Monday, March 30, 2015

Temple Cleaning

Then they came to Jerusalem.  And [Jesus] entered the temple and began to drive out those who were selling and those who were buying in the temple, and he overturned the tables of the money changers and the seats of those who sold doves; and he would not allow anyone to carry anything through the temple.  He saw teaching and saying, "Is it not written, 'My house shall be called a house of prayer for all the nations'? But you have made it a den of robbers."


And when the chief priests and the scribes heard it, they kept looking for a way to kill him; for they were afraid of him, because the whole crow was spellbound by his teaching.  And when evening came, Jesus and his disciples went out of the city.   (Mark 11:15-19, NRSV)


Today is the day for cleaning up the temple.  Some of my fondest memories are those times when church members gathered together to clean out the closets of their buildings.  Over time, our sacred spaces get overladen with junk--old costumes from Christmas pageants, crumpled copies of bulletins, broken folding chairs, plastic flowers.  You name it, local churches have a way of holding on to it.  Those major cleaning days brought together folks who had energy for making their space less cluttered and more inviting.


One of the churches I served had rented a parsonage to a house painter.  The painter had disposed of all his old paint pails in a ditch on the church's property.  The cans had been there for years, rusting in that ditch--until one spring day a group of church members gathered with trailers behind their trucks.  They properly disposed of three trailer loads of cans and other metals.  In that clean-up day, someone found an antique pitch pipe that had been lost in the ditch.  It was an amazing discovery! 


I also remember Ella, a member of one of the churches where I served. This woman would spend an entire week detailing the sanctuary when it was her turn to clean.  Although thin and frail, she would arrive early in the day and stay late into the afternoon.  She was never content to run the vacuum and dust the obvious places, but Ella would get down on her hands and knees to clear away the cobwebs beneath our pews.  The sanctuary shined and sparkled when she was done.  It was an offering of great devotion and care for the community that had nurtured her faith over many years.


Today, on this Monday of Holy Week, I see Jesus, tearing up and cleaning out the artifacts and attitudes that clutter up the temple.  I like this Jesus who gets forceful with those who have junked up the sacred space and repurposed religious practices for their own gain.  I seek to follow Jesus, who begins Holy Week by restoring the space for worship and wonder.  Others in that day became fearful and sought to destroy him; but surely there were some who were ready and eager for the changes that he brought--to the temple and to their lives.


Come, Courageous Jesus!  Come and overturn the tables and clear out the clutter that keeps me distant from you.  May your house be a place of prayer and welcome for all peoples.  Help me to join you in this holy work; and at the last, lead me to your eternal life.  Amen.


   

Sunday, March 22, 2015

Transition to the Future

Last week I sat at tables with the United Church of Christ Board.  In a crowded room in Cleveland, we made decisions that will shape the future of the denomination that has been my spiritual home.  Along with the Rev. Dr. John Dorhauer, our nominee for General Minister & President, I, too, love the United Church of Christ.  This church is an amazing gift from God.  We have been together longer than were the two antecedent denominations from which we were formed.  The "firsts" that we name and celebrate are powerful reminders of the visionary courage, a legacy of our forebears in faith.  This bold experiment in ecumenism continues to be a blessing in villages, towns, and cities.  We are a voice for justice when others would be cautiously silent and complicit in the injustices of the world.  We are a voice of affirmation and love when others are quick to condemn and exclude.  We are a bold, visionary voice that finds its courage in the Spirit of the Living God. Yes, I, too, love this church.

