Saturday, December 28, 2013

Angel Makers

Angel Makers

Something about Christmas puts me on spiritual notice. I suppose if God can show up in a stable, there's no telling where the sacred might show up…. a family meal, a hospital room, a child's laugh, a walk around the block. Who knows, God might even show up in church! Most often,  God shows up when I'm not really looking, as if to keep me guessing, and I only catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye. 

Truth be told, I sort of expect God to show up in church on Christmas Eve. The carols, scripture readings, a piece from Handel's Messiah (thank you, choir), and a highly artistic rendition of  Little Drummer Boy (thank you, worship team) seem to increase the likelihood.  Yet, once again, God showed up in the most surprising way. 

This time it was through the angel ornaments, a new tradition for our Christmas Eve services. Unbeknownst to most in the congregation, small groups of friends had been gathering for months to craft exquiste handmade angel ornaments (fine satin and lace, hand-cut and sewn) to be given to all in attendance on Christmas Eve.  These 'angel makers" met quietly, worked diligently, and prayed faithfully that their gift would bring healing and hope, not only to their lives (many of whom had suffered loss recently) but to all who attended our Christmas Eve services.

We sweated the details of how this would work out: counting angels, sizing baskets, sleeving each angel in a protective sheath,  timing music, and carefully mapping an "angel ornament" distribution plan. In worship, we introduced the angels by asking everyone to take "one ornament per family, however you define family" and sent the ushers down the aisles armed with baskets overflowing with angels. Grace prevailed and somehow it all worked with minimal chaos. Each family received an angel ornament.  The ushers took up the offering and exited the sanctuary in their allotted time. We exhaled and a new tradition was born.

Then  God -- who is able to do far more than we could ask or imagine -- started to show up in the most (extra) ordinary ways. After the service I was greeted at the door by two elementary school-aged sisters, each with an ornament. With tears in her eyes, their mother hugged me and whispered, "Their dad and I just separated, and they wanted one for his home as well. I hope that's ok." I wanted to say "No. It's not ok; it's beautiful and lovely, exactly what we want this church to be about." Imagine that,  God using the church to help children build a bridge between two homes saddened by loss.

 A few moments later an elderly woman exited with her daughter in-law and grandchildren. Her son was absent due to an array of high-consequence decisions. She held the angel tightly and said, "I'm putting this on my bedside table to remember the promise of good news. God knows could use some right now."
Then she reached out her hand to her granddaughter, steadied herself, and walked arm in arm toward a Christmas Eve dinner very different than any of them expected.

Another woman let me know she hadn't set foot in a church since her husband died. But she'd heard that others who experienced loss like hers had decided to honor their loved ones by making and giving angels, and she wanted an angel to help her journey toward healing.

The stories have continued almost every day since, convincing me that God showed up on Christmas eve pretty much the same way God shows up every time,  not in the fanfare of trumpets and choirs, nor in the well-spoken word or careful choreography of worship, but through the humble, anonymous, prayer soaked offering of servants who hoped their efforts would serve God's purposes in ways beyond anything they could ask or imagine. 

Friday, July 5, 2013

Summer Reading

The mere utterance of 'summer reading' has elicited eye rolls and heavy sighs in our home in recent years. I can't really blame them. Who wants to engage The Scarlet Letter when the fifth season of "Gossip Girl" has just been released? Besides, with the advent of Snapchat and Vine technologies, who has time to let a plot line unfold? Extended time for reading is a quaint idea, akin to eight track tapes and tail fins.

Yet this summer -- more than any in recent memory -- has allowed me time (most of it on the way to and from Kenya) to engage some wonderful works.  Perhaps the most important book I've read in recent years is Eboo Patel's Sacred Ground. If someone wants to make an important investment in our world, get in touch with me about bringing him to Charlotte. His work with young people through his Interfaith Youth Corp is the most hopeful  way forward for our world, and especially for our nation. We'll study the book at Covenant in the fall, but I encourage all readers to pick up a copy now and enjoy.

I also branched out a bit this summer and enjoyed some surprising works. The first surprise was The Untethered Soul, an explicitly Buddhist book about centering our hearts and minds. At times the concepts are a elusive to my western mind, but for any who over-invest in people and causes, who ruminate and obsess over  children, and suffer other inward challenges, it offers sage advice.

Years ago I swore off the whole genre of church leadership books, but like a lover with boundary issues, I took up two books on organizational and church leadership that were so compelling they kept me up at night. First was Blue Ocean, a book on how to transcend the typical turf wars of competing entities. They principles within apply to churches, educational institutions, and businesses. I plan to study it with some staff members in the fall. The most surprising book I read -- one which is almost embarrassing to admit I've devoured -- is Andy Stanley's Deep and Wide. If you haven't read it, don't laugh. He's a thinker, analyst, communicator, and motivator. Dismiss his ideas to your own peril (I'm talking to you, my Presbyterian minister and elder friends).

Finally, I substantiated my reading by finally taking on William Placher's Essentials of Christian Theology. I've meant to read this compendium for years and am sorry to have waited. Many of my classmates have entries, and I commend it to those who long for substantial Christian theology. I especially like LeAnne Van Dyke's entry and remember fondly her contributions during theology class over twenty five years ago.

I'll offer an update a few weeks from now but hope to tackle a few other works. Feel free to suggest your favorites.

Tuesday, June 11, 2013

Celebration Dance


David Partington, a valued friend and colleague, introduced me to the work of John August Swanson, an artist whose etchings and serigraphs capture spiritual experiences. Perhaps my favorite of his works is "Celebration" which shows a dance with musicians playing, candles burning, and people of all ages joining hands to fill the room with joyful dance. It's an image of life at its richest.
















