The Sacred Adventure

Summer Break

2011-07-05T11:19:00.000-04:00

I'm going to take a respite from this blog for the remaining weeks of the summer. I plan to jump back in early in September. Enjoy your summer--and I'll see many of you on Sunday mornings at 10 am.

Place Matters

2011-06-15T17:00:00.000-04:00

Much of the New Testament was written with specific places in mind. For example, we know that the Apostle Paul penned most of his letters to Christians in specific localities, places like Corinth, Galatia, Philippi and Rome. Additionally, it is now widely believed among scholars that the four Gospels, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, were originally written to be read and savored by churches in four different locations. Mark, for example, was probably written for the house churches in Rome. Matthew was probably written for the church in Antioch. Similarly, Luke and John were written for particular communities of Christians. 1 and 2 Timothy were written to help Timothy faithfully oversee the church in Ephesus. 1 Peter was distributed to several churches in what is now northern Turkey. I could go on and on, but I think the point is clear. Most of the documents of the New Testament were originally written with specific people in particular places in mind.

You're no doubt wondering, so what? In a word (okay, two words), place matters. For me, the importance of place comes into greater focus when I think about what the New Testament is not. The New Testament is not a bunch of abstract, general truth statements and principles, written randomly with no particular people in mind. I suppose it could have been. Perhaps we could have received a New Testament that is a straightforward list of principles by which we're supposed to live our lives. ("Work hard, eat your vegetables, don't eat yellow snow," that sort of thing.) Instead, what we have in the New Testament are these earthy documents written with particular people in mind, inviting, directing and challenging them to live as a new creation in their particular place.

I know I'm strange, but I find all of this very exciting. This emphasis on place in the New Testament suggests to me that God is not so much interested in forming people who are right about everything (if so, the NT should have looked like a legal document), but rather on forming people who rightly embody the grace of God in their particular communities. In other words, right now, even now, the Spirit is forming people who have the soil of Gratiot County (or wherever you may be as you read this) under their fingernails, people who love their place and work steadfastly for its renewal.

Reflections on a Small Town

2011-06-07T14:23:00.000-04:00

My family and I moved to Alma, Michigan from Phoenix, Arizona in the fall of '99. The contrast between these two locations is, as you can imagine, like night and day (or Democrat and Republican--choose your analogy). Looking back, I think I had a bit of a chip on my shoulder about moving to a small town. I don't want to overstate this. It certainly wasn't as though I ever out and out disliked being in a small town. I did, however, occasionally grouse about the local restaurants and the entertainment options (or, as I would have said, the lack thereof) and I complained about the sparse local newspaper, as it compared with the daily tome I had grown accustomed to in Phoenix. I think a few "Mayberry" jokes slipped off my tongue in those early months. I spent the first year or so pining for the activity and the sunshine of Phoenix.

I make mention of this today because recently I have enjoyed a deep and real sense of gratitude for the opportunities I enjoy living in this small town, amid a cluster of small towns, in Gratiot County, Michigan. In particular, I am thankful for the community I enjoy in this community. I recently ducked in to the local hardware store to purchase a couple of small items. I was warmly greeted--by name--by no less than three of the employees. A day or so later, I enjoyed a brief but enjoyable serendipitous conversation with our mayor, on another day a short but thoughtful exchange with a man I had just met. While out on a run or doing some shopping, waiting for the barber or doing my banking, there is enough time, trust and hospitality in this small town for strangers and friends to welcome one another every day.

I find that this 'public life' adds to the quality of life in ways that are difficult to explain or express. By 'public life' I mean the many, casual connections that we enjoy on an almost daily basis. I won't deny that I occasionally miss a wide variety of options for eating out. And there are certainly days that I miss the excitement of living in a large, metropolitan city. For now, however, I'm content and enjoying life in this small town.

Struggle... Continued

2011-05-31T10:16:00.002-04:00

Inspired by Haeddre's comments on my last post, allow me to lob out the following.

A few years ago, while on sabbatical, I read Muhammad Yunus' book, Banker to the Poor. (Thank you, Paul, for recommending it.) In that book, Yunus described how he eventually responded to the terrible famine that had engulfed Bangladesh in the 1960's. He had begun to realize that while charity was good for providing people with a meal, it did little to provide ongoing, sustainable solutions. He began to use the method we now know as 'micro-finance'--providing very small, weekly loans to women and men to help them start or grow very small businesses that would enable them to support themselves and their families. In the book, Yunus described how he sometimes had to work very hard to convince these terribly poor people that they were capable of starting a small business. He then helped those who were willing to move forward to form in small groups and work together on business plans. Finally, he provided the loans, one at a time, to these small entrepreneurs. The story of micro-finance is now well known. It is estimated that over ten million people around the world have worked their way out of the lowest rungs of poverty using this tool. It is an incredible story.

A couple of things stood out for me when I read Yunus' amazing story. First, in the book he said that he believes that every person is an entrepreneur. Most people simply don't know it yet. I take that to mean that every person has the creativity and capacity to do well for themselves, if and when they discover the motivation and the resources for doing so. Second, I had the impression as I read the book that Yunus is tough as nails. If people did not pay back their loans, they were dropped from the program. They were required to pay back their loans with a small amount of interest. (That is the only way micro-finance can be sustainable as a service to the poor.) Because of his toughness, not in spite of it, this tool has become truly good news for the poor.

The story of Muhammad Yunus and micro-finance is, for me, sort of a parable of the importance of struggle. Each small entrepreneur who has worked her/his way out of poverty has done so through struggle. I'm certain that there was nothing easy about ten million people moving out of poverty. It seems to me that it was precisely because Yunus was unwilling to remove that struggle, but was rather willing to be a resource to them in their struggle, that he has been so amazingly effective at equipping women and men to improve their lives. I believe that his tough and nails work has been and continues to be an incredible expression of love.

Struggle

2011-05-24T15:09:00.000-04:00

A few years ago I read a story about a man who wanted to help a butterfly that was struggling to become free of its cocoon. "I'll ease it's journey into the world," he said to himself, as he found some scissors and carefully cut the butterfly free. To his disappointment, instead of flying away free, the butterfly weakened and eventually died. It seems that the struggle to emerge from its lair is key to the butterfly becoming strong enough to survive.

I've been thinking about struggle lately. (I hope you'll forgive this random topic.) Sometimes, in our efforts to help others, we can actually separate those we wish to help from the sort of struggle they need in order to become more whole. A mother who continues to tie her son's shoes because it eases his struggle may actually slow the child's learning curve. The child needs to struggle in order to learn. A concerned son who continually finishes his aging father's sentences every time dad struggles to find a word may actually contribute to the slowing of dad's mental capacities. Dad needs to struggle in order to keep his mind fit. A teacher who always gives the answers to the students may actually be hindering their education. Students need to struggle with the material in order to learn it.

If I'm honest, I have to admit that too often I am impatient with the struggle of others because of my own anxieties. It's hard for me to see someone I care about struggling, so I jump in with an answer or a solution or a bit of advice. When this happens, it's not love that compels my behavior, but my anxiety about their struggle.

The ministry of Jesus is astonishing in this regard. He seems to have had a very high tolerance for the struggle of those he cared about. Those of us who want a teacher who spells everything out in black and white and either/or answers will be very disappointed with the teaching of Jesus. His words are often dense, so dense that they require struggle in order to hear. "Blessed are the poor in spirit." Huh? "Blessed are the meek." Come again? "The kingdom of God is like a mustard seed..." How so? "Go sell all that you have and give to the poor." Really?

We invent the four spiritual laws. Jesus teaches in parables. We give three point teachings. Jesus gives the beatitudes. I have nothing against the four spiritual laws or three point teachings. I simply wish to say that Jesus lived and taught in such a way that those closest to him had to struggle in order to hear his message. They had to 'lean forward,' as I like to say. It required something of them.

Where I'm going with this: 1) Sometimes I think we all undervalue the importance of struggle. If, as the title of this blog suggests, life can be a sacred adventure, we can be sure that it will involve struggle. Every adventure does. Instead of avoiding struggle, perhaps we can embrace it as a necessary component of growth. 2) It takes discernment to know when love requires us to offer a helping hand to another, as it sometimes certainly does, and when it requires us to be silent or ask a hard question or stand back and allow another to struggle through toward their own growth. How do we know when to offer a hand and when to allow the struggle to occur? Good question. Sometimes I really struggle with that.

Love One Another Deeply...

2011-05-11T15:36:00.000-04:00

I was moved by the following words from First Peter in the Scripture reading in our worship service last Sunday: ""Now that you have purified your souls by your obedience to the truth so that you have genuine mutual love, love one another deeply from the heart." I was reminded of something that Elton Trueblood, the great Quaker writer and thinker, once suggested (and I paraphrase badly now): What the world desperately needs today is small groups of men and women who are dedicated to the experiment of love for one another. Such groups, he suggested, can and must infect the world. There is no greater choice for this challenge, Trueblood concluded, than the church.

Most church goers are well aware of the command of Jesus. It comes to us from the Gospel of John with crystal clarity. "Love one another," our Lord commands. "Even as I have loved you, so you must love one another." My question to you is, how do we do this today? In our busy lives, where we carry on so many commitments, where churches themselves are often living at what Thomas Kelly described as a "frenzied pace of frantic feverishness." How does the busy church and its busy members make room for love to one another--and so fulfill the call of Christ?

Satisfaction

2011-05-03T15:56:00.000-04:00

While out on a run recently, I became aware that the old song "Satisfaction" by the Rolling Stones was running through my mind. You remember the one: "Well I tried and I tried and I tried and I tried, but I can't get no satisfaction..." It didn't take much reflection to realize why that song was with me. It had been a very disappointing day. The sky of intentions with which the day had begun had crashed against the ground of its reality. Several of my expectations for the day had been frustrated. While out for the run, the old song had apparently darted into my mind to give expression to my feelings at the moment: it was a very dissatisfying day.

I know that I'm supposed to critique that song. I'm supposed to say that Mick Jagger and Keith Richard can't get no satisfaction because they are not (by all appearances) men of faith. If they were, they'd be much happier and much more satisfied with life. They'd find delight in the simple things and discover the source of true joy. That's the party line that I'm supposed to repeat. I'll come back to that in a moment, but I actually find the honesty of the chorus to be somewhat refreshing. If we're candid, most of us are disappointed, perhaps more frequently than those of us who are Christians care to admit. We have expectations that aren't met. In fact, I often hear from people who have high expectations of ________ (fill in the blank: their faith, marriage, job, church, lifestyle, possessions etc.) which aren't being met. Very often it seems as though they are grieving the distance between life as they planned it and how it is actually turning out. It is as though they have heard that they could live "happily ever after" and, at some level they believed it. (It probably doesn't help that a multi-billion dollar advertising industry constantly props images before their senses that promise satisfaction.)

I'm thinking these thoughts just a little over a week after Easter Sunday. We celebrated the resurrection of Jesus, and here we are, and everything isn't suddenly better. Relationships still require work--and sometimes, even with work, they fail. Things break down way too quickly. Tornadoes still leave their pernicious paths of destruction. This leads me to say: I think it's very important to remember what Easter is not, as well as what it is. Resurrection is not a promise that life suddenly gets better, all of our expectations will be met, we will live with joy and perfect purpose from this day forward. In fact, it's interesting to note that one of the letters of the New Testament that appeals most forcefully to the resurrection of Jesus, so much so that you could even say that resurrection is just dripping from its pages, is 1 Peter. Read 1 Peter carefully and you'll notice that this witness to resurrection is written to a church in the midst of persecution and suffering. You wouldn't have to tell Peter's readers twice that the resurrection doesn't suddenly make all things right. We live in a fallen world. We ourselves are fallen. We can expect disappointment to be part of the picture.

Easter is not the promise that our lives will be suddenly better. It is, however, the sign that God has overcome the powers of evil that resist God's influence. It is the promise, which faith welcomes, that the suffering love of God that we see in Jesus is the greatest power at work in the world. Its power is restorative, renewing and healing. Resurrection signals that this love of God which suffers with and for us will one day restore the world to God's intentions. It is the sign and promise that we ourselves who entrust ourselves to this transforming love, will be made new and whole.

In the meantime, even while the disappointments of a not-yet whole world are ever about us, our encounters with joy, love, and beauty are hints and promises of what shall be. Understanding them this way, we don't need to try to squeeze the living daylights out of those experiences (have you ever noticed how that never works?), or become discouraged when they are not present to the degree that we want them. Rather, we welcome them, give thanks for them, and embrace them as gifts and promises of what shall be. I find this perspective to be rather satisfying.

Stories of Prayer and Fasting

2011-03-25T17:27:00.000-04:00

I want you to tell your stories! In the coming days and weeks, I encourage you to share on this blog your experiences of how prayer and fasting are impacting you.

As many of you know, during the season of Lent our congregation, along with hundreds of others, is encouraging one another to renew our commitment to live prayerfully and we are also encouraging one another to practice a fast one day each week leading up to Easter. (Please follow this link if you'd like to read more about prayer and fasting and how our congregation is embracing these ancient spiritual disciplines: http://almacog.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/03/prayer-and-fasting.pdf.) I'm writing today to ask you to share your stories. Today and in the weeks to come, I invite you to share your experiences, good and bad, success and failure, on this blog. I'm planning to leave this blog entry standing, rather than write a new entry each week, as I typically do. I'm hopeful that many of you will share your stories, struggles and testimony in this space. (If you wish to remain anonymous that will, of course, be respected.)

A Study in Contrasts

2011-03-15T12:37:00.001-04:00

A study in contrasts: I enjoyed a cup of coffee Monday morning before a beatific vision. I looked out through the back window of our family's home, where the morning sun dominated the sky, geese moved about lazily in the open waters behind my neighbor’s house, two of whom had wandered into our back yard where they were plucking the grass surrounding the raised garden beds. A swan couple peered about majestically from the broader waters of the Pine River. It was simply an extraordinary, exquisite morning. I went to bed Monday night after watching a horrific vision of destruction on the television screen. I watched amateur footage of the tsunami's initial strike in Japan, followed by aerial shots of the aftermath. I also watched footage of a nuclear power plant and heard the commentator speak in serious tones about what a 'meltdown' would mean for Japan and the world.

Two visions, one of unspeakable beauty, one of unutterable tragedy, competing for space in my mind. How to make sense of them? Beauty and tragedy.

For what it's worth, I do not believe the destruction of life and beauty in Japan is God's doing. I beg to differ from any who may be inclined to see the events in Japan as God's judgment. I am persuaded that God loves this creation and wills to renew it, and because God loves this creation and all who are in it, God suffers with and for all who are effected by this tragedy. I trust that we might somehow live close to the heart of God, to carry within ourselves, at one and the same time, a deep and profound appreciation for beauty and a suffering love for the scars created by tragedy.

Prayer and ... Now What's That Word Again?

2011-03-08T15:28:00.000-05:00

On the lighter side...

Those of you who are part of our congregation (First Church of God in Alma) may be aware that we will soon be kicking off a forty day emphasis on prayer and fasting. This weekend I wrote a paper called "Made for More: Reflections on Forty Days of Prayer and Fasting," to explain the purpose and goals of this emphasis. I wrote the first draft of the paper in my very sloppy longhand, which became sloppier and sloppier the longer I wrote. As I finished my first draft, I looked back over the pages and realized that (have I mentioned that my handwriting is sloppy?) most of my small "s's" look more like an "r" than an "s" because I hadn't closed them at the bottom. The upshot is that most of the references to "fast" or "fasting" look more like "fart" or "farting." My handwritten notes appear to include some of the following gems:

"Why are we encouraging the practice of prayer and farting?"
"We embrace farting as an avenue of freedom."
"Farting is costly."
"... a shared day helps us to emphasize the corporate nature of this fart."
And I think my personal favorite is:
"If you are new to farting, or if you haven't done it for a considerable time, I suggest that you begin with a 24 hour fart."

Beehive and Bunhead would surely be proud.

