In for the Long Haul

The word that has startled me this Christmas is "longsuffering."  That seems a strange word to emerge in my spirit in the holy time.  This old-fashioned word is often translated "patience" in more contemporary translations of the scriptures, but today I return to the King James Version.  The literalness of long-suffering  speaks to me.  Just imagine, long . . . . . . . . . . suffering.

The word is found in familiar self-revelation of God in the Hebrew texts,  "The Lord, The Lord God, merciful and gracious, longsuffering, and abundant in goodness and truth" (Ex. 34:6, KJV).  The longsuffering of God lies at the heart of healing, forgiveness, and salvation.  God's nature is to suffer long in order to change lives and change the world.

It is no coincidence that we are also called to be a longsuffering people, reflecting the character of the God we serve.  In Galatians 5:22-23, longsuffering is listed as a fruit of the Spirit:  "But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance: against such there is no law" (Gal. 5:22-23, KJV).  And in Ephesians, the author challenges us with these words, "I therefore, the prisoner of the Lord, beseech you that ye walk worthy of the vocation wherewith ye are called, with all lowliness and meekness, with longsuffering, forbearing one another in love; endeavouring to keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace" (Eph. 4:1-3, KJV).  The church is called to suffer long in faith, hope, and love.
Consider the traditions of the church.  A four-week Advent replaces the longing of God's people through many generations.  Advent is such a brief one-month pregnant time.  Is that really sufficient preparation for the birth of God's holy child?  I realize that Advent entered the church's liturgical calendar rather late . . . but only four weeks?  How does this reflect the longsuffering of God and God's people?

Today (December 26), many are already weary with the Christmas decorations.  Festive lights will soon be turned off.  Many Christmas trees will be recycled by the end of the week; few will remain until Epiphany.  Christmas becomes a single, overloaded day, rather than a holy season in which God comes to share our flesh and our sufferings.  How do our customs reflect the longsuffering of God and God's hope for the church?

There are implications for daily living, too.  If I cannot master some subject, a new language, a musical instrument instantly and effortlessly, I am quick to give up, give out, and give in.  If I cannot drop my excess weight without weeks of disciplined exercise and careful dietary choices, I soon give up, give out, and give in.  If I cannot see an immediate change in the lives of those with whom I serve and the church where I have been called to minister, I am tempted to rush to a new call.  Raising our children, caring for aging parents, serving Christ in the world all require a longsuffering that reflects the very nature of our God.

My Christmas season prayer:  Eternity's God, patient in suffering and in hope, grant me a long-haul faith, so that I never give up on you.  Fill me with your longsuffering love.  Even if I do not see the fulfillment for which I seek, let me not lose heart,  May your longsuffering Spirit sustain me.  May your Holy Child be born to bring new light and enduring peace in your good time.  Amen.

I Remember Christmas

When I served as pastor and teacher of the church at Old Monroe, Missouri, Wilbert would walk from his lake home to worship on Christmas Eve.  Although he had become a member of the Roman Catholic Church sometime after his confirmation, he always came home for Christmas Eve.  His holy pilgrimage was made through snow, ice, and mud.  I recall the year that he fell among the bramble bushes and arrived at the candlelight service a bit tattered from the thorns. 

Years later, I would walk from our country home down the half mile lane to the highway and walk to the 11:00 PM service at Salem United Church of Christ.  After midnight, when the service ended and all the congregants had gone home, I would walk, lantern in hand, back home.  Those were deeply spiritual times with the winter winds quickening my spirit and the moonlight falling across the glistening snow.  Wilbert was my inspiration.  His discipline taught me discipline.  His Christmas pilgrimage informed mine.

I have not yet discovered a new place to walk on Christmas Eve.  Since 2006, I have been adrift, often in transition as Christmas comes, traveling from New Hampshire to Missouri or Florida.  It is a strange rhythm being so far from home on Christmas--too far to walk to the communion table and candlelight worship.

And even so, Christmas comes to me, to us, to a conflicted and confused world.  The Nativity is near.  God always finds a way to be near and to create a home where I may dwell.  The Child is born.  God's peace is here,  Alleluia!

The Adventure of a Lifetime: Pilgrimage to India

When I was about seven years old my mother signed me up for swimming lessons at the municipal pool.   I remember well how cold the unheated water felt at 7:30 AM.  I remember what seemed so simple for others was so difficult for me.  But, what I really remember is the day we had to climb up the slide and were told by the teachers to slide down into the blue waters below.  The scene this little boy made while perched atop that slide was not pretty.  I was holding up the line as I sat there trying to decide whether or not to let go and enjoy the ride.

Tonight I am in the final stages of packing things for a two-week trip to India.  I will be a member of a twelve-person delegation composed of United Church of Christ Conference Ministers and members of the United Church of Christ's Wider Church Ministries Board.  This is the 200th Anniversary year of the founding of the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions (ABCFM).  This trip is one of several that have happened during the anniversary year.  We will be visiting sites in Delhi, Agra, Mungeli, Chennai, Madurai, Kanyakurmari, Colachei, and Mumbai.  I am traveling with trusted friends. 