That said, I have a concern about attempts to narrowly define the future of the United Church of Christ, for I am persuaded that the future always comes to us as a gift of God.  The future is about hope--hope that is received, embraced, and celebrated.  The future is not simply for the soaring visionaries, but also for those who are grounded with deep memory and sacred tradition.  My  fervent prayer for the Untied Church of Christ is that we will walk together into a future that is always shrouded in some mystery, never imposed upon us by elitist powers and principalities.  This transitional moment in our history is not a time for political posturing and management theory; rather, this is a moment for kneeling before God's majesty and mystery.  The future comes to us as a gift.  As we journey together through Holy Week toward the dawn of Easter, we know that transitional times take us to places where we had not intended to go.  Nevertheless, our hope is not in our own reason and strength, but in the mystery of resurrection and glorious life.  Clearly, there are attitudes and actions that will help the future be birthed, but that future always comes a gift.  We can do much to teach and advocate for a just society and a transformed world, but the transformation of heart and mind is ultimately the work of God.  The life and leadership we have experienced thus far have been entrusted to us as God's gift.  It will surely be so as the future comes in all its fullness. 

In closing, I remember the leadership change anticipated by Deuteronomy 31:7-8.  Moses is passing on the mantle to Joshua and a new generation of leaders.  This charge might well be the one for our emerging leaders in the United Church of Christ in this time of transition:  "Be strong and bold, for you are the one who will go with this people into the land that the LORD has sworn to their ancestors to give them; and you will put them in possession of it.  It is the LORD who goes before you.  The LORD will be with you; the LORD will not fail you or forsake you.  Do not fear or be dismayed." 

God of us all,
I pray with humility and with hope in the transforming work that you are doing through the manifold settings of the United Church of Christ.  Bless by your Holy Spirit your servant John that he and we may be strong and bold in the face of the challenges that are before us.  Help us all to move beyond our fears and anxieties to that future that comes to us an amazing gift from you.  Move us from death to life in Jesus Christ, who calls us to follow, to serve, and always to love.  Amen.

Wednesday, December 24, 2014

A Memorable & Meaningful Christmas

It is no coincidence, I think, that some of my best Christmas memories are those associated with being in church on Christmas Eve or on Christmas Morning.  So many sparkling memories and so much meaning are attached to events that happen in the local churches.

It's almost Christmas again, and I remember . . . The 11:00 o'clock Candlelight and Communion services at St. Paul United Church of Christ in Old Monroe.  The Sunday School Program in the new Friendship Hall at California. Spending Christmas Eve with Debby's brother David, who drove all the way from St. Louis to visit and worship with us.  The Christmas Eve at St. John's United Church of Christ in Chesterfield with my good friend, Pastor Dale Bartels.

I remember a particular Christmas Eve when cousins, Charles and Herb, came to church at 11:00 o'clock.  Herb wasn't known as a fastidious dresser, but on this Christmas Eve he was dressed very well, including a little beret atop his balding head as he entered the dimly-lit sanctuary.  He was not a church-going member.  In fact, this was the only time I saw Herb in church.  We had Communion by intinction just before the candles were lit and we sang Silent Night.  Herb was the last one up the aisle.  He took the bread and ate.  Then, he grabbed the chalice from my hands and tipped it up, drinking deeply.  Some were horrified at the sight of this outsider, who did not follow the ritual.  They were worried, perhaps, about getting germs in the blood of Christ.  Maybe Jesus would catch something from Herb.  Well, I think it went the other way that night.  Every time we commune, we catch something from Jesus.  We catch the hope of heaven, the courage to live life to the fullest, the faith to transcend earth's troubles, and the assurance of God's salvation that will see us through everything that comes.  It was truly a memorable and meaningful moment.  Thank you, Herb.  Thank you, Jesus.

And tonight, as we go to worship anew on Christmas Eve, may you and I be ready to experience the great gift of God in Jesus Christ, the Holy Child of Bethlehem, the Light of the World, our Savior.  May yours be a memorable and meaningful celebration.  Drink deeply, receiving the Gift that God gives you.  Drink deeply of the love of God for you and for many - for all.

With Phillip Brooks, we pray: 

"O Holy Child of Bethlehem,
Descend to us we pray;
Cast out our sin and enter in,
Be born in us today.
We hear the Christmas angels
The great glad tidings tell:
Oh, come to us, abide with us,
Our Lord, Emmanuel!"

