Sacred Nature of Friendship

Years ago a wise mentor -- a supervisor during seminary --  looked up from the scotch he mindlessly fondled before dinner and said, "I hate to tell you this, but you need to know: ministry can be hell on friendships." With no elaboration he took his final gulp, got up, and moved to the table. I didn't know what he meant at the time, but something told me I would learn.

Nearly thirty years later, I think I understand. It is a strange paradox; ministers have the privilege of working day-in and day-out with the finest people, and yet many in ministry describe themselves as "isolated among thousands." One reason is that relational roles are frequently fuzzy. One day you're playing a friendly game of golf with people you enjoy and the next day you're in a committee meeting arguing over important matters like the color of choir robes and whether the desserts at Wednesday night supper are sufficient. Another contributing cause is the constant press of schedule. Three-day weekends away with family or friends are extremely rare, reunions even rarer, and Saturday night dinner parties and dates have a hard stop. Though I count myself among the most relationally fortunate, I think I now agree with my former supervisor.

I say all this simply to thank you for a little extra time this summer and to tell you that while I've enjoyed the time to read and travel, even more I've enjoyed saying 'yes' to friendship, that sacred human endeavor which cannot be done in a hurry. For instance, old friends from Atlanta recently offered to host a gathering with folks from our first congregation and to use the occasion to host a book signing party for Suzanne.  We found such joy in simply being able to say 'yes' with no negotiating or qualifying. Also, last weekend, I loved presiding over the wedding of the daughter of dear family friends. We hardly knew how to act when we stayed late into the reception and even accepted the invitation to the post-wedding Sunday morning brunch, something we had never -- in 27 years -- done before. Next weekend, other long term friends are visiting for the weekend to hike, bike, and cook great meals. I find it all life-giving and deeply joyful.

In John's gospel, Jesus affirms the sacred nature of friendship. When speaking to his disciples near the end of the journey, he says "I no longer call you servants, but friends."  I think if Jesus found a way to cultivate friendship with those around him on the journey, then we can as well.

So thank you. Thank you for the time. Thank you allowing gracious space for reading, exercising, sleeping a bit late, and spending long round hours with friends. It's a gift for which I'm deeply grateful.

What Kind of Job Do You Have?

"What kind of job do you have?"

It was an understandable question, posed innocently by an investment banker with whom I'd gathered at a campground bonfire in Utah. We were talking about how we spent the day -- he rafting and I hiking -- when he began lamenting that his time was coming to an end. Naturally, he asked me when I had to go back, and when I answered, he posed his very predictable question.

It is a rare privilege to be granted sabbatic leave, one for which I am deeply grateful. With nine days down, I'm grateful to press pause long enough to offer a bit of a report. My first five days were spent in solitude in a desert environment, partly to assist in my efforts to detach, but also because I've long wanted to dive into a hefty book "The Solace of Fierce Landscapes: Exploring Desert and Mountain Spirituality" in an environment consonant with the subject.  The author, Belden Lane, is a  Presbyterian minister on faculty at a Roman Catholic University where he teaches Jewish stories and occasionally lectures at the Vedanta society. He offers a thorough analysis of apophatic prayer in the Christian tradition and organizes his book in the pattern of classic Christian spirituality: purgation, illumination and union. They are symbolized respectively by the desert, mountain, and cloud. It has been a tough but worthwhile read. The bleakness of the desert augmented my sense of purgation, and I trust later experiences in the mountains will lead to illumination and perhaps even union.

In addition, I've done some lighter reading: two books on St. Francis in preparation for our time in Assisi, an extra 30 minutes a day with the New York Times, and a novel I'm finding too gruesome to recommend. If you're on social media, you also know I've interspersed my time with some epic wilderness ventures in hopes of satisfying my love of unsafe terrain. If you must know more, conduct a search on the "Whole Enchilada" and "Slick Rock Canyon" bike trails in Moab and watch a video or two. I offer that suggestion only now that I'm safely back from the rides!

As I'm sure you expect, I've been eavesdropping a bit on you in my absence and am heartened by what I hear. Worship, weddings, Session meetings, staff meetings, and so much more seem to be humming along just fine, thank you. Yet, I know the effort from both Session and staff is considerable. I'm humbled by your efforts and I'm grateful. I continue to keep all of you in my prayers each morning, thankful for the kind of job I have primarily because of the people with whom I share my days.

Loving God and Neighbor

In recent months a small group from Covenant has been in regular conversation with our Jewish neighbors, primarily over matters of Israel and Palestine. These conversations are typically vigorous and insightful, and, by God's grace, we always like each other by the end of the evening. At one point it became apparent that our Jewish friends held some concern about our appreciation for their tradition. So, we decided to begin our next conversation with a walk through our sanctuary.

We began on the eastern wall of the nave, where stained glass captures the whole narrative of the Jewish scripture. 