This is, for me, the adventure of a lifetime.  Who would have thought that a parochial country kid from the hills of Missouri would be invited to travel to a land with so rich a mission heritage?  I remember how the missionaries would come to our little congregation to tell of their work in far-off lands.  "Mission Feast" was a big annual celebration in the church of my youth.  Now, I am going to see and experience the places where our mission partners are engaged in their ministries: schools, hospitals, a seminary, a vocational training program for unemployed youth, tsunami rehabilitation and housing projects, diocesan offices, and more.  Yes, the adventure of a lifetime starts on Tuesday morning at 4:30 AM when my travels begin.

But somehow, I cannot get the memory of that little boy, perched atop the slide at the municipal swimming pool out of my head tonight.  Learning something new, experiencing life, celebrating ministry, requires letting go.  The bags are packed.  Ministry in New Hampshire must, for a time, be left far behind.  My family has been encouraging.  I'm ready!

(Our group will be blogging from India.  I'll let you know where to find that blog once I have that address.)

Your Holy One

I take great comfort and delight in the oracles found in Isaiah 40-55, the section commonly called, "Second Isaiah."  Here is the assurance of salvation, deliverance, and homecoming for a people who have been held captive in a foreign place for a long, long time. 

Lately, as I am reading these texts, I have been reassured by the self-revelation of the God who appears in them.  The promise of deliverance and God's activity for every exile is a source of hope.  But it is the identity of God, who is revealed before and after these great empowering promises, that is a source of great joy.  I delight in this God!

Here's but one example of my meditation.  It is from Isaiah 43:14-15.

Thus says the LORD,
    your Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel:
For your sake I will send to Babylon
    and break down all the bars,
     and the shouting of the Chaldeans will be turned to lamentation.
I am the Lord, your Holy One,
     the Creator of Israel, your King.
--New Revised Standard Version

The breaking down of all the bars and barriers that keep us caged--God's action that turns captors' taunting jubilation to grieving lamentation--this activity is framed by the revelation of God.  The Lord is "your Redeemer," "the Holy One of Israel" . . . . "your Holy One," "the Creator of Israel," "your King."  These are not honorific titles, granted without historical grounding.  These titles reveal a God who is high and exalted.  They also reveal that God is engaged in creative and redemptive activity.  This God knows about Babylon and can get there, too.  This God is sovereign and saving.

Reading literally, and taking this revelation to heart, I wonder about the move from "the Holy One of Israel" to "your Holy One."   Captive people of God, this is your Holy One.  Weary pastors of the church, this is your Holy One.  Grieving mothers and fathers, this is your Holy One.  It is a movement that brings God close to us in our own places of exile.  It is a move that brings the gift of resilient joy.

A Prayer for This Day
O Holy One, send for me today.  Draw me to your hope.  Free me by your love.  Carry me home.  Amen.

A Prayer for Our Community

This prayer was offered as an invocation at the 15th Annual Mayor's Community Prayer Breakfast on Thursday.  It was an honor to be invited to be part of that gathering and to witness the commitment that so many buisness, political, and religous leaders share to help Concord become a welcoming, compassionate city. --gms

Gathering God,

who calls us to live and work together in this community,

our hearts exclaim with the song writer in the scriptures:

“How very good and pleasant it is

when kindred live together in unity!”*

You bring us together. 

You call us to a common purpose:

to build up the city,

  to restore its broken places:

          to be a beacon of refuge and hope,

            to teach our children to dream big, bold dreams,

          to respect the wisdom of our elders,       

            to lift up those who have fallen, to feed the hungry,

                 to shelter the homeless poor—

          indeed, to build a community where all may live. 

This day is your gift.  May we receive it with great joy and gladness.  Give us the courage to work together for that which is good.  Strengthen us to love every neighbor, so that others may also say:

“How very good and pleasant it is

when kindred live together in unity!”

O God, we know there are many other tables to which you must attend this morning; but we ask now that you share your Spirit with us.  Be present with us.  May the breakfast we are about to receive be a sign of your amazing care.  Bless this meal and all those who have worked to prepare it—from the fields to the markets to these tables—and bless us, O God, to your service in the world.

With grateful and joyful hearts we offer our prayer. 

gAmenh

---

* Psalm 133:1, New Revised Standard Version

Being Here

I cannot say what caused the feeling.  Perhaps it was something that the pastor said in her greeting.  Perhaps it was the warm sunshine streaming through the sanctuary window.  Perhaps it was an extra hour of sleep as Daylight Savings Time ended.   I cannot say precisely what happened, but my spirit settled. 

"This is the day that the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it."  This is the place.  This is the time.  This is the opportunity that I have to be present with God and with others.  It is good to receive the gift of the present and to live in it.