~Phillip Brooks, O Little Town of Bethlehem, 1868.


 

Monday, December 15, 2014

The Road Through Rosebud

Sad.  Very, very sad.  That's how I feel when I hear the news from Rosebud.  Rosebud, population 409, is tiny town in a rural landscape that had been my home.  I know it well.  A highway runs through the heart of the town.  On December 3, residents of Rosebud stood on that highway to block the passage of the "Journey for Justice" March between Ferguson and Jefferson City--a march sponsored by the NAACP to protest the grand jury's decision about the death of Michael Brown by Officer Darren Wilson. 

In recent months our nation has been confronted again with the power of prejudice and racial profiling.  Something is very wrong when folks are viewed suspiciously and treated as sinister because of the color of their skin.  When what appear to be petty crimes are met with fear and excessive force, something is terribly wrong in our land.  The reports from Rosebud leave me sad and depressed.  The hateful signs, the outlines of bodies painted on the highway, a Confederate flag and a white hood--these reveal an evil of the heart. 

Certainly not all residents of Rosebud should be judged by the actions of a few.  But the words and deeds of people, who may well be sitting in the Sunday morning congregations, singing about Jesus and the grace of God, need to be confronted.  This "counter protest" was intended to intimidate and humiliate other human beings, other children of God.  It may all be legal, but it is not right.  This display of intolerance disturbs the peace, perpetuates the distrust, and may lead to the escalation of violence.  It leaves me very sad. 

I wonder what I would be preaching were I a pastor in a pulpit in Rosebud in this Advent season.  I wonder whether I would have the courage to mention the trouble in a prayer of confession or a  sermon or a pastoral prayer.  Would I have the conviction to converse about it in the coffee shop?  The lesson from the First Sunday of Advent inspires a sermon:  "O that you would tear open the heavens and come down" (Isaiah 64:1a).  Come down to the streets of Ferguson, New York, Cleveland . . . and Rosebud right now.  We need you down here now, O God, to help us get things right.  Come with your justice and set everything right.  We're stuck in the ruins of violence and racism.  We need your intervention.  We're sad and mad and confused . . . mired down, stuck.

When I was a child in a country church about ten miles from Rosebud, we learned a life-shaping Sunday School hymn:  "Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world . . ."  In that church, missionaries from distant lands would come and teach us the importance of loving and serving others whether they were next door or around the world.  African American choirs would come from St. Louis to sing gospel songs in our little church.  From earliest days, I pictured a lowly Jesus who identified with the little ones of the world and gave them a voice to sing out with courage, naming their oppression and praying for deliverance.  It was the church that taught me to love and to transform the highways of hate.

Well, I'm not in the neighborhood of Rosebud now.  But what will I say and what will I do in response to the hostility that divides people in this world?  The road through Rosebud is connected to all the other roads where old prejudices and profiling still occur.  In this Advent time, I long for new hope, peace, joy, and love to be born--true gifts of God for all the people of God.  My spirit is strengthened by the Gospel news:  "And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory" (John 14:1).  The Word becomes flesh--complicated, connected flesh.  God shares our flesh and blood, our sadness and our sorrows, our living and our dying.  God in Christ comes to the world, in vulnerable flesh--our common flesh.  This is the Good News!

O God, come:  Look at the mess we have made of things in this world! 
O Jesus, come:  Walk the road with us that leads to understanding, harmony, and life!
O Spirit, come:  Empower us with your courage that we may embrace one another in peace!

May it be so! 
May it be so now!





 

Monday, September 1, 2014

Labor and Rest

It took 176 scoop shovels of corn to make one batch of cattle feed, as I recall.  My dad worked for the Kreter brothers for many years.  Their mobile grinder went from farm to farm, preparing custom feed for the livestock.  It was a noisy, dusty job that required a laborer with strength and stamina to get the job done.   My dad had both . . . and feisty determination to boot.  I wonder how many shovels of corn he threw into the elevator in his working days.  It was exhausting work, but he took pride in it and the fact that he could support our family.