Willfulness and Willingness

2011-03-01T09:47:00.000-05:00

I am more and more persuaded that the way of the sacred adventure is a way of willingness rather than willfulness. Willfulness is that mindset that says, "I will get this done, I will accomplish these goals, if I fall short I will try harder and harder and harder..." Willfulness is an independent attitude. It is the self, by sheer act of will, setting out to accomplish its purposes. To be sure, some persons accomplish much by extraordinary efforts of will. Picture the athlete holding the gold medal and proclaiming, "I've accomplished this with sheer, unadulterated, hard work." Applied to religion, willfulness tries harder and harder to do the right and justify oneself. And again, it should be noted that such persons might very well accomplish a great deal. Some of the most religious people you've ever know might very well be willful people.

That said, I am more and more persuaded that the way of the sacred adventure, the way blazed by Jesus Christ, is the way of willingness. Where willfulness is independent and ever committed to trying harder and harder, willingness is surrendered to a source of life and love greater than oneself. A willing person is convinced that something great and beautiful is already taking place, even before she makes it her business. He believes there is a power operative in the world that is bringing about the good, and his business is to consent to that power and cooperate with it. A willing person is surrendered to the source of life. I use the word 'surrendered' in the hope that we can discard its negative connotations. I have in mind here the kind of surrender the sail experiences in relation to the breeze.

Willingness is not passive. Some of the most active people we've ever heard of--people like Francis of Assisi, Gandhi, Mother Theresa, Martin Luther King--were, I believe, willing persons, surrendered to the source of life. I should note, too, that not all willing persons are known primarily for their religious lives. I think of artists and musicians whose lives and work have expressed something of this surrender.

The Apostle Paul invited us to be willing rather than willful when he repeatedly counseled us to walk not in the flesh, but in the power of the Holy Spirit. The move from willfulness to willingness is a life-long journey, an ongoing process of conversion. It is, I believe, the heart and goal of the Christian journey.

An Ongoing Conversation

2011-02-22T17:26:00.000-05:00

I once heard a story (the source, if I recall correctly, was Peter Rollins) about a pair of rabbis who had a long and passionate disagreement about a certain text of scripture. The two argued about the text, year after year, point and counter-point, but neither ever changed his views. On and on it went until, at last, God decided to settle the debate. "I've heard enough of your arguing," God said to the rabbis, "so I've decided to solve the matter. I'll tell you the correct interpretation of the passage." The rabbis stole a confused glance at one another and then said to the Lord, "Go back to heaven. We're enjoying the conversation."

I love this silly story because it pokes fun of the seriousness with which many of us hold our differences. All too often, a disagreement--whether it be about the interpretation of a text of scripture or the newest political hot button--sends us into conversion mode, where we expend all of our energies in our efforts to convert the other to our point of view. What's troubling, of course, is that where this mindset prevails, the quality of community is diminished. We are pressed into either/or thinking: I'm right and you're wrong, and that's the end of the conversation.

I once knew a couple who had been married for something like 50 years. As my first conversation with them was coming to a close, the wife said, "You know, pastor, we've canceled each other out at the voting booth every year of our marriage." "That's true," her husband chimed in. "Every year on election day I say to my wife, 'There's no sense in you voting today sweetheart, we'll just cancel each other out.' She always says 'Alright dear, I won't if you won't.' And then we both sneak off and do our voting."

I was struck by how playful this husband and wife had remained about their differences over those many years. The differences were significant and each was passionate about their views. Still, they had managed to keep a sense of perspective and respect and their marriage flourished.

Over and again, the Bible tells us that where God is working, human community is formed. It takes courage to be part of community, and to do it well requires the ability to take strong stands, to argue for truth, and to listen carefully and respect the perspectives of the other.

Would anyone care to disagree with that?

Surprisingly Simple Ways Congregations and Groups Can Avoid Adventure

2011-02-15T18:11:00.000-05:00

It does, admittedly, require considerable ingenuity for churches to avoid being on an adventure together. After all, Jesus Christ led his disciples on THE sacred adventure. However, history has shown that if churches and church-related groups are strong-willed enough, they can remain in their comfortable ruts, and avoid adventure altogether. Last week I tossed out some time-tested ways for individuals to avoid the adventure. Today I take up the task of providing suggestions about how groups and churches can do the same.

1. Develop an "us" and "them" mindset. This is crucial. We (the church) are the insiders, and those people out there are, well, I think you get the idea. The "us" and "them" mindset is helpful in several ways. It protects us from the challenge of having to welcome the stranger (and we all know how uncomfortable that is); it helps us to embrace a bit of 'holier than thou' (an insulation from adventure if ever there was one); and it protects us from the gifts of those outside our walls. (We wouldn't want to be challenged by their poets, writers and artists now would we?)

2. Insist on uniformity. If we're to avoid adventure, we simply must all look and sound alike and agree about most everything. If we can develop a 'herd' mentality, we won't have to face the challenge of really listening to persons who differ from us. I'm sure you'll agree that makes for a great deal more comfort.

3. Outlaw all words that tie us to our past, such as 'tradition' and 'ritual.' It is a sad but true fact for those who wish to avoid adventure that the church's history is pregnant with examples of congregations that have stayed remarkable close to the adventure of Jesus. Many of those congregations and their members passed down what they learned of the art of prayer, how to cooperate with the Holy Spirit and how to embrace the rhythms of worship and service. If we can just toss out words like 'tradition' and 'ritual' altogether, we won't have to learn from those folks at all. In fact, we'll soon forget that they ever lived.

4. Become so heavenly minded that we are of no earthly good. The following idea will be extremely challenging, but perhaps someone could find time to cut out all references to God's good creation and our lives in it from the pages of the Bible. If we could do that, we could quickly forget that our lives in this world are important to God. Honestly, there may not be that much left of the Bible after we cut out all references to our lives here in the creation, but the holey Bible that remained (forgive the pun, please) might lack the power to call us to live deeply and well here and now. Take this as your mantra: "Nothing here really matters."

5. Avoid lament. "Lament," as you probably know, is a complaint about our circumstances and lives that is brought before God in prayer. The Psalms contain dozens and dozens of laments, so best to avoid the Psalms. We want to avoid lament because if we learn to bring pain and disappointment to God, it won't be long before we realize that God shares our sufferings with us. From there it's just a short step to realizing that God laments the present state of things in the world. And then--brace yourself--we might find ourselves joining God's protest against the brokenness of the world. And then--prepare to shudder--we might actually find ourselves joining our lives to God's love for the world.

6. If we're to avoid being on the adventure together, we must focus on all things trendy. It's better to stay in touch with today's fads than for churches to listen and think deeply about things like the preaching of Jesus, or learning to pray or serving the least of these. Style is always more important than substance.

7. Let's work very hard to maintain a sharp distinction between the pastors and the rest of our congregations. We'll give them fancy titles like "the clergy" and "the laity." We'll convince the laity that real ministry can only be done by trained professionals. Pretty soon we'll forget that Christianity was, from the very beginning, a movement in which all people were joined to God's project of renewing creation.

8. And finally (only because of lack of time, not because of a lack ideas...), let's forget that the faith of Christians is profoundly hopeful. The resurrection of Jesus promises that God's renewal project which Jesus embodied and proclaimed is loosed on the earth so that one day, in God's time, life will triumph over all forms of death. If you want to avoid adventure, it's best not ever to think about that.

Surprisingly Simple Ways Congregations and Groups Can Avoid Adventure

2011-02-15T14:17:00.000-05:00

It does, admittedly, require considerable creativity for churches to avoid being on an adventure together. After all, Jesus Christ led his disciples on THE sacred adventure. However, history has shown that if churches and church-related groups are strong-willed enough, they can remain in their comfortable ruts, and avoid adventure altogether. Last week I tossed out some time-tested ways for individuals to avoid the adventure. Today I take up the task of providing suggestions about how groups and churches can do the same.

1. Develop an "us" and "them" mindset. This is crucial. We (the church) are the insiders, and those people out there are, well, I think you get the idea. The "us" and "them" mindset is helpful in several ways. It protects us from the challenge of having to welcome the stranger (and we all know how uncomfortable that is); it helps us to embrace a bit of 'holier than thou' (an insulation from adventure if ever there was one); and it protects us from the gifts of those outside our walls. (We wouldn't want to be challenged by their poets, writers and artists now would we?)

2. Outlaw all words that tie us to our past, such as 'tradition' and 'ritual.' It is a sad but true fact for those who wish to avoid adventure that the church's history is pregnant with examples of congregations that have stayed remarkable close to the adventure of Jesus. Many of those congregations and their members passed down what they learned of the art of prayer, how to cooperate with the Holy Spirit and how to embrace the rhythms of worship and service. If we can just toss out words like 'tradition' and 'ritual' altogether, we won't have to learn from those folks at all. In fact, we'll soon forget that they ever lived.

3. Become so heavenly minded that we are of no earthly good. The following idea will be extremely challenging, but perhaps someone could find time to cut out all references to God's good creation and our lives in it from the pages of the Bible. If we could do that, we could quickly forget that our lives in this world are important to God. Honestly, there may not be that much left of the Bible after we cut out all references to our lives here in the creation, but the holey Bible that remained (forgive the pun, please) might lack the power to call us to live deeply and well here and now. Take this as your mantra: "Nothing here really matters."

4. Avoid lament. "Lament," as you probably know, is a complaint about our circumstances and lives that is brought before God in prayer. The Psalms contained dozens and dozens of laments, so best to avoid the Psalms. We want to avoid lament because if we learn to bring pain and disappointment to God, it won't be long before we realize that God shares our sufferings with us. From there it's just a short step to realizing that God laments the present state of things in the world. And then--brace yourself--we might find ourselves joining God's protest against the brokenness of the world. And then--prepare to shudder--we might actually find ourselves joining our lives to God's love for the world.

5. If we're to avoid being on the adventure together, we must focus on all things trendy. It's better to stay in touch with today's fads than for churches to listen and think deeply about things like the preaching of Jesus, or learning to pray or serving the least of these.

6. And finally (only because of lack of time, not because of a lack ideas...), let's work very hard to maintain a sharp distinction between the pastors and the rest of our congregations. Well give them fancy titles like "the clergy" and "the laity." Pretty soon we'll forget that Christianity was, from the very beginning, a movement of all people, in ministry to the world. The sooner we forget that, the better!

Ten Ways to Sabotage Adventure

2011-02-08T14:32:00.000-05:00

Very often I hunger and thirst to embrace life as a sacred adventure, but I've learned that there are hundreds of ways to sabotage that longing. (I don't even have to look to others for help.) Here are ten of my time-tested suggestions for disrupting the call to adventure.

1. Worry a lot about what others think of you. Working hard to manage others' impressions of you is a full-time job and will surely distract you from your own adventure.
2. Bury yourself in noise and activity. In so doing, you never have to listen to the hungering and thirsting of your heart. Keeping the radio in the car tuned to sports talk or news talk is a fabulous strategy. And be sure to respond to every Facebook post and every email.
3. If it is absolutely necessary to pray (best to avoid it, of course), be sure to avoid quieting your soul. (Ignore Psalm 131 at all costs!) Too many people have learned that becoming fully present to God regularly over many months lends itself to becoming less anxious about the affairs of the day and more open to one's sense of call. Dangerous indeed!
4. When reading the Bible (again, best to avoid), focus on getting it right. The key is to read the Bible to prove the Baptists, Lutherans, Orthodox, et. al. wrong. Whatever you do, don't read the Bible as a narrative of which our lives are part.
5. Related to 4, if you get caught up in the narrative of Scripture (sometimes it's bound to happen), put all of your energies into turning it into a system of thought. For example, if you encounter God on a Tuesday morning at 6:16, make it a law that you and others should seek God's face every Tuesday at 6:16. Remember, the law kills the adventure!
6. Guard the split of the sacred and the secular like your life depends on it! Love only Christian music, Christian art and Christian beauty.
7. Remember, the adventure happens after you die.
8. Avoid your neighbor's pain. You have enough of your own. Many people have been dangerously tempted to live adventurously by paying attention to the intersection between their gifts and the world's pain.
9. Know which box you fit in! If you haven't yet taken a temperament analysis, do so right now. Remember, those kind of tests determine who you are. If your box says you're an extrovert, you don't ever have to try to learn how to be alone. And if it says you're an introvert, relax, you don't have to try to be around people. Your box determines you!
10. Remember, old dogs can't learn new tricks. Change is a myth. People don't grow. Life is much easier if you don't try.

Thinking of Egypt and Facebook and Authority

2011-02-01T17:38:00.000-05:00

Earlier this afternoon (Tuesday), BBC News reported that "Egyptian protesters are holding huge rallies in Cairo and other cities as they step up their efforts to force President Hosni Mubarak from power." http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-middle-east-12331520 I hope you've heard the reports and seen some of the images. These events are potentially earthshaking for Egypt and the Middle East. Let's keep the people in these regions in our prayers.

One of the remarkable things about what's happening in Egypt today is that much of the impetus for these events has come from young people who are connecting with one another on Facebook and other social media sites. Instead of moving from the 'top down,' as these things usually do, this uprising is swirling up from the grass roots, much as it did in Tunisia. Once again, we're seeing how the internet makes an entirely different kind of connecting possible.

In her recent book Reframing Hope, author Carol Howard Merritt describes some of the ways that web-based technologies are transforming the ways we think about authority and community. Carol is a pastor in the Washington D.C. area who utilizes web-based tools like blogging (check out her blog, http://tribalchurch.org), Facebook and Twitter to connect with others who are praying and working for the will of God to be done on earth as it is in heaven. She suggests that the grass-roots connecting that the internet makes possible (such as we are seeing today in Egypt) gives expression to a different kind of authority than that which is traditionally associated with churches. Traditionally, authority in churches traveled from the top down. In some churches this meant that the pastor told people what to do, and then they were supposed to do it. In this new paradigm, authority is empowering and generative. Whenever people connect around a powerful story or a great idea, energy and action is generated.

I can't help but think that this 'grass-roots' notion of authority lines up beautifully, in many ways, with the narrative of Jesus. Because Christians have been confessing Jesus as 'Christ' and 'Lord' for some 2,000 years, it's easy to forget that Jesus was a lay-minister, an itinerant preacher who went about Galilee proclaiming to peasants that the reign of God was near. Some who heard him said that he spoke 'with authority'--but they were quick to note that it was not like the authority of the religious leaders. His authority did not come from the top of the religious hierarchy down to the masses, but rather generated and empowered a movement of men, women and children who in turn prayed and worked for God's will to be done on earth as in heaven.

The authority I'm attempting to describe is one that authors us (think of the connection between 'authority' and 'authoring'). It is the authority of the vine that gives life to the branches. It generates possibility and creativity. It empowers people to become more authentic (note, again, the connections between authority/authentic).

As you can see, I'm doing a good deal of thinking about authority these days. I'm trying to imagine what it might look like when this kind of authority takes root in faith communities. I'd love to hear your thoughts about that.

Love and Fear and the Sacred Adventure

2011-01-25T20:38:00.000-05:00

"There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear."

I am growing more and more convinced that there is no greater enemy to the sacred adventure than fear. For some months now I've been doing an experiment in which I've been trying to be more aware of the influence of fear in my life. Each time I notice that my shoulders are soar or my neck is stiff, I try to look 'beneath the surface' to identify why I'm tense. With astonishing frequency, the culprit is fear. The stiffness in my neck points to my fear that I've disappointed someone; the tight shoulders speak to the fear that I'm not accomplishing all that I think I should; the headache exposes the fear that a well-laid plan is not working out; the ache in the stomach speaks of a coming challenge of which I'm afraid. "The issue is in the tissue," someone has said; the various aches and pains are symptoms of fear's pervasive influence.

One of the many challenges related to fear, of course, is that when we're frightened we tend not to think as clearly. Someone I know suffered from test anxiety. Every time she sat down to take a test she became frightened of failure. Because she was afraid, she couldn't think clearly enough to perform well on the test. An ironic loop if ever there was one. When we feel threatened (whether we really are threatened or not), fear narrows our thinking, limits creativity and clouds our decision-making processes.

When religion becomes sick, it becomes another vehicle for fear. I am sometimes astonished at how deeply rooted this is. Legalism is but one powerful expression of religious fear, where the letter of the law dominates all that we do and say. Even powerful practices like prayer, reading scripture and corporate worship can be driven by the powerful fear that we are disappointing God or a significant other if we don't do them. Dogmatism is another expression of fear-based religion. "I'm right and you're wrong and that is the end of the conversation." Here, community is destroyed in the name of being 'right.'