So often I have been caught between remembering the past and anticipating the future.  I have been preoccupied with memories of people and places long gone.  I have imagined a future which may never be as I have constructed it in my mind.  The present is the gift that God gives us all today.

Eternal God, help us to make the most of this day.  Teach us to really see the people who share life with us now.  Help us to be where you are--help us to be here.  May it be so!  Amen.

So Who Is My Neighbor?

Perhaps it is that I am preaching about our neighbors this week that prompted greater sensitivity on Friday as I flew from Midway to Manchester.  I way paying attention as people boarded the plane after I had taken my seat.  I sat by a window, near the back galley, reading a book about India in preparation for my upcoming trip, when the flight attendant asked for someone to move.  My preferred airline does not have assigned seats, so the center spots are the last to go.  Some center seats were open when a man with his five-and-a-half year old son boarded.  They made their way all the way to the back, but found no seats where they could sit together.  So, the crew called for someone who would move--promising extra peanuts and some imaginary awards.  At first, no one budged.  We liked where we were sitting.  After about a minute, which must have seemed an eternity to the man and his little boy, a woman in the row in front of me said, "I'll switch."  The little family took the two adjacent seats, while the woman moved herself and her over-sized duffel bag into the middle seat next to me.

The plane took off.  Everyone broke out a book and began to read.  It was only as the plane landed in Manchester that a conversation occurred.  The woman was on her way to Connecticut for her 47th high school class reunion.  (The organizer had decided not to wait for the 50th year reunion because too many classmates were dying!)  The woman was from Missouri now, having grown up in New England many years ago.  She spoke of her little farm, where she had horses.  I mentioned that I was originally from Missouri--California, Missouri most recently.  The woman replied that she always liked that area and had purchased two Peruvian horses from a man there.  Immediately, I realized that she was talking about Will, my former neighbor who raised the only Peruvian horses in the area.  The horses often came up to our back fence to visit.  I was reminded of the time when Will kept our little cattle herd secure when they broke through the rotten woven wire fence.  The week of building a new fence with Will was a good one for me. The woman and I talked about Will and his wife, Barbara, for some moments.  The world got a whole lot smaller.

When I got off the plane, there in the boarding area was John, a former search committee chairperson, with whom I had worked as his congregation had searched for a new pastor.  We recognized one another right away.  John and I exchanged greetings, and we blessed one another on our way.  The world got a whole lot smaller.

Who is my neighbor?  The ones who risk a conversation that makes a connection.  The world gets a whole lot smaller when we take that initial step to acknowledge and speak to our neighbors.  Sometimes there is a cost in such encounters (Luke 10:25ff); but often such connections simply make the world smaller . . . and we are all blessed on our way.

Homecoming

The announcement on Friday by President Barack Obama that all US troops will come home from Iraq by December 31 is welcome news.  Begun on March 20, 2003, this has been an exceedingly long US war, second only to the war in Afghanistan.  Consider this: our 10-year-old children have never known a day when the United States was not fighting a war.  What effect this continuous decade of intense international conflict and death will have on our national psyche is not yet clear.  The toll on families and our national budget is already abundantly clear.  It is time for homecoming as our fathers and mothers, daughters and sons, grandchildren, friends and neighbors return.

It is important that this homecoming be marked with celebration and many prayers.  Many are returning with scars and wounds that are visible and invisible.  We must honor their service and their sacrifice.  Many will not be returning; 4,479 US soldiers have died in this war.  Amid the joy, we sense the deep sorrow that still surrounds us all.  This war has also brought pain, suffering, and death to friends and foes in Iraq and to those nations who have joined as our allies in the fight.  It is time to end this war;  it is time for the homecoming.

Some might ask anxious questions in light of this news:  Are we leaving Iraq too soon?  Should we not keep some military presence there?  What if the "liberation" does not last?  What if our enemies suddenly reassert themselves?  Will diplomacy ensure a peaceful future for the Iraqi people and for us?  There are so many questions and so many politicians and commentators who are giving voice to the anxiety that is  associated with this ending and its homecoming.  Yet, it is clear that it is time for our involvement in this war to end.  It is time too--high time--for a similar ending in Afghanistan.

My homecoming prayer is that of the ancient Hebrew prophets--Isaiah and Micah.  I pray for the day when

[God] shall judge between the nations,
    and shall arbitrate for many peoples;
they shall beat their swords into plowshares,
    and their spears into pruning hooks;
nation shall not lift up sword against nation,
    neither shall they learn war any more."

--Isaiah 2:4, New Revised Standard Version

May it be so!

Blessed on Our Way

We have a simple ritual at our house that gives life special meaning.  Each morning at 6:40 AM when the school bus comes to pick up Matt for his day at school, we stand in the doorway and wave as the bus pulls away and drives down the street.  Although we cannot see through the tinted windows, we wave until the bus disappears around the corner.  We bless our son on his way at the beginning of the day.