I remember, too, how work was so much a part of our lives.  When dad took a week of vacation it was often spent painting the wooden picket fence that marked the boundaries of our back yard.  Every couple of years we would take a road trip to Oklahoma to visit relatives.  It was the only family vacation destination for us.  And even while on vacation, dad would relish opportunities to work on the relatives' farms.

I know there is a lot of my dad in me.  The work ethic got passed along from father to son.  While I do not scoop corn into a bellowing machine, I also have a drive to work hard--sometimes too hard.  My ministry is not about manual labor, but about serving in ways that reflect God's care for the church and love for the world. 

I am fortunate to have more opportunities for rest and renewal than my dad enjoyed.  I get to go to many places both alone and with my family.  Even so, I know the value of putting heart, mind, soul and strength into my ministry . . . my work.

On this Labor Day, I am grateful to God for the ability to engage in work that makes the world a better place, that "keeps faith sweet and strong," as an old hymn taught me to sing, and that is a testimony to my love for God and for my neighbors.

Even so, tonight, as I prepare to call it a day, the words of one of my favorite psalms come to mind.  These verses help me to put it all in proper perspective and let me rest when the day is done.

Unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labor in vain.
      Unless the LORD guards the city, the guard keeps watch in vain.
It is in vain that you rise up early and go late to rest, 
      eating the bread of anxious toil;
            for he gives sleep to his beloved.
 
--Psalm 127:1-2, New Revised Standard Version
 
 
May God give sleep to all who labor in love.    Goodnight!

Sunday, August 17, 2014

Does It Have to Be This Way?

The vacation continues.  In recent weeks, we have traveled several thousand miles to Missouri and back--back to the heartland, to a place that was long our home.  We visited with family, celebrated birthdays, and caught up with good friends.  It was good for the soul.

But while we were traveling in Missouri, on a cloudy Saturday afternoon, the news of a horrible shooting in Ferguson, Missouri began to break.  The death of Michael Brown, Jr. has caused me to ask:  Did it have to be this way?  Did an unarmed black teenager have to be killed by a police officer in that St. Louis suburb?  Was this the only way it could go?  Did it have to be this way?

In the week following the shooting, while traveling home, I have listened to a lot of CNN reports from Missouri.  I have heard the Governor and Ferguson's Police Chief and other white leaders stumbling and stammering.  They don't know how to respond.  They are standing in a foreign place.  My heart breaks as I hear of violence provoked and perpetuated by the firing of rubber bullets and tear gas at grieving and angry protesters.  Did it have to be this way, really?

I have also seen a panic perpetuated by a kind of mob mentality, pulsing through the Ferguson community.  Rioting, looting, and burning of a neighborhood convenience store are familiar scenes in the night.  Desperate, fearful, and oppressed people do desperate things.  This is not to condone violence for violence, but I do not know how I might respond were I not privileged by virtue of my race and ancestry.  Again, I ask, did it have to be this way?

Well, it is this way--at least for now.  So, what can I do?  I cannot be there.  I cannot physically stand there in the middle of the troubles, in the middle of the sorrow on the streets and in the homes of Ferguson, Missouri.  What good would it do if I could?

I am much impressed with Missouri Highway Patrol Captain Ronald Johnson. I realize he has been authorized to stand in the midst of the trouble by an establishment that is tongue-tied and unable to relate for itself.  I think Johnson is a hero because he walks beside his protesting people and communicates in the midst of their fear and grief.  I know he wears his uniform and weapon, but he is not defined by or protected by those.  They do not separate him from the people.  He is out there on the streets, sharing the deep feelings of a community in its anger and grief.  He is part of that community.  Johnson is not a savior, but a servant.  Sadly, we see that he hasn't even been given authority to take command of the situation; but he is there in the midst of it all.  This is the kind of minister that I aspire to become.

The vacation continues and so does my prayer for clarity, for justice, and for peace.