I was reminded of this "Celebration" dance last weekend when other friends generously hosted a graduation party for our twins at their lake house. The day was beautiful and bright, and people from multiple generations gathered on the lake, lawn, and patio to enjoy the gift of each other. Youth advisors who had guided our children, school friends, church friends, long time family friends, grandparents, and others from across the landscape of our lives gathered for no other reason than to share the joy of traveling together.

As I stood on the patio looking out at the festivities, I marveled at the beauty of it all, how blessed we are to dance through this life with more fine people than we could possibly name. I couldn't help but wonder if this is what God had in mind for the human enterprise.... a joyful dance with hands joined, arms raised, light shining, music playing ....  populated by those with whom we are privileged to share the journey. It's a marvelous image for this thing we call church.

To all those who have been church to our family for the last twenty one years of raising children, thank you for joining us in the dance. We're honored and grateful.

Friday, May 10, 2013

Spiritual Observations from 14,000 Feet


If you take a summer drive through Eagle County, Colorado and look to the south, Mount of the Holy Cross -- with its 14,005-foot peak -- reveals itself in full splendor. The mountaintop is famous for large summer snowfields, one of which forms a distinctive cross. In the late 1800’s, William Henry Jackson published a picture of this so-called “Holy Cross,” subsequently drawing thousands in pilgrimage to this site.

When I first saw Mount of the Holy Cross thirty years ago, something about its beauty beckoned me to the summit, and recently I decided to give it a try. I invited a friend to join me and along the way made some observations about risk, guidance, nourishment and reward.

Observation #1: Staying Alive Includes The Risk of Failure.
William Carey, the famous British missionary, once said, “Attempt great things for God: Expect Great things from God.” There is something refreshing and good about applying ourselves to endeavors that require God’s help to succeed, endeavors which attempted with only our own strength are sure to fail. The thrill of such a daunting summit attempt lay in very real possibility of failure. Approaching endeavors beyond our own capacity, ventures which rely on God’s help to succeed, injects an important dose of vitality into our lives.

Scripture is full of examples. When God appeared to Moses, God said, “Go down to Egypt and free my people from slavery!” Moses responded, “I can’t do that. I stutter. I’m not good at speaking. Besides, I murdered someone down there.” Yet God’s call remained. When God said to Jeremiah, “Go speak a word of truth to power. Remind them they are to worship me alone.” Jeremiah said, “You sure you want me? I’m just a boy.” Again, God’s call remained. When God commanded Amos to speak a strong word of justice, Amos was understandably nervous. “But God, I’m just a tender of sycamore trees.” Still God’s call remained. Max Dupree once said, “Never insult a leader with an easy job.” And God never does. When we accept the call to something bigger than ourselves, we are released from the false sense of self-sufficiency, led into a spirit of humility and trust, and emerge with a fuller measure of life.

Observation #2: Travel with an Experienced Guide
After numerous mishaps and near disasters in my outdoor adventures, I finally subsumed my pride to common sense and hired a guide. The guide granted my friend Stephen and me all kinds of freedom to hike according to our desires -- stopping when needed, pausing for pictures, answering questions – and he inserted himself only when necessary to save us from harsh consequences born of inexperience.

His value was evident from the outset. The temperature was 25 degrees colder than anticipated, and at the trailhead he opened his well-stocked trunk, inviting us to grab any extra equipment we needed. He also insisted on walking sticks, unnecessary on a 6,000-foot ascent, but essential aids on a descent navigated by fatigued minds and legs. He also insisted on sunscreen which we didn’t need at 15 degrees in the dark of morning, but was essential to our health a few hours later when we stood under a cloudless sky at 14,000 feet.

Perhaps most importantly our guide provided an intimate knowledge of the landscape. Much of the terrain lacked distinction, making it easy to drift a few degrees left or right, such that over time we would have been significantly off course. On this particular hike, just a few hundred yards of drift led to dangerous cliffs from which many previous hikers had required rescue. Thankfully, our guide had solid points of reference, made small corrections along the way, and got us to our destination safely.

The same is true for the spiritual journey. Wise spiritual guides can keep us from drifting according to the landscape. They can set points of reference, offer a seasoned read on the terrain, and share knowledge of the contours of the hills and valleys because they’ve been there before. If we walk with a trusted guide, we can receive small correctives for the journey and avoid a potentially harrowing and expensive rescue.

Observation #3: Start Early Because Storms Come at Mid-Day
We hit the trail at 5:00 am, the launch time for all guided hikes, because storms start to brew at the summit around mid-day. Even the most inexperienced hiker knows the worst place to be during a lightning storm is at the summit, only halfway through your hike. Safe refuge is hard to find, wind blows strongest, rain pelts hardest, and navigating the way home can become very difficult if not downright unpleasant.
The same can be said for our lives: Illness, teenagers, mortality, addiction, marital strife all the threatening storms of life start flashing their lightning about mid-way through. The wisdom of a challenging hike holds true in the spiritual life as well. Our ability to endure storms is largely dependent on how far we’ve traveled, our comfort level on the trail, and our knowledge of safe hiding places along the way. If we want to end our journey well, we must start early, because storms come at mid-day.

Observation #4: Hydrate or Die
When hiking at altitude, dehydration can sneak up on anyone, with devastating effect. Physical weakness, diminished cognitive ability, and even altitude sickness are more likely when a hiker is dehydrated. At altitude, hydration is more discipline than desire. Successful climbers drink before thirst and eat before hunger. On our climb, we carried as much water as possible (120 milliliters each), carefully measured our intake and stopped to compensate if we ever fell behind.