The first window on the back right is the creation window, where we can see God the Creator tossing out the sun and the stars with one hand, and with the other, the sea and the fowls of the air. 

Step forward a bit and we find the Passover window. The lamb has been slain, the blood is on the lintels of the door, the angel of death passes by. This day of atonement, now called Yom Kippur, is celebrated even to this day. 

The top lancet of that window includes the ten commandments, while other windows tell the rest of the story.

It's striking that the faith story of Jewish people is literally built into the walls where we worship. And in a recent passage we studied from Mark (Mark 12:28-31)

Jesus suggests this is as it should be, because at the heart of both traditions is the call to love God and love neighbor. It is sometimes difficult to get past the theoretical "what" and to the practical "how", especially about loving God, as most folks find that elusive. However, it is the most rewarding and important work we can do.  

Decades of Dividends

"You have gray hair!" she exclaimed joyfully, extending her arms to offer a warm embrace.

It wasn't exactly the greeting I expected, at least not the first part.

It happened last week at Montreat. I drove up Assembly Drive, looked to the left to check for signs of life at the home of Walter and Jeane Jones, just in case they were in town for the same conference. They were, and when I dropped in, Jeane greeted me with characteristic warmth.

"It's so good to see you. It's almost late enough for a glass of wine. Come on, sit on the porch. We'll start early."

We sat and caught up on friends, family, and laughed about what we call our "halcyon days" of ministry, five years good years together at Eastminster Presbyterian in Stone Mountain, Georgia.

Our relationship began when I was called to serve as an associate pastor for congregational care where Walter served as senior pastor. I was straight out of seminary, young, idealistic, and energetic. But, I was also inexperienced (yes, I almost dropped the baby during my first baptism), regularly impatient, and more than occasionally arrogant. The truth is that our "halcyon days" were because Walter made them that way. He was patient with my hubris, generous with opportunities for growth, and modeled for me a ministry of integrity and self-sacrifice. In other words, he was a mentor, so much so that during the past 21 years, I have often thought, "How would Walter approach this situation?" and occasionally picked up the phone to ask him.

Now that I have my own gray hair, gratitude for Walter's investment has led me to invest in others, hoping, perhaps, to pay forward the gift given to me in those early years. To that end, my present congregation, Covenant Presbyterian in Charlotte, has begun a pastoral residency program, hired seminary interns, called young associates, and sent numerous of our members to seminary. As I've interacted with those launching into a life of ministry, I've paused to consider what made Walter so effective.

Five themes emerged:
1. He enjoyed our time together. When I think of my time with Walter, I envision him smiling, laughing, and taking delight, even in my ineptitude. He derived genuine pleasure from my company and treasured the gift of sharing ministry;

2. He was patient. When I began at Eastminster, I had a lot of adjusting to do. I'd been married a whole week, out of school a whole month, and lived in town a whole day. I didn't know how ministry worked, how marriage worked, how Atlanta worked. Somehow, Walter remained patient through my learning curve, even when the demands on his own time were considerable and he would have benefited from a more experienced associate.

3. He was humble. His experience as a naval officer, graduate student academic dean, minister, parent and spouse helped him know what he didn't know. On the contrary, when I came out of seminary I knew a lot -- in fact, a whole lot more than I know now -- and he tempered my youthful hubris with his experienced humility.

4. He created time. Growing churches are always behind on staffing and pressed for time. And yet, I could always ask, visit, talk and check in when needed. He prioritized my success and made himself available to foster it.

5. He maintained integrity. His advice was grounded in the moral authority of his actions. His ends and means cohered. This was, perhaps, the greatest gift. He lived the life to which he called others and reminded me that more than anything, people want their pastor to be a person of genuine faith.

There's more, of course, but to be mentored by someone with those five principles was a gift beyond price. Even more, it was an investment in the future that has paid dividends for decades, and it's now my turn to pay it forward, hopefully by treating others with similar grace and wisdom.

Presbyterians' vote on Israel conforms with our values

This commentary first appeared in the Charlotte Observer on June 28, 2014.

On the afternoon of Friday, June 20, a group of highly committed, thoughtful and informed Presbyterian elders voted to substantiate our religious values with concrete action. By a vote of 310-303, we decided to remove our funds from three U.S. companies that profit from Israel’s military occupation of Palestine. We did not vote to divest from Israel, and in fact hold considerable investments in Israeli companies. Nor did we vote to join the Boycott, Divest and Sanction movement. Instead, we voted to divest – take money entrusted to us by our churches’ members – from companies that profit from a military occupation that violates international law on a daily basis. In other words, we made an ethical choice that coheres with our spiritual convictions. It’s called integrity.

