Remembering

Deanna and I had a wonderfully peaceful worship experience last night on Maundy Thursday. Since we weren't having Holy Week services at Providence this year as that ministry winds down, we visited with another congregation in our Presbytery. It was a welcome change not to have to be in charge. Instead of worrying about whether I remembered whether we were saying of singing the "Holy, holy, holy..." part of the Prayer of Thanksgiving at the Table or whether I did the epiclesis at the right time, I could sit and let the liturgy wash over me and do the work it was designed to do. It did. Just before we were invited to the Table, the choir sang "In Remembrance" from CELEBRATE LIFE. I know. Everyone has sung it to death over the years, but it is still a wonderful way to prepare for the Sacrament. As I sat and listened, I remembered all the flap that music like CELEBRATE LIFE and SUPERSTAR, and all the others from that era had caused. People I remember from church life then (but who will remain nameless because some of them are still around) pitched more than one fit when that music became popular among young people in the '60's and '70's. Some of them were the same ones who had pitched other fits when the GOOD NEWS BIBLE appeared a few years earlier. Something about stick figure illustrations and the language of common speech just didn't sit right with some of those folks who thought they were protecting God from all of us. As I sat and listened to the choir sing, I remembered all that conflict from forty years ago, and it all seems so tame now. I tried to remember when that's all we had to worry about: people, young and otherwise, who were so hungry to hear the Gospel that they found ways to hear it in their own contexts. I still have a GOOD NEWS BIBLE somewhere, but I don't read it in the pulpit or even in my own study very often. I still have a score for CELEBRATE LIFE, but last night is the first time I remember hearing any of it sung in a long time. I think I have an old VHS tape of SUPERSTAR SOMEWHERE, but nothing to play it on anymore. What I remember, though, is how all those things and others spoke to so many and kept us faithful when we could easily have wandered off where others went. All that conflict seems so tame in comparison to the issues that divide us these days. It's not just old against young anymore. It seems to be everybody against everybody else. I'd like to think that some of the people we're all knotted up about these days still desperately want to hear some Good News and will continue to state their case until we let them. But I've known too many who have given up on hearing much from us at all, deciding that we're much more concerned with our own internal squabbles than we'll ever be about their well-being.
On this Good Friday afternoon and tomorrow when there is time for even God to be quiet for a while, I'm remembering. "In remembrance of me, eat this bread. In remembrance of me, drink this wine. In remembrance of me, pray for the time when God's own will is done....In remembrance of me, search for truth. In remembrance of me, always love."
What people tried to dismiss as a bunch of youth ministry stuff sounds like a call to action after all these years. Wonder when we'll ever listen?

An Elder Three Times

I was ordained an elder (what we used to call and, it appears, may be calling again, a ruling elder in 1983, I think. I learned a lot about my faith, the Church, and people during the years I spent as a Session member. Most importantly, I learned that service as a ruling elder was a lot more about serving that it was about ruling. I became a candidate for ministry and left that position about the time that congregation began a search for a new pastor. Some chuckled when they said candidacy was a lot to undertake to avoid being on a search committee.
I was ordained a teaching elder or Minister of Word and Sacrament in 1988 after finishing Seminary. I learned a lot more than I expected to about a lot more things than I even knew existed during my preparation for that ordination. My service as this kind of elder continues to be one of the most challenging and rewarding things I have ever done. Right now, it's a little confusing as I try to sort our where God is calling me to serve next, but I know and believe that this role is all about service, and that's as it should be.
I became another kind of elder last week. Some of you know my mom died last summer. My dad died last week. Neither of their deaths was altogether unexpected, but we didn't expect either of them when they happened. From a place too close to reflect much, the most identifiable feeling I have experienced so far has to do with the strange reality that my sister and I are now the elders of our tribe. There are two or three (nobody's quite sure about one of them) aunts remaining on my dad's side and one aunt on my mom's. But for our immediate family, my sister and I are now the elders. Both of us have two kids whom we love dearly, and they know it. But the line back from us stops with us. It's a weird feeling. I'm hoping that this way to be an elder is about service, too, that we can do and be things that will be helpful to others, especially to our kids, and, someday, to theirs.