The parallels to the spiritual life are obvious. In the Gospel of John, Jesus says,

"But whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst." Jn. 6:35

Ministry leaves little appetite for personal spiritual hydration. We pray for others, study for presentation, and worship as a form of work, but that does little to hydrate our own spirits with living water. If we're not careful, we get behind, start to feel weak and experience diminished cognitive and emotional ability. Dehydration of our spirits quickly leads to a loop of spiritual/emotional doom from which it's very difficult to escape. Experienced hikers know you have to drink before being thirsty, to hydrate as practice instead of feel.

Observation #5 Stop and Enjoy the View
On the way up the mountain, Stephen and I were so invigorated by the challenge we fixed our sites on the summit and set out quickly. Our stated goal was simply to summit, but a secondary goal was to finish in less than seven hours, a feat accomplished by an elite few. We ascended at pace, took short breaks, and snacked as we walked. At the summit we celebrated briefly, ate lunch, took a few pictures, pulled out our walking sticks and headed down.

Nearly half way down, serious fatigue began to set in. Knees ached, calves burned, and Advil lost nearly all its magic. Our guide saw the staggering and again offered valuable input. “I need to pull over for a minute and change socks,’ he said. “I’m getting some blisters.”

We gladly obliged his need and sat down on a rock. He took his sweet time, slowly unlacing his boots, air drying his feet and scrounging around in his pack for a fresh pair of socks. “Look up at that mountain.” he said. “Can you believe you did that?” We glanced up at the gleaming summit and enjoyed a moment of accomplishment.

“Don’t you want to change your socks too?”

Come to think of it, we did. We sat a bit longer, changed, and got re-oriented to the remaining portion of the journey. We moved much more slowly now, down the mountain, out of the sun, into the wooded portion, and after only forty-five minutes came upon a stream. Once again our guide said, “I need some water. In fact, why don’t we all fill up?” Off came the packs, out came the water filtration system, and we sat by the stream as the fresh water supply slowly filtered into our packs.

Re-loaded, we trudged on even more slowly, and on the final leg climbed through a switchback to a clearing. “This is the last full view of the mountain,” our guide said. “Let’s just enjoy it for a while.” We stood in silence, admiring the majesty of creation.

When we are young and ambitious, it’s difficult to slow down and enjoy the journey. But, without proper pacing, we become fatigued, start aching, and begin to trip and fall, sometimes in a disastrous fashion. When we stop to appreciate the view, take in the beauty along the way, and pace ourselves appropriately, we not only enjoy the journey but invest in a more successful completion.

Friday, May 3, 2013

Growing Beyond Boundaries

One of the joyful surprises of aging is learning to relax into new forms of spirituality. It’s small consolation for knees that ache and hips in perpetual lockdown but the inward ease of spirituality in the second half of life calls to mind the “fountains of living water” Jesus describes. I’m not sure how it happens, maybe through the same processes that turn hair gray and injuries permanent, but after years of seeing a world of scarcity where only the strong survive, I find suddenly an intensified beauty to the journey, a delicacy to life, and a sacredness in sharing it with others.

We don’t start the journey that way. When initially making our way -- be it in faith, career, or relationship -- we mark our boundaries, establish evaluative measures, and carefully circumscribe everything about us. Earlier in my life I cared deeply about things like membership numbers, race times, and savings account balances. These days, my focus has subtly shifted toward quality conversation, experiences shared with loved ones, and the joy of a growing faith. This shift must be what Ken Wilber meant when suggesting that the spiritual journey always begins elitist and ends egalitarian.

The problem is that the boundaries needed to sustain the constructs of life’s first half often ignore the spiritual needs of the second half. At some point – especially in the realm of faith – we become less interested in whether something is practical, revenue generating or efficient and long for something to touch our souls, to feed our spirits, and allow spacious room to breathe.

That’s why Jesus found boundaries terribly uninteresting. They were too limiting, ultimately insufficient for the spiritual needs of God’s people. Instead, Jesus saw the larger whole, the both-and way of faith, and trusted in God’s goodness to work out the boundaries. So he said dangerous inclusionary things like, “My Father’s sun shines on the good and the bad, his rains fall on the just and the unjust.” Or, “Don’t pull out the weeds or you might pull out the wheat along with the harvest.”

Today we see a broad movement toward messy spirituality, boundary-less, undefined spirituality. This movement is manifesting itself largely as a rejection of ‘organized religion’ (whatever that is) and the Church that represents it. Some church leaders bemoan this movement, fight it at every turn, and even do things like embrace Latin liturgies and ancient creeds to plant a stake in the ground against it. I’m occasionally tempted to join the chorus that offers vigorous declarations demarcating our boundaries. How else can we be sure not to drown in a sea of competing ideologies? Besides, the sanctuary is the only realm where clergy still have a touch of control.

But I wonder if it would be wiser to listen to these spiritual but not religious, boundary-less anti-institutional people. I wonder if they’re rightly calling into question the focus of our faith and encouraging us to grow into more mature expressions of Christianity, faith that is less competition with those outside our tradition and more cooperation, less critique of those who think and act differently and more collaboration on our shared values, less attack on the perceived ‘other’ and more appreciation for the divine in us all. I wonder if the ‘spiritual but not religious’ movement isn’t a God-given catalyst to those of us affiliated with Christian faith to move beyond the boundaries of the first half of life that no longer serve us well and into the God-breathed beauty of the second half, even if we can’t control its outcome.

Friday, April 19, 2013

Time in the Second Half

Sitting in the eye doctor’s chair a couple of weeks ago, with my pupils duly dilated, the lights dimmed, nothing there to read but the eye chart, and the doctor, as always, busy with somebody else, I realized once again, how vital my time has become. It’s part personality. I’ve long tried to maximize my time, but that trait is facing a force multiplier now from children whose time at home is short, and the unfathomable reality of finding my way fully into mid-life. So it is that I am cherishing time, salvaging time, multi-tasking, looking for short cuts, time-savers, trying, in other words, to fill right up to the brim each and every remaining waking minute.