I believe that fear-based religion is to Christian faith what pyrite is to real gold. "Perfect love casts out all fear," St. John wrote to the church of the first century. The ground and foundation of the Christian community is not fear, but love. I wonder what would happen if we regarded all of the powerful practices of the Christian journey-- practices such as prayer, receiving communion, fasting, worship, and service--as a grounding of our lives in love, if each day, we would make an effort to close out distractions for at least a few minutes and do nothing but be fully present to the love of God. It would be difficult, to be sure. There are so many things, often fear-based, that demand our attention. I suspect, however, that if we could regularly make space to be fully present to the love of God, we would find that there is no room in love for fear and that the freedom, creativity and courage that are requisite to the sacred adventure are to be found there.

2011-01-18T17:32:00.000-05:00

I'm mulling over this little tidbit today:

I hear that Rabbi Akiva is said to have uttered something like the following.

"In the time to come, God will not ask me, Why were you not more like Moses or Elijah or Jeremiah?' In the time to come, God will ask me, 'Why were you not more Akiva?'"

One of the most liberating questions anyone ever put to me was the following: "Why don't you stop trying to be a pastor whose name happens to be Steve? Why don't you put your energies into being Steve, who happens to be a pastor?" (Thank you, Brant)

It's Ironic

2011-01-11T16:53:00.000-05:00

It is supremely ironic that many of us become anxious about the faith of our loved ones. I've detected this in myself many times, and I've observed it in others. Moms and dads worry about whether or not their children will entrust their lives to Christ, wives become anxious for their husbands (and husbands for their wives), and pastors worry about the faith of their congregation's members. When this is so, we tend to speak in loud tones, to lecture, plead, and even, on occasion, manipulate our loved ones to become believers, or to become better believers. But here is the irony. Faith is, as the New Testament reminds us repeatedly, a non-anxious way of being. To have faith in God is to trust God to meet our daily needs (see Mt 6) and to entrust our worries to God through prayer, so that the "peace that passes understanding" will guard our hearts and minds. Faith and trust are inseparable; faith and anxiety are oil and water. To become anxious about the faith (or lack thereof) of another person is a faithless act. It takes the responsibility for a loved one's faith upon one's self, as though God is not! The alternative to being anxious about the faith of those I love is simple, but challenging. Each of us is called to bear witness to our faith to others, including our loved ones, and then to trust God with the outcomes. To bear witness is to speak of that which I have seen, heard, experienced to be true. It is a far different thing to bear witness to my faith than it is to anxiously seek to impress it upon another. In the former case, I am planting seeds and trusting God. In the latter case, I'm lecturing and manipulating and acting as though I am God.

Productivity and Fecundity

2011-01-04T18:02:00.000-05:00

Aided by some very nice reading (thank you Henri Nouwen), I'm thinking today about the difference between productivity and fecundity. If you're not familiar with the word (I was not), fecundity has to do with being fruitful, bountiful, prolific. While productivity, in the way that it is commonly used, could be thought of as a quantitative and technical category (one's productivity is equal to how much one has produced, and how efficiently one has produced it), fecundity is a qualitative and organic category. A human who is productive accomplishes much; a person who is fecund is open and receptive to life in ways that allow her to be life-giving.

It seems to me that the distinction between productivity and fecundity is an important one for people on a sacred adventure. I don't mean in any way to belittle the importance of productivity. When the curtains of the day are drawing to a close and I reflect on the day just lived, it's rewarding to look back and note what I've accomplished. Businesses need to be productive, as do governments and churches. I'd rather work with a person who is productive than one who is not. It seems to me, however, that the importance of productivity is often blow terribly out of proportion. In the worst sort of 'works righteousness,' where productivity is the most important thing, we judge people on the basis of how much they accomplish. An unfettered quest for productivity can, as we have so often seen, easily overlook the human dimension of ours and others' lives. How many people are forgotten, overlooked or used in the inexorable push to be more productive?

Fecundity, on the other hand, is a profoundly organic category. Remember, a fecund person is open to life in ways that make him life-giving. A fecund person will accomplish much, but not necessarily in ways the world would describe as productive. One of my personal favorite examples is that of the late Henri Nouwen. In the later chapters of his life, Father Nouwen left the university, where he enjoyed an important teaching post, to live and work in a home for mentally handicapped adults. By the standards of productivity, his career move was foolish. He left behind honors and prestige to embrace this simple way of living in community with the 'poor in spirit.' But Father Nouwen wrote deeply and thoughtfully about the impact of that career move on himself and others. His emerging clarity about life in the Spirit, about which he wrote so beautifully, has inspired thousands of readers. He set an example and offered an invitation to be more fully human in a highly technological world. A fecund life.

We heard a beautiful sermon this last Sunday (thank you, Paul!) in which we were reminded of those who are like trees, planted by streams of water, which yield their fruit in season (Psalm 1). Jesus taught his disciples that those who abide in him as a branch abides in the vine will bear much fruit. Here are two Biblical invitations (among dozens) to a fecund life.

New Year

2010-12-28T17:02:00.000-05:00

I am grateful for the near arrival of the new year and the sense of fresh beginnings that comes with it. I realize that the new year is a contrived thing. It is, after all, just the tick of a clock. Still, I find myself thinking of new goals and new possibilities for the new year. It is, I believe, a profound spiritual truth that we do not have to continue to be what we have been, to do what we have been doing, or to think as we have been thinking. There is the possibility of newness and fresh creativity in this present moment!

A Personal Credo at Christmastime

2010-12-21T18:10:00.000-05:00

I believe in the one who was wrapped in rags and laid in a manger. Because of him, I believe that God is love and there is real hope for this world. I believe that the manger foretells the sort of life he was to live--pressed out of the places you might expect to find one who reigns ("no room") and welcomed in the places frequented by the poor, the blind, the crippled and the lame. I believe that his life was an unbroken narrative of protest and praise: protest against every power, attitude, spirit, and act that diminishes the beauty of human beings; and praise because of the power of God which he himself embodied and that is at work in the world to bring renewal and healing. I believe that the manger foretells the cross. These two are bookends around his life, one a symbol of his humble birth, the other a reminder of his lowly death. I believe that all that is worst about our world is disclosed by that cross: it is nothing less than the revelation of our world's violent resistance to justice, mercy and love. And I believe that what is best in our world is revealed by that cross: the crucified one transforms hatred into love, judgment into grace, despair into hope. On one side of the cross we hear the worst: "Crucify him!" and on the other side of the cross we hear the best, "Father, forgive them..." I believe that today all humans must decide on which side of that cross they will stand. Because of the manger and the cross, those two bookends of the life, I believe what John wrote, "For God so loved the world..." I believe that death could not hold him, that the power of God which he made known in humble love is the power that holds the future. I believe that the power of resurrection is at work in our world today, bringing renewal and hope. I believe that there is a community of believers, men, women and children, in whom his Spirit dwells and who are the 'firstfruits' of God's renewal work--and that they must let their lights shine, no matter how dark the day! And I believe that one day, one beautiful day, the last sigh of sorrow will have been uttered,the last war will have been fought, the last tear will have been cried, and the kind of love that his whole life revealed will bind us together. Shalom. I believe in the one who was wrapped in rags and laid in a manger. Because of him, I believe that God is love and there is real hope for this world.

Advent and Disappointment

2010-12-14T16:16:00.000-05:00

"This year, give them what they want for Christmas."

Each year I marvel, at least once, at the audacity of the advertisers during the Christmas season. The loser this year, in my estimation, is the commercial that compels us to give our loved ones what they want, followed by visual images of (mostly) children laughing and smiling as they open their presents. The narrator of this particular commercial manages to sprinkle in the word "joy" about a half-dozen times. Apparently, the only thing that is required of us who would bring joy to our loved ones is to buy them the stuff they want this year.

I admit it, I'm offended. I'm offended that the profound and powerful word "joy" has been so easily co-opted by an industry that stands to gain much if we believe their story. I'm offended that the visual images portrayed on the commercials raise expectations to an impossible level. I'm offended by the very notion that joy and more stuff are somehow intrinsically related. (What is the message here to those who cannot afford all that stuff?) I'm offended that many unsuspecting souls who believe the story of the advertisers will spend themselves into oblivion. In short, I'm offended that a word with rich and powerful resonance in the Christian story--joy-- is used in manipulative ways for self-serving ends.

The story of Advent grants a necessary and honest critique of the idealized American Christmas. If the dreamy Christmas the advertisers want to give us (and we are so quick to believe) is one of realized joy, the story of Advent speaks of joy that comes. That's an extraordinarily important difference. The idealized version of Christmas promises joy here and now, if you simply meet the right requirements. Advent reminds us that we can expect visitations of joy here and again as hints and promises of the joy that is to come. The first Advent of Jesus opens our hearts and minds to the visitation of joy, to be sure. Our encounter with the love of God, poured out in Jesus, cannot help but bring with it occasions of deep and profound delight. But just as the healing ministry of Jesus was a promise and sign of that healing which will come to our world on that great and beautiful day, so our experiences of joy today point to the "everlasting joy" that will be upon our heads (Isaiah 35:10) at the next Advent of the the Christ.

I go on a bit long in this blog today because I believe that our Americanized version of Christmas sets us up for disappointment, while the Advent story gives us resources for becoming courageous in the midst of disappointment. The one says"you can have it all now"--and fails to deliver, while the other reminds that here in the time in which we are living between the first and the second Advent we can expect much heartache and pain, but the delightful visits of joy are portents of the everlasting joy that will come when, at last, the will of God is done on earth as it is in heaven. Advent invites me to live hopefully, to pray unceasingly and to work fearlessly toward that day.

O Holy NIght

2010-12-07T17:57:00.000-05:00

Every year on Christmas eve our congregation sings the hymn. We sang it in the church I grew up in, too--or perhaps I should say that it was sung on our behalf. Every year, Christmas eve, Mrs. Dobbins came to the front of the darkened sanctuary, the pianist played the introduction and everyone knew what was coming. It never grew old, at least not to me. Her powerful soprano voice lifted our congregation up and beyond the rafters:

O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining,

It is the night of our dear Saviour's birth.

For me personally, there is no text that speaks more powerfully to the meaning of Advent. The next line describes the personal impact of the first arrival of Jesus. Notice, the author appeared to believe that it is our value as human beings that is illumined by the arrival of Jesus.

Long lay the world in sin and error pining.

Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.

The next line lays out the hope we embrace in the second Advent, the return of Jesus. The birth of Jesus lifts the eyes to the horizon:

A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,

For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.

A later verse captures the new possibilities in our living as a result of the first and second Advent of Christ. Here it becomes clear that the author believed that all who believe in God through Jesus are granted a new vocation:

Truly He taught us to love one another.

His law is love and His gospel is peace.

Chains shall he break, for the slave is our brother.

And in His name all oppression shall cease.

The following is the entire text of this magnificent hymn, as I've found it at this site: http://www.carols.org.uk/ba32-o-holy-night.htm (Bear in mind that this is a translation, so there may be minor discrepancies with the version with which you are most familiar.) Read it through. These words leave me almost speechless. I'd love to hear where they impact you.

O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Saviour's birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining.
Till He appeared and the Spirit felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!
O night divine, the night when Christ was born;
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!

Led by the light of faith serenely beaming,
With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand.
O'er the world a star is sweetly gleaming,
Now come the wisemen from out of the Orient land.
The King of kings lay thus lowly manger;
In all our trials born to be our friends.
He knows our need, our weakness is no stranger,
Behold your King! Before him lowly bend!
Behold your King! Before him lowly bend!

Truly He taught us to love one another,
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother.
And in his name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
With all our hearts we praise His holy name.
Christ is the Lord! Then ever, ever praise we,
His power and glory ever more proclaim!
His power and glory ever more proclaim!

Truly He taught us to love one another,
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother.
And in his name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
With all our hearts we praise His holy name.
Christ is the Lord! Then ever, ever praise we,
His power and glory ever more proclaim!
His power and glory ever more proclaim!

O Holy Night Lyrics Christmas Carol Lyrics

The Great Disconnect

2010-12-01T12:04:00.000-05:00

In a New World we shall sing;

Not, as we once believed,

A wispy home far away,

But here, on this firm rock.

I heard about a pastor who, many years ago, interviewed members of his congregation. He asked each participant, "What do you think God is doing on Sunday?" He then asked the same question regarding the remaining days of the week. As the interviews unfolded, the pastor began to notice a trend. Many members of the congregation were able to communicate what they believed God was up to on Sunday (meeting with the church gathered in worship) and sometimes on Wednesday (meeting with those gathered for Wednesday night prayer meeting), but were hard-pressed to describe what God might be doing on the remaining days of the week.

That story is a rather rough example of what I call "The Great Disconnect." I'm not just thinking here of people who don't take their religion very seriously, the so called "church hypocrites." I'm speaking of many of us for whom faith is a passionate concern. Many seem to find it difficult to connect spirituality with the earthy endeavors of every day. The 'great disconnect' can sing passionately and enthusiastically on Sunday, and then have no sense at all of how faith is connected to the rest of life. I don't say this condescendingly or judgmentally. It is too often my own experience. How does paying the bills, emptying the trash, changing diapers, fixing the leaky faucet, etc. connect with a sacred adventure?

It is precisely because of this great disconnect that the theme of worship during the season of Advent is, I believe, particularly important. Our worship during Advent is organized around the theme of hope for this world. As you read the Advent Scripture readings, I trust that you'll listen to how earthy they are. The hope that we embrace during Advent is hope for this world. In the passage we'll be looking at this coming Sunday, Isaiah describes that day when "the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea." How exactly, we might ask, does the water cover the sea? The water is the sea. Exactly. The knowledge of the Lord will cover the earth like that.

Remember that this is a vision of hope for this earth. If the end of all things is a renewed heaven and a renewed earth, then we don't have two different realities--an earthy reality and a heavenly one. We rather have this hope that one day the knowledge of God will so overlap and penetrate the earth that God's will shall be done on earth as it is in heaven. Today, each day, Sunday through Saturday, we pray and labor toward that end.

Advent Hope

2010-11-23T14:15:00.000-05:00

This coming Sunday, November 28, is (incredibly) the first Sunday of Advent. Each year at this time, my thinking naturally turns to the theme of hope. (One of the many things I appreciate about the church calendar is that it brings the church, again and again, to themes of the sacred journey that are absolutely crucial. Here, in the weeks leading to the celebration of the birth of Jesus, we naturally turn to the theme of hope.)

In a delightful book called A Door Set Open, Grounding Change in Mission and Hope, author Peter Steinke contends that we today must be prepared to do battle against three great temptations: denial, despair and magic. Denial is the lure to close our eyes to the realities of living in a fallen world, to pretend that all is well when we know full well that it is not. Denial fails to see the need for change (whether personal or corporate), even when the need is compelling. Despair is, in some ways, the opposite of denial. It sees the overwhelming realities of living in a fallen world and is suffocated by them. Despair is the loss of courage in the face of challenge. Magic is the belief that there are remedies and secret formulas that offer a quick fix for what ails us. "Sorcerers," Steinke writes, "have a habit of showing up in down times (pg 40)."

Steinke contends (and I agree) that denial, despair and magical thinking are working overtime these days. What is desperately needed is a renewed grounding of our lives in hope. While magic looks for a quick fix to our personal trials and to the enormous challenges of our world, hope is rooted in the slow, patient power of God. Hope remembers that God is the one who makes something out of nothing. Hope remembers the God who brings the gift of life to the womb of the barren Sarai, the gift of freedom to the enslaved children of Israel, the gift of return to the exiled Jews, the gift of new life to disciples who are bereft of their crucified Lord. Advent hope invites us to organize our thinking and our worship around the promise that the one who comes to us on Christmas morning will indeed finish the good work which he started.

Invictus

2010-11-17T11:35:00.000-05:00

This week I watched a wonderful movie, Invictus, starring Morgan Freeman as Nelson Mandela and Matt Damon as the captain of the South African rugby team. This is a powerful story, beautifully told. According to the film, one of Mandela's sources of inspiration during his 27 years in prison was the short poem Invicutus by the English poet William Ernest Henley. I hear this poem as a call to courage and to be true to one's self. I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

The Perfectionist

2010-11-10T09:06:00.000-05:00

I'm beginning to wonder, is there any greater obstacle to embracing life as a sacred adventure than the perfectionist within?