Strangers Bearing Gifts

I'm behind the lectionary for a while this winter since I wanted to preach the texts for the Sunday after Christmas on January 2 and that meant either skipping Epiphany or doing it after the fact. We did it on January 9. As I've continued to think about those strange visitors from the East who came to the infant Jesus, we had a couple of gifts from strangers ourselves. On the first Sunday of the New Year (which happened the day after New Year's Day this year. You can imagine what that did for attendance!), visitors were not hard to spot in our congregation. A couple I had never seen before pulled into the parking lot early, while some of us were still setting things up. They sat and waited for a while, and when the few others who came that day began to show up, they got out and came in. They had a cloth tote with them. I'm not usually skittish about such things, but I did wonder what they were doing since I doubted they knew we collect canned and boxed food for a local pantry along with our offering every week. Once they were inside, we discovered them to be very sociable people, talking and visiting with me and with others as though they had known us forever. Then out of that tote they pulled a big assortment of Christmas candy. "Can you find someone to give this to?" they inquired. People mean well when they give us all this, but we really don't need it. It turns out they were from Pennsylvania and were on their way further south in Florida where they intend to spend the rest of the winter. Several of our folks took portions of that candy home, whether we needed it or not, mostly because these who had been strangers had brought it as a gift. I don't know anything about those folks' church history or practice, but they had learned a lot about hospitality somewhere. That Sunday was a Communion Sunday for us. Our guests opted not to participate, which is fine, but I'll admit that I had to wonder what kind of a church background might have helped them become so outgoing, friendly, and generous, but still prevent them from receiving a gift we could have shared with them. Hopefully we were able to share the Gospel with them. Maybe that's gift enough. Add that to the long list of things I'll keep thinking about.
On another Sunday a week or two before Christmas, three beautiful poinsettias were waiting outside our worship space when I arrived before others came. No card. No sign of where they may have come from. They added a festive note to our worship space on that Sunday, on Christmas Eve and on the Sundays after Christmas. No one had any idea where they had come from. We put a note in the bulletin to say the flowers were from friends. Another couple who had visited with us before Christmas promised they would return when they got back from being with their family during the holidays. Yesterday, there they were, happy to be back home, and seemingly happy to be in worship with us. As we greeted and got reacquainted, they asked if we had enjoyed the poinsettias! They had them at home and didn't want them not to be enjoyed while they were away, so they dropped them off outside our door on their way out of town. I was preaching yesterday on Paul's mystery revealed in Ephesians. The Christmas flower mystery got solved, too. And we met some great new friends.
There's something about strangers bearing gifts. Maybe we all need to try to be those strangers more often.

What We Want; What We Need

I overhead an interesting conversation while out among the Christmas shoppers the other day. A couple of friends were talking about how difficult they were finding it to decide on a gift for a mutual friend. "I just don't know what to do!" one of them said. "She refuses to give us a list of things she wants." "I've about decided to give her a gift card and forget about it," the other one replied. I know that sometimes having a list or suggestion makes gift giving easier, but there is still something to be said for giving gifts we've picked because we know they're something the receiver will like. I also know that's a lot of trouble and can take a lot of time. My late mom was the world's best (or worst, depending on your perspective) at providing Christmas lists. Every year, right after Thanksgiving, my sister and I would get the same list of things our mom wanted. The list usually included at least two things that were not available. One year it was a bottle of perfume that hadn't been made in ten years. Her note said we could find it at a flea market if we looked hard enough. For several years it was whatever the most sought-after and not to be had kids' gift was that year: Tickle Me Elmo one year; Holiday Barbie another. No, I don't have any idea what she planned to do with Elmo or Barbie. We knew what the intent of the list was. It was not intended to be a suggestion. It was all the things she wanted, and our job was to divide it up and provide the goods. She never got either Elmo or Barbie, and we didn't knock ourselves out looking for well-aged perfume. I'm sure those experiences are part of the reason that Christmas lists still leave a sour taste in my mouth. I don't always get it right when I buy gifts, but I don't miss it often.

Overhearing that conversation and thinking about the things I still need to get bought helped me to think about another giver. As long as there have been people, we have been pretty good at telling God what we want. Our ancestors wanted freedom from bondage in Egypt until they discovered it meant living in the wilderness for a time. Another generation longed for home during the Exile and wondered why God didn't respond more quickly. We've all gotten pretty good at following their lead in telling God what we want. I'm thankful that when God decided to send Jesus into the world to accomplish salvation it wasn't because that's what we wanted, but because it was and is what we need. I'm even more thankful that God bothered to know us well enough to know our needs. I hope all of us get something we want this Christmas. I know that in Jesus Christ, we have access to what we need.

First Loves

I heard part of one segment of what appeared to be a longer series on NPR not long ago. The series invited classical musicians to think back to that first piece of music they learned that grabbed hold of them and helped them to see that making music would be their life. I think the guy I heard that day was a violinist--someone I had never heard of and someone who can certainly do things I can't. I think the piece he remembered was Mendelssohn. He spoke with genuine affection about how learning to play that piece had changed his life. As I drove wherever I was going that afternoon (The car is my NPR place.) I thought about several pieces of music and the people who brought me to them that have been especially formative for me. Not a professional musician by any stretch, I've still been helped in many ways by singing and listening.