That’s probably what led me to Richard Rohr’s new book, Falling Upward, A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life. In it, he speaks of deconstructing “first half of life containers” in favor of more generative, open and loving constructs the second half. He quotes Albert Einstein who said, “No problem can be solved by the same consciousness that caused it in the first place” and suggests that the second half of life both forces and invites us to a more healthy and grace-filled world-view.

One way to read this passage in Luke is to see that this deconstruction/reconstruction happened to the disciples when they recognized the risen Christ. Their early containers of a politically motivated, power-based messiahship were deconstructed, and the resurrection invited them into a whole new construct for faith and life, one that sounded an awful lot like risk, trust, surrender, and gratitude, of living in a fashion that recognizes the sacredness of life, that sees life as more magical, less predictable, more autonomous, less controllable, more varied, less simple, more infinite, less knowable and more wonderfully troubling than they could have imagined before they had gone through the difficulty of the first half. The may not have liked it, but they embraced it, and reconstructed their lives based on this new understanding of faith. In fact, history suggests that all disciples were so compelled by the importance of the gospel that they gave their lives for it.

Deconstruction involves loss, which is not always our favorite topic. Growth requires change, another less-than-favorite notion. But this Easter I also had a wonderful reminder of its rewards. When I was a child, Easter was typically a bit of a disappointment. We weren’t Roman Catholic like most of our neighbors and didn’t get new suits, dresses, or ties. We typically got a Fanny Farmer chocolate bunny and some jelly beans, most of which my father ate after we went to bed. Easter, frankly, devolved into little more than a boring time with relatives with whom we shared little in common, a day I wished away as fast as possible.

But this Easter, on the spur of the moment, my sister called to say she was nearby and, after some coaxing, agreed to come to spend the evening with us, bringing her eldest daughter with her. We didn’t do much … went for a walk, sat on the porch, shared a meal and some family stories. But beneath the surface something far more profound was happening, as I realized my understanding of Easter had experienced the deconstruction and reconstruction Rohr describes. Instead of wanting something sweet or trying to get my head around a dubious bunny or -- worse yet -- wishing the day away while with relatives with whom I had little in common, I had the opportunity to celebrate Easter with someone I used to celebrate it with for 18 years but had not done so in more than 30. It brought deep joy, a treasured time of suddenly, and even a bit miraculously, becoming family once again; a listening and sharing time; a remembering and envisioning time; time sitting all together round a table, breaking bread together, laughing about old stories, making some new ones, and glimpsing faces almost lost to distant memory.

As I awoke Easter morning, it occurred to me that my sister and I did exactly what we used to do 40 years ago, only this time with a totally reconstructed understanding of faith and life, with a second half quality of time. It was nothing less than a sublime gift, one which I’ll long treasure.

I firmly believe it’s the kind of time we are all looking for, looking forward to, in our heart of hearts. And it’s based on our resurrection belief that God is always at work, always making a way, always showing up when we least expect it, and inviting us to embrace the life that really is life.

Thursday, March 28, 2013

Beautiful, Real and Universal

Bruce Cockburn, of all people, changed my spiritual imagination. It happened in a concert hall in New York City in the mid-80s, when Cockburn joined a drummer, a bassist, and a (I’m not making this up) very attractive blonde who played the conch shell, to offer a three-hour artistic feast. His music was ineffable, a sophisticated blend of rock, folk and religion expressed through original poetry. I can still quote the lyrics of his first song:

All the diamonds in this world
That mean anything to me
Are conjured up by wind and sunlight
Sparkling on the sea.

I ran aground in a harbor town
Lost the taste for being free.
Thank God he sent some gull-chase ship
To carry me to sea.

Two thousand years and half a world away.
Dying trees will still grow greener when we pray.
Ship comes shining like a crystal swan in a sky of suns,
Ship comes shining.

Silver scales flash bright and fade
In reeds among the shore.
Like a pearl in a sea of liquid jade
His ship comes shining.

Like a crystal swan
In a sky of suns
His ship comes shining
His ship comes shining.

With no explicit reference to faith, Cockburn captured my spiritual sensibilities better than any ‘Christian’ artist I had encountered.

In recent years, artists who reference spiritual truths obliquely have become quite popular . Not long after the 9/11 attacks, Bruce Springsteen offered nothing less than a testimony to hope and redemption with his single, “My City of Ruins,” which became a best-seller:

There is a blood red circle
On the cold dark ground
And the rain is falling down
The church door's thrown open
I can hear the organ's song
But the congregation's gone
My city of ruins
My city of ruins

Now the sweet bells of mercy
Drift through the evening trees
Young men on the corner
Like scattered leaves,
The boarded up windows,
The empty streets
While my brother's down on his knees
My city of ruins
My city of ruins

Come on, rise up! Come on, rise up!
Come on, rise up! Come on, rise up!
Come on, rise up! Come on, rise up!

It was exactly what our nation needed.

Now a British folk/rock band is taking the baton. I first heard Mumford and Sons live in Asheville, N.C., (where I was the youngest person on the floor, thank you) and upon leaving said to my 19 year old daughter, “I promise you one of them was raised in a minister’s family.” At first she doubted, then she Googled, and afterward she stared at her father wondering how he could know.

How could we not know? With lyrics such as “It’s not the long walk home that will change this heart, but the welcome I receive from a re-start.” Hadn’t she been raised on the parable of the prodigal son? Or these from “Thistle and Weeds,”

Spare me your judgments and spare me your dreams
Cause recently mine have been tearing my seams
I sit alone in this winter clarity which clouds my mind
Alone in the wind and the rain you left me
It's getting dark darling, too dark to see
And I'm on my knees, and your faith in shreds, it seems.

