The Holiday Tree

Warning: this may get a little preachy… actually, this may get full-blown rant-y.

Just so you know, there is no war on Christmas. We lost it decades ago. Any rumors you may have heard about this so-called war are probably just wars about something else. Those wars are not the point of this post.

This post is about a statement I heard on this-here internet about how the White House – apparently for the first time ever – was going to call their Christmas tree a "holiday tree." More evidence of how our Christian-expressions of faith are losing yardage to an overly politically-correct society. Only it's not true. Only the Christmas tree remains a "Christmas tree" and has never been called anything else. But don't take my word for it, click here and check out how they describe the big green thing in the middle of the Blue Room.

Now I react strongly to this for a variety of reasons:

• Why would someone make up a thing like this? Are there Christians out there who feel like making up so-called attacks on our faith is actually helping our cause? We are about proclaiming the Truth – and this should really go without saying – but lying does not ever help us to do that.
• Would calling it a "holiday tree" actually be an attack on our faith or even an attack on the celebration of Christmas? If Christmas is the celebration of the Savior being born into the world, how exactly does an evergreen proclaim that? Now lest I start to sound too Grinch-y here, don't get me wrong: put up your trees, decorate them festively, and light them up. They are a wonderful tradition and a joyous celebration of Christmas; they just don't have anything to do with the birth of Jesus. Here's an interesting article from Wikipedia about Christmas trees. It's a rich tradition, they have lots of meanings for us, but Christmas trees are not about Jesus.
• Is this so-called controversy distracting us from something more important? This season, sometimes called by Christians as the "Christmas Season," is more accurately described as the Advent season. Advent means "coming." This is the season that the followers of Jesus remember our Savior entering into our world. During Advent we also anticipate his coming again and his spiritual presence with us until then, but those are also more year-round proclamations. During Advent and especially on Christmas day, we have a unique and profound statement to make about our faith: we believe that God's love took flesh-and-blood form in Jesus. Do we make that statement with the symbolism of a Christmas tree? Of course not. Frankly, I can't think of anything we could adorn our churches, houses, or yards with that could ever make that statement better than through God's love continuing to take flesh-and-blood form in the followers of Jesus. If it's the incarnate love of God that we are trying to proclaim, then perhaps incarnate love is how we ought to proclaim it.

If there is a war on Christmas, then it's a war that the followers of Jesus often forget how to fight. In this season (and in all our seasons, really), let us strive to express our faith in the way Paul described: "I appeal to you therefore, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God—what is good and acceptable and perfect." [Romans 12:1-2, NRSV]

Welcome Home

I think I've set the bar on my blogging too high. It seems I need some profound purpose before I can sit down and type out some thoughts. That's not how it's supposed to be; this is supposed to be a forum where I can regularly throw up some ideas and hope someone reads them and interacts with them. Perhaps I'll be able to develop the discipline to become more casual about this one day. But today, I need to write about something really profound I saw yesterday.

I'm not the kind of guy who sees spiritual lessons in everything he sees, but sometimes those lessons are hard to miss. Like when our Sunday school Scripture readings, taken from the Present Word study (Hebrews 13:1-3 & 1 Corinthians 13), and our sermon text, taken from the Revised Common Lectionary (Mark 9:38-50) both seem to point in the same direction of "hospitality and welcoming." In itself, not so strange: showing God's love through our acceptance and compassion is a reoccurring theme in Scripture, to say the least. But we also don't often get new visitors. We get them, don't get me wrong – people seem like us and we are growing as a congregation. But our growth comes in trickles, not in floods.

Yesterday however, we had four visitors in our pews (and for a church our size, those are "flood like" numbers): the invited neighbor of a member, the young couple that appeared to be "church shopping," and – we'll call her – "the lady with the cat." She gave us her name, which turns out isn't her real name, but it doesn't matter anyway. She was clearly schizophrenic and clearly homeless.

What I found even more profound than the synergy of Scripture lessons was the fact that no one freaked out about "the lady with the cat." I'm not sure what I expected, these are wonderful people and I've never seen them be anything other than gracious and accepting to visitors. But a schizophrenic homeless lady with a cat might be another story. Of course we're going to love and accept the neighbor of our member-friend. Of course we're going to be on our best behavior with the cute young couple; they are most churches' target demographic. But "the lady with the cat" isn't like us. She doesn't look like us, she doesn't think like us, and she doesn't live like us.

What I saw yesterday made me proud of this church to the point of tears: I saw the people of this congregation welcoming all of yesterday's visitors with exactly the exact same warmth and acceptance. Not just the visitors that reminded us of ourselves and who we hope to be, but all of our visitors. Would they have been so accepting if the Scriptures had carried another theme? Of course they would have. I believe the point was more of a reminder, not of who we're supposed to be, but of who we are. And I for one feel blessed to be in such good company.

No Ruts, No Glory

Because I am fasting from meat, I've had to think about what I consume. That's not to say that I don't ordinarily think about food, I think about food a lot: "Hmm, what'll we have for dinner?" "I wonder if we have any garlic." "Mmm, nachos would be great right now."

Although I don't ordinarily eat much meat, I had expected a certain degree of preoccupation with food: the occasional craving or desire. (The latest episode was on Saturday, when I cooked – what I am told – was an awesome corned beef. I had a mediocre cream of potato soup.) These bouts with temptation have rather expected results: I resist the temptation because I have made a commitment to do so; other things then satisfy me in ways I didn't expect; and I am left with the feeling that I am sustained by a God who cares for my needs and not my every whim.

And if you're tired of me talking about food so much lately, here's a non food-related illustration of another surprising lesson I've been learning: I have a key ring with only church keys on it. That way, I don't have to walk around with this great big lump of keys in my pocket if I'm not going to the church. The other day I set these keys on the counter where I ordinarily set down my cell phone, instead of in my closet where I usually put the keys. I don't remember why I put the keys there, but I'm sure I had a good reason at the time. And I remember thinking, "I need to put these where they go or I'll forget them next time I go to church." And then I said to myself, "No, no. I know where they are; I will remember them." Sure enough, guess what I had to go back home for on Sunday morning?

Call them habits, routines, or ruts, our repeated patterns of behavior can be a blessing and a curse. I know me; I know that without my regular habits, I will certainly neglect a perfectly healthy choice like bringing my keys with me to work. But I also know that these same ruts lead me to less-than-healthy choices simply because that's what I'm used to doing. Fasting from meat this Lent seems to be revealing this truth to me: going without this one thing reveals my need to examine the things I do simply because that's what I'm used to doing. In other words, do I eat meat for dinner because it's good for me to do so, or am I eating it simply because (and I hope I don't get sued by the beef industry for saying this) it's what's for dinner?

Covet Not Thy Neighbor’s Roasted Chicken

Although I have stopped eating meat for Lent, I have no intention of imposing my spiritual disciplines on anyone else. In this way, I am a good little Protestant. (I don't even suggest you take on a Lenten discipline based on this blog; that should really be a decision you make in consultation with your Creator.) And, because I do most of the cooking at our house, I am really the only one inconvenienced by this spiritual journey. And although it's not a huge inconvenience, this does require some amount of planning. For example, did you know that the human animal's most direct source of protein is meat? Neither did I until a day or so before I started this fast. So going vegetarian in a household that is otherwise carnivorous, is more than just preparing meatless versions of what everyone else is having. It often involves adding other protein sources like beans or something; which often leads to an entirely different meal.

I've been on this fast for about a week and a half now and, for the most part, it's been working out fine. I am the one who does most of the cooking at our house because I'm a pretty good cook. So not only am I able to do a pretty good job of properly nourishing myself, I can make it taste pretty good too. In fact, so far there has only been one instance in which I've been jealous of what the rest of my family is eating. Hear my confession:

After church the other day, the kids and I drove down to Farmington to do some big-box shopping. As we were shopping, it occurred to me that by the time we got home, it would be time for dinner. So genius me, I decided to pick up a roasted chicken. When we got home I quickly make up some veggies and some macaroni & cheese to be their sides and as my mains. What I didn't count on is how much I apparently love roasted chicken. It surprised me, really; this hadn't happened before. Oh, there have been the fleeting memories of burgers gone by, but nothing that made me think, "Man, I want that."

The leftover chicken is still sitting in our fridge, mocking me.

My spiritual lesson came in a surprising way. I suppose I expected that there would be some sort of "resisting temptation" thing to learn, but it wasn't ultimately all that hard to resist; I wanted it, I just didn't put it in my mouth. I didn't have any grand revelation about my capacity to resist temptation, nor did I perceive a rush of God's power to help me to just say "no." Instead, I had dinner. I ate an adequate meal of macaroni & cheese and veggies (and some soybeans for more of that protein we were talking about). It tasted fine and it nourished me for the rest of the day. I felt good physically and I felt good spiritually, knowing that I had stuck with the commitment I had made.

Even without the things I crave, I am sustained by what God provides. And perhaps I'm better off.

Meat My Lenten Discipline

To answer the question no one has actually asked me: I have decided to give up meat for Lent.

Here are the parameters for my Lenten semi-fast: I'm not eating meat during Lent.

To further clarify: from Ash Wednesday to Easter Sunday, I am not going to eat meat. I will not be taking any days off of this fast and I consider fish to be a form of meat.

I don't get this "fish isn't meat" thing. My understanding of the term "meat" is that meat is generally the part of the animal that moves that animal around; some would call it "muscle" (I know we eat other parts of animals, it's just that I don't usually eat those parts). We eat that meaty part of the fish. How is that not "meat?" And besides, I bet the fish would certainly have its own opinion about the subject. So I'm not eating fish either; I even switched to a different source of Omega-3 fatty acid for Lent.

So I've been on this fast for about a week now: so far so good. I'll write more about the lessons I'm learning as the weeks progress, but I will say that the major challenge isn't that I miss meat. At least not yet. By the end I'll probably be longing for a burger from Alice's, but for the moment I'm learning to be (albeit temporary) a vegetarian.

Failing

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures;
he leads me beside still waters;
he restores my soul.
He leads me in right paths
for his name’s sake.

Even though I walk through the darkest valley,
I fear no evil;
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff—
they comfort me. (Psalm 23:1-4)

If anyone is actually reading this, you may have noticed that – in spite of my Lenten resolution to post devotionally each week – last week’s post wasn’t put up until this week. I failed.

“Oh, that’s okay, Brian,” people might say. “No one is perfect.” “We all make mistakes.” “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” These sayings are heartfelt, comforting, and completely beside the point. I failed. I said I was going to do something and I didn’t. As a part of my journey through Lent, I felt called to reflect once weekly about some small thing that God was saying to me through Scriptures and I couldn’t get it done on time. And I don’t even have an excuse. I simply didn’t manage my time very well and, although I got started on it last week, I didn’t get it done until this week. Mission not-accomplished; there’s just no way around it.

Frankly, it reminds me of a lot of other Lenten resolutions I’ve failed at in my life. In fact, there seems to be a reoccurring theme: I begin Lent with great and pious resolve to do something or fast from something and then fail at it part-way through. It makes me wonder if, maybe, that’s part of the point. Not that failure ought to be the goal of this kind of pilgrimage, but perhaps it should be at least expected. It seems a bit self-defeatist, but maybe I should have entered into Lent with some sort of plan in place for how I ought to respond when I (inevitably) fall short of my goal. Perhaps a sealed envelope with the words “TO BE OPENED IN CASE OF FAILURE” written on it and “All fall short of God’s glory (Romans 3:23)” written inside. You know, something to help me remember that this kind of thing happens in life and that I shouldn’t be too hard on myself. Or better yet, I should have Psalm 23 waiting for me.

In Psalm 23, the psalmist describes God as our shepherd… making us the sheep. We are these beloved, adorable, furry sheep who are also vulnerable, disobedient, and not bright enough to find our own food and water. If God is our shepherd it’s because we need a shepherd. At least spiritually speaking, we need someone who loves us enough to faithfully lead us where we may not always want to go on our own. And in my shortcomings, rather than feeling guilty or disregarding my failings as simply part of life, perhaps it would be better for me to use these failings as a reminder of the Shepherd who restores my soul and returns me to right paths. May we continue to find our Good Shepherd throughout our Lenten journey… even when we fail at it.

Labels

So Jesus came to a Samaritan city called Sychar, near the plot of ground that Jacob had given to his son Joseph. Jacob’s well was there, and Jesus, tired out by his journey, was sitting by the well. It was about noon. A Samaritan woman came to draw water, and Jesus said to her, “Give me a drink.” (His disciples had gone to the city to buy food.) The Samaritan woman said to him, “How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?” (Jews do not share things in common with Samaritans.) Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.” (John 4:5-10, NRSV)

Early in the week a coffee maker broke. I set it up to make a pot, and nothing happened: it didn’t gurgle; it didn’t steam up; it didn’t even get warm. Nothing. Now before you get worried about me, please note that we have several coffee pots at the church. I survived just fine.

But I didn’t want to be overly rash and just throw it out. I’ve made the mistake of throwing things away prematurely before (see “Moving Part 2”) so, although I’m far from being a packrat, I now pause for a bit before heading for the trash. So I left it on the counter in the hope that there might be some simple fix that someone handier than I might find. But, because I just left it on the counter and didn’t want anyone trying to make coffee with a broken coffee maker, I labeled it: “Broken.”

I immediately felt guilty for the label. I know that the coffee maker doesn’t care and would be just as happy if I threw it in the trash. But I’ve been labeled “broken” before. I know what happens with these labels: we may disregard them for a while, but they do eventually change the ways we see ourselves. Even beyond what might actually be true about a person, I think if you call them “broken” long enough they will begin to believe it at some point. Soon, we will wear these labels like nametags.

There are a lot of labels flying around in the Gospel lesson for the 3rd Sunday of Lent. Some of them are spoken: labels like “Jew,” “Samaritan,” “Messiah,” and “Living Water.” Some of them are not spoken because they’re not appropriate for polite company. The woman Jesus meets knows these labels. They define her. She presumably comes to draw water in the heat of the day because her presence would cause offence at a more common hour. Her labels shape who she is and even how she lives.

But Jesus doesn’t seem to notice her labels. He doesn’t seem to see what others see. He talks to her like he is supposed to be talking to her and not as someone labeled with “Samaritan,” “woman,” or “sinner.” And it strikes me that there is a labeling in this act as well, although I’m not sure what that new label might say. Perhaps it would say “child of God,” or “forgiven,” or maybe this conversation is Jesus’ way of offering her the label of “true worshiper.”

Whatever you’d call this new label it’s wonderful. It is wonderful because it is truer than all those other labels. It’s wonderful because it is the Maker’s label that was meant to be on us since the day we were born and will remain with us forever. The labels Jesus puts on us aren’t just some hopeful description of who we are meant to be, but who we truly are in him: labels like “redeemed,” “beloved,” and “called.”

As we continue through this Lenten journey, let us seek to remove those other labels from ourselves and one another. Let us be named by Jesus alone and let us live into the wonderful labels he gives us.

Labels

Reflection for the Second Week of Lent

Jesus answered Nicodemus, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.” Nicodemus said to Jesus, “How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?” (John 3:3-4 NRSV)

Before I became a father, men who had traveled the parenting road before me described the birthing process as “magical.” I now know what they meant. You see, “magical” is a euphemism. It’s a kind of code they used because, if they had described it for what it was, I might have been scared off. Don’t get me wrong, “magical” is the perfect word to describe it. “Magical” is so spot-on because it only tells the soon-to-be father that it’s important, perhaps even holy. And anything else about the event that could be described probably shouldn’t be. It’s a way of saying, “Be there; be ready for the mysterious; don’t run away; and you’ll figure out the rest as you go.”

And I suppose, if the newly-born had the capacity to understand those trembling fathers’ words, “magical” might well describe all of the baby’s following days as well. The rest of our days can be pretty “magical” too, if you think about it. Of course, we don’t like to think about it, do we? We like to think that tomorrow will be much like yesterday, and today will hold no surprises. We like to think that the rain that falls from the sky only brings life and pretty flowers. We like to think that the earth beneath our feet is there to stay. We like to think that our days of being born – with all their terror, pain, and ugliness – are far behind us. But some days are “magical.” Some days, the skies take whole towns from our maps. Some days, the earth on which we are “grounded” flings us into the air like a marble on a fluffed-up sheet. Some days, we get born all over again.

When Nicodemus goes to visit Jesus under the cover of night, we get the impression that he’s testing Jesus’ kingdom out – not unlike the way we might dip a toe into a pool before going for a swim. He seems attracted to what Jesus has to offer, but he wants to approach it in a safe way. But it’s not safe. In fact it’s full-blown “magical.” One does not take a quick dip into the kingdom of God; one is born anew into it. Born like people are born: into a life of uncertainty and messiness.

For those of us who have chosen to live in Jesus’ kingdom, we must remember that it holds no promises for success, prosperity, or even safety; but it is the promise of life. We are born into a life that, although abundant and eternal, is also “magical.” So let us greet this new-born life in the spirit with which we entered into the old one: be there; be ready for the mysterious; don’t run away; and you’ll figure out the rest (by God’s Spirit) as you go.

Reflection for the First Week of Lent

So I'm cheating a bit with my first Lenten reflection, as the article below is from the latest Calvary Quarterly. But unlike a newsletter, a blog gives us an opportunity to offer feedback. I look forward to hearing from you.



I think Lent is generally self-serving. I said it.

Now, if you're wondering how I might come to describe Lent—a season beginning in ashes and “celebrated” by fasting—as self-serving, just hear me out: Lent, the “40 day” season that leads us to Easter, is often seen in the light of Easter. I mean, that's a difficult light to ignore. After all, Easter is the central celebration of our faith. The Resurrection changes everything: every moment, every interaction, every single thing we do is now seen through the lens of Resurrection. It would be ridiculous to expect that we could somehow set this lens aside for over a month. For the follower of Jesus, the Resurrection is impossible to ignore; Jesus emerging from the tomb on Easter morning changes everything... for US.

And rightly so! Don't get me wrong, the resurrection should shape every aspect of our lives. The Apostle Paul writes, “Therefore we have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life” (1 Corinthians 6:4); out of his resurrected life, we now begin ours. That is life-changing good news for us. Because we have received this impossibly wonderful gift, what else could we do but live gratitude-filled lives into eternity?

And so, during Lent, we seek to reshape those lives. We seek, through self-reflection and self-sacrifice, to let God reshape our-selves into the God-serving creations that Jesus died and rose to create. And there is a lot of “self” in that; although not at all in a bad way. The end result is to make us into God-serving creatures, but to get there the “self” needs some work. Which is what makes Lent so self-serving: we are striving to be those God-centered people of Resurrection, so we use this time to do what we can to become those people.

But here's the thing: when we mentally skip ahead to what those people are supposed to be like, what do we see? We see a people who have become more and more like Jesus, don’t we? We see a people who not only act like he did, but are actually like him. We see a people who have his understanding of how the world is supposed to be; a people who share his priorities and passions; a people who love as he loved and for the same reasons. And if we know what we’re supposed to be like at the end of Lent, why not seek to begin it with that same Christ-like perspective? In other words, we know that Jesus endured the hardships that he did for the sake of others. We know that our lives are meant to take on that same devotion to others. And so, as we “endure” the solemn sacrifices and disciplines of Lent, what if we could focus our attention on someone other than ourselves?

For example, you know how the Resurrection is life-changing good news for us? Well, if becoming more Christ-like means having his same devotion to others, are we not struck by the notion that there are people in our lives every day that don’t know that news; people who don’t have the same perspective-changing joy that we have; there are people all around us every day who, though Jesus rose for them as well, do not share our Easter perspective.

And so, however you “celebrate” Lent—whatever disciplines, fasts, or acts of charity that you employ that God might mold you—may we also let those “hardships” turn our attention toward others. May we indeed better know the heart and mind of God, and in that knowledge, yearn to share the Easter joy with the world.

Another Good Question

Here's the other email conversation I've had, this time from Chantel. Like many of us, Lent was not an observed celebration in her upbringing, so she asks:

I have a few questions I was hoping you could answer for me on Lent. I work with someone, who is a devout Mormon. We are always talking about religion on the playground for some reason. Anyway, I was talking to her today about Lent and what it means to me as a Christian and specifically as a Presbyterian and I realized I don't understand Ash Wednesday and the meaning behind it. She couldn't explain the Mormon's point of view too well either so I told her to ask at her church and I would ask you. Since I started so late in life believing in Jesus and his word I feel very behind on a lot of things and feel like I have so much to learn and try to understand about the Bible and Christianity. I would appreciate any help you may have time to give to me! Thank you very much and have a beautiful day!

So I responded:

Lent is kind of an odd practice. It began as an observance in the Catholic Church, but many Protestant churches have brought it back in the hope of finding new meanings to old practices. Like Advent before Christmas, it is meant to be a season of preparation. It begins, of course, on Ash Wednesday and concludes on or the night before Easter. That period is considered "40 days," but if you are good at math you'll note that it's more than that; technically it's only 40 days if you take out the Sundays (I said it was an odd practice).

The "40" in the 40 days finds significance in several places in Scripture. For example:

• Number of days that Noah and his family endured the flood (see Genesis 7)
• Number of years the Israelites endured the wilderness (see Numbers 14:34-35)
• Number of days that Jesus endured temptation in the wilderness (see Matthew 4:1-11)

When something happens in the Bible that involves the number 40, it seems that God is trying us somehow; the people of God endure something and are better for it in the end. So for 40 days before Easter, we seek a period of testing and growth. When Jesus did it, it involved a 40 day fast (not recommended) so many have traditionally included fasting as a Lenten practice. By the way, that's why we take out the Sundays: we've given ourselves a "day off" per week to enjoy whatever we've given up. I think that's kind of silly.

Of course we Protestants like to find new meanings so, rather than giving up a thing for Lent, some have taken on practices to enhance their Lenten journey. Things like service, study, worship, etc. (if you're interested in exploring various spiritual practices, I'd recommend "Celebration of Discipline" by Richard Foster).

But to the heart of your question, Ash Wednesday: first, although I can't speak to the meaning a Mormon might find in it, I would assume that it's similar to what we might find. However, it is a deeply symbolic service and as such, the symbolism can mean a variety of things to a variety of people.

To do it properly, the ashes in Ash Wednesday come from the burnt palm leaves of the previous year's Palm Sunday. In other words, the palms that we waved to hail Jesus as our God-sent king, have become merely ashes. There is a cycle-of-life message that weighs heavy in this service. When the ashes are put on one's forehead, the pastor/priest quotes Genesis 3:19: "You are dust and to dust you will return." By the way, that's not a very nice thing to have to say to people you care about. But I think it's meant to draw us to consider throughout Lent, where we would be without Easter. We remember our sinful state and the death it brings so that we might appreciate all the more the abundant life we find on Easter morning. I have other thoughts on some less traditional Lenten ideas, but I'm putting them in my Quarterly article, so you can read it there.

I appreciate your questions and your journey and I too would love to sit down and chat with you more about these things. Don't worry so much about not understanding everything the Bible has to teach us; at its core, Christianity is simply about following Jesus. And following means simply being in relationship with him and letting that relationship transform you. And sharing it is simply introducing another to a friend.

If you have a similar thought-provoking question, I'd love to hear it. I will always ask before I post your question and I can always keep you anonymous if you'd prefer.

A Question About Prayer

Hey All, remember me? Things have been a little hectic since my last post (in September). I put up this blog as a way of talking about the work of the church in Bayfield (and beyond, I suppose). And although I think a lot about the work Christ calls us to do here, I regret that I don't write about it as much as I'd like to. (As a Lenten discipline, I plan to post something every week and I hope it becomes a habit.)

That being said, I have recently had some interesting questions posed to me via email. After thinking through and writing out my responses, it occurred to me that they kind of sounded like the stuff I ought to be posting on my blog.

So here's the first. It comes from Lisa S. (with contribution from her husband Jim). Lisa writes:

Pastor Brian, I have a question I have been pondering over for a number of years. Bear with me as I try to find the missing piece to this puzzle. The bottom line to the question is … Does the greater number of people praying for a situation affect the overall outcome? It seems like the answer should automatically be yes, but should it? What started me on my road of confusion was a comment a well known Christian man made a number of years ago when his wife was ailing from cancer. He didn’t understand how his wife, receiving hundreds if not thousands of prayers, should receive more blessings than someone else in a similar situation, but not as fortunate to have fame and notoriety. Does someone who receives more prayers get more comfort from God? So does the individual who knows only a few people and also has cancer receive less comfort? We pray to God for his will to be done, but does he change the direction of his healing because 100,000 people are praying for this individual as oppose to one? I don’t believe it for a second. Is the power of prayer the same if one person is praying or 100?

We have prayer chains. Does it help to have 5 or 50? If I thought numbers made a difference I would place an ad in the Wall Street Journal asking for prayers. If the actual number of people praying doesn’t matter than I can’t help but come to the conclusion that it isn’t about numbers. I believe in the power of prayer. Great miracles happen through prayer. It’s an expression of ones heart. Putting your troubles at Gods feet is what we as Christians do. God asks us to pray to him for the blessings we have received in our lives and those who are in need. When we pray for someone in need we too are the ones receiving blessings.

So it is not about numbers. So when we ask for prayers it’s an invitation for the individuals who are praying to be blessed and to have a relationship with God. So the prayee gets the blessing. But how does the individual in need get the blessing from God when numbers don’t matter?
I feel like I going in circles.

So I wrote:

Lisa, the questions you raise about prayer are not uncommon. I think these questions about prayer are so often asked because they are also so difficult to answer definitively. We are not God and so we're not able to fully explain why God does what God does. What troubles me most about prayer--especially about prayer for someone's healing--is that sometimes miracles do happen. Kyra is actually a good example of this: when Sherry was pregnant with Kyra, her water broke at about 19 weeks. The doctor said that nothing could be done: the amniotic sack does not heal up so the baby would eventually miscarry; so the best course of action would be to induce labor before an infection could set in. On the day of the procedure, Sherry wasn't ready. She told the doctor that they could do it at the first sign of infection, but she just couldn't do it. Meanwhile, church friends and family around the world were praying for Sherry and the baby. And as the days went by, the sack did indeed heal back up (a feat the doctor could not find other examples of) and you've met the evidence of what eventually happened.

Now comes the complicated part: explaining why this happened. To the godless, I suppose it could be rightly stated that the natural world is vastly more complex than we suppose. But it's not so simple for us. We know the privilege of a personal relationship with the God of all creation. We see that same Creator's hand in events like this... what we can't always see is why. Why did God spare my baby? Babies die in the womb all the time; why this one? Was it because so many were fervently praying for her? Maybe. Maybe it was the earnest, heartfelt nature of their prayers. For that matter, what if it were my prayers? What if God was waiting on me to finally surrender and leave everything, even my children, at the feet of God? But in the end, these are not questions I can know the answers to; and for me, that's kind of the conclusion I've come to.

For me, prayer isn't about bending God's will to conform to mine, it's about yielding my will to God's. I know that when two or more are gathered in our Savior's name, he is present in a unique way. That doesn't mean he is not present when I am alone or that he is super-present when I'm praying with a stadium filled with his followers either. It doesn't guarantee the answer to prayer that I may have been hoping for, but it is the promise of presence. I think you're absolutely right: we need prayer because God uses prayer to be present with us, if only through the comforting presence of the one-or-more kneeling next to us on our behalf.

Why do we pray for the needs of others? Because God is present with them when we do. Oh, and because sometimes miracles happen; sometimes prayer fixes our gaze on something just long enough to see the impossible made possible. But for me that's just the icing.

Lisa's response:

Excellent. This is what I was getting close to figuring out, but couldn’t grasp it. Like you said “we need prayer because God uses prayer to be present with us, if only through the comforting presence of the one-or-more kneeling next to us on our behalf”. I will reread your response in days to come and let it sink in. I will probably have more questions for you. I like the way you are able to tie it all together.

What a wonderful story of lil Kyra and how she is your miracle baby. It warmed my heart.

Then Jim chimed in with:

Great question, and great thoughts on the subject of prayer. I think, as with so many examples of Gods work, prayer is a multifaceted gem with many benefits for all involved. Probably one of the most poignant, and well worth mentioning is that after the “fall of man” God abandoned this world and gave it over to Satan. Instead of God walking with man in the cool of the evening in the garden we are called to wait on the Holy Spirit.

God still desires relationship with his people, but I think it’s like when we go onto someone’s property we generally prefer to either be invited or ask to come on to it. Although we would be capable, if we wanted to, just to trespass and barge on. I think God deeply desires relationship with his people and finds it very pleasing to be invited.

Even though there are so many more facets of this gem to be explored I think that this aspect is one that has great significance in our walk.

Please feel free to throw in your $.02 as well in the comments section. I'd love to hear from more of you on this.

Infidel!

I heard the word “infidel” used in a news story this morning and it got me thinking. Here’s how Webster’s defines it: “disbelieving Christianity or whatever may be the religion of the user of the word.” Another way to put it: we’re all infidels. No matter what we believe, we’re all infidels to someone else. We are all unfaithful to someone else’s God, by definition, if we believe in another God (and I suppose that’s especially true if you don’t believe in God at all). No way around it; you are an infidel, I am an infidel, and most importantly, they are infidels.

Some have tried philosophically to get around this uncomfortable truth by pointing out that God might not actually care which religious institution we identify with. After all, we are not God and, in just about every religious system, at least one of God’s attributes is love. So if God loves humanity, perhaps that love will outweigh whatever errors of belief we might have.

But as nice as that sounds, it unfortunately doesn’t change a thing; you are still an infidel. You are an infidel because I have The Truth: I am a follower of Jesus; you know, “The way, the truth, and the life.” I have this specific news about how to be in good standing with God and it doesn’t overtly say anything about “other paths.” I may hope that God’s love is unconditional and universal, but I would truly be an infidel if I neglected God’s plan for salvation as I have received it.

So infidels we remain. As long as we each have The Truth and our Truths disagree with each other, at least one of us is going to be an infidel.

But here’s my thought for the day: the notion of “infidel” is inherently ungodly. It’s ungodly in two senses of the word: first, it’s ungodly in that we are not God. When we declare someone else to be an infidel, we are doing so from a limited, human perspective. Although we have an obligation to God to live our lives and worship practices in a way we know is pleasing to God, we don’t actually know that the practices of others are not, in fact, pleasing to God.

But also, the notion of “infidel” is ungodly because it results in our turning our attention away from a godly life: a life lived in relationship with God. When we identify another as an infidel, it is their faith, lifestyle, and worship practices we are concerned with, not ours. Now obviously there are those who violently disagree with my thinking here, but I believe that the whole point of religion is to encourage the believer toward a deeper relationship with God. It has to do with helping each individual follower grow and sustain that relationship; concerning ourselves with how others are “not doing it right,” does not help us to be any closer to God.

Of course, even though it may be ungodly for me to concern myself with the faith practices of someone else, I am still called by God to care for that person. This is especially true if I believe I have The Truth that someone else does not have. But the question then becomes, how am I to share this Truth? Obviously, calling them an infidel has not historically been effective. No, I believe the only godly response is fidelity. We all, regardless of our religious beliefs, must remain as faithful to God as God enables us. There must not be disconnection between our lives and the God we speak about. Live what you believe with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength and let God be God.

But then, what do I know? I’m just an infidel.

Triplet Survey Results

First of all, this survey is in no way scientific. The method we’ve used is meant to help us listen for the Spirit’s leading, not to pinpoint any measurable facts or even popular opinions. Here’s what we’ve done:

• Between Christmas and Easter, nine Triplets met together a number of times. Recognizing the presence of Christ in those meetings, the groups got to know each other and talked as the Spirit led.
• Toward the end of this time, the Triplets were asked to respond to the following questions: 1) How would you describe us as a church? 2) What do you imagine God is calling us to do in this church and in our community?
• Six of the groups sent in responses.
• The organizing team (made up of a moderator, the pastor, and three other members, chosen by the Session) read through the responses, looking for themes that arose from the responses.

Here’s what we saw:
How do we describe ourselves as a church?
We are a family, centered around the Good News of Jesus Christ
who enjoy a traditional style of worship
and seek to be friendly, caring and accepting of
those within and outside of our church walls.
What do we imagine God is calling us to do in this church and community?
There were two obvious calls: to reach out to those (mostly younger families) in our community and to care for the needs of our (mostly older) members. As the team discussed these results, it became evident that these two themes may be a single calling

Unless the participants in this process have strong objections to our summary, these results will be brought to the Session next. Our elders will be asked to consider these responses as they consider our image in the community and as they plan for our future. I am hopeful that this process will lead us to tangible actions that will guide our ministry for the next few years.

Also, there were a lot of great ideas that came up in the Triplet conversations. Feel free to either write out those suggestions to the Session directly or tell them to your favorite elder and let him or her pretend it was their idea.

There's Something About Betty

If I seem a bit bleary-eyed on Sunday morning, it's because I will have stayed up too late on Saturday. You see, Betty White is hosting Saturday Night Live and I am not going to miss it; I have a thing for Bettys.

I met a friend's mom named Betty yesterday and said that to her. I immediately realized that I should probably explain myself so she didn't think I was hitting on her: I have never met a woman named Betty in a church that wasn't awesome. I qualify that statement with "in a church" because I don't want to be presumptuous; perhaps there are Bettys in this world that are awful people who don't go to church. But at the same time, I realize I don't have to; where else but in the church are you going to run into someone named Betty? It's one of those names that was big in its generation, but has since faded out a bit. You're not likely to meet, for example, a twenty year-old Betty. Sure, you'll meet an Elizabeth, or a Liz, or even a Beth; but Bettys are more and more becoming an endangered species. And of course, Bettys are of a generation where church was not an option.

I think my thing for Bettys started about fifteen to twenty years ago. I was working in a church that, like many, was having a bit of conflict. My personality has always wanted everyone to get along so it was stressful and difficult to stay out of other people's quarrels. There I was, training for church work, while all around me people were tense and upset... except for the Bettys. There were a couple of women named Betty who, for some reason, were able to rise above it all: they were supportive and always seemed happy to see me; they never spoke ill of anyone; and no matter what else was going on around them, they had an amazing ability to remain sweet, generous, and calm through it all. At the time, their example taught me a great deal about church conflict: namely that being right isn't all there is. Often (if not always), whatever we're arguing over is far less important than the love we are called to show one another.

At the time, those Bettys gave me an example of what I strive to be among my siblings in Christ. It wasn't until later that it became a "Betty thing." In the next church I worked in, it happened like this: I met a woman who was awesome and thought, "Wow, she reminds me of Betty." Sure enough, that was her name. Since then I've worked in several other churches and I've met Bettys in every one of them. And yes, they've all been awesome.

So I guess my point today is simply this: lets all strive to be a little more Betty... whether that's your name or not. And if your reoccurring example for living out the love of Jesus isn't named Betty, then feel free to insert their name here instead. And who knows, maybe in doing so your name might one day become synonymous to someone else of what is best about the church.

Churches Eat Their Young

That’s going to end up as a sermon title. I just heard it during a conversation with a church member who was calling, among other things, to see if I was back to my normal, peppy self. I am; thanks for asking.

We were also chatting about the possible next steps regarding the Triplet adventure and other “visioning” processes that churches go through. I’ll be writing more about that for the quarterly newsletter, due out next week. But for today, this quote that has moved me to break my months-long blogging silence is certainly worth talking about. What my friend meant by “churches eat their young” was our tendency to load all of the work of the church on the few we deem are most capable of doing it. You know who I mean: younger, able-bodied people who may even still have that “new Christian smell” to them. And of course by “eat them” we mean we exhaust them.

It’s one of those lines that are funny because they’re true… only it’s not that funny. It happens all the time and not just in churches. It’s the 80/20 rule: 80% of the work is done by 20% of the people. It’s why rooms clear out like scurrying roaches in a truck-stop bathroom when the lights come on whenever someone starts “looking for a little help in setting up next week’s bake sale.” We know that if they get us for this, then they’ll get us for everything else that follows this and in three months we’ll be in charge of this for the rest of our lives.

Can I get an “amen?”

I know plenty of people who have left churches for exactly this reason. And why not? We don’t join congregations to be in charge of them. We join a church because God has done something in our lives that compels us to be there. Although at first we are eager to respond to God’s leading, doing everything was never part of the deal. But even though it is wrong for churches to expect the faithful few to carry the weight of the many, our initial eagerness to serve still remains the right response. However unfortunate it might be that we can eventually find ourselves being chewed up by our churches, doing nothing was never part of the deal either. The Risen Jesus is a game-changer. By his life we are not the same and avoiding eye-contact with the people who are trying to live out Christ’s ministry is not what Jesus had in mind for the church.

And so, herein lies our dilemma: Jesus calls us to action in and through the church. The problem is, not everyone seems to have gotten that message. And so, those who do get the message wind up doing more than their share.

From my perspective, there are three ways churches deal with this problem:

1. Do nothing. This is a very popular response. Let the 20% continue to do next to everything, expect that eventually they will burn out, and hopefully some fresh meat will turn up before it’s too late.
2. Do less. Nurture the 20% to do only what they can handle and if the other 80% doesn’t care enough (said in your mom’s most guilt-inspiring voice), “I suppose the work of Christ is going to have to take a back seat to whatever else they’ve got going on. Oh no, don’t worry about it; you run along. You’ve got important things to do. Jesus will make do somehow.”
3. Do more.

Do more, but stop letting someone else tell you what Christ’s ministry ought to be. Avoid volunteering and strive for Calling. Theoretically, volunteering is doing something that helps in someone else’s calling. That’s wonderful in short-term bursts of service; it’s rewarding and much appreciated. But Calling is where the real fun is. Calling is all about Christ at work in and through you. It’s about the person God has uniquely created you to be and the ways only you can serve him in the world. Calling is about volunteering because you know it’s for something you’ve been created to do or not volunteering because you know God has put you on another job.

In short, if you don’t want to be eaten by your church then do more of what Jesus calls you to do. Enjoy it, let others celebrate it with you, and never stop listening for what Christ might be calling you to next. And if you’re not sure what you might be called to, come by and see me; it’s one of the things I’m called to do.

A Sense of Urgency

Well it's been while. My absence from this blog probably has more to do with my having too much on my mind rather than having nothing to say. Will Ferrell delivers a great line in the movie Blades of Glory: "Mind-bottling. You know, when things are so crazy it gets your thoughts all trapped, like in a bottle?" That's kind of how I've felt.

The good news is that most of my crazy, mind-bottling thoughts have been about Calvary. As Calvary's pastor, it's my job to think about our members, our future, and our faithfulness to Christ. And lately I've been trying to think better... so I've been letting others think with me.

In last Sunday's bulletin I asked the congregation to pray for six of our members. I'd rather not publish their names to the web, so if you missed the list, check the e-newsletter or email me. These six people -- which include me, four very diverse church members, and Bob, our local candidate for ministry -- make up what we're calling The Transformation Team. By the way, I'm open to suggestions on the title.

Bob is the moderator of the team, so I am free to simply be a member of it and have equal voice in it. The other members were chosen by the Session after I gave them an idea of what I intended to do and allowed them some time to pray about it. The team is reading and discussing a book called Pursuing the Full Kingdom Potential of Your Congregation by George Bullard. We've met twice and each of us have already been challenged by the ideas presented by the book and by God's Spirit. In short, this is already the most exhilarating and rewarding thing I've done in professional ministry.

Although these meetings need to be somewhat confidential to foster our honest communication, I do intend to share my thoughts on the process as often as I can when it relates to my own journey. And one of the first things I have been faced with is, why are we doing this? Since this was my idea, it may seem like a silly question. However, since my answer has changed at least a couple of times since first articulating these ideas, it's not a bad question too keep asking.

The short answer has always been, "Because I have a sense of urgency for my ministry at Calvary." I believe we all have a sense of urgency for our church and no two people's are exactly the same. Often our sense of urgency leads us down a path toward change, like if we see an absence of some demographic or a shrinking worship attendance or a desire to regain a former splendor. It's important to notice what gives us urgency in our church because it fuels our passion for ministry, it might explain why we're at odds with some of our siblings in Christ, and it may be the Spirit's way of nudging us. But it may not always be the best reason for congregational change.

A year ago, my urgency was about acknowledging the mistakes of my past in an effort to be the best pastor I can be. It was about me wanting us to be a growing, vital congregation. But in the end, it was really only about me. I wouldn't have been the first pastor to roll into a congregation with something to prove, but I'm glad God has given me a different sense of urgency. As I've begun to study with The Team, I've learned that the only sense of urgency that really works in the church is the urgency to be faithful to Christ's leading. All of those other things that get us moving in the life of the church may be true and honest reflections of who we are, but they need to take a back seat to the urgency of faithfulness.

So as I said on Sunday, please pray for the team; some transformational things are happening there already. Pray for our well being, the lessons we learn, and that we retain a faithful sense of urgency.

One Body, a Whole Lot of Parts

Now that Vacation Bible School has been over for a couple of days and I've had a chance to rest, I'm finally able to reflect on it a bit. I was running around from one thing to another all week, so I didn't have much of a chance to find a lesson in any of it. But now I do and the lesson I keep coming back to is the lesson of who we are as Christ's Body: each of those who helped to lead the program took their smaller part of it, as it fit in with their gifts. I led the games, for example, because I know how to do that. Something like crafts, on the other hand, would have been a mystery to me.

There are a lot of lessons to be learned here about how VBS is a parable for the church: how we all serve through our gifts toward one common goal; that it takes flexibility, patience, and forgiveness to work closely with the other members of Christ's Body; and that our diversity actually makes us more effective in the work we are called to do. I could probably extend that list out a bit, but it's that last lesson that interests me today.

I noticed something about those who led VBS last week: none of them were around my age. This is not a judgment, it's just an observation. Our VBS was led by the same types of people who lead VBSs everywhere: the members of Christ's Body who have the time to lead it, lead it. Generally, that means, unless you're paying me to be there, people my age are going to be at work. And as long as we remember to help with VBS by contributing financially, that still leaves two very qualified groups to actually run it: teens and retirees (or semi-retireed).

Now let that soak in a bit... Vacation Bible School happens mostly because two groups of people who have almost nothing else in common work together to make it happen. And that, my friends, is the beauty of Christ's Body at work. If our church was made up of only teens, or only retirees, or only those in the middle, VBS would either not happen well or it wouldn't happen at all. But because we can incorporate such diverse age groups, this ministry not only happens, it happens exceedingly well.

I believe this is also true in any other way one could categorize us demographically. The work of the Church is more effective because of our diversity: we are young and old, male and female, politically conservative and liberal; we each have our own personal histories, families and ethnic backgrounds; and let's not forget our multitude of various gifts and talents. The world around us tends to see this kind diversity as a problem to be solved, but in Christ it's the other way around. The only same thing among us all is that we each have been called to follow Jesus. Those things that make us different in every other way, only makes us serve him that much more effectively.

We are, in many ways, a diverse group; and for that I am thankful. And I am especially thankful this week for those in our congregation who are older, working with those who are younger, to teach the youngest of our community of the love of God in Christ.

Mother's Day Kids, Pictures and Clips

Here are some images and a short movie clip of our children during Sunday's Mother's Day worship service. Enjoy!

On the Road

I'm back in town now, after a brief road trip. I drove out to my parents' house in California. They were off to the desert in their Winnebago so I had the house to myself to read, pray, and write. So technically this was "study leave" and not a vacation (although, after being on the job for nine months, the time away was certainly refreshing).

I took this time in an attempt to think through our next steps as a congregation. Our life together as Christ's body is very much a journey: geographically, we remain connected to this place, but Christ continually calls us to new places both personally and as a congregation. It was, in a manner of speaking, a road trip to help us plan a road trip.

But one of the greatest temptations a pastor faces is to plan this trip alone. The way the thinking goes, "I am the pastor. I've read all the right books. I know what constitutes a vital church. I know how to listen for God's voice. Of course I know where the church ought to go." And of course, this turns out to be one of the most destructive things a pastor can do. It's destructive for a number of reasons, but the central sin is that it assumes an authority that actually belongs to Christ. So to mix the metaphor slightly, I am simply the conductor on this road trip of Christ's church. We each participate in discerning where God is leading us and how we ought to get there; my role in this is to facilitate this process and then holler, "All aboard!"

So this trip was not about me deciding how our church can grow or better meet the needs of this community; I don't know how we are going to do things like that and frankly I think it's too soon for me to start sharing those thoughts anyway. No, this trip was about working on a process that helps us think through those issues in an ongoing way. This journey was about me remembering that our life together is also a journey; a journey that is more productive and enjoyable if we take stock of where we're supposed to be going from time to time.

You will hear more about how that process is taking shape in the coming months, but I can tell you about one central element: this process is mostly about prayer. Prayer is how we intentionally seek God's vision for the ministry we've been called to embody. Prayer is how we plan for this journey and prayer is how we travel it faithfully. So please pray. Pray for me and pray for those who will lead us in this process. Pray for us as a congregation that we might honestly work through the anxieties that new journeys sometimes bring. And let us pray for the Spirit's clear leading to show us all the wonderful things ahead of us as we seek to follow Christ our Savior.


By the way, even though I'm back in town, you won't see me in worship on Sunday. No, I'm not ditching church because I have the day off. No, I'm not just lying low so that the guest preacher doesn't feel nervous (not that she would or should). And no, I don't need a break from you.

The reason you won't see me on Sunday is that I'll be spying: on Sundays when I don't have any responsibilities, I like to attend another worship service incognito. I highly recommend it. It gives us an opportunity to take notes on what other churches are doing (well or poorly) which helps us get a perspective on what we are doing at Calvary. In addition, I like to play "Secret Shopper" during their fellowship time. That's where I sit alone with a cup of coffee and see if anyone comes over to talk to me; the results are then passed along to the pastor. So if you are going to miss a Sunday, at least bring back notes.