart.
Co-creating with God, repairing the world, we're doing work that will never really be finished, not until God in Christ comes to make all things new.
In the meantime, it's good to know that every once in awhile we can bind off.
In the meantime, I also began and completed a pink baby blanket. (It has yet to be "blocked", but otherwise, I think it's done.) I don't know who it's for, yet. But I've had the pink yarn for a couple years, from another time I got an idea or two, so I threw caution to the wind and just decided to do a pink shawl in faith that eventually, the baby would appear.
Now I'm starting a simple scarf, but with one interesting detail: the scarf is supposed to have a hole in the middle of it.
I do believe I'm on a roll.
I had a strange, rare feeling when I was folding up the completed shawl, and as I finished binding off on the baby blanket. It's a feeling that I don't get that often in my line of work. It's not satisfaction; I feel satisfied every time I baptize baby, or take communion to a shut-in, or have a deep conversation, or preach a sermon.
It's more a sense of completion, a sense that something is finished, whether perfect or not.
I hardly even get that sense in my life. Almost everything I do (and including and especially the social justice work) is ongoing. I take communion to Mary this month; I'll take communion to her again next month. I prepare lessons and write sermons and plan worship, and then I do it again. And in our community, we work toward racial justice, toward healthier communities, co-creators with God in finishing the world.
But each step is just that: the next step.
The world is not finished yet.
The shawl, though: that is finished, it is put in the bag, and it will be given to someone, complete with prayers. There were a couple of flaws in the yarn, and I was learning how to join yarn, but it's done and prayed over now, and it's good for my heart.
Co-creating with God, repairing the world, we're doing work that will never really be finished, not until God in Christ comes to make all things new.
In the meantime, it's good to know that every once in awhile we can bind off.
Friday, September 25, 2009
A Geeky Lutheran Quote, in Preparation for some Possible Theological Heavy Lifting
While in Japan, I discovered, on the shelf of one of the missionaries' homes, a little gem of a book (with an unfortunate title): Where God Meets Man. The subtitle was "Luther's Down-to-Earth Approach to the Gospel". It totally revolutionized my faith, making me realize how radical God's grace really is, and that Christianity is so much more about God coming down than about us going up anywhere. Here's a little quote (ok a big quote) from his chapter "This World and the Next."
...."since that world (the world to come) is God's entirely free gift, since it comes by his will alone, we are freed to give ourselves entirely to this world, to set about seeing to it that his will is done "on earth" as it is in heaven....
"That is what it means to live in the hope of the world to come. It is an act of hope to marry and rear children when you think the end is near -- or to plant a tree. It is hope based on the trust that God wil not deny his creation; that the world to come does not mean the destruction of what is good in this world, but its fulfillment. The world to come does not therefore compete with this world for our affections. Because the hope of the world to come is sure we are enabled to enter into, rejoice in, and care for this world. This lies behind Luther's belief that everyone should enter into his worldly vocation in the confidence that it is pleasing to God, and look on it as a commission from God. Hope in the gift of the world to come is hope strong enough to enable us to turn from our fruitless quest for a heaven above and to look to God's creation, to receive it back again, to enter into it, and struggle to see that God's will be done -- that true peace, justce, and love are established." (pp. 97-98.)
"We ought to see that faith in the kingdom of grace frees us also from the fear of change and makes the future open. Grace ought to foster man's hopes (my note: also women's hopes!) for a better world, not crush them." (p. 110)
"Whenever man's presumption, his utopian illusions, his petty prejudices produce tyranny, discrimination, poverty, wanton destruction, hatred, and indifference there the church must mobilize for action...." (p. 115).
...."since that world (the world to come) is God's entirely free gift, since it comes by his will alone, we are freed to give ourselves entirely to this world, to set about seeing to it that his will is done "on earth" as it is in heaven....