That simple gesture has become the norm for us.  Matt often rushes to the front door as I leave home to meet with a church committee in some distant place.  Even though he was watching a movie or playing a video game seemingly unaware of my exit, there he stands waving from the open doorway as I back out of the garage, drive down the street, and disappear around the corner.  That wave means so much.  I know and remember that I have been blessed on my way by one who loves me.

Perhaps it stretches the image too much, but I like to think that the benediction is our special gesture as a community of faith.  The pastor or priest gives a blessing to people to encourage them on their way.  An open hand is raised in a sign of grace and peace as Christ's congregation scatters into the world.

My prayer is that you will be blessed by those who love you.  Indeed, may everyone be blessed and encouraged on their way.  What a different world it would be! 

Decendents of Immigrants Gathered on Gibson Avenue

It was the summer of 1975.  I was working as a seasonal employee at the Jefferson National Expansion Memorial in St. Louis.  After several weeks with relatives, I rented a one-room apartment in an upstairs flat on Gibson Avenue.  That was my first experience living in a neighborhood that was culturally, racially, and economically diverse. 

Penelope Strousser, along with her husband Tom, owned the house and lived downstairs.  Upstairs were three one-room apartments that shared a hallway telephone and a common bath.  Tom Strousser had been hit on the head with a liquor bottle years before and was suffering from extreme dementia.  Penny took care of him at home.  He died that fall.

Penny, a master weaver, had her loom set up downstairs in the basement.  I would hear the loom's shuttle working late into the night.  Although blind, Penny wove magnificent rugs.  One, in particular, stands out in my memory.  Night after night, she worked to weave a rug as a Bicentennial project for the DeMenil Mansion in St. Louis.  Penny was Greek, a member of St. Nicholas Greek Orthodox Church.  A photograph of the Patriarch hung on her wall, along with a crucifix.  She was devout and wise.  I recall being introduced to real Greek food that summer.  Gibson Avenue proved to be an important place in my formation.

This country kid relished those summer months on Gibson Avenue.  The street was always alive with activity.  Wagoner Memorial United Methodist Church was at the end of the block.  The Rev. Larry Shores was the young pastor in a congregation of twenty or so elderly members.  He was very energetic and honest in his ministry.  In that huge, cavernous sanctuary, this tiny congregation was, nevertheless, the Church of Jesus Christ.  Sadly, most members drove to Sunday worship from the suburbs.  There was a disconnect with the neighborhood.  Today, the church been transformed into a United Methodist social service ministry and homeless center.  The ministry has been transformed.  This, too, is the Church.

There were also resident African and Chinese Americans on Gibson Avenue.  There were medical students, who were attending Washington University School of Medicine and working at Barnes Hospital just across the interstate.  Forest Park was not far.  I used to ride my bicycle through the busy traffic to get to the park and ride the bike trails.  I was alone in the big city, but I seldom thought about that.  I was young and enjoyed the life.  I was surrounded by people--all God's children.  Our ancestors had come from other countries.  We all were at home on Gibson Avenue.

I think of immigrant communities today on this Columbus Day.  My prayer is that those arriving now will find a Gibson Avenue, a house like Penny's, and a church like Wagoner Memorial UMC, places that are home, where all are welcome, and where all have the opportunity to enjoy a good life together.  May it be so!

For this, . . . and so much more, I am grateful to God.

Saying No

On Friday afternoon, I went to Manchester for a seminar with the Rev. Dr. David Olsen, Executive Director of the Samaritan Counseling Center of the Captial Region in Scotia, New York.  The seminar, When Helping Starts to Hurt: The Need for Clear Boundaries, was offered by Pastoral Counseling Services and The New Hampshire Conference of the United Church of Christ. 

Even though Friday is normally my day off, I went to the seminar and am glad that I did.  There I met many other ministers.  Dr. Olsen's presentation gave us much to consider.  We have mandatory Boundary Awareness Training in the Conference, but this expanded my understanding in helpful ways. Dr. Olsen contends, and I believe it to be true, that the lesser boundary violations that happen in the course of one's ministry may lead to more severe situations. It is true that "we violate boundaries daily."  Even though these are not as egregious as sexual boundary violations (misconduct), they are also cause for concern.  These boundary crossings can also lead to great trouble for us and for those we serve.

I gained a deeper awareness that habitually crossing my professional boundaries will lead to (a) burnout and/or (b) to misconduct.  From my experience, I would add a third outcome: Mischief.  A minister who is not aware of her/his limits will cause injury and harm in a congregational system.  Such trouble may not rise to the level of misconduct, but the minister is living at the edge, functioning in a way that is not a worthy example for others to follow.  It is not leadership that builds up the church.