But I will hold on
I will hold on hope.

What’s more biblical than that?

Still, some wonder whether these references are specific enough, Christian enough, and even pressure the artists to clarify their particular convictions. When asked if his band was "Christian," Marcus Mumford responded rather helpfully: “I think faith is something beautiful, and something real, and something universal, or it can be.”

Yes it can, especially if we’ll let the artists lead us.

That’s one reason we’ll hear from Marcus Mumford in our contemporary service on Easter Sunday, because on Easter we proclaim something beautiful, something real and something universal.

Sunday, March 17, 2013

I've been largely heartened by the personal responses I've received to this morning's article in the Charlotte Observer. Though any mention of guns typically evokes vigorous debate, I'm thankful for a congregation and a context in which we can seriously consider the implications of Christian faith for public life. It is Presbyterianism at its very best.

I'm also grateful to John Cleghorn, former member of Covenant now Pastor at Caldwell, for initiating this dialogue, and especially for transcending the argument of Second Amendment rights, that tired cul-de-sac where all good ideas circle to their death. We worked hard to capture the strength of our tradition, claim our specific faith for an important issue facing public life, and speak an honest word.

With gratitude and humility,

Bob


A faithful response to gun violence

This article first appeared in the Charlotte Observer on March 17, 2013, and was submitted with John Cleghorn, pastor of Caldwell Presbyterian Church in Charlotte.



On Jan. 25, America's scourge of gun-related violence descended on our congregations.

Early that morning, Caldwell Presbyterian member Mike Middleton was shot and killed in his driveway. A dedicated mentor and friend to hundreds, Mike had once served as his assailant's Narcotics Anonymous sponsor.

Hours later, a thief burst into the college apartment of Covenant Presbyterian member Robby McNeil, firing a shot that caused significant brain damage. Robby, 19, has begun his long road of recovery.

Faced with these tragedies, our congregations are now searching for a faithful response to America's epidemic of gun violence. As their pastors, we take our place in a confession that we, as a society, did not do enough to protect Mike and Robby. At the same time, our faith requires that we recommit to the passage of common sense public policy that makes ours a safer and more peaceful nation.

We stand with virtually all major world religions, which share an ethic that parallels what Christians call the "Great Commandment" to love neighbor as self. Our Old Testament tells of a people whom God commanded to live in a just covenant community, elevating the common good over individual rights. The prophet Isaiah envisioned "new heavens and a new earth ... where the wolf and the lamb shall feed together." We hold fast to that vision, not as a soft, idealist sentiment but as a sacred duty we must pursue, even in the face of failure and tragedy.

The Gospel in particular envisions a radical reorientation away from self and personal piety and toward God and neighbor. Love of God without love of neighbor amounts only to selfish spirituality, vacuous in content and insipid in application. Leave out love of neighbor and religion becomes exclusive, self-righteous, and oftentimes dangerous. Our nation's love affair with guns has moved well into the dangerous phase.

As Presbyterians, we are particularly mindful that our Reformed tradition emphasizes a responsibility beyond a private faith to the larger ordering of a peaceful society in which each human life is valued equally.

To that end, we endorse a coalition of nearly 50 denominations and faith-based organizations observing a Gun Violence Prevention Sabbath this weekend. It is a time to reflect, unite and act on the issue of gun violence. We do so aware of the potential for disagreement but confident that this world needs more than peace-talkers; it needs peace-makers.

We urge a call on federal and state lawmakers to:

Reinstate the assault weapons ban that expired in 2004. Assault weapons are weapons of war and have no place in the hands common citizens.

Require universal background checks when purchasing any firearm. Guns only belong in the hands of those who know how to handle them with correct intention.

Make gun trafficking a federal crime and require all guns to be registered with the state and insured by their owners, as we do automobiles.

We also suggest a hard look at taxing the sale of bullets - as we do cigarettes and alcohol. This could offset the public costs that bullets help create, estimated to be $12 billion a year in court proceedings, insurance costs and hospitalizations paid for by government health programs, according to a recent study.

As Americans, we are grateful for the freedoms we enjoy in our country. As Christians, we also remember the Apostle Paul's teaching, "For you were called to freedom... only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for self-indulgence, but through love serve one another."

In this Christian season of Lent, we reflect on our belief that God came into the world in Jesus Christ "not to be served but to serve and to give his life." Surely, that sacrifice is for something greater than the violence we experience today in our neighborhoods and in our congregations.


Lent is also a time to turn in a new direction. As a nation, let us turn away from our violent ways, for Mike Middleton, Robby McNeil and all others whose lives have been changed forever by our loving guns too much and God not enough.

Friday, February 8, 2013

Weekend Update

Perhaps you saw the article on happiness in the New York Times  this week that claimed money actually does bring happiness, at least in certain circumstances. It seems that some degree of financial flexibility brings options, and the pursuit of some options -- education, entrepreneurship and health -- actually contributes to personal happiness. 

Years ago, Dan Gilbert, a professor of psychology at Harvard, collaborated with other scholars to do a definitive study on happiness, the decision-making processes and thought rubrics that shape our sense of well-being. Perhaps the most helpful observation was that we are mostly wrong when it comes to decisions regarding what will make us happy: a new car, new kitchen, new clothes, will not make us nearly as happy, nor for as long, as we expect.

Gilbert has a wonderful phrase for this gap between what we predict and what we ultimately experience: "impact bias.” Gilbert and his colleagues think that if we were more keenly aware of our "impact bias," we would invest our resources more purposefully in endeavors that really produce happiness. "We might, for instance, take more time being with friends than more time making money."

 He also suggests the mistaken choices about what will make us happy are best understood as  “miswanting.”