"That is what it means to live in the hope of the world to come. It is an act of hope to marry and rear children when you think the end is near -- or to plant a tree. It is hope based on the trust that God wil not deny his creation; that the world to come does not mean the destruction of what is good in this world, but its fulfillment. The world to come does not therefore compete with this world for our affections. Because the hope of the world to come is sure we are enabled to enter into, rejoice in, and care for this world. This lies behind Luther's belief that everyone should enter into his worldly vocation in the confidence that it is pleasing to God, and look on it as a commission from God. Hope in the gift of the world to come is hope strong enough to enable us to turn from our fruitless quest for a heaven above and to look to God's creation, to receive it back again, to enter into it, and struggle to see that God's will be done -- that true peace, justce, and love are established." (pp. 97-98.)
"We ought to see that faith in the kingdom of grace frees us also from the fear of change and makes the future open. Grace ought to foster man's hopes (my note: also women's hopes!) for a better world, not crush them." (p. 110)
"Whenever man's presumption, his utopian illusions, his petty prejudices produce tyranny, discrimination, poverty, wanton destruction, hatred, and indifference there the church must mobilize for action...." (p. 115).
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Mardi Gras, and Healing
Today I was in church all morning, three services. As it will be Lent starting Wednesday, we tried to pull out all the stops, singing-wise. At the ten o'clock contemporary worship service, two show-stoppers were the Swedish Song, "You are Holy" (in a Latin beat), and the African "We are marching in the Light of God." We closed with a lower-key gospel rendition of "Lord, You let your Servant Go in Peace." We always offer prayers for healing on the last Sunday of the month. I think it is one of the healthiest, most hopeful things we have done in the past year here. I'm always blessed as I pray for healing for others.
Meanwhile, in the fellowship hall, everyone was whooping it up. It was our annual Mardi Gras brunch and basket auction. The proceeds help us in our community organizing eforts. This year we are focusing on health care and education (I have written about the achievement gap previously.)
Our Mardi Gras brunch features two kinds of egg bake (with and without ham), fruit cups, sausage, juice, and coffee (we are Lutherans, you know: for us it's death, taxes and COFFEE). We also have a silent auction with baskets donated by different members of the church, and also by local businesses. There have been in the past: a knitter's basket, a gardener's basket, a reader's basket, devotional time baskets ... and a local grocery store puts together a wonderful "gourmet goodies" basket as well.
We also have face painting, and a cake walk. I saw three children new to our congregation each walk out of church today with a chocolate cake! One said that she is going to start coming here "all the time!"
"Well, we don't give away cakes every week," I replied. (she knew that, though.)
Another young man visiting is interested in learning about baptism. He is coming with a friend and doesn't know very much about faith.
It's not exactly a mountaintop, but I think I got a glimpse of the shining, today.
Meanwhile, in the fellowship hall, everyone was whooping it up. It was our annual Mardi Gras brunch and basket auction. The proceeds help us in our community organizing eforts. This year we are focusing on health care and education (I have written about the achievement gap previously.)
Our Mardi Gras brunch features two kinds of egg bake (with and without ham), fruit cups, sausage, juice, and coffee (we are Lutherans, you know: for us it's death, taxes and COFFEE). We also have a silent auction with baskets donated by different members of the church, and also by local businesses. There have been in the past: a knitter's basket, a gardener's basket, a reader's basket, devotional time baskets ... and a local grocery store puts together a wonderful "gourmet goodies" basket as well.
We also have face painting, and a cake walk. I saw three children new to our congregation each walk out of church today with a chocolate cake! One said that she is going to start coming here "all the time!"
"Well, we don't give away cakes every week," I replied. (she knew that, though.)
Another young man visiting is interested in learning about baptism. He is coming with a friend and doesn't know very much about faith.
It's not exactly a mountaintop, but I think I got a glimpse of the shining, today.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Keeping our Lamps Lit
Last Sunday, our gospel reading was the Parable of the Ten Bridesmaids, five wise and five foolish. Although the parable does include a riff on the importance of being awake, I contended that "awakeness" was a red herring, and that it all comes down to oil: the wise bridesmaids had all that extra oil, ready for a long wait for the bridegroom's arrival.
I talked about the meaning of the "oil" -- some say faith, others say good works (as in "Let your light so shine before others, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.") As a Lutheran, I can reliably be expected to come down on the "faith" side; however, I define "faith" as a relationship of trust that expresses itself in action.