Consider a river whose waters have risen above flood stage.  The waters rush beyond the boundaries of its banks, sweeping away adjacent homes, roads, and crops.  The overflowing of personal and professional boundaries creates destruction in the communities where we live and serve.  The devastation caused in the souls of the people around us will linger long after repair crews have gone and life seems to be "normal" again.  Churches are haunted by the effects of misconduct for generations.  It is exceedingly difficult to exorcise the demons from their systems.

Well, that's enough theory.  Dr. Olsen spoke to my boundary breaking when he said, in effect, "Saying no is one of the most important boundary setting activities clergy can practice."  My schedule is often overbooked--not because people ask too much of me, but because I have not set good limits.  My ego tempts me to believe that I can do everything; but my mind, body, and spirit collapse in exhaustion.  Such ministry gets marked by mediocrity.  I have not said "No" enough.  Professor Walter Brueggemann taught a class on preaching the Old Testament when I was a student at Eden Seminary.  I remember him saying, "Tired preachers preach tired sermons."  I know that to be true; but even more, I know that a weary preacher has lost his/her ability to be self-reflective and self-aware.  It's hard to assess how we are doing in ministry when we are too tired to think, reflect, and pray.

So, here it is:  "No."  I'm rehearsing it this morning.  It is important that I know my priorities and set appropriate boundaries (and keep them) for this ministry.  Busyness is not an excuse for burning out, hollowing out, and dying out.  Yes, I am grateful to have been at the seminar to last Friday; but next time . . . . No.

They Were Not "Quitters"

I used to chuckle at my spellchecker.  It did not know the word, "quilter," but would always suggest "quitter" as an alternative.  We had a small, but active quilters circle in one local church where I served as pastor and teacher.  Every week, when the announcements for the worship bulletin were prepared, "quilter" became "quitter."   One thing is sure, those quilters were not quitters.

The quilters met around their quilt every Wednesday at 9:00 o'clock in the morning.  They would break for lunch, and return to quilt more until about 3:00 o'clock in the afternoon.  They created beautiful quilts.  They conversed with each other, sharing the news from their families, their neighbors, their joys and their sorrows together.  They welcomed me into their circle, even though I did not quilt.  I frequently joined them for lunch.  The conversations were rich; the counsel was wise; the laughter lifted many spirits.

Certainly those quilters were not the whole church.  They had their own perspectives and some problems too.  They told great stories and jokes that were sometimes right at the edge of respectable.  They were fun to be around.  When I said good-bye to them, it was hard.  They created a magnificent memory quilt at my leaving, stiching together blocks created by members of the parish who blessed me on my way.

Recently, I read that the quilters circle has decided to disband.  Life changes us and the circles in which we share.  Life changes our communities of faith.  The needs are different now.  But, this I know:  Those quilters were never quitters, and they never will be.  They served with faithfulness.  I do hope there are other small circle groups that are emerging in that congregation and in all our congregations in the New Hampshire Conference.  The quality of the conversation and the care, in addition to the beautiful gifts, one tiny stitch after another, not only draws a quilt together, it unites and strengthens a community of faith.

In those times when I am tempted to withdraw from the circle, to disengage, and to quit--I remember the quilters.  Their example continues to inspire and hold me. 

For this, and so much more . . . I am grateful.

"To Hold in Highest Regard"

I am thankful to be a member of a Christian denomination that values covenant relationships.  We are called to live in covenant with others.  Maintaining relationships requires a willingness to stay in contact, to continue to communicate, to treat others with respect even though we might disagree deeply with one another.  In covenant, we agree to stay in the conversation, to talk things through, to not let our differences divide.  In the end, we may still disagree, but we will respect one another, in the words of the baptismal blessing, as children of God, disciples of Christ, and members of the Church.

There is an expression in the foundational documents of the United Church of Christ [Constitution, Article X, 58(i)] that I have come to appreciate:  We agree "to hold in highest regard actions by, or decisions or advice emanating from, the General Synod, another Covenanted Ministry, a Conference, an Association, or a Local Church."  I would broaden this to include other members of this denomination.  We do not presume to speak for one another; but we do promise to listen long to one another and "to hold in highest regard" the actions, decisions, and advice that others bring to us. 

Being in covenant is not always comfortable nor convenient, but it is our way of being the church.  Covenant is a gift from God for us.  It is how God also relates to us, "binding in covenant faithful people of all ages, tongues, and races."  It is about grace and mercy.  It is about love that unites and endures.

O God, may my attitudes and actions, my words and my ways, be pleasing in your sight.  May my conversation and caring reveal the love that holds in highest regard those who share faith and life with me.  Keep me faithful to the covenants.  Continue to bless, preserve, and keep your United Church of Christ that it may be a blessing in your world.  May it be so!