Some suggest that we have been callous to our Jewish friends and neighbors, but nothing could be further from the truth. We even invited Rick Jacobs, the leader of the Union for Reform Judaism, to speak to our gathered assembly – not just once, but twice. My hope is that he will return the courtesy and ask the leader of the PCUSA, Gradye Parsons, to interpret our actions to their national gathering. In fact, Rabbi Jacobs wasn’t the only representative of the Jewish community present. Many from Jewish Voices for Peace were at our assembly vigorously lobbying our delegates in favor of our decision. Some even wrote us a thank you note! In addition, members of my congregation have been meeting regularly with representatives from leading Jewish congregations in our city, affirming our shared values and discussing – sometimes vigorously – our different perspectives on the divestment issue.

Those less familiar with the Presbyterian Church (USA) may not be aware that this is far from the first time we have aligned our investment decisions according to our spiritual convictions. We have a long history of carefully considered decisions about investments that have nothing to do with Israel or companies that profit from the occupation of Palestine. This vote follows more than a decade of discernment and conversation. If anything, Presbyterians act slowly, deliberately and thoughtfully.

In the aftermath of our decision, some have tried to obfuscate the core issue – principled investment of our resources – by spinning a secondary narrative marked by conflict and name-calling. But the Presbyterian story is mostly about a group of faithful Christians aligning our actions with our religious values. These same values lead us to similar actions in our own city like supporting Salvation Army’s Center for Hope, volunteering at Urban Ministry, building homes with Habitat for Humanity, learning from our Muslim neighbors in a joint study group, and joining with Temple Israel in a Martin Luther King Jr. service day.

It’s exactly the kind of integrity our world longs to see in people of faith, and I’m proud to be part of a church brave enough to bear witness to it.

God Isn't Done With Us

 Perhaps the greatest gift of being a pastor is the beautiful people with whom we get to share the journey.

One of them, now well into her eighties, is a person of deep conviction and commitment. In fact, when I came to serve her congregation, she promised to pray for me every day. And she did. Every day, for 15 years, she prayed for me, my family and my work.

When I left that congregation, she said that since she’d been praying for me every day for 15 years, she saw no real reason to stop and promised to pray for my ministry at Covenant every day. And I know she has.

This lovely woman had plenty of strong convictions about social justice, but she could not bring herself to agree with the ordination of gay and lesbian persons. When the Presbyterians started debating the idea 20 years ago she studied, read, prayed, sought different opinions, did everything she could, but she just couldn’t change her mind.

I talked to her recently about another matter, and, as you might expect, the subject of same-gender marriage came up. I inquired gently how she was processing the new guidelines that allow it in the Presbyterian Church. Her answer couldn’t have surprised me more:

“I’m ok with it,” she said. “I can’t say I really like it, but I am ok with it. I’m not sure why. I guess I grew. Imagine that … growing and changing at my age. I suppose God isn’t done with me after all.”

Of course God isn’t done with her, or with any of us. We can be grateful, should we choose to be, even if it means loosening our grip on old certainties, blurring comfortable boundaries, and humbly embracing a new and even uncertain future. 

The Local Option

"Do you have five minutes to explain something to me?" asked a familiar voice on the other end of the line.

"Sure," I replied. "What's on your mind?"

"Somebody wants me to explain this Presbyterian decision on marriage ceremonies … allowing ministers to do same-sex weddings … and whether we're going to do them in our church. Tell me what I need to know about that."

It was a fair question, some would say an important question, but it was not an easy question, especially since for years the answer has been an unequivocal "No, we cannot and will not have same-gender wedding ceremonies in our church."

I explained that for those of us in North Carolina the answer is the same now as it has always been: We cannot perform same-gender marriages in our church. Period. End of discussion.

"But, I thought the New York Times reported that you could? Which is it? Can you perform same-gender wedding ceremonies or not?"

"Do you mind my asking if you're a Republican or Democrat?"

"Yes, I do mind," he said. "Why does it matter?"

"Because the best way to explain this is in terms of states rights. Up to this point,  local congregation have enjoyed no 'states rights" on this issue. All congregations, ministers, and elders in all states, no matter their personal preferences or convictions, had to follow national law. Beginning today, however, some local rights are available. In other words, if you're Republican, you'll probably like this change, favorable as Republicans are toward states rights."

"Explain this a bit more, please."

"OK. In states where same-gender marriage is legal, the local minister is now allowed to conduct a same-gender wedding with the approval of the local Session."

"But I thought the Session already had to approve every marriage ceremony," he said.

"They do."

"So the only thing different is that now the Session can approve conducting a same-gender wedding?"

"That's right," I said, "but not in North Carolina. It has to be legal in the state. So, our Session cannot approve them."

Then he got to the point: "What do you think about all this?

I said, "It boils down to this: I trust our elders. In 25 years of ministry, I've seen elders make wise, spirit-led decisions time after time. I think they should have the autonomy needed to make faithful decisions according the Spirit's leading, but I'm a 'states rights' kind of guy. I don't need -- or want -- a cumbersome national bureaucracy to tell me the right thing to do in my local context. Does that help?"

"Some." he said," But I may need more than five minutes next time."