This week's sermon will explore biblical notions of satisfaction, fullness and life. We'll look at how Jesus cleverly presented his understanding of the "life that is really life" in contrast to the "mis-wanting" and "impact bias" of his day (John 2:1-11). Topics in the sermon will range from parties, wine, bacchanalia, pornography (yes, you read that right) and self-giving. 

I invite you to come, learn and be challenged to embrace the life that is really life.

Thursday, January 31, 2013

A Love Affair


I love literature so intensely that taking time to read can feel akin to engaging in an illicit affair. I sneak around at night, cover my tracks and falsify receipts from Barnes and Noble. I confess to having numerous affairs over the years: John Steinbeck, Leif Enger, Wallace Stegner, as well as a few less memorable dalliances.

One relationship has been particularly hot and cold. When I first picked up Barbara Kingsolver’s “The Poisonwood Bible,” I must not have been in the mood and put it down after 30 pages. Two years later, I flirted with her again and found her deeply alluring. As I turned the pages, I laughed and cried, thoroughly lost in her world. Her memoir “Animal, Vegetable, Mineral” was also compelling, though by that time our relationship had matured a bit, and I found parts of her world a touch less attractive. I’ve not yet read “Flight Behavior,” but am not getting great reviews from friends who have.

Like any intense relationship, a few snapshots remain fixed in my memory. I’ll never forget her ruminations over the loss of a baby to tragedy:

“Don't try to make life a mathematics problem with yourself in the center and everything coming out equal. When you are good, bad things can still happen. And if you are bad, you can still be lucky.”

Her insight into incident is superseded only by her understanding of life’s longer arc. Again, in Poisonwood Bible she writes,

“Listen. To live is to be marked. To live is to change, to acquire the words of a story, and that is the only celebration we mortals really know. In perfect stillness, frankly, I've only found sorrow.”

Even though I love Barbara Kingsolver, I can’t imagine living with her over the long haul. Therefore, I’ve chosen just one picture of her to keep in my office. I lay it inconspicuously by my computer so others won’t notice, but it captures just the right balance of gravity, simplicity and insight:

“Here’s what I’ve decided: the very least you can do in your life is figure out what you hope for. And the most you can do is live inside that hope. Not admire it from a distance but live right in it, under its roof. What I want is so simple I almost can’t say it: elementary kindness. Enough to eat, enough to go around. The possibility that kids might one day grow up to be neither the destroyers nor the destroyed. That’s about it. Right now I’m living in that hope, running down its hallways and touching the walls on both sides. I can’t tell you how good it feels.”

Wednesday, January 16, 2013

Love and Beginning Anew

The number one emailed article in the New York Times this week is “That Loving Feeling Takes a Lot of Work.” It outlines familiar statistics around marriage failure and makes a few (very) modest proposals about how to care for our marriages: talk more, touch more, play more. The article’s popularity in light of its relative vacuity highlights how delicate most marriages feel and how desperately we long for their health.

Last week, I stood before a lovely couple who had walked the path of a first marriage and had summoned the love and courage to try again. To make a marriage last a lifetime may take talking, touching, and playing, but I’m convinced it takes even more. Here’s what I shared with all who gathered:

"On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there. Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding. When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, "They have no wine." And Jesus said to her, "Woman, what concern is that to you and to me? My hour has not yet come." His mother said to the servants, "Do whatever he tells you." Now standing there were six stone water jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons. Jesus said to them, "Fill the jars with water." And they filled them up to the brim. He said to them, "Now draw some out, and take it to the chief steward." So they took it. When the steward tasted the water that had become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the steward called the bridegroom and said to him, "Everyone serves the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until now." Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him." (John 2:1-11)

One of the great joys of our lives is the privilege of joining in the festivities that surround a wedding. The Bible tells us it’s not only a part of our lives; it’s a part of our faith. In the gospel story we just read, we’re reminded that Jesus himself enjoyed a wedding party, enjoyed it so much that he decided to keep the party going by providing a little more wine for those who gathered, 180 gallons more to be exact. Dean and Lucy, we’re expecting the same at the reception, so you may want to start selling a few more houses.

As an ordained person I get called upon to take part in quite a few weddings, and I confess that it’s not always as easy for me to enjoy them as much as I have this one. Maybe it’s because in so many weddings I get the feeling that the wedding service is not taken as seriously as the reception. Or, it might be because the minister can sometimes feel rented much in the same manner as the tuxedos. But I think the real reason is that often there so much attention lavished on the wedding and so little on the marriage. The thoughtfulness with which you have approached this commitment is impressive, the care you have lavished on the quality of your relationship is heartening, and we believe it promises great things for you in the years to come.

As you approach this journey let me offer just a couple of thoughts that emerge from the passage we read a moment ago. First, Jesus comes when and where he is invited. If you read this passage closely enough, you’ll notice that the gospel writer differentiates between the guests. Jesus’ mother was there, though it doesn’t say whether she was invited. Other guests – neighbors, extended family, long term friends, all gathered for the wedding feast, but the writer says Jesus attended upon specific invitation, and his presence made the party infinitely better. It’s a good reminder to the two of you, so capable, so able, so can do, that you can probably pull off most any event, meet any challenge, rise to most any occasion but when Jesus gets invited the journey becomes memorable, almost magical.

Unforeseen problems are resolved, scarcity is remedied, and your capacity is multiplied. It’s a good reminder for the two of you amidst the many transitions and challenges and opportunities that will be yours over the next months and years. In the press of it all, be sure to remember your most important invitee. Invite him come not just to your wedding party, but to stay for the journey which will surely be stronger if he is the binding cord.