As I thought about that for a while, I began to broaden my thinking to other things that help to form me, and, surprise, surprise, my mind drifted to Scripture. I thought about what a series of interviews like the one I heard about the formative influence of music might sound like if it asked people to think about a text or story from Scripture that has been foundational in the development of their faith. So let's let this conversation place open that discussion. What are some texts or stories from the Bible that you remember from any stage of life or faith that have helped you to decide, "This is who I am. This is what I believe?"

I'll start: some who know me know what's coming. The opening verses of Isaiah 43 have God say, "Don't be afraid. I have redeemed you. I have called you by your name. You are mine." Long story. My only regret when I hear the affirmation, promise, and challenge in these words is that it took me so long to find them. In most of my growing up years, the Bible was more threat than promise, more accusation than affirmation. Finding this text, "You are mine," opened a whole new way to understand God for me. Now I try to start every day with it in some form: read, remembered, sung, or spoken.

So what made faith possible for you?

Sometimes the Reasons Matter

I live close enough to Gainesville, Florida to have heard more than enough about the Dove World Outreach Center and its plans to burn the Qur'an on Saturday, September 11. We've been hearing about it for weeks. At first, I didn't pay much attention, since somebody's always doing something wacky in Florida. As the date has drawn closer, though, and the media attention (that's another whole issue)has ramped up, it seems that everybody has had something to say about this stunt. At the outset let me say that what the Dove folks are planning is wrong. It's not just insensitive or uncaring; it's wrong. It's wrong primarily because it is not in linen with foundational teachings of Jesus Christ, who came to show us the best example of what human life can be. This week we're being told that the planned burning of the Qur'an is wrong because it endangers American and other troops. I'm sure that's true, and I'm as opposed as anybody to anything that endangers military personnel more than they already are just by being there. But the primary reason this is wrong is not a matter of national security. The primary reason this is wrong is that it does not demonstrate the love of Jesus Christ, who came to bring peace and to bring people to an awareness of God's gracious love. If we are going to call ourselves Christians, then we must constantly evaluate our own lives and the witness they bear to the faith we claim. I do that every day, and encourage others to. I rarely have difficulty finding areas in my own life and witness that need attention. When I'm through with all those areas, maybe I'll think about telling someone else how to live. But I don't expect to be done with my own spiritual formation for a while. I doubt that anything I or anyone else can say will deter the people in Gainesville who think they are responding to a call from God. The primary call I hear from God is to love others with the love of Christ, and to trust that love to do the work God sent it into the world (even through me) to do. I know that radical Islam is a dangerous force in the world. I also know that radical Christianity is just as dangerous. God, help us.

If it's True

As some of you know, my mom died earlier this summer. She was a difficult person. I did the simple graveside service. It was nowhere near the spectacle she would like for it to have been. It was nowhere near the event most of our family had anticipated. I hope it was faithful. In that service, which was mercifully brief since it was 105 degrees that day, we talked about the assurance that God loves us and wants us to know peace and contentment. My mom never knew much of either of those, and it was mostly of her own choosing. What I tried to share in the service was that it really is the truth that God loves us and wants good for us. If we never find it in this life, as she rarely did (and she is not alone)I cling to the assurance that the way things do in eternity is not up to us, that God will be in charge, and we will know life as we could have known it in this life if we had paid more attention to God's way than we had to ours. Here's part of what I said in the cemetery: "...if what God really does want for us is for us to be happy and to enjoy life as long as it lasts, then where she is now, in the everlasting presence of God, that's all that matters. And God's in charge of that place, and God can find a way to help her experience the happiness and the joy that she was rarely able to find in the past seventy-seven years." I believe that.
Most of my family who gathered there that afternoon are pretty life-weary people. They have all had their share of adversity. One of my cousins came to me as we were leaving the cemetery that day. She, herself, has buried a child and a brother, and suffered more failed marriages than I remember. I haven't had any of those things happen so far. It's what she said, though, that I remember. She said, "I really appreciate what you said today. I just wish there were some way we could know it's the truth. It would make all this a little easier, wouldn't it."
I've thought about her comments a lot since that day. What I said to her was that I believe what I said was true. I have to. But I can't prove its truth to her or to anybody else. Believing that God loves us and wants us to know peace is the foundation of everything else I believe. If that's not true, I'm up the creek. We all are.
I haven't seen that cousin since that day in the cemetery. Probably won't for a while. The fact that she was listening enough to say what she did give me hope for people who do what I do, even (maybe especially) when we do it among those who know us best--or think they do.