One thing I wish I had brought up in my sermon was the whole idea of the bridegroom's delay. In popular Christianity, passionate faith and the imminent return of Christ are strongly linked. However, in the parable, those who expected the bridegroom any minute now were the foolish ones. The ones who believed it would be awhile before his return, and yet lived faithfully in the meantime: those were the ones deemed wise.
Matthew is advocating a spiritual practice that is good for the long haul: for centuries, maybe. It seems to me that this kind of spiritual practice would include not only prayer and worship (and worship that takes into account the many and long traditions of Christian worship), but also care for the poor, care for creation, and social justice.
On Sunday, I asked the congregation to meditate on two questions: "What keeps your lamp lit? What keeps you going in your faith?" and "What causes your lamp to flicker?" Then I asked them to share with the person next to them one thing that keeps them going in their faith.
I know, it was pretty risky for a Lutheran congregation! And all of the services went long, so I didn't get a chance to hear what people thought of my little experiment.
I also didn't get the opportunity to hear how people might have answered the question on Sunday. I hope a few of you will take the opportunity to share: what keeps your lamp lit? what keeps you going in your faith?
Sunday, November 9, 2008
After....
On Thursday, we had our regular community clergy gathering. This month we were slated to meet at the local African American church. They had prepared a wonderful lunch for us: sandwiches and wraps and pie and other sweets that I can't even remember now. It was quite a feast. One of the pastors there had printed two poems by James Weldon Johnson. He recited the first one for us, and could barely get through one of the stanzas, he was so filled with emotion. He told us that he had called his 93 year old father in Chicago on Tuesday morning, only to discover that his father had already voted. He said that his father felt so grateful that he had lived to see that day.
The second poem was Lift Every Voice and Sing. It is the Black National Anthem. He was going to recite that poem too, but one of us suggested that we might sing it, instead. So we did, all twelve of us around the table a capella.
I didn't know this at the time, but Lift Every Voice was sung often in the schools in the segregated south, just like I remember singing My Country 'Tis of Thee.
After our lunch, I met briefly with the other African American pastor. We are planning the next Martin Luther King Day worship service, which will take place this year the day before inauguration day. We also took a moment to check in about the social justice organization we both work with.
He confessed to me that he was not sure who he would vote for until he went into the voting booth on Tuesday. (He didn't tell me, either.) Neither candidate, he thought, was perfect. Both were good, but flawed people.
I told some of this story in church on Sunday. Most people did not know there was an African American church in our town.
We still have a lot of work to do. But we're starting.
The second poem was Lift Every Voice and Sing. It is the Black National Anthem. He was going to recite that poem too, but one of us suggested that we might sing it, instead. So we did, all twelve of us around the table a capella.
I didn't know this at the time, but Lift Every Voice was sung often in the schools in the segregated south, just like I remember singing My Country 'Tis of Thee.
After our lunch, I met briefly with the other African American pastor. We are planning the next Martin Luther King Day worship service, which will take place this year the day before inauguration day. We also took a moment to check in about the social justice organization we both work with.
He confessed to me that he was not sure who he would vote for until he went into the voting booth on Tuesday. (He didn't tell me, either.) Neither candidate, he thought, was perfect. Both were good, but flawed people.
I told some of this story in church on Sunday. Most people did not know there was an African American church in our town.
We still have a lot of work to do. But we're starting.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Seeking "The Lost"
About a week ago I was googling around the internet and I looked into one of our neighboring churches' websites. They describe themselves as an evangelical church of their denomination, stating that they believe that "hope is not a human achievement, but God's gift through the power of the Holy Spirit." I really liked their statement of their aspiration: to "dream dreams for ministry big enough to know that the results cannot depend on us alone but rather on God."
Part of their vision statement made me think, though: they described their urgency to minister to "unsaved and unchurched people, believing that the heart of Jesus' mission was to seek and save the lost."
You know, we don't talk much about "the lost" in my denomination. There are probably myriad and complicated reasons for this. Maybe it's because these days many of us are reluctant to consign those who believe differently to the fires of hell. That's what it means to be lost, after all. To be consigned to the fires of hell, because you don't know Jesus.