The perfectionist is confident for a season, setting out on the journey with an almost arrogant certainty, but at the first hint of his weakness or failure he laments, “I can’t do it. I’m not able. I’m not worthy or gifted or smart or committed or tenacious. Look, look at my pathetic track record!”

It is the perfectionist in her perfectionism who is the problem, not her gifts or track record or unworthiness. At the first hint of her weakness, she is doomed. If only she could draw back, playfully of course, and welcome her own failures: “Of course I’m not able or worthy or gifted or smart,” she might say laughingly. “I will rejoice all the more in my weaknesses, for in my weaknesses another is made strong!”

When he loses nerve (because he sees his failure or weakness), the perfectionist is quickly overwhelmed. He hears the stories of those doing good work and he is buried by his sense of inadequacy, becomes more despairing because of his weakness, pulls back more fervently into the ruts of functioning in which he feels most proficient, or finds ways to judge those who are more 'successful.' If only he can learn to laugh at himself and act upon that which his clearest and most prayerful thinking compels him to do. Laugh and act, silly perfectionist!

How might the journey look different if the perfectionist can learn the way of surrender to the empowering Spirit rather than the way of willfulness (i.e., trying harder)?

The Jesus Prayer

2010-11-02T12:25:00.000-04:00

All of us need some 'tools' along the sacred journey--the hiking boots that guard against the cold, the compass that guides our direction, the map that keeps us on the way. One of the 'tools' that I've found to be very helpful at various times is "The Jesus Prayer." This simple prayer is ancient. It comes from the Eastern Orthodox Church. While much of our praying tends to be directed 'out'--we bring our praise and petition to God out there (and appropriately so), the Jesus Prayer is directed 'in.' It is a descending down into the presence of Christ within us. The purpose of this prayer is to help us embrace and rest in the one who is the source of life.

This last Sunday I spoke about our 'programs for happiness,' a phrase I've borrowed from Thomas Keating. Our programs for happiness are the many ways we attempt to meet our needs for security, affection and control. In a sense, we all become addicted to our programs for happiness and our tendency is to try harder and harder to get our needs met. Last Sunday I described this as 'willful' living. An alternative to 'willful' living is 'surrendered' living. Here, rather than trying harder and harder (even using religious means) to meet our deepest needs, we surrender to the source of life, Christ himself abiding in and with us. The Jesus Prayer is a simple tool to help us surrender to Christ, the source of life.

The actual practice of "The Jesus Prayer" is uncomplicated. I might suggest that you begin by assuming a comfortable posture in a reasonably quiet place. You may wish to close your eyes in order to shut out distractions. Then, in rhythm with your breathing, whisper these words:

Lord Jesus Christ

Son of God

Have Mercy on Me

A Sinner

Repeat these words over and over again, and as you do, allow yourself to descend into the presence of Christ with you. As you continue, you may want to simplify the prayer even more, returning to the single word, "Jesus." If you should become distracted, your mind flitting from thing to thing, just return very gently to the prayer.

You will no-doubt recognize that this prayer is taken from the prayer of the tax collector in Jesus' beautiful parable about the tax collector and the Pharisee in Luke 18:9-14. This is not a 'worm prayer,' where we crawl before God like worthless worms. It is rather a humble prayer in which we open our hearts and lives to unconditional love.

One of the beauties of "The Jesus Prayer" is that it can be offered any time, day or night. (I suggest that you keep your eyes open if you're driving the car, though.) When you become aware that you're anxious, or for some reason you're not thinking clearly, you can return to this prayer, offer it over and over under your breath, and 'sink' into the presence of Christ. This is what I like to call a 'recess prayer.' In the many recesses during the day, those moments when you're walking from the car to the grocery store, when you've finished one item on the 'to-do' list and are preparing for the next, or during the drive to or from work, you can employ the Jesus Prayer as part of your communion with God.

The Jesus Prayer is a wonderful tool for the sacred adventure. I'd love for you to give it a try and then share your experience with the rest of us.

One quick note about this blog: I originally indicated that it would be my intention to write and send this blog on Monday. I'm finding that almost impossible, so from here on (until I change my mind!) I'll make every effort to write on Tuesday.

Question of the Week

2010-10-26T13:21:00.000-04:00

How would you describe adventurous living? How do you distinguish adventurous living from reckless living? Please log on and share your thoughts.

Thinking.... Now There's a Thought

2010-10-19T06:42:00.000-04:00

I've long been amazed at what can happen when groups can enter that creative space called 'brainstorming.' On many occasions, I've been part of groups that get stuck with a decision or an idea. Somehow, the group begins to brainstorm. One idea begets another. Group members become free to lob out their ideas, regardless of how silly they might be. Very often laughter is part of the process; it becomes playful, creative and, very often, effective.

I believe there's a sort of a 'personal brainstorming' that's a required discipline for folks who would live adventurously. The personal space--I like the word 'solitude'--helps me to step outside of the expectations of others, the noise of the crowd, the 'tyranny of the urgent,' to think, really think, about my life, my direction, my deep longings, what I really want. I like the story about the journalist whose editor required her to do a human interest piece. Uncertain what to do, she sought out people who would be willing to answer three questions. Her first question was, "What do you want?" Folks would often give casual, surface kinds of answers. She then asked her second question: "What do you want?" Responses often became more thoughtful, more genuine. She would then ask, for the third time, "What do you want?" She reported that her threefold repetition of the question often had the effect of helping people get in touch with their deep longings and their creative ideas for their lives.

I wonder what might happen if a few of us could create space in our lives to think prayerfully about them. Perhaps we would become more aware of a sense of calling, vocation, life goals that are worthy of our best efforts. Perhaps we would find the strength to pursue those dreams, even when the desire for comfort, approval or even the expectations of others would pull us back. If, as I believe, God is a generative God, creating possibility, inspiring creativity and imagination, creating space for prayerful thought might just be one of the most important things you or I could do this week, or any other.

An Open Future

2010-10-12T11:45:00.000-04:00

One of my pet peeves is when I hear people say of one who has died, "It must have been her time." I understand that there is some comfort in that thought. After all, if I believe that God has numbered my days, or the days of my loved ones, so that even the day and the time of death is pre-determined, something of the fear-factor of life is diminished. I can make my decisions, even risky ones, and say, "Well, I guess if it's my time, it's my time."

What troubles me about the 'it must have been her time' mindset is that it assumes that the future is already determined, set in stone and nothing will change it. Again, I understand how that thought can bring comfort. The problem, in my view, is that this mindset robs us of one of the richest and most beautiful gifts of Christian spirituality, namely, that we are partners with God in shaping the future. This is seen again and again in the stories of the Bible. One of my favorites is the story of Jonah, where Jonah reluctantly agrees to go preach the message of God's judgment of the people of Nineveh. When the inhabitants of that great city repent of their evil ways, we are told that "God changed his mind (!!!)" about the judgment God had announced. The pagan people of Nineveh turned their lives toward God in such a way that they changed the future!

I believe that the future is open, and that gives a great sense of meaning and responsibility for how I live out my days. I believe that we can face the future with hope. Jesus proclaimed that the time of God's reign has drawn near. His resurrection signals to us that the power of life has swallowed up the power of death. God's renewal power is let loose in the world, even now, even in this moment as I write, and you read. In very broad strokes, it seems to me, we can say that God's work of renewal will win the day. We can imagine that day even now. Indeed, I believe we must imagine that day even now. The book of Revelation says that on that day God will say, "Behold, I make all things new"--the completion of God's renewal project!

That said, I believe that the the hopeful future is only painted in broad strokes. Much is left to be determined. We are partners with God in the shaping of the future. Our decisions really matter. If we wish, we can, individually and collectively, resist the power of renewal all the way to the grave. We can hasten our death or prolong it by the choices we make. We can live before we die, or not. The most horrific events in human history do not happen because God has willed them (think of the Holocaust, the contemporary tragedy in Darfur), but because humans, individually and collectively, resist God's renewing power unto the worst imaginable ends. On the other hand, we can partner with God, give ourselves to God's resurrection power, join ourselves to God's healing project, and contribute to the beauty which God is begetting in the creation. Such, it seems to me, is the calling of the sacred adventure.

Ten Things.... Adventurous People

2010-10-05T09:54:00.001-04:00

I'm working on a list of ten things I think adventurous people must be able to do. Here's a first draft. I'd love to hear your 'ten things' as well.

1. Laugh at yourself.
2. Love deeply
3. Risk failing
4. Be decisive
5. Change your mind
6. Disappoint others (by being true to yourself)
7. Imagine a better world
8. Live prayerfully
9. Work hard
10. Let go

God's Adventure

2010-09-28T11:53:00.001-04:00

Does the title of this week's blog--"God's Adventure"--strike you at all as strange? It seems to me that many people embrace an idea of a god who is anything but adventurous. Their god is a rule-giver, a guardian of the status-quo, the distant judge. This vision of god impresses me as being more controlling than adventurous. When I contrast the rule-giver/guardian/distant judge vision with the life and ministry of Jesus, it helps me to appreciate why his life was so revolutionary. Jesus came proclaiming that the kingdom of God--the time of God's reign-- has drawn near. On the cross (as through his entire ministry) he embodied God's vulnerability. In resurrection, the work of renewal was let loose right here in this world. All of this has the aroma of adventure!

It should not be supposed that God's adventure is captured only in the ministry of Jesus--far from it! Think of the adventure that is involved in creation itself, in God's call of a nation named Israel , in the guidance granted mercifully to them in the gift of the law. Think of the adventure of God as it is expressed in Isaiah 43:

Forget the former thing;

Do not dwell on the past.

See, I am doing a new thing!

Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?

I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland.

In the story of Scripture, I see a narrative of an adventurous God--a narrative in which God becomes vulnerable to our world's pain and leads us forward in hope. This, it seems to me, is the ground of our call to live our lives as a sacred adventure. We worship an adventurous creator who calls us to live adventurously.

The Sacred... And Jazz

2010-09-20T11:21:00.000-04:00

First, a disclaimer. I know next to nothing about jazz. I am not a musician. I can't describe with any precision what makes jazz different from other forms of music. All I can say with any certainty is that, well, I like it. Miles Davis. John Coltrane. Good stuff.

I'm thinking about jazz today because I just read the responses to the last post and it strikes me that jazz might be a metaphor for the coming together of the sacred and playfulness that each of us was trying to describe. What is apparent to me, a lay listener, is that good jazz performers are exceedingly serious about their art. A piece by Lionel Loueke is playing softly in the background as I write (thanks to Pandora) and I cannot help but be aware that years of preparation and practice stand behind this piece. It is carefully crafted. It's quite clear that every musician knows the score. And yet, at the very same time, the music darts and moves in ways that compel me to suspect that it is astonishingly impromptu and free.

I want to compose a life-in-community that is like that: serious, in the sense that it really matters, it's important, it's sacred; and playful in the sense that it is creative, free and always open to the gift of the present moment. And I want to be part of faith community that is like that: serious in that we "know the score" of our Scriptures and we seek to live within the story it tells because it really matters, it's important, it's sacred; and playful in that we give ourselves to the wind of the Spirit, who blows this way and that and takes us to places that our five-year strategies could not have imagined. Perhaps there is more of art than precision to the sacred adventure.

Sacred Playfulness

2010-09-13T10:49:00.001-04:00

"Rejoice with me; I have found my lost coin."
Luke 15:9

I thought long and hard about what I wanted to name this blog before I settled on "The Sacred Adventure." Although I like this theme very much, I was a bit concerned with the word "sacred." For many, this word seems to evoke ideas of something that is very serious. Describe something as a "sacred task" and the impression is given that it is something about which you absolutely must not fail, something to which you must give your most serious attention. For many, the practice of religion is profoundly serious.

The parable of the lost coin, one of the most familiar of the parables of Jesus, suggests to me a different possibility. After her ardent search, the woman in the parable exclaims to her friends and neighbors, "Rejoice with me; I have found my lost coin!' I believe the faith of Christians embraces, at its very center, the joy of God in finding us. I also believe that where this is so, we are free to be a great deal more playful in our response to God, to one another, to the world. I don't mean to suggest for even one second that our faith is frivolous. I do mean to say that when we enter into the joy of God over finding us, we are free to become more creative, to brainstorm new possibilities for our lives, to dream new dreams.

I have observed the phenomenon at work many times in groups of people: When a group, whether a family, a committee, a Bible study, a class or a church is overly serious, it sees very few possibilities. What was done yesterday must be done today and tomorrow. The group is stuck in its own ruts. When persons in a group become more playful, on the other hand, the process of brainstorming is let loose, imagination is generated, the group is free to look out and beyond to new horizons, new possibilities, a new day. What if God's action upon us is a generative action, a power that frees us to be more creative, playful and imaginative? It seems to me that such a thing is no stretch to children who participate in God's joy over finding them.

New Dreams

2010-09-06T04:00:00.019-04:00

"We need new dreams tonight."
U2, from their 1987 single, "In God's Country"

Welcome to the Sacred Adventure: A Blog Exploring Christian Spirituality and Adventurous Living. Because this is my first post under this title, I'm going to ask you to set aside five to ten minutes to read this post in its entirety. This will probably be the longest blog entry I will make. I think you'll understand as you read along why I need a little extra space today.

This blog will explore something that has become a deep concern of mine, best expressed, I believe, in a question: What is required of us to live our lives as a sacred adventure?

The last two words in the preceding question are carefully chosen. The word "sacred" suggests to me something that is rooted, filled with mystery, and profoundly important. "Adventure" implies a journey, fraught with risk, requiring courage and discernment. Together, these two words--sacred and adventure--speak to what I think our lives can be and are called to be. As the title of the blog suggests, I will be drawing (deeply, I hope) from the well of Christian spirituality as the primary source for my thinking and writing. This is not to suggest, however, that this blog will always (or even usually) be overtly religious. I hope to draw from the world of sport and entertainment, from the writings of poets and novelists, from my journal writings and the Comics page, and, yes, from the lyrics of rock music. I hope this blog will be playful, curious and thoughtful. I also hope that it will be a conversation. I believe that the sacred adventure can only be undertaken in community. That's where you fit in! I hope that you will lob your thoughts into the discussion from time to time, ask your questions, stir the waters--and let's see where this conversation might take us.

My plan will be to post a blog each Monday morning. Then, as the week progresses, I'll attempt to respond (as I'm able) to some of what you've written. Some Mondays I may write longer posts, at other times very brief ones and sometimes I'll just ask a question. I'll try to mix it up and keep things interesting.

Allow me to begin my sharing a recent experience. Several months ago, while running the dirt trail not far from my house and listening to my I Pod, I heard the five words quoted at the top of this post from U2's song "in God's Country." I had heard these words dozens of times before, but somehow this day I heard them. "We need new dreams tonight." What happened to me next was strange and unsettling. As those five words registered in my mind, I heard another sound, something emerging from within me, a sound that I can only describe as a groan. It was as involuntary and immediate as a knee-jerk, and it nearly stopped me in my tracks. Those five simple words had connected with a longing in me, a longing I did not even know I had until that moment. The groan seemed to say, "Yes! We do need new dreams tonight! I need new dreams tonight. I need new dreams for my life, for my relationships, for the world in which I live. My dreams are old and boring and limp, like a balloon, emptied of air. I need new dreams to empower me to love more deeply and live more vibrantly. Yes, yes, we do need, I do need new dreams tonight!" All of that, and much more, expressed as a groan.

The experience was disturbing. I'm a 51 year old man, a husband and a father, the pastor of a faith community in central Michigan, a self-described follower of Jesus. The pursuit of Christian spirituality has been a passionate and consistent theme of my life for more that three decades. I came to faith at a time when it was often said that "Jesus is the answer." In those early days of my journey, I believed that to embrace faith was to say good-bye to longing, and to embrace contentment. And yet here I was, thirty-plus years later, wending along the dirt road between the corn fields behind my house, hearing a groan emerge from my soul that expressed my longing for more.

The U2 moment that I've just described has brought into sharp focus some ideas I've been considering for several years. While I'll be the first to say that a life centered in God does, very often in my experience, grant a sense of being deeply and profoundly at home, I believe there is another side of Christian spirituality, often overlooked and under-thought: God is also the source of longing, of yearning, of groaning. The Apostle Paul suggests as much in Romans and Galatians. To be united with God is to embrace God's joy, but it is also to embrace God's suffering, God's groaning for the world. Could it be that the groan I encountered between the cornfields was simply an encounter with the love of God?

I decided to recount this story in this, the first Sacred Adventure blog, because I suspect that living our lives as a sacred adventure begins with longing. It begins with a longing that our lives might somehow be different and better, that our relationships can be truer, that our world can be more whole. I don't think there has been nearly enough said in our churches about the importance of this longing, this groan. (I have heard many groans in churches, usually during the sermon, but that's a different thing altogether.) I fear that in our efforts to point people to Christian faith as "what works," we have given the impression that Jesus is like the aspirin you take to calm the headache. He fixes all, so that we can get on with our better lives. But could it be that Jesus the risen one also wishes to evoke in us his groan, his groan that compels us to live differently, to protest all that is sickening and ugly about our world, his groan that compels us to long for more. My hunch is that there can be no sacred adventure unless we have the courage and freedom to listen to the groan, and then, dream new dreams.

New Blog

2010-08-30T12:16:00.000-04:00

I'm taking a temporary vacation from this blog. Please check back on September 6th when I'll be launching a new blog called, "The Sacred Adventure."

A Franciscan Benediction

2010-05-21T13:18:00.003-04:00

May God bless you with discomfort
at easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships,
so that you may live deep within your heart.

May God bless you with anger
at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people
so that you may work for justice, freedom, and peace.

May God bless you with tears
to shed for those who suffer from pain, rejection, starvation, and war,
so that you may reach out your hand to comfort them and turn their pain into joy.

And may God bless you with enough foolishness
to believe that you can make a difference in the world,
so that you can do what others claim cannot be done to bring justice
and kindness to all our children and the poor. Amen.

If, Rudyard Kipling

2010-04-09T17:49:00.004-04:00

One of my all-time favorite poems. I'd love to hear your thoughts...

IF

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!
--Rudyard Kipling

Broken Jesus Everywhere

2010-03-26T16:32:00.003-04:00

One of the reasons I believe that the season of worship called 'Lent' is vitally important is that during Lent we must confront our own idolatrous ideas about God. In Lent, we pay special attention to the cross. To some, that may sound sadistic. I can understand why they might feel that way. But for me, the cross of Jesus confronts my tendencies to form God in my own image. Or, more accurately, the cross of Jesus confronts my propensity to form God as what I would be if I had all power and glory. I would crush my opponents and coerce their obedience. I would enforce my will and insist on lock-step submission. I would be the ultimate winner. What we meet in the person of Jesus is quite different: he comes in love, suffers among us, works with persuasion rather than coercion, shares our common lot, bears the world's anger on his shoulders, submits to the powers-that-be, and, incredibly, he dies. It is here, at the cross, that Paul the Apostle said that we see "the wisdom and power of God."

In the Gospel of Mark, the final week of Jesus' life encompasses approximately 33% of the Gospel. While most of the stories of Jesus' life and ministry are told quickly and with little attention to detail, the movement of Jesus toward the cross in the final week is told slowly, carefully, with great attention to detail. In fact, the Gospel of Mark has a great deal more to say about the crucifixion of Jesus than it does about his resurrection. One gets the impression that Mark (and Matthew, Luke and John, for that matter) is trying to make a point here.

Why is all of this so important? I believe that we live today in a culture that is obsessed with power. We live in a nation that is, arguably, the most powerful nation in history. We pride ourselves in a military that is larger, better equipped and more--here's that word again--powerful than any other on the planet. We brag of powerful financial markets and our powerful influence in the world. We admire powerful people, like those who have the authority to say, "You're fired." Is it possible that our obsession with power belies a deep idolatry at work among us--that we have fashioned idols that look more like Caesar than like the God disclosed by Jesus? Is it possible that this is a profoundly different way than the way of Jesus, who came not with an army but with a towel, not with a sword but with a cross? And is it possible that our character will be formed by that which we worship?

I desperately need Lent, this time of contemplating 'broken Jesus everywhere.' I believe that the world desperately needs a church that is willing to be formed by the God we meet at the cross.

A New Thing

2010-03-19T17:21:00.003-04:00

"Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert (Isaiah 43:18-19)."

When Isaiah prophesies that God is doing a new thing, he is not suggesting that what has come before is unimportant. The Bible consistently reminds God's people to remember the stories of God's faithfulness throughout the ages. Memory is a crucial dimension of faith. But the memory of God's faithfulness is also what equips us to embrace the "creative transformation," as some theologians have called it, in this present moment. We remember God's creative work in the past in order to embrace it in the present moment. God is acting, right now, in this moment, to do something new, to cause springs to break forth in the desert and rivers to run freely through the wilderness. The beauty of that for me is that I don't have to go on doing what I've always done, living in the ruts that have held me up 'til now. There is some way, small or large, that I can step forth as one raised from the dead and live differently, even in this present moment. For me, the greatest disappointment of all is not a human being who has done some bad things in their life. The greatest shame is a human being who is not growing. May God forever strike from my lips the words, "That's just the way I am."

Decisions, God's Will and Jazz

2010-03-11T16:17:00.004-05:00

Many people find it difficult to make decisions because they are so concerned to do God's will that they are frozen into indecision. Because it is important to them to line their lives up with God's purposes, they ponder and pray over important decisions and then... they worry: what if I don't get God's will right? It is ironic to me that the community of Jesus, people who have encountered amazing grace, are sometimes frozen into indecision because they are afraid they'll miss God's plan. It seems to me that quite the opposite can be true. Because we are the recipients of grace, we can be free to make courageous decisions precisely because we are aware that nothing can separate us from the love of God, not even a less than best choice. I do believe (passionately so) that we should make decisions a matter of discernment and prayer. But what if God's guidance to us is less like micromanaging our lives and more like, well, jazz. Have you ever noticed the freedom that jazz performers have when they work through a certain piece of music, how there is flexibility to go this way and that, to improvise and experiment, all within a song that they know very well? The point is, they know the music and what the song is supposed to do, but they have great flexibility within the song to try different things. I think the gospel's work in our lives might be something like that. Yes, we absolutely have guidance in the gospel--there is a 'song' that we're called to play. "Love the Lord your God and your neighbor as yourself" is a great place to start. But within that guidance there is tremendous freedom to work it out, to try different things, to make passionate and courageous decisions about the living of our lives, all within the grand design of God's beautiful song. Perhaps something like this is what Paul had in mind when he wrote, "It is for freedom that Christ set us free."

Confessions of an Older Son

2010-03-02T14:04:00.002-05:00

This last weekend, I was privileged to take part in a retreat along with 15 others from our congregation where my good friend Arthur Kelly took us into the story of the prodigal son in Luke 15. For me personally, the weekend was good and troubling. Good, because the relational connections were very rich and the food and laughter were potent medicine. Troubling, because our reflections on Luke 15 led me to an unanticipated place. During our meditation on the story, I found myself relating to the older brother, the one who refused to come to the party that had been thrown for the younger son who had returned home. You will recall that the father threw an outrageous party when the prodigal returned, complete with music and dancing and a splendid banquet. But the older brother sulked and complained, "I've been about your business all these years and you've never thrown a party for me..." I was moved to discomfort, while reflecting on the story, by an emerging awareness of the jealousy that lurks in me--a jealousy that limits my capacity to celebrate with and for others who are at the center of the party. Jealousy is a bitter root, a poison in the well. For me, this is not a theoretical reflection, but a personal confession. That said, I was also deeply moved during the retreat by the words of the father to the older son. "My son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours." I hear those words as a powerful invitation of grace, not only to returning prodigals but also to 'older' sons.

What I'm Taking Up for Lent

2010-02-18T16:50:00.004-05:00

Christians around the globe have entered the reflective season of Lent, the period of 40 days (excluding Sundays) leading to Easter. The Lenten season invites us to slow down and journey with Jesus toward his cross. More, it invites us to ponder the mystery that the Christian way is a way of death and resurrection. "I have been crucified with Christ," wrote the Apostle Paul, "nevertheless I live. Yet it is not I, but Christ who lives in me."

Many people want to ask, "What are you giving up for Lent this year?" That's not a bad question, but I'd like to pose a different one. What are you taking up during Lent this year? What meaningful, important, faithful practice--perhaps something that you have taken up in the past, but has gotten pressed out along the way--will you take up during Lent this year?

Here's my answer: A few years ago I became very interested in a strategy and methodology for working with many of the world's poor called 'micro-finance.' Micro-Finance is a way of providing low-interest loans to help men and women start small businesses to support themselves and their families. Millions around the globe have been empowered by means of micro-finance. Initially, I read a great deal about micro-finance , even introduced a micro-finance project in conjunction with Horizon International to our congregation . At one point, I began to research micro-finance projects that are being done in the US--and whether or not it would be possible to introduce it here (where jobs are badly needed!) in Central Michigan. Alas, I allowed my interest in micro-finance to be pushed to the edge. So, for Lent, I'm picking it up again. I'll be researching (mostly on the web) what's been happening with micro-finance around the globe, as well as the possibilities for using it here at home.

That's what I'm taking up during Lent. What about you?

If You Say So

2010-02-10T15:58:00.006-05:00

I think I've heard more feedback from last Sunday's sermon than any I've delivered for awhile. (Feedback sometimes comes in the form of questions, at other times as comments, pro or con, and at other times as rotten tomatoes lofted at my car). I spoke about the obedience of Simon Peter in Luke 5, and the importance of the fact that his obedience was to the word of Jesus. I suggested that 'obedience' can be badly corrupted in churches (or anywhere else), when leaders (such as me) demand that church members do what the leaders say, or they will be disobeying God. I suggested that each person's task is to follow the freeing, life-giving word of Jesus.

My goal in this sermon was to reiterate that each and every one of us must do the hard work of discerning a vision for our lives, that all of us must learn to listen to the word of Jesus (the word that gives life) above the din of many other competing words, and each and every one of us must discern our calling(s) as human beings. I believe that discernment is long, hard and holy work. It involves prayerfully discovering a vision for our lives and living out that vision. It means discovering the unique ways that God is inviting us to join our lives to his love for the world. It means creatively discovering ways that we are about God's ongoing work of renewal that is taking place around and among us. I believe that this work of discernment is creative and playful and holy. And, I believe that we should allow no one--not even our pastor--to rob us of this beautiful work.

When we all, listening to the word of Jesus, discern our way, we are a beautiful chorus of differing voices--a far more beautiful thing, in my view, that folks who walk lock-step in the will of their leader.

Tomatoes anyone?

The Inclusive Fellowship of Jesus

2009-09-21T16:18:00.005-04:00

Well, after a nice, long summer break from blogging, I'm refreshed and glad to be back at it. I hope you'll jump in and help me get the ball rolling once again.

A number of years ago, a group of church growth experts suggested that one of the ways to help a church grow is by creating a 'homogeneous' congregation. Stated simply, the idea they put forth was that the more the people of a congregation are like one another, the more likely that congregation is to grow. Churches grow faster, these experts told us, when they consist of people who are generally of the similar economic class, race, political belief, and so forth.

Over the years, this idea has morphed a little bit into the idea that if churches give people enough choices of what they would like in worship, the church will grow. For example, a traditional worship service will attract people (mostly elderly) who want to sing hymns and who enjoy a certain style of music, and a contemporary service will attract people (mostly younger than the traditional service) who like drums, guitars and choruses. This can be taken a good deal further, of course. I have a cartoon that depicts a sign hanging in front of a house of worship with a list of times and worship styles targeted for different audiences: a country and western service, a jazz service, classical, hip-hop and the list goes on. Although on the surface of things, this appears to be very different than the principle of homogeneity I mentioned in the last paragraph, I think it is in fact the same thing. Now you can be with people just like yourself, right down to the style of music you enjoy!

As you might have guessed, I'm having some trouble with this notion of homogeneity. It strikes me that one of the most radical and peculiar things about the ministry of Jesus is precisely how inclusive it is. I've teased this idea a number of times by pointing out that one of the followers of Jesus was a Zealot, a member of a party that wanted nothing more than to overthrow the Roman government; and another of the followers of Jesus was a tax collector, who gathered tolls from Jewish peasants to support the Roman government. As Clarence Jordan once quipped, I'll bet there was a night or two when Jesus had to sleep between those boys!

Paul the apostle reminds the church that in Christ the distinctions between men and women, slaves and free, and Jews and Gentiles have been overcome. A new, inclusive community has been formed in Christ. And, if I'm reading Ephesians correctly, this inclusive community witnesses to the Lordship of Jesus precisely by breaking down the walls that once separated us from one another. "He is our peace, who has broken down every wall."

One small way that our congregation attempts to bear witness to the unity-in-diversity that we have in Christ is in our worship. As we have written on our web site, "By intention, our two Sunday morning worship services are identical. While we have great respect for many churches that have opted to provide two or more very different worship services (traditional and contemporary, for example), we have chosen to have two identical, blended services. Our blended worship is intended to bring together a diverse gathering of people."

It is, or course, always an open question whether or not we're 'blending' our worship well. There are no doubt differing opinions about this (as well there should be in a diverse congregation!). However, this much seems very clear to me: Our efforts to 'blend' our worship in a way that welcomes a broad cross-section of people will cost something of everyone. Some may find it to stilted; others may long for something quieter; others may wish we sang nothing but hymns, and still others that we dispense with anything except choruses. I believe that a serious effort to come together across our differences is costly to all, but well-worth the effort if it bears witness to the one who breaks down every wall.

Glimpses of His Kingdom, by Ben Shaw

2009-05-12T13:56:00.004-04:00

Here's a gift: a poem written by high school student Ben Shaw. .

Glimpses of His Kingdom

Have you ever stopped to listen,

To the evening crickets chirp,

Or watched the stars that glisten,

Or smelled the fresh spring dirt?

Have you ever walked a forest green,

In the cool of the day,

Or sang a holy song to God,

In a field smelling of fresh cut hay?

Have you ever let the warm spring wind,

Fill your heart with peace,

Or laughed with cold, crisp air,

That comes with Autumn leaves?

Have you ever sat in the snow,

On a winter night frosty chill,

When the only sound is your foot-fall,

And the entire world is still?

Have you ever felt the love in fathers hug,

Or the joy of an child’s embrace,

Have you wrestled your best friend to the ground,

Or seen the breath-taking smile from a beautiful girl’s face?

Have you ever run as fast you can.

To fall laughing in the summer grass,

Or lain amid the dandelions,

And watched the clouds go past?

Have you ever listened to the music,

That violins and fiddles sing,

The music moves as a thing that lives,

And sets us all to joyful weeping.

Have you ever danced in the rain,

Till the water ran down in streams,

Have you ever let the thunder shake you,

Or felt the lightning scream?

Have you ever burst out in laughter fierce,

Or let you soul leap to song,

Have you ever longed for purifying tears,

When the world seems all wrong?

Have you ever held your breath,

While you watch the sunset fire,

Or drank water so clear and pure,

It quenches all desire?

Do you know that without God,

These blessings are bread unleavened,

For without his truth you will not know,

These things are glimpses of heaven!

Have you ever felt or seen,

Something better than the best,

It leapt deep down inside you,

But words could not express?

Have you ever felt these things,

Of which I try to describe,

The thrilling shout of victory,

At the top of the mountain climb?

Have you ever felt these things and pondered,

“Are they of this world, or perhaps more?”

There is a deepness there that reason cannot bind,

These are glimpses of our lord!

He made the dirt, the sky, the sun, the rain,

He made the moon to shine,

He gave you family and friends to love,

He made the awesome mountains for you to climb!

His hands once shaped the stars,

In the farthest reaches of space,

He gave you lungs to laugh,

And he made that girl’s beautiful face.

“So, why?” You ask, “Do these joys seem,

To be something more than they are?”

These blessings aren’t just notes of song,

They are more than just glittering stars.

These joys are far, far more,

Than what they seem to be,

They’re a part of God’s true kingdom,

They are the parts of his heaven he lets us see!

This goodness felt by us,

In the deepest of our bones,

They’re glimpses of heaven on earth,

Set here by God, who’s sitting on his throne!

So remember, the next time spring brings you peace,

Or you laugh with the wind from the southern bends,

Remember these are given us by God,

With them he shows us, death is not the end!

These blessings give us hope,

Until the end of time,

When all these joys are fulfilled,

According to the Lord’s design!

As lofty as this sounds,

The truth is entirely plain,

These simple joys show you heaven on earth,

So, I ask you once again.

Have you ever stopped to listen,

To the evening crickets chirp,

Or watched the stars that glisten,

Or smelled the fresh spring dirt?

Chicago

2009-05-05T16:27:00.003-04:00

I'm glad I came to my senses.

I almost passed on the opportunity to travel to Chicago with our choir. About three weeks ago, the pastor of Bethel Lutheran Church asked me if I'd like to go to Chicago with our choir and preach at their Sunday morning service. I hesitated, mostly because I was disappointed on the choir's behalf that they would lose out on the opportunity to hear great preaching in the African-American tradition. After thinking it through, I decided to go. After all, how many times will I have this sort of opportunity? Again, I'm glad I came to my senses.

We arrived in Chicago on Friday evening. I connected with Phil Sipka that evening. He took me to his neighborhood, one of the poorest and most violent areas of Chicago. We walked to his church, where Phil worships and works as a mentor to at-risk children. He shared some of his dreams for living and working in that neighborhood, which he had summed up beautifully in a previous visit: "I want to be a little bit of light to a little bit of people." Later, Phil drove me to another part of the city where we visited the University of Chicago's seminary bookstore, and then went out to dinner. I'm inspired, challenged and humbled by my conversations with this extraordinary young man.

Phil drove me to the motel where all of us were staying. We arrived just in time for a greeting time with some of the members of Bethel Lutheran. This was the first of many touches of their warm hospitality.

On Saturday morning we all drove to the building in which Bethel Lutheran Church worships. It is a simple but beautiful building in the midst of an urban sea. The choir went to a gospel music seminar; others of us went to a seminar on organizing neighborhoods to overcome violence. Our leader, a community organizer from Boston, began his seminar with words that went something like this. "We all know what the needs in this and other communities are. We know our goal: to end the violence. And it's really not very difficult to figure out what we must do. The process of organizing is not that difficult. The one thing that we absolutely must have is passion. This job (organizing neighborhoods to overcome violence) will not be done without passion."

Following the seminars, we joined members of Bethel Lutheran and their friends for "Rachel's Day" festivities. The festivities began with a 'peace march.' Several dozen of us were led by a small drum and bugle corp and dancers; the music and activity invited a great deal of interest from the neighbors. Many of us carried signs: "No more killing." "Stop the violence." "Think of the children." We marched for several blocks in a large circle. We walked past homes and apartments, businesses and stores. Many stopped and watched; a few spoke with us, if only briefly. One of the African-American men who was part of our march told us later that someone asked him why he was marching with "all of those white people." He responded that he is on the same side as anyone who wants to work to make the community less violent. When we arrived back at the church building we ate lunch and listened to several people speak, including a woman who had lost a son to violence, leaders of several organizations that are coordinating their efforts to resist violence and a leader from the Nation of Islam. I found the latter's presence to be a bit confusing at first, until I realized that the folks in this community absolutely must make friends with anyone and everyone who is willing to work for a more peaceful community.

Saturday evening, the choirs of Alma First Church of God and Chicago Bethel Lutheran joined for a breathtaking concert. Each of the choirs sang separately, and then they joined together in one mass choir. I have heard our choir sing on dozens of occasions and they have often given me goose bumps, but this just might have been their finest hour. After several of their songs, the folks at Bethel chanted, "Alma! Alma! Alma!" Yes, they were that good. I know it was not their intention to go put on a show. They are a worship choir. But they were fabulous and the folks at Bethel made sure that they knew it! The Bethel choir was brilliant as well, and when they came together I feared that the roof might start crumbling from the power and the passion of their combined voices.

We returned to our hotel, and then back again to Bethel for the Sunday morning service. It was very interesting for me to be part of a worship service that was liturgical (more ritual and readings than I'm accustomed to) and full of the passion and rhythm that is common among African American churches. I really appreciated the marriage of these two styles, which some might wrongly think don't belong together. I was asked to bring the reading of the Gospel (from John 10) and then to bring the sermon, from 1 John 3. Though I was very nervous, I must say that it was a rich experience for me. I told the folks at Bethel that we need them--we need the broadening of perspective that they provide us, the different ideas and passions--and I meant it. I proposed that the true test of our spirituality is the authenticity of our love for one another. We could hardly be more different, our two congregations, and the challenge and opportunity to love one another is, to me, very compelling.

All told, this was a great experience. It's an amazing thing to see two congregations, as different as they could be, coming together in Christ's name. I'm grateful to Haley Underwood for being the catalyst for all of this, to Pastor Ron for working countless hours behind the scenes to make it happen, to our choir for allowing their gift of music to be an entryway for the meeting of our churches, and to the many others who came to serve and support.

Easter and Hope

2009-04-14T10:05:00.003-04:00

Fred Craddock has suggested that the resurrection appearances of Jesus sent disciples scurrying back to the cross to re-examine what took place there. In every way, prior to Easter Sunday, the cross of Jesus was a dismal failure. The central message of Jesus--the arrival of God's reign--was proven false by the cross. The hope of disciples was shown to be a mirage. The very courage to embrace goodness and righteousness at work in the world was called into doubt. If you think about it, the world was a mighty bitter place on Friday, the day Jesus was executed.

But on Sunday, and the days to follow, when the risen Jesus appeared to disciples and followers, the cross suddenly took on new meaning. In the light of Easter, the cross was seen to be the victory of Christ, rather than his failure. In fact, in light of Easter, the cross became the one place in all of creation that we Christians claim to see God most keenly. There, at the cross, the power and love of God emerge in crystal clarity.

If this all sounds rather elementary, I hope you'll forgive me. I've heard that when the legendary football coach Vince Lombardi welcomed his players to the first day of practice, he began his challenge to them by holding up a ball and announcing, "Gentlemen, this is a football." Perhaps the secret to success is being clear about the most basic things.

This year, as I attempted to walk slowly through Lent (poorly, to be sure), it was the most basic thing of all that impressed me: the resurrection of Jesus sends us back to the cross, with the dawning awareness that the suffering love of God is the greatest power at work in all the world. In other words, from the perspective of Easter we can now see that the love of God that is poured out on the cross will, in God's time, overcome all that resists it.

Here in Michigan, where headlines have been speaking doom and gloom for months, I hope you will find hope here. The reign of God was not destroyed at the cross, but was rather more clearly revealed. Even today, God's reign is utterly consistent with the cross. In suffering love, God is overcoming all that resists his will being done on earth as it is in heaven. Even now, the reign of God is present like a mustard seed, so small that it is sometimes difficult even to find, and yet working quietly, patiently and powerfully by love.

All of this is basic, to be sure. But more and more I cannot help but feel that the decisive thing for being more fully alive is to learn to be present and renewed by that love which Easter faith finds at the cross.

The Long, Slow, Patient Work of God

2009-03-10T14:10:00.002-04:00

This last Sunday, the second in Lent, we looked at the narrative of Abram and Sarai, whose names were changed (humorously) to Abraham (Father of multitudes) and Sarah (Princess). The humor in the story is, of course, that they were 99 and 89 years old respectively when the incident took place. Don't look now, but we've stumbled once again into God's delicious sense of humor.

We considered the "long, slow, patient, deliberate work of God" on Sunday. God promised Abraham and Sarah that they would be the mother and father of many nations. Assumed within the text (and explicitly stated elsewhere) is that they and their family would become a blessing to the world, agents of God's healing of the creation, and that this would happen over an unimaginable number of generations.

Last Sunday I asked you to consider this long, slow, patient, deliberate work of God, and consider some of the ways that God's work in and through us can only be measured in generations. In other words, can we imagine that the way that we are living today could be a blessing to the world generations from now? If you look back in your family tree, you will certainly discover people whose lives impacted generations to follow--for good or for bad. I invited you to think about how your faithfulness to God, your relationships with family, friends and world neighbors, your relationship with the creation itself will influence generations to come.

This week I'm recommending a discipline that I might just call the discipline of 'slowness.' You could practice this discipline in one of two ways: 1) Consider, over the remaining weeks of Lent, doing without one of the time saving gadgets that you've become dependent on . In other words, try giving up your cell phone or your computer or your microwave during these weeks, so that you must slow down a bit and do things the 'old fashioned' way. Or, 2) another option is to do something during Lent that can only be properly done if it's done very slowly. For example, invite friends or family over for a gourmet meal that will require many hours of preparation. Or start an exercise regimen, such as swimming or aerobics or running. (It's impossible to get into shape quickly, after all.) Be creative. There are dozens of possibilities here.

The goal of this, of course, is to reflect in a fresh way on the good that requires much time. We want to embrace a different rhythm for our lives, a rhythm that is more in step with God's long, slow, patient, deliberate work.

I'd love to hear some of your ideas. Have you identified a 'discipline of slowness' that you're going to practice for the remainder of Lent?

The Welcoming Prayer

2009-03-03T15:10:00.007-05:00

Last Sunday, the first Sunday in Lent, I mentioned that each week during Lent I want to recommend a discipline for members of our congregation to practice. This week I'd like to recommend the "welcoming prayer." The welcoming prayer is a very simple and potentially liberating way to bring our anxious thoughts, reactions and lingering sins to God so that God can transform them. Several people have written about the welcoming prayer; I learned it from Pastor Cynthia Bourgeault. In what follows, I am giving my own interpretation to this helpful concept.

Allow me to share a personal experience. This last week I met a person in a public setting who somehow triggered an old prejudice in me. There was something in this man's appearance that 'pushed a button' in me, and before I knew what had hit me I had already jumped to judgments about him. Because of the way he looked, I found myself wanting to distance from him. It was as though a little flag went off in my brain that said, "That's not my kind of person." Before I could think, I had drawn a circle and placed him on the outside.

I was immediately ashamed of my reaction. After all, I've come to believe that the way of Jesus is a way of hospitality. He welcomes the tax collector and the sinner. How can I, a Christian, react with immediate judgment based solely on the way a person looks? "What a childish attitude," I thought to myself. But still, there they were, two afflictive thoughts that arose in me like a tide: prejudice and judgmentalism.

Now, there are different ways I could respond. I could embrace this sudden uprising of prejudice and judgmentalism. I could choose not to care, make them part of my life, and find ways to justify them. This would probably have the effect of making them more entrenched in my character. Needless to say, I'm not a big fan of this approach.

A second option: I could fight these afflictive ideas (prejudice and judgmentalism) with all of my energies. I could exercise all of my best efforts to resist them. I would say, in effect, "I will not be judgmental, I will not be prejudiced." The problem here, of course, is that it usually doesn't work. When I bring up all of my energies to fight an afflictive idea or attitude, I usually simply empower it. Did you ever see (forgive me for this terrible example) the movie Ghostbusters? Do you remember when Bill Murry tried with all of his energies not to think of anything frightening, because he was told that he would cause whatever he was afraid of to actually happen? Instead of stopping his fear, his efforts to resist it caused him to think of the worst thing he could imagine: a giant version of the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man ransacking New York City. (I still have nightmares of the SPMM, by the way.) Okay, dumb example, but the point is that resisting an idea with all of my energies usually has the negative effect of empowering it. Try saying, "I will not worry, I will not worry," or, "I will not lust, I will not lust," or "I will not want more food, I will not want more food..." I think you get the point. It just doesn't work.

The 'welcoming prayer' offers a third alternative. Instead of ignoring the afflictive thought, or exerting all of my energies against it, the welcoming prayer welcomes it and presents it to God to transform it. It acknowledges it as harmful, but peacefully delivers it to God to heal it.

There are three simple steps to the welcoming prayer. To illustrate them, let's go back to my recent experience.

The first step is to acknowledge the afflictive thoughts for what they are. So, I simply recognize the prejudice and judgment. I acknowledge them. I pay attention to what they do to me. Perhaps this sudden onset of prejudice makes my stomach hurt, or my palms sweat, or my head pound. In this first step it's as though I'm playfully saying, "Ah, prejudice and judgment, I see that you're back and I see what you're doing to me."

The second step is to welcome the afflictive thought or thoughts. (I know this seems terribly strange, but hang in there with me. Don't string me up from the heretic's pole just yet!) As a way of disarming the power of these anxious thoughts, I welcome them. "Prejudice, judgmentalism, I recognize you and I welcome you." Notice what's happening here. Instead of fighting them, and in so doing giving them more power, I am disarming their power by welcoming them. The goal here is to become less anxious about these afflictive thoughts, so that I can release them.

One note of warning. Don't try to do this second step too quickly! You may wish to take a few deep breaths and say it over and again, "______________ (whatever the afflictive thought is that has grasped you) I welcome you." Do it again and again. Be playful. Stop fighting. Slowly let go of your anxiety about the harmful idea that has grasped you.

The third and final step of the welcoming prayer is to prayerfully release it to God, and invite God to transform it. "Loving God, I release to you this prejudice and judgment , and ask you to transform it into something good in Jesus' name." Here, I am simply trusting God, my healer, to transform these afflictive ideas for God's good purposes.

I have on several occasions experienced how God can tame and transform destructive thoughts through the welcoming prayer. I recommend this to you, and look forward to hearing your responses. Please blog your questions, responses or concerns. And remember:

"Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind (Romans 12:2)."

Lent

2009-02-20T16:03:00.004-05:00

I grew up attending a Presbyterian church in my hometown, Casper, Wyoming. Each year our congregation observed the season of Lent. During the Sundays preceding Easter, we listened to Scripture readings and sermons that followed the movement of Jesus toward the cross. We were sometimes challenged to make sacrifices during Lent: give up a habit or take up a new one that might make us more faithful disciples. Lent was part of the rhythm of things in our church. It was just something that we did, something to which I never gave much thought.

As a teenager, I left the church and wandered about for several years. When I finally returned to the church during my senior year in high school, this time with an ardent and enthusiastic faith, it was not to the Presbyterian church of my childhood but to the local Church of God congregation. My parents and family were very supportive because of the change they observed in me. My relationship with God became personal and passionate, and for the first time in many years I began to dream big dreams for my life. For that I am, to this day, very grateful.

In those days, the Church of God did not observe Lent. Easter was, of course, a high day of the year. But Lent--those six or so weeks leading up to Easter--was never mentioned. There was no challenge to follow Jesus on the way to the cross, nor was there any mention of taking up special disciplines during the season. The pastor might preach on any theme of his choosing during those weeks and then--wham!!--it was Easter Sunday. (I should note that we did have a Maundy Thursday service on the Thursday before Easter, but other than that there was no special Lenten preparation, at least none that I can recall.)

I am incredibly grateful for the Church of God. The teachings and ministries of the Church of God have profoundly impacted my life. But I think we made a mistake back in those days when we ignored the season of Lent. I believe that the observance of Lent is especially important for we privileged Americans. Lent reminds us that the way of faith will be (not can be or might be, but will be) profoundly difficult at times. It reminds us that the faithfulness of Jesus required him to take up a cross; and it reminds us that we must take up our crosses, too, if we wish to follow him. It reminds us that the way of faith is a way of death and resurrection. We ourselves are crucified with Christ and raised to new life. There is no other way; true life comes only by way of death and resurrection. It reminds us that there is resistance to God's renewal work in our world, and we ourselves can expect to experience resistance from time to time.

Today, many Church of God congregations, including ours, observe Lent, which begins Ash Wednesday, February 25, and concludes on Easter Sunday morning, April 12. In fact, many congregations of every stripe are returning to Lenten observance. They are returning, I suspect, because they've come to believe that there's no real Easter celebration unless they've first tasted the bitterness of the cross.

I can't say that I look forward to Lent. It always challenges me in new ways, ways that I need, but perhaps don't want, to be challenged. Still, I am incredibly grateful for Lent. When you've felt the rough edges of a cross, the resurrection is all the more glorious.

Gloom, Despair and Agony...

2009-02-06T16:40:00.003-05:00

Gloom, despair and agony on me I've been licking my wounds all week, but it is at last time. All right Steelers fans--Bill, Jim, and all the rest-- here goes (first, let me plug my nose): Even though you've won more super bowls than anybody should get to, even though you stole the game, even though... Oh, but I digress. What I meant to say was... Congratulations. That was a GREAT super bowl. Thanks for having some fun on with me on last week's blog and in conversations since....

And speaking of sports... Have you ever noticed that sports are often referred to negatively from pulpits? I've probably done it a few times, and I know I've heard it done in other settings. The critique often goes like this: "Folks, it's time to quit yelling and screaming for your favorite football team. We should be hollering and shouting for Jesus instead!" Or, another version that's not quite so harsh goes something like this: "All right, I'm glad we've been able to have some fun with our favorite sports team, but now it's time to get down to IMPORTANT stuff." And the important stuff is, of course, worship and Bible reading and witnessing and so forth.

Now, to be clear: I love worship and Bible reading and witnessing. And allow me also to say that I know that lots of folks don't care at all for sports, and I have no interest in trying to convert them to become sports lovers (except for my wife. Please honey, please?!?!). And, yes, I do believe that sports are often way overdone in America and are in some cases taken way too seriously.

But (you knew a 'but' was coming) I have a problem with the idea that sports (or a thousand other good things) are okay, but our religious practices are the really important things. Let's suppose for a moment that God is really interested in healing and renewing this world. That is, after all, what Jesus meant when he taught that the kingdom of God is near. God's will is breaking out on earth as it is in heaven; God is healing and renewing this world. What will that healing and renewal look like? Can you imagine that God's renewal of the world would include the renewal of our various forms of play--including the organized forms of play that we call sports? Could we imagine that where God's will is at work, sports might draw people together, give them an opportunity to celebrate the things their bodies can do, instill attitudes like teamwork, competition, unselfishness and sportsmanship? In other words, can we imagine that God's will being done on earth as in heaven might include the renewal of sport?

When we lived in Phoenix, Iobserved first-hand what happens in a city during a high season of sport. The Phoenix Suns went deep into the playoffs one year and we watched the way the city came together, rooted, rejoiced and, eventually, lamented together when the Suns were finally eliminated. I was struck, on a number of occasions, by what a positive thing it was for the whole city. Here was something that rich and poor, young and old, black and white and everything in between could come together and enjoy. It was, from my perspective, a good, wholesome enjoyment for much of the city.

Allow me to say again that, yes, sports are often twisted and perverted and fallen--like every other good thing can be twisted, perverted and fallen. There's no denying that. But I wonder if we Christians have sometimes criticized sports because we don't really believe that God is renewing this world. We imagine that what's really important is the religious stuff, forgetting that the goal of Jesus was for all heaven to break out--right here on earth. And if we're interested in all heaven breaking out on earth, won't we rejoice when sports approach their potential of drawing people together for wholesome, creative, extraordinary play?

Of course, we could rejoice a bit more if the Cardinals had won...

That's my two-bits for today.

Super Bowl Sunday

2009-01-27T10:03:00.003-05:00

Here's a deeply held theological conviction: ROOT FOR THE CARDINALS NEXT SUNDAY! Root loudly! There are several reasons why you should root for the Cardinals:

* My family and I moved here from Phoenix. Any win by the Cardinals, I mean any win by the Cardinals was big news during the years I lived there. And now they're playing in the stinking super bowl!
* How can you not root for a team that has been terrible for so long and now has their chance to make history? Come on, this is America, home of the underdog! Do you want to be a bad American?
* Larry Fitzgerald. Need I say more?
* I met Kurt Warner last year while I was at a conference. I think he was deeply moved to meet me.
* Let's break down the name "Pittsburgh" and consider the Latin, Greek, Hebrew and Akkadian roots of the word. The name "Pittsburgh" is derived from two words: "burg," which, as we all know, means city or municipality, and "pitts," which means, well, "the pits."
* Let's break down the word "Arizona." I have no idea what it means, but it sounds really nice. Just say the word out loud, very slowly, AR I ZO NA. Don't you feel better now?
* And remember, the Arizona Cardinals play in a suburb of Phoenix, which, as we all know, is the mythical bird the rises from its own ashes. I can sense, even as I write, how moved you are by this.
* I have it on good authority that all good Christians will be pulling for the Cardinals. Remember, I am a "reverend." Would I misguide you?

Becoming Human

2009-01-21T10:58:00.002-05:00

My apologies for being so slow to write this blog. Now that we are well on our way in the new year, I hope that we can get a bit of momentum rolling again.

I frequently hear--and have often said myself--something like, "Oh, there I am again, just being human..." when a person faulters or fails or falls short of their highest ideals. For example, in a fit of anger someone may say things they later regret and attribute it to being 'just human.' Or divisiveness may develop among a group and someone may say, "Let's not let our humanity rule us!"

The assumption in these statements is, of course, that being human is a bad thing. Our weaknesses and failures can be attributed to the fact that we are 'only' human. If we could just become something more, problem solved. In fact, I've sometimes heard people express this in very religious terms. The goal of the Christian life, they say, is to do away with their humanity and become more 'spiritual.'

I have a problem with that. It seems to me that that approach mis-diagnoses the goal of growth and maturity. The goal of growing, it seems to me, is not to become less human, but to become more authentically human. When the Bible describes the terrible tragedy of our world, particularly in Genesis chapters 3 through 11, it is describing what is often called the 'fall' of humankind. Under the influence of that 'fall,' humans are now less than we can be, less than God created and wills us to be. The horrible stories in those chapters--the disobedience of the first humans, their fall from innocense to a state of shame, their sick tendencies to rule over one another, the description of the world's first murder, the division of the world in the story of the tower of Babel, and many more--describe the new and horrific reality of us in our world, where we are now considerably less than fully human.

Why is this important? It seems to me that when we describe the goal of the Christian life as something like "becoming less human and more spiritual," we will inevitably fail to recognize the life-giving presence of God in the mundane and normal activities of our human lives. We will tend to split the world into a false dualism, a 'spiritual' world and a 'merely human' world. We will begin to think of the spiritual tasks and experiences as the important things in our lives, and everything else is mundane. The spiritual dimension of life might take place in a church building and a prayer closet, but there it stays. And the stuff of everyday life--our sexuality, relationships, money matters, keeping up a house, tending a garden, etc.--is on the other side, the less holy side of life.

If, on the other hand, we could embrace a goal of becoming more fully and authentically human, and if we could recognize Jesus as the truly human one, then we might see our lives in this world as the exact place where God is at work. All of life--including the paying of bills, the raising of children, the work that we do throughout the week, and even our sufferings--all of life could be embraced as holy. We might come to think of Christian spirituality not as something that takes us away from everyday life, but as something that takes us more deeply into it. Our goal would be Spirit-empowered living--that is, cooperating with the Holy Spirit who animates and empowers us to become more fully, freely and genuinely human.

That's what I'm thinking about today. I'd love to hear your thoughts!

A New Year

2009-01-05T15:44:00.002-05:00

I'm not normally very much impressed with January 1. Of all the holidays we celebrate, the tick of the clock that signals the beginning of a new year is the least impressive one to me. Each year I watch the ball drop on Time's Square and then wonder what the big deal is. It's another day.

For some reason--and I have no idea why--this year has been different for me. The new year really feels, in many ways, new to me. Perhaps it is because the year 2008 brought so much bad news: a financial meltdown, a federal bail -out, an auto industry in crisis, a Michigan economy that's hobbling along--that it's now a relief to be entering into a new year. Perhaps, on a more positive note, it's because of things I've been reading--the writings of the Christian mystic Evelyn Underhill, in particiular--that have beckoned me to deeper experiences of communion with God and renewal. I'm not sure why exactly, but I'm very grateful for a new year. I have a sense of the fresh possibilites for my life and ours together.

Our Scriptures speak constantly of the possiblity of newness. To note just one example, Paul reminds the Corinthians that "if anyone is in Christ, they are a new creation. Old things are passed away. Behold, all things are become new." I hear that as tremendously good news today: I am not destined to be stuck in yesterday's ruts; new, genuine, authentic possiblitites are open to me because I belong to the risen Lord.

Advent, the Rhythms of Worship

2008-12-19T09:02:00.002-05:00

This will be my last post for a week or two since I'll be heading to Wyoming to visit family.

I've been thinking this week about how odd it is that millions of Christians return to the themes of Advent, year after year, attending to many of the same ideas and stories as last year at this time, and that we will do this many more times in the course of our lives. An outsider might peer in at us and judge that we're just not very bright. After all, how many times do you need to hear prophesies about a coming king, stories of his birth, narratives about John the Baptist who prepared his way, accounts of wise men, shepherds and angels? Surely we should have gotten it by now.

The very fact that we return to these themes, these stories, year after year must look peculiar to a speed-of-light information age. In this age in which we're now living, getting information right now is the name of the game. I don't even have to wait for a radio report to find out the newest stock market news (not that I'd want to). Same thing with last night's sports scores. I can type some words on my URL bar and have instant access to almost anything.

To be clear: I'm grateful for that. I really am. I have no qualms at all about the speed-of-light information age. I enjoy researching some of my pet subjects on the web as much as anybody; and I love that I can do it from the comfort of my living room or office.

But I find myself thinking today about how badly I also need to look deeply into things. My web browser can places more information at my fingertips than I can assimilate in a lifetime. But is that really what I most need--to assimilate more and more information? Is that what makes me more fully human? I suspect not.

Which leads me back to Advent and the idea of rhythms of worship. For centuries, the Christian church has practiced rhythms in its worship. During Advent we focus on a certain group of stories, symbols and themes. We do the same during Lent and Easter and Pentecost. The whole idea here is not to assimilate more and more and more information, but to be formed by those stories, symbols and themes. In other words, worship is about formation, not information.

If you think about it, the themes of worship we've been considering in Advent are incredibly simple. The foretelling of a coming king, the preparation for his arrival, the challenge of John the Baptist, the advent of Jesus in humility and powerlessness. And yet, I can't help but think that entering deeply into these stories and themes will change us. In fact, doing it year after year after year might just help us to see how radically different these stories and themes are from the hot-topics of the day. And maybe, just maybe, pondering them deeply and carefully will form us a bit more in the likeness of the one who meets us at the manger.

Redefine Christmas

2008-12-08T10:07:00.002-05:00

A confession: I've struggled with Christmas for as long as I can remember. Not the day itself, or the reason for the season or any of that. I've struggled with the rampant consumerism that has won the day here in the U.S. during the Christmas season. Here's my quandary: On the one hand, I want very much to shop and purchase meaningful gifts for loved ones and friends. At the very same time, I fear that some gift giving and receiving is simply a way we have of training one another to want more. That's crass, but there, I've said it. For example, as a parent, I want to provide meaningful gifts for my children, but I also want to avoid training them to think that more stuff will make them happier. I believe that the jury has deliberated and come back with a verdict on that matter: the meaning of life is NOT more and more stuff.

So, I grapple, year after year, back and forth, wondering how best to live the way of Jesus during the Christmas season. I won't pretend that I've found a happy solution, but I do want to report on a letter I recently received that may add some balance to Christmas. About a week ago I received a letter from the 'Dalio Family Foundation,' a group that is behind a movement called 'Redefine Christmas.' I must confess that I almost threw the letter away before I opened it. I'm glad I didn't. They describe their mission this way: "Redefine Christmas is a movement to make holiday gift giving more charitable. Instead of less-meaningful gifts, we can give others donations to their favorite charities in their names. And, we can ask that our friends and loved ones do the same for us."

My family of origin began doing this about three years ago, and I must say that I have loved it. Instead of purchasing gifts for one another that may or may not be used, we identify charities that we believe will honor and bless one another. Attempting to identify just the right choice on behalf of a parent or sibling is itself a creative act. And, I must say, it's a great honor to see the charities that my loved ones have chosen in my name.

I still believe in gift-giving, mind you. This isn't a one way or the other proposal. It's simply a way of moving toward greater balance in the practice of giving and receiving gifts at Christmas.

I'd like to hear some of your ideas about how to make the gift-giving tradition during the Christmas season more meaningful.

Advent Inventory

2008-12-01T09:21:00.002-05:00

On November 30, the first Sunday in Advent, I recommended that members of our congregation make "a searching and fearless moral inventory of our lives" during the Advent season. You may know that the quoted words in the preceding sentence are the fourth step of Alcoholics Anonymous. Allow me to summarize, very briefly, why I believe this is a timely season to make a moral inventory, followed by some brief suggestions about how to do it.

The church has long believed that the yearning for renewal is at the heart of the Advent season. Just as ancient Israel longed for a messiah, we too, if we are attentive to our own best selves, long for the renewal of our lives, our churches, our community, our world. What Malachi 3:1-4, and many other passages of scripture remind us is that times of renewal are coming. To use Malachi's words, "The Lord will suddenly return to the temple." However, that time of renewal is prepared for by a season of refining and cleansing. Just as the furnace refined the gold and silver, and the launderer's soap cleansed the dirty garment, so we, too, need to be refined and cleansed in preparation for the work of renewal our God wills to do in us.

That's where the moral inventory comes in. As preparation for our celebration of Christmas, the arrival of Jesus Christ, and our hope to be renewed through him, I'm proposing that we make a moral inventory in these weeks leading to December 25. The process is very simple. The most important element is personal honesty. It works like this:

1. Find a notebook (or create a file on your computer), and place it somewhere where you will have easy access to it.

2. On the top of one page, write, "my contribution to the sickness of my relationships." On the top of another page write, "my attitudes or behaviors that are harmful to me." On the top of a third page write, "my contribution to the sickness of the world." You may, of course, choose different words. The main idea is to focus on ways you contribute to relational problems, personal problems and world problems.

3. A few times a week for a few minutes each time, jot out some of the uncomfortable truths about yourself that you're discovering. Bear in mind that some of these truths may be 'sins of omission,' as well as 'sins of commission.' In other words, your moral inventory may speak to you about things you believe you should be doing, but aren't; or things you shouldn't be doing, but are. For example, you could decide that you contribute to the sickness of the world by avoiding your neighbors (a sin of omission) or by being rude to the neighbors you do speak with (a sin of commission).

In my opinion, it's best to do this inventory throughout the season of Advent rather than at one or two settings. Time, patience and personal honest are key ingredients to an effective moral inventory. So, I'm recommending that you do this for a few minutes a day, at least a few times a week, over the weeks leading up to Christmas. I would also recommend that you do this prayerfully. The Spirit is the one who convicts and convinces us of our sin. So, invite the Holy Spirit's direction in all of this.

4. Keep in mind that we make a moral inventory before the God whom we meet in the manger of Jesus. Because we believe that God was in Christ reconciling us to himself, we can do this inventory without fear. Jesus shows that it is God's will to heal and transform.

5. In some sense a moral inventory is never finished. Over the course of their lives, growing people become increasingly aware of the imperfections of their lives. However, when you have arrived at a relatively finished inventory, you may find it very helpful to share what you've learned about yourself with a trusted friend. This is actually the fifth step of Alcoholics Anonymous, and it is also the ancient wisdom of scripture: "Confess your sins to one another." Scripture reminds us that our confession to one another is an opening to healing. In my experience, this is best done by simply reading through your moral inventory in the presence of another. (This will not be the right time for every person who makes a moral inventory to share what they've learned with another. Please use discernment to decide whether or not to take this step at this time.)

Please let me know what questions or comments you may have!

Beauty and Community

2008-11-20T09:03:00.002-05:00

If writing and thinking were the same thing, I would have written several books in the last week. The responses to the last post have, to say the least, prompted some wonderful reflection for me. I'm going to refer back to some of those comments in this post, and I'd like to continue the conversation under the theme "Beauty and Community." What I'm thinking of here is the ways in which beauty can come to expression in the communal life of congregations as well as other kinds of communities.

In the responses to the last post, Joe the Plumber (I have this odd sense that that is not his real name...) commented about the role of fear as a factor that limits human creativity and beauty. He wrote "...and could it not also be said that the fear you talk about is a deformity of the original intention for the human being and is a direct attack on the outflow of potential beauty from a human life. That is perhaps why the Bible exhorts the human being so often to not be afraid." To this, Eunice added, "I would like to add that it is not having anxiety or fear that is the problem. They are God given emotions. The problem is what do we do with them? Do we allow them to stop us from enjoying the abundant life God wants us to have?"

Suppose that we were to broaden these thoughts just a bit and think about the role of fear in community life. More and more, as I observe groups of people, it seems to me that it is not just individual human beings whose beauty is limited by fear, but groups. That is to say, whole groups--families, churches, businesses, villages--become anxious, and as they do, their capacity to express beauty is limited. I think of the hideous Biblical example of Abraham, Sarah and Hagar. If you recall the story, Sarah became terribly jealous because her handmaid Hagar had a child and she did not. In a fit of rage, she compelled her husband Abraham to drive Hagar and the child Ishmael out to a distant land. In this awful story, the anxiety and fear of Sarah is passed along to Abraham, who passes it along in abusive ways to Hagar and Ishmael. One person's fear is every one's problems. As I think of this story, I can't help but wonder what gifts were lost to the community. What gifts might Hagar and Ishamael have brought had they not been made homeless by the fear that inhabited the family? What creativity was lost to Sarah because she succumbed to fear? What beauty was lost to Abraham because he owned his wife's anxieties? As I look at that story, I can't help but feel that anxiety took root in the whole family, and the beauty of the whole was lost, at least for a time.

I believe that when communities become anxious, so that fear/anxiety makes its home in the community as a whole, the creativity and beauty of the entire community diminishes. That's another way of saying that the community itself loses something of its humanity, its reflection of the image of God. Think, for example, of terribly anxious times in the history of the church. In those darkest moments, the church has been more interested in being right than in expressing beauty. We've murdered our Joan of Arc's, rather than listening appreciatively and thoughtfully to them. The gifts of our artists have been silenced, beauty has been replaced by whatever works, whatever proves that we're right, whatever heps us to get our mission, understood very narrowly, accomplished. One place where I believe I see this today is in church architecture. When the church becomes fearful (driven by finances?), vision for communal beauty is lost, the buildings of churches become purely functional matters. We build space that 'works,' space that is very functional, but it is ugly space.

I'm wandering now, to be sure, but I'd hope to continue the discussion. What might a communal commitment to beauty look like? What is required of me, as a member of a community of faith, to 'be not afraid' so that I might remain thoughtful and creative and contribute beauty to the whole? How might decisions be influenced if beauty is as important to us as functionality or orthodoxy? What sort of gifts might emerge if we value beauty as much as we value efficiency? I think these are important questions. Thanks for evoking them in me.

Beauty

2008-11-10T16:45:00.002-05:00

This past week I was having lunch with a friend and our conversation turned to a subject I don't hear much about: beauty. My friend wondered out loud why it is that, generally speaking, we hear so little about this theme. He was speaking of beauty in creation and beauty in the arts. After all, he noted, our scriptures speak of the beginning of all things as a garden, a place of beauty and delight. If beauty is important to God, the simple enjoyment of it would be one of the ways in which we become more fully human and more fully alive. My friend then told me about a well known theologian who takes his students on trips to hear symphonies, to see great plays, to observe and enjoy beautiful art. Note: these are not specifically Christian symphonies, or plays or works of art. The theologian is trying to teach his students that enjoying genuine beauty, in any form, is a profoundly 'Christian' thing to do.

One of the places that I've encountered beauty this year in a surprising way is in the musical tradition known as 'the blues.' Obviously, the blues aren't new, but they're practically new to me. I'm talking Javina Magness, Eric Clapton, Little Milton, Bonnie Raitt, Maria Muldaur and the list goes on. In fact, I heard myself say to my friend that one of the ten best things that's happened to me this year is discovering the blues. I find the lyrics earthy, the music passionate and the guitar work electrifying. It's rarely 'Christian' if by that word you mean something that talks overtly about God and the good news. In fact, most of the time it's the stuff of life: falling in love, relationship challenges, and a good bit of the hard side of life. But it is, to me at least, an expression of beauty, even in the midst of the pain that is often the song writer's experience. I find that to be, well, a beautiful thing.

I believe that the goal of the kingdom of God is the renewal of all things through Jesus Christ, and that means that beauty will, on the day of the Lord, be all and in all. If that's true, then enjoying beauty today, in any form--including the blues!!--is to anticipate that day.

Election Day

2008-11-03T15:50:00.003-05:00

It's late afternoon on Monday as I'm writing, and tomorrow I get to vote. It's been a long time since I've been so excited and grateful about the opportunity to express my opinions at the polls. I think my excitement is related to the long buildup to this election, the important issues that are being debated, and the challenging news that has dominated the headlines and web pages in recent weeks and months. This is important stuff.

Over the last couple of weeks, in an effort to help my daughter with her homework, I've been re-reading some small sections of The Federalist Papers and The Anti-Federalist Papers, collections of essays and speeches in which the authors debated the positive and negative aspects of the constitution . Make no mistake, they had some passionate differences about how our government should be structured. But as I read, I was struck by how both sides of the debate emphasized the importance of returning the power of government to the people. Both sides in those debates were adamant that the final form of our government had to protect citizens from despotic leaders. Their debates--and it should be noted that they disagreed hotly with one another about the particulars--made me more appreciative that I get to participate in a system in which we the people get to hold government accountable in many ways, including with our votes.

There's a great deal that's wrong with our political system. I certainly don't believe in a 'love it or leave it' mentality. As a Christian, I believe that I am called to exercise righteous critique of the land in which I live. That said, I am almost giddy about the gift that is mine of voting my conscience at the election booth. Regardless of how this turns out, I get to cast my votes in ways that I believe are most consistent with the kingdom of God. When you stop and think about it, in the whole history of the world, it is a very recent development that anyone has gotten to do that.

The Messyness of Love

2008-10-27T11:18:00.002-04:00

October 27, 2008

Yesterday I spoke about the greatest commandment, actually the two great commandments that Jesus brought together in an inseparable way: the love of God and the love of neighbor. Today I'd like to write very briefly about the latter half of these two: love for neighbor. In a word, love of neighbor is messy business. One of the many things that makes it so, it seems to me, is that love of neighbor does not always look the same. In one situation love requires a very different response than in another.

Allow me to give an example. People in need of financial assistance occasionally come to our church offices asking for help. What has long perplexed me is that every situation is unique. In one situation, providing financial help might be exactly what love requires; in another situation witholding help might be what love requires. Sometimes, providing assistance empowers people to move forward, to take greater responsibility for their lives, to make good decisions; at other times, witholding help requires people to take more responsibility, to make wiser decisions, to learn how to utilize their resources and grow.

I'm suggesting that love requires discernment. The key question, it seems to me, is What does love require of me in this specific situation? Consider the example of Jesus. On one occasion, Jesus responded to a rich young ruler who came inquiring about salvation: "Go sell all your possessions, give them to the poor, and come follow me." Pretty tough love, wouldn't you say? But on another occasion, when he spoke the word of forgiveness to a woman caught in the act of adultery, his love looked like bubbling over grace. In both situations he acted in love for his neighbor, but the two occasions look radically different.

It seems to me that love always acts in a way that empowers my neighbor to become all that she or he was created to be. When I act in 'love' for my neighbor, but my 'love' is really something that person needs to be doing for herself, then my 'love' has actually limited her growth. On the other hand, when I act to empower my neighbor, that will always serve my neighbor's growth toward his potential.

Sound messy? I think it is. I think love always requires discernment. Doing for my neighbor what he or she wants me to do is not always the loving thing to do. And sometimes it is. Love requires creativity and wisdom.

Playfulness

2008-10-20T11:32:00.002-04:00

Every evening when I arrive home from the office, I am greeted by Lucy, our five-year-old Labrador. When she sees my car pull up the drive, she jumps off her bench, sprints all the way around the house, and greets me in front of the garage, often with her rubber ball in tow, ready to play. Lucy is the picture of playfulness.

Today I'm thinking about playfulness as an antedote to seriousness. I've been struck recently, as I've listened to the news and read several articles on the web, about just how serious our nation seems right now. Granted, we have lots of reasons for concern. The news from Wall Street is really important. There's an election coming in which we will make significant decision about leadership. The war on terror is real. These are highly charged times.

It seems to me, though, that when we become anxious, we tend to become very, very serious. The jaw tightens, the eyebrow becomes furrowed, the shoulders become tense. Our reactions to the events around us become more and more reactive. We tend to lose our creativity, plowing right in to 'fight' or 'flight' as the only available responses to our challenges. I'm speaking autobiographically now: I am absolutely certain that when I am overly anxious and serious (those two things go together, at least in my experience), my ability to respond creatively to challenges around me is significantly diminished.

Enter playfulness. One of the church fathers was asked what substance God made the world from and he responded (playfully, I think) that God made the world out of "play." When I'm playful, sharing in God's joy, I'm able to respond more creatively to challenges around me; I can keep more options open, take myself a whole lot less seriously. By 'playful,' I don't necessarily mean the act of playing games. We've all been part of game playing events that were overly serious. Just watch an NFL coach pacing the sidelines to see how serious someone can be while 'playing' a game. Genuine playfulness, on the other hand, is the ability to reamain creative, to not take yourself too seriously, to laugh at your own limitations and foibles. It's the ability to remain somewhat relaxed and non-anxious, even while others around you may be getting overly serious. It's the ability to see the lighter side of things, to keep your sense of humor, to think and brainstorm when you're tempted simply to react.

When Paul listed the 'fruit of the Spirit' in his letter to the Galatians, the fruit in our lives that is formed when we cooperate with the gift of the Holy Spirit who abides in us, he described it this way: "The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience kindness, gentleness and self-control." I am struck as I look at those words at how playful many of them are. When we cooperate with the Spirit, we know what it is to be loved and to love, to experience joy and peace... Can you hear how playful those words are?

Sometimes, as a very simple discipline, when I become aware that I'm becoming anxious and serious, I pray, "Lord, how might I respond to this situation playfully rather than seriously?"

It's my little effort to learn from the example of Lucy.

Wake-Up Call

2008-10-13T11:11:00.003-04:00

I know almost nothing about economics. That disclaimer is important. It's on my mind, so I'm writing about it today; but I know very little about the complexities of what's going on out there. It does seem to me, though, that at the very least this present economic "Pearl Harbor," as Warren Buffet described it, is a wake-up call to Americans. For the last umpteen years, we've been living on the world's credit card, burrowing to support the federal budget, and Americans have been borrowing to support their personal wants and needs at an unprecedented rate. Again, I'm not even close to an economist, but it doesn't take a genius to see that you can't borrow and borrow and borrow. Sooner or later the piper must be paid.

About a week ago I read an editorial (I believe it was by George Will) in which the writer noted that there is a lot of finger pointing going on out there. Many are pointing, rightly, to the banking industry. Many are pointing, rightly, to the folks on Wall Street and the executives making their outrageous salaries. But, this writer went on to say, there should also be some fingers pointing back to us, the American consumers, and our consumer habits. If we borrow $100 k for a house and can only afford $70, part of the blame must be pointed back to us. If we're borrowing because we're simply too impatient to purchase items we want, part of the blame must come back to us.

It's interesting, don't you think, that this present crisis hits us right in the bulls-eye of one of the strongest warnings ever given by Jesus. "No one can serve two masters," Jesus said. That's a simple, factual statement. No one is capable of ultimately loving and serving two masters. But I've always found it very interesting that he used only one example for this. "No one can serve two masters... No one can serve both God and mammon." "Mammon" is the Aramaic term for money and the things that money can buy.

Perhaps we are experiencing the consequences of a national idolatry? Perhaps it's time to focus on living within our means? Maybe we need to remember what 'layaway' means? Perhaps we as a nation need to take this wake-up call with every bit as much seriousness as we did 9/11?

I'd like to know what you think.

Reflections on a Bus Ride

2008-10-06T10:54:00.002-04:00

Thanks to those of you who responded to my first blog. Allow me to reflect a bit more on the 'reframing' I described in the last blog in light of an experience I had this last summer. In July, as many of you know, I took a Greyhound bus from Alma to my hometown, Casper, Wyoming, a nearly 40 hour trip by way of Chicago, Milwaukee, Minneapolis, Fargo and Billings. Whew.

During one of those stops, I switched buses, and as I climbed on board my new bus, I noticed that it was already quite full. Near the front sat a lady who had sprawled all of her belongings across two seats, making it clear that she didn't want to have to share her space with anyone. Since most of the seats were already taken, I politely asked her to move her belongings so I could sit next to her. She immediately tried to dismiss me, making it very clear that she wanted both seats to herself. Her attitude struck me as somewhat rude, particularly in light of the fact that she, like everyone else on the bus, had paid for only one seat. But what really struck me was that later, on a different leg of the trip, the same lady placed herself in the seat across the aisle and behind the bus driver, where she spent much of that leg of the trip witnessing (very loudly!) to the driver about her faith in Jesus. So, here's the picture: here was a lady who didn't want to share the limited space (something that almost everybody on the bus was willing to do), didn't want to practice hospitality, but did want to talk to people (from a distance) about Jesus. Something's wrong with this picture.

Now, imagine the same bus trip. Suppose that a Christian on that bus were to approach his or her presence on the bus differently than the lady I've just described. Suppose that they were to attempt to be genuinely present to each person they met; they would practice hospitality, ask questions, be curious, be genuine. Suppose that they were to watch for opportunities to be helpful, to contribute in some small way to the quality of the bus trip for everyone on the bus. They would look for opportunities to build community, diffuse anxiety, and work for peace (and believe me, on a long Greyhound trip there are plenty of opportunities to diffuse anxiety and work for peace!). Such a person would undoubtedly delight in opportunities to speak in genuine ways about their faith, to bear witness to the light within them. But such witness would, in every way, be consistent with their life.

I'm trying to describe an 'incarnational' approach to Christian living, where praying and working for the will of God being done right here on earth is our goal. It will never do to shout the message from a distance; the goal is to be genuine and present right here on earth, to join our lives to the dream of God for this world.

What do you think?

Getting Started

2008-09-25T14:20:00.004-04:00

I'm really excited about this new (to me) way of staying in touch and talking about a variety of things. Most of you will, no doubt, be a lot further down the 'blogging' trail than I am. I've seen a number of blogs; this is only the second time I've ever posted on one.

My plan is to jot out some thoughts each week, usually toward the beginning of the week. Sometimes the blog will be serious, sometimes not; it may range from thoughts about our mission as a church to ramblings about my favorite college football team. Whatever the content, this is a place to connect and 'talk'.

It so happens that my first blog comes at a time when a series of messages I've just finished has created as much feedback as any I can remember. Folks have commented by phone, email and some passing comments about this series called "The Quest." Some have expressed full agreement; others have expressed concern. In every case, without exception, whether in agreement or not, the conversations have been good-spirited and mature.

One of my goals in the sermon series was to put a new 'frame' on what we do together as a church. One way of 'framing' our work together as a church is to think of the church as something like a bus that's on its way to heaven, and the goal of the bus is to add more people. In this 'frame,' most of what the church does is to help people be prepared to go to heaven.

A second 'frame' for our work, one that I tried to describe during this series, is that the church is a community of people who are being renewed in the likeness of Christ, and together we are praying and working to join our lives to God's work of renewal in this world. In this frame, the focus is on this world, and the reason for that is, I believe, God intends to renew this world, and he wants to use you and I as his agents in that renewal project. I believe that was the central content of Jesus' preaching. I believe he called us to pray and work, to join our lives to God's love, so that God's will is done on earth as it is in heaven. In this frame, God's love for the lost is just as vital as it is in the first frame. Part of God's renewal project is to restore lost people to a right relationship with himself, one in which they can trust God for eternal life. But in this frame, our focus is also on all the ways that God wants to renew the world. I believe that includes renewing the world by feeding the hungry, liberating those who are oppressed, renewing the beautiful creation, healing those who are broken, and the list goes on.

Well, you've heard enough from me. I'm really interested to hear now from you. Jot out your ideas, include your name, and be part of the conversation.
--Steve