9/11 - A Decade Later

September 11, 2001.  We remember the moment we got the news.   American Airlines Flight 11 had crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center.  It was 7:55 AM (CDT) in Central Missouri.  I had stopped at a convenience store near Whiteman AFB, en route to a Church & Ministry Committee meeting in Higginsville, MO.  In the store, off duty Air Force personnel were talking about getting back to the base--a plane had crashed in New York City.   Back on the road, I turned on the radio to listen to news. Another plane, United Airlines Flight 175, had crashed into the South Tower.  Soon, there were more reports of hijacked planes and crashes at the Pentagon and in Somerset County, Pennsylvania.  I phoned my wife at her work.  I got to the meeting where we watched the events unfold on the television.  There was shock.  We wept.  We prayed.

I remember a hastily-prepared prayer service at First Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) in California, Missouri on the evening of September 11, 2001.  People shared their shock and sadness, their anger, and their fears.  I recall the voice that cautioned that we not rush to judgment and treat our own citizens as enemies.  I recall reading Psalm 46.  Life as we knew it was changed . . . forever.

It hardly seems that a decade should be past  already.  We have fought two wars, and are still fighting.  We have killed our enemies, Saddam Hussein and Osama bin Laden, citizens of Afghanistan and Iraq.  We mourned the deaths of our sons and daughters as they served in those distant places.  We have strengthened our homeland security.  We have built detention centers at Guantanamo Bay and Abu Ghraib.  We have viewed our Muslim brothers and sisters with suspicion and scorn.  We have condoned the use of torture as an interrogation tactic.  We have learned about the colors of terror levels. 

But what next?  What about the next decade . . . and the next?  I wonder how 9/11 will be remembered and commemorated on September 11, 2101.  What will they say of our terrible day?  What might we do now to shape the hope that will sustain generations yet to come? 

I am thankful that this anniversary comes on Sunday, the first day of the week, amid the celebration of Christ's resurrection.  Today, I will worship and remember.  I will pray.  I will hope in God who is with us.  Psalm 46 still steadies my heart and my hope, raising my courage and my compassion.

God is our refuge and strength,
  a very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change,
   though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea;
   though its waters roar and foam,
   though the mountains tremble with its tumult.

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
   the holy habitation of the Most High.
God is in the midst of the city;^* it shall not be moved;
   God will help it when the morning dawns.
The nations are in an uproar, the kingdoms totter;
   he utters his voice, the earth melts.
The Lord of hosts is with us;
   the God of Jacob is our refuge.

Come, behold the works of the Lord;
   see what desolations he has brought on the earth.
He makes wars cease to the end of the earth;
   he breaks the bow, and shatters the spear;
   he burns the shields with fire.
‘Be still, and know that I am God!
   I am exalted among the nations,
   I am exalted in the earth.’
The Lord of hosts is with us;
   the God of Jacob is our refuge.

Labor Day 2011

A tiny text keeps scrolling through my mind on this Labor Day. It is from Paul's letter to the church in Corinth. The words come as a conclusion to Paul's reminder about the resurrection:  "Therefore, my beloved, be steadfast, immovable, always excelling in the work of the Lord, because you know that in the Lord your labor is not in vain"  (I Corinthians 15:58, NRSV).

There are those moments, sometimes seasons, when I begin to wonder, "Does what I am doing really matter?"  I have an aunt who has been known to ask some very piercing questions.  Several years ago she asked, "What is it you really do?"  My aunt knew about my practice of parish ministry.  She held her own pastors in high regard, having experienced their ministry.  She new about ministry.  "But what does a Conference Minister do? "

I remember my aunt's questions, in part, because I did not answer it well.  Perhaps that was because I had some role confusion myself.  Perhaps I had yet to value my own ministry in the "middle judicatory" setting.  So now, I'm going to answer the questions again: 

• My labor is to serve the whole church by encouraging local churches and those who serve them. 
• My labor is to speak the truth in love, even when there are those who think that is too challenging. 
• My labor is to lead with courage and a passion for justice. 
• My labor is to make peace--in the church as in the world. 
• My labor is to be agent of diligent oversight and God's grace. 

This labor requires practice and hard work.  It will never come naturally.  It requires forgiveness for my own failures.  It requires perseverance especially when I am tempted to take off the stole.  It requires a daily walk with the One who was raised from the dead.  It requires that I continue to see the Christ in everyone--especially those who are in need of mercy and hope, and even in my enemies.

On this Labor Day, I also am remembering others--in the church and in our society--who worry about their jobs.  These are not carefree times.  I pray that we will join together through this difficult season, that we will help one another rather than blame one another.  I pray that everyone will be able to labor to make a livelihood.  I pray for labor that brings dignity and builds up our nation.  I pray for labor that blesses the world with peace.

There is another verse that stirs within me as I write these words.  I hear the melody of an old spiritual. 

Sometimes I feel discouraged

And think my work's in vain,

But then the Holy Spirit

Revives my soul again.

May it be so for all who labor and carry heavy burdens.  Indeed, it is!