I used to be a missionary, which means it was my work, and my passion, to introduce others to Jesus. I do really think it matters to know Jesus. But somehow I resist (and have always resisted) the next statement: and if you don't, you are eternally lost!
And yet, I do think that it's true: "the heart of Jesus' mission was to seek and to save the lost." And that this is the heart of the church's mission, too.
So, just who are the lost, then?
In my congregation we are preparing a fall community forum. The subject is "The achievement gap" between students of color and white students; more precisely, this gap is between children living in poverty and those who don't. We want to eliminate that gap. Our school district is very diverse, with white students and African American students and Latino students and African students. They are all beautiful -- but they are not all succeeding. And there are some white parents who are, for various reasons, taking their children out of the schools.
We know that this will not be an easy task. Someone from our group said recently that it's not just an achievement gap; it's really a hope gap. Children don't achieve because they don't have hope. People do drugs, get into destructive relationships, commit crimes because they don't have hope. Whole communities give up because they don't have hope.
Who are the lost? People who don't have hope: hope for the next life, of course -- but hope for this life, too, hope that their living makes a difference, hope that they will flourish, that they will have enough to eat, a place to sleep, a job, a reason to live.
The church has lost its way if it forgets that the heart of Jesus' mission was to seek and to save the lost. It doesn't exist simply to inspire itself, to make the people who come to worship "feel better" when they leave. The church exists to seek and to save the lost, those without hope, whether that is hope for eternal life, or hope for life right now.
The apostle Paul once wrote: "If for this life only we have hoped, we are of all people most to be pitied." But I think it's true the other way, as well, "If for eternal life only we have hoped, we are most to be pitied."
Pray for us, as we seek God's vision to address "the Hope gap" in our community, and even among ourselves.
I pray that we, as well, begin to "dream dreams for ministry big enough to know that the results cannot depend on us alone but rather on God."
Part of their vision statement made me think, though: they described their urgency to minister to "unsaved and unchurched people, believing that the heart of Jesus' mission was to seek and save the lost."
You know, we don't talk much about "the lost" in my denomination. There are probably myriad and complicated reasons for this. Maybe it's because these days many of us are reluctant to consign those who believe differently to the fires of hell. That's what it means to be lost, after all. To be consigned to the fires of hell, because you don't know Jesus.
I used to be a missionary, which means it was my work, and my passion, to introduce others to Jesus. I do really think it matters to know Jesus. But somehow I resist (and have always resisted) the next statement: and if you don't, you are eternally lost!
And yet, I do think that it's true: "the heart of Jesus' mission was to seek and to save the lost." And that this is the heart of the church's mission, too.
So, just who are the lost, then?
In my congregation we are preparing a fall community forum. The subject is "The achievement gap" between students of color and white students; more precisely, this gap is between children living in poverty and those who don't. We want to eliminate that gap. Our school district is very diverse, with white students and African American students and Latino students and African students. They are all beautiful -- but they are not all succeeding. And there are some white parents who are, for various reasons, taking their children out of the schools.
We know that this will not be an easy task. Someone from our group said recently that it's not just an achievement gap; it's really a hope gap. Children don't achieve because they don't have hope. People do drugs, get into destructive relationships, commit crimes because they don't have hope. Whole communities give up because they don't have hope.
Who are the lost? People who don't have hope: hope for the next life, of course -- but hope for this life, too, hope that their living makes a difference, hope that they will flourish, that they will have enough to eat, a place to sleep, a job, a reason to live.
The church has lost its way if it forgets that the heart of Jesus' mission was to seek and to save the lost. It doesn't exist simply to inspire itself, to make the people who come to worship "feel better" when they leave. The church exists to seek and to save the lost, those without hope, whether that is hope for eternal life, or hope for life right now.
The apostle Paul once wrote: "If for this life only we have hoped, we are of all people most to be pitied." But I think it's true the other way, as well, "If for eternal life only we have hoped, we are most to be pitied."
Pray for us, as we seek God's vision to address "the Hope gap" in our community, and even among ourselves.
I pray that we, as well, begin to "dream dreams for ministry big enough to know that the results cannot depend on us alone but rather on God."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)