The second observation is to consider making Mary’s charge to the servants his charge to you. In a moment of conflict, potential public embarrassment and stress, she tells the servants, “Do whatever he tells you.” They did, and not only did the issue get resolved, scarcity turned to abundance, stress turned to joy, and conflict was transformed into a defining moment in their lives. Let Mary’s charge to the servants be for you as well. Do whatever he tells you and watch scarcity turn into abundance, conflict into and joy.

Now a final observation. There were six vessels impacted by the miracle Jesus performed that day. Seeing the six of you: Ashley, Katherine, Libba, Alex, Bobby and John makes me realize that you have the same potential. Each of you children can, without being disloyal to the other parent or his memory, celebrate and participate in the blessings that will come with this new marriage. And in fact, the real miracle at Cana was not just all the wine; it was Jesus' capacity to turn the ordinary into extraordinary.

That’s what we really long for today. You two have stood in a place this before. You’re not naïve about marriage. Sometimes marriage is like the wine at the wedding and simply runs out.

But when that happened, Jesus, with regret at first, then resolution, seized the opportunity. And when he was done the steward of the spirits marveled in delight with the couple, saying. “You’ve saved the best until now.”

I am so privileged today to be the “steward of spirits” at your wedding, and I say, so may it be with you. The best … now. Amen.

Footnote: Thanks to my dear friend Walter Jones and his thoughts in his lovely book “Light Shining Through” for many of these thoughts.

Monday, January 14, 2013

Freedom and Respect

From the sermon series: Intimacy, Love and Marriage: Making Love Last a Lifetime
January13, 2013
Covenant Presbyterian Church
Romans 14:1-9

A rabbi and a Catholic priest were sitting next to each other at a public dinner when the waiter rather thoughtlessly served the rabbi a piece of ham. The rabbi didn't protest, deciding simply to eat around it and enjoy the other items on his plate. The Catholic priest leaned over and said, "Rabbi Cohen, we both know that the dietary laws in the Hebrew Scriptures were developed when pork was dangerous. There wasn't any refrigeration; they used low heat when cooking. Trichinosis was rampant. So, your ancestors were right to prohibit eating pork. But those days are gone; pork is safe and there is no reason to cling to outmoded ancient practices. When will you eat your first mouthful of ham?"

Rabbi Cohen responded quietly, "At your wedding, Father Maguire, at your wedding.”

Our scripture passage today offers a glimpse at specific faith practices in the early Christian church. You may be shocked to learn this, but way back in the early church apparently not everyone was of one mind. Some ate meat; others did not. Some honored the Sabbath; others did not. Some wore jeans to church; others preferred coats and ties. Some thought they should provide for the world’s poorest wherever they lived; others believed charity began at home. Some were quite convinced that church should be convenient, open, accessible; others knew God assigned 9:30 for Sunday School and 11:00 for worship. Some even dared to believe in a broadly inclusive church, that God welcomed all people, regardless; others thought it best that folks shape up a bit before coming in, modify this behavior, renounce that sin.

As you might expect, they were conflicted about it, fighting, arguing, doing all those things that drive the saner among us to the golf course on Sunday morning, and after laying out thirteen chapters of sophisticated theology, Paul addresses this community conflict by offering three specific principles. This morning as we continue our series on relationships, how to make them last a lifetime, and as we ordain and install elders, I'd like to explore them carefully.

The first principle for remaining in relationship with those who think and act differently from us is to remember that whatever that person is doing, they’re doing it, "in honor of the Lord" (14:6).

Even though their practice may seem silly or outdated, no pork, no sex, no work on the Sabbath, or, even when it’s more serious, like excluding women from leadership in the church or people of certain sexual orientations from ordination, Paul says when someone offends, the best response is to get out of our own skin, drop our default perspective, and realize they’re doing what they think is right. They're seeking to honor God with their lives.

It’s good advice for families, parents, friends and elders to be ordained today, to remember that even the most foolhardy, wrong-headed person you meet may actually be seeking to honor God as best he or she knows how.

Some times that's harder to believe than at others. I know not all of you keep up with goings on in the Presbyterian denomination, but you may have read recently that some in the Presbyterian family are disaffected by our recent decision around ordination standards. After years of trying, the denomination has finally granted congregations and presbyteries a careful way to ordain practicing homosexuals. Along the way there have been ugly trials in which people's sex lives were discussed, accusations made and a lot of mean-spiritedness. But now the PCUSA has finally made a way to honor the specific convictions of local congregations and Presbyteries, allowing each to choose whom to ordain and by what standards. Many, and I am among them, think it a long awaited great step for our denomination. Others are crestfallen.

And now, some congregations, some ministers and elders, are leaving instead of assuming the best and saying, "Maybe those who think and act differently from us are also trying to honor God and maybe, just maybe, we can learn something from them.” Instead of that, some are saying, “We can’t be members of this family anymore. We’re leaving and taking our stuff with us.” I think it breaks God's heart.

Before we get sanctimonious toward our departing friends in faith, let us also remember Paul’s teaching is not only for them; it’s for us, too, and it is for us to be able to say, “We’re disappointed in your decision. We’ll miss you. But as you go, we will remember that you’re trying to honor God as well.” It's an essential framework for unity and reconciled relationships.

The second reason Paul gives for bearing with one another is related to the first. He says not only are all trying to honor Christ but Christ is, in fact, the Lord of all people, all the time. Paul has an extraordinarily expansive view of God's reign. He says that in Christ death has been defeated, that anyone in Christ is a new creation, all things are new through him, and therefore Christ alone is judge of all. It must have been terribly difficult to hold this expansive view of God while watching his loved ones engage in such petty judgments … Should we eat this kind of meat? Worship only on Sunday, sing this song, wear that robe, play that instrument? Can you imagine Paul’s cognitive dissonance? To hear his beloved congregation majoring in the minors had to drive him crazy. So Paul says,

"If we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord; so then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord's. For to this end Christ died and lived again, so that he might be Lord of both the dead and the living." (14:8-9)

It’s a powerful claim. No matter what we do, what we think, what we practice, even whether we're alive or dead, what's most true about every one of us is that we belong to God. What’s most important about us is that God claims us as God’s very own. When we disagree – even over important matters – we can at least agree on this: whether we live or whether we die, we belong to God.