A Naive Reply

Friends from Vermont have been in touch.  They are stranded at home as the flood waters have swept away a bridge that connects them to town.  My first response was, "Just say the word, and I'll be there."  I actually wrote that in an email reply.  But then, I saw the videos.  It is obvious that going there is not possible now.  Later, maybe--but not now.

Sometimes we respond before we know the depth of the crisis, we wade off into a situation without considering what is really needed, and what we can realistically accomplish.  We get in over our heads and make things worse.  This is a time when I need to remember that my strength is insufficient to this trouble.  I cannot get there now.  I cannot--no matter how much I might try--make this right.  I am not God.

There will be a time, perhaps, when I can stand amid the mess, be present, and offer help.  For now, I will "be there" in a different way.  My heart aches as I see those videos and hear of homes lost and communities devastated.  There is great hurt, tremendous loss. 

The Lord sits enthroned over the flood;
   the Lord sits enthroned as king for ever.
May the Lord give strength to his people!
   May the Lord bless his people with peace!

--Psalm 29:10-11, NRSV

Getting Ready for the Storm

For the past week, the news has chronicled the development of a storm, the emerging hurricane called Irene.  Interestingly, that name comes from the Greek word eirene, which means "peace."  Seems a strange name for a storm!

I'm spending this sunny day getting ready for the storm.  At least, I have time to prepare.  The lawn furniture will be secured.  The canoe will be moved closer to the house.  The garage will be prematurely filled with things that normally come inside in late October.  Today I'm wondering what might blow away and what might blow in.  Is this innocent object going to be harmful when driven by the severe winds?

There are things today that cause anxiety.  Should we have trimmed those pine trees?  Will the electricity be off for a long time?  Will the cell phone and the Internet still be working? 

There are bigger concerns.  What about those who live in low-lying places?  What about the densely populated places--New York City and Boston?  What about the poor?  What about the depressed who just cannot take one more storm?

There is faith:  I am bold to believe there is One who keeps us in every storm.  No matter what comes, this One will see us through. 


 

The Necessary Thing

These are truly challenging times.  It takes a special kind of courage just to read the morning paper or listen to the evening news.  Who would have thought?  I remember sitting by the cistern with my grandpa on summer evenings.  His generation had experienced the effect of the Great Depression.  Yet, he and my grandma were married in 1929.  They faced the future together, started a family and made a life amid that depressing and tumultuous time in our economic history.  Grandpa often wished out loud that we would never again see such a time.  He hoped his family--in generations yet to come--would never have to experience a similar trouble.  I wonder what my grandpa would have said about our trouble . . . .

Last evening the Conference Council met for its monthly meeting.  The Council is the governing body of the this church in which I serve as Conference Minister.  It was a long session, as we faced some very hard news.  Our cash will run short (probably run out) in early 2012, with our current rate of spending and current level of contribution from the local churches.  Added to that news, we received a budget proposal for 2012 from a group of leaders who have worked diligently over the past five months to prepare it.  That budget has a $62,000 deficit as its bottom line.  There was deep concern because the members who sit at the Council table have a commitment to the health and vitality of the Conference and the ministries that it provides to so many others.  The discussion also held proclamations of hopefulness and expressions of faith in our God, who still provides in great abundance and calls us to be faithful in the midst of challenging times.

This morning I am wondering:  What is the one thing . . . the essential thing . . . that I can do right now to make a positive difference in the New Hampshire Conference?  My meditation turns to Mary and Martha in Luke 10:38ff.  Mary, as she sat attentively listening at Jesus' feet, was commended for choosing "the better part."  Rather than becoming distracted with too much serving, with too much trouble, with too much bad news--it is time to sit and listen.   "Be still, and know," that amid the cataclysmic changes of earth our God is still exalted in the midst of it it all (Psalm 46).

A memory springs forth of white-robed confirmands kneeling on the chancel steps.  Hands are placed on their heads in blessing.  A community prays in fervent hope for their life as disciples of Jesus Christ.  And, in the end, leaders' hands are extended in support as a word of commission is spoken, "Rise and serve in the name of our Lord."  It is the holy rhythm.  Service is born in the kneeling.  Proclamation grows in the listening.  Courage comes with in a blessing that is prayed over us. 

Today is my day to kneel anew . . . . 

Come and join me.

All Dressed Up, And . . . .

The vacation ends tomorrow.  This morning I decided to worship with a congregation where I have not been recently.  I checked the service time in the paper, and got to the church just before the appointed hour for worship.  The church sign announced the time of worship.  There was also a colorful sign in the front yard, inviting people to come to worship at that time. 

It soon became evident that something was wrong.  There were no cars in the parking lot or on the adjacent streets.  I decided to walk up to the front door, just to be sure.  It was locked.  I felt dejected as I walked back down the sidewalk.  I was looking forward to worshipping, to hearing the sermon and to singing the hymns.  I had hoped to visit, renewing relationships and creating new ones.