O God, you know . . . it did not have to be this way!  This was not ordained by you, but shows the sinfulness that mars and scars our souls and our society.  Be with the family and the community that mourns the loss of this young man, Michael Brown.  Be with the family and those who attend to police offer Darren Wilson.  Lives are lost here, O God.  Lives are lost.  It doesn't have to be this way.  Show us another way, even the way of Jesus, who knows and walks with us in every place of trouble and leads us forward to a new day, a new way, a new life.  In his name.  Amen.

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Standing in the Storm

In the late 1960's in my social studies classroom, I sat at a desk that had been scarred by someone's pen.  Carved into the wood and shaded in blue was one word: "Vietnam."  As an adolescent child, I lived with a blissful naiveté.  I did not read papers or watch the evening news.  Our family did not discuss the war in Southeast Asia at the supper table.  My pastor did not raise the issue from the pulpit, nor did my Sunday School teachers challenge me to think critically about the intersection of biblical faith and secular society.   I was totally unaware until is saw that word, "Vietnam," and wondered what it meant.  I lived a sheltered life to my own detriment.

As a young pastor, there was always some church member who would counsel me, "There will always be wars and rumors of war.  Those people in that part of the world have never been able to get along."  The message was, "Don't spend your time with the conflicts of the world, but do something that will make a difference.  Leave the earthly troubles to God, who will judge the world at the end of the times."  Such counsel is a call to Christian isolationism and an acceptance of the status quo.  I never agreed with that argument, but neither did I engage it in a deeper conversation. 

I have been thinking a lot lately about the conflicts that are threatening to destroy the world.  The atrocities of warfare, famine, and poverty are evident in every newscast now.  The trouble is not isolated and remote, but touches us all.  We are all interconnected.  What happens in one place affects everyplace.  The numbing of the spirit to the violence and sufferings of others is pervasive.  An old hymn from my childhood taught me to sing, "Let none hear you idly saying, "There is nothing I can do,' while the souls of men [sic] are dying and the Master calls for you."  Those lyrics are like a single word carved into a school desk.  They are ingrained in my spirit.

At an upcoming meeting of the New Hampshire Conference of the United Church of Christ, we will likely debate a resolution intended to address the conflict between Israelis and Palestinians.  Specifically, we will debate whether to endorse economic boycotts, divestment and sanctions against companies deemed detrimental to the Palestinian people and to the peace of this troubled region.  I also pray for peace in the Ukraine, where a recent downing of a Malaysian jetliner has brought the atrocities in that conflict into sharper focus.  And, in our own nation, the treatment of immigrant peoples--including children--is weighing heavily on my mind.  "Let none hear you idly saying, 'There is nothing I can do.'" 

In the concluding paragraphs of his Nobel Prize acceptance speech, Jimmy Carter focused on the "rewarding burden" that is ours to carry as citizens of the world and as disciples of Jesus Christ.

But tragically, in the industrialized world there is a terrible absence of understanding or concern about those who are enduring lives of despair and hopelessness. We have not yet made the commitment to share with others an appreciable part of our excessive wealth. This is a potentially rewarding burden that we should all be willing to assume.
 
Ladies and gentlemen:  War may sometimes be a necessary evil. But no matter how necessary, it is always an evil, never a good. We will not learn how to live together in peace by killing each other's children.
 
--Jimmy Carter, Nobel Peace Prize Acceptance Speech, December 10, 2002
 
 
Today, I am thinking about engagement beyond isolationism.  I am thinking about how conflicts, whether interpersonal or international, affect us all.  I am thinking that one need not be an expert in resolving or transforming these troubles; but approach life with a willingness to engage in bringing peace to our troubled world.  Yes, the "rewarding burden" may require much of me, but it reminds me of the cross of One who stood in the midst of the storm and spoke his peace.
 
 
O God of Love, whose peace seems so elusive in this time, grant me the courage to engage as a child of your peace in this very moment and always.  Amen.