This becomes clearest when standing over the grave of a loved one. Years ago, I was asked to do a funeral for a church member's adult son named Bill. Bill was in his fifties and had lived a colorful life. He had endured numerous prison sentences, been kicked out of more rehab programs than anyone could number, proliferated a few children with whom he had no contact and was still facing a number of assault charges when he died.

We gathered at the funeral home where members of his extended family and their compassionate friends streamed in. One guest sidled up to me just before the service and said, "I can't wait to hear what you're going to say about this character." We laughed at the challenge – and it was a challenge – but Bill made me consider exactly what I thought about God’s reign. When I stood to speak, I said, "Bill was exactly the kind of person Jesus hung out with. James and John were called Sons of Thunder and would have been in a motorcycle gang like Bill was. Simon was a right-wing nationalist zealot. Peter was a coward. Judas was a traitor, and Bill would have fit right in. He possessed all the qualities necessary to be in Jesus' inner circle.”

The apostle Paul understood that. He knew Jesus' primary purpose was to bring life to all, to break down the dividing wall between the most fundamental differences: Jew/Greek, slave/free, dead/living! One theologian writes, “To acknowledge Jesus as Lord implies a critique of all other powers, even the power of our most precious values and considered judgments.”

Whether we live well or die poorly, we belong to God. Remembering that allows us to stay in relationship with one another even in the most difficult times.

The third and final reason Paul offers for bearing with those who differ from us is that if there's any judging to be done, God will do it. And, one judge is enough. Some may be disappointed to hear this, but when it comes to judging the world, God doesn't need our help. Judgment is quite the popular trend these days. It’s the whole basis of the so-called reality shows, rendering judgment and evaluation on others. The tribe speaks, the panel evaluates, the bachelor chooses, and people are pitted against one another in a series of ruthless evaluations. One night not long ago I settled in to watch the brutal judgments rendered by the panelists on American Idol. Simon Cowell, always the sharpest, just crushed a contestant saying she sounded like Dolly Parton on helium.

It’s not just secular society; evangelical scholar J.I. Packer knew the dangers of his community’s propensity to judge and wrote, “Confidence that one’s impressions are God-given is no guarantee that this is really so, even when they persist and grow stronger through prayer.”

The apostle Paul reminds us God alone is judge, and taking that to heart releases us from our incessant need to evaluate, measure and categorize those who live differently. God’s role as judge releases us from the consuming energies of evaluation, deciding who’s in and who’s out, what’s right and what’s wrong – we get released from all that and freed up to love.

Occasionally we get a glimpse of the freedom of that way of life, the freedom of letting go. Instead of playing God with our judgments, we turn instead toward focusing our energies on God's redemptive work.

Many stories have been told about Mother Teresa, but one of my very favorites is about the time she spoke to the National Prayer Breakfast in Washington, D.C. The host introduced her as “the greatest woman in the world.” She bristled at all human attempts to judge her life, even positive judgments, and dismissed the introduction saying if she were the greatest woman in the world, God would have made her tall enough to see over the lectern behind which she was standing. But she went on to say, “I am nothing close to being the greatest woman in the world, but I will tell you the greatest thing about my life. I have been able to be a tiny pencil in the hand of God, someone through whom God writes love letters to the world.”

What a glad thought … that you and I might be the means by which God’s love is lived out in this broken and often, divided, conflicted, hateful and hard-edged world. … that we might be released from the binding matrix of right and wrong, good and bad, the paralysis of analysis regarding who's in who’s out and instead become pencils in God's hands through whom God writes love letters to the world.

It is my hope and earnest prayer for all of us, in our families, our work, our relationships, our new elders who will serve God in this place – that we transcend the consuming work of judgment and be freed to live as agents of God’s love and grace.

Few said it better than St. Francis, who himself had to be set free from the matrix of judgment. He wrote a prayer I'd like to use to close today’s sermon and I invite you to join me:

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.

Where there is hatred, let me sow love.

Where there is injury, pardon.

Where there is doubt, faith.

Where there is despair, hope.

Where there is darkness, light.

Where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master,

grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console;

to be understood, as to understand;

to be loved, as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive.

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.

Amen.

Friday, January 11, 2013

Weekend Update


I've enjoyed developing a bit of a relationship with Jimmy Bartz, pastor of THADS Episcopal church in West Los Angeles. He and members of his congregation will be joining us in our mission to Kenya this summer, and I'm excited to get to know them better. Jimmy's theology is practical, earthy and fresh. When I visited his church some time back, he offered a nugget of wisdom, a modern day proverb, that has turned into something of a motto for our family. When speaking of Paul's theology of relationships, he said, "Don't let difference turn into division."

Don't let difference turn into division. Sounds simple enough doesn't it? Subjugate the dividing force of difference to the unifying force of life and love. How hard could that be? Yet most of us live with the burden of broken relationships, divided lives, and fractured families. We're well-acquainted with difference turning into division.

This week we'll continue our sermon series: "Intimacy, Love, and Friendship: Making Love Last a Lifetime" by looking at a passage from Romans in which Paul offers very practical advice to those struggling to stay in relationship. It won't quite be the old style "three points and a poem" sermon, but it will be very practical.

We'll also ordain elders at 9:30 and 11:00 and have some great music.

Join us, and bring a friend.