After that, I decided to drive to other nearby congregations.  What I discovered is that most had already started worship thirty to forty-five minutes earlier.  What would it be for the Conference Minister to show up just in time for the final hymn and the benediction?  Not so good!

One church had a sign posted at the edge of town, but there was no service time on it.  When I neared the church building, there was no sign on the street--just a sign with very small letters beside of the front door.  What time did this one start?  There were but a few cars in the parking lot.  I drove in, squinted at the sign, only to discover that the worship was long over.  The cars probably belonged to friends who went together to lunch or to some who were lingering for a meeting after coffee hour.

As I drove back home, I saw folks jogging, walking dogs, mowing lawns, and playing golf.  There were lots of cars in the parking lots of favorite restaurants.  This is a big race weekend at the NH Motor Speedway, just up the highway from our house.  Lots of race fans are headed north.  What if, this had been the morning that some stranger had decided to go to church.  What if they had gotten their courage up to walk through your church's door?  What if they had carefully researched the time and made sure of the location?  What if they arrived to find an empty church and a locked door? 

I don't share this story to chide or belittle a church.  You can't pry the name of the church out of me.  I am concerned about having us all live up to our words:  "No matter who you are or where you are on life's journey, you are welcome here."  I hope we will all be more attentive, more hospitable.  Check your newspaper ads, the outgoing message on your answering machine, the posting on your website, and the signage at the edge of town and in the church yard. 

You just never know who might show up. 

Hope in the Hills of Home

Some have the idea that the terrain in Missouri is all flat and very boring.  That is a false assumption.  The little village of my childhood is named, "Bay."  You might not find it on a map, but it still exists just north of U.S. 50, at the intersections of Routes W and K.  There is no bay nearby, but there are many hills.  It is a sacred place.  It has been the home of my heart--even as I have moved many times over the years.

Bay has changed a lot in 50 years.  The Bay Mercantile Company (the store) went out of business years ago.  The State Bank of Bay merged to form the Bay-Hermann-Berger Bank some years ago.  (This was the only bank in the county that did not close during the Great Depression.)  The Bay Roller Mill has closed a long, long time ago.  Ollie's Repair Shop is gone.  My Uncle Ollie died in 2005.  There are three church buildings nestled amid the hills covered with oaks and cedars.  Only one of these congregations, Zion-St. Paul United Church of Christ, continues to have services each Sunday; and that little community of faith struggles with familiar issues of survival.  Things have changed in dramatic ways.

Often I have stood amid the stones in Zion's Cemetery, looking out at the surrounding hills.  There a poet's question echoes forward, inquiring of my soul:  I lift up my eyes to the hills, from where will my help come? (Psalm 121:1).  Sometimes that question waits a long, long time for an answer.  Sometimes it feels desperate even to allow such a question to rise up in my soul.  I scour the horizon for help--but there is not a single sign of hope to be found.  Everything has changed.  Even the old hills, look different now.  Where is my comfort?  Where is my confidence?  Where is my peace?  Where will I discover healing and hope in the face of my brokenness and despair?

And then, I know--as did the Psalmist--that my help is in the One who created the heavens and the hills.  This is the One who will keep you and me "from this time on and forevermore."   My help is comes from the LORD who made heaven and earth."  My only comfort is in the assurance that God will not abandon me--God will not abandon us.  There is hope as we face the challenging, depressing economic news.  There is hope for little communities of Christ's followers, who seek to be faithful amid the changing times. There is hope as I stand amid the hills of home.

Vacation Time

Well, I'm almost ready to disengage for awhile.  The past seventy-two hours have been intense with trying to get as much done as I can before I leave.  I promised to communicate when I came to interview with the search committee five years ago; and I have tried to be diligent about keeping my word.  It is a promise I take seriously.  I also want to be accessible to all our members and friends.  I try hard, but cannot do it all the time.  Ultimately, this ministry is about being in touch and in tune with God.  Amid the frantic rushing of our lives, work itself can become idolatrous.  Losing myself in the next email or phone call or appointment . . . is this living?  Is this really what God hopes for us?

A dear friend, whose father was a gifted German Evangelical pastor--one of my predecessor pastors in California, Missouri--gave me a copy of A Diary of Private Prayer by John Baillie as I was preparing to move to New Hampshire.  Dorothy said the little devotional book was beside her father's chair in the days of his declining health "as a daily friend." 

I, too, have cherished this book--this gift from my friend, although my reading of it has been sporadic.    There is, however, one petition in a morning prayer that has spoken to the depths of my spirit:  "O God, give me grace so to live this day that, whatever else I lose, I may not lose my soul."  In the midst of many loses, may I not lose my soul.  In the midst of many meetings and so many opportunities for ministry, may I not lose my soul.  Beyond the frantic rush of life, may there be sabbath seasons of quiet and rest, that I may not lose my soul.

Time to disengage and rest . . . .

Beyond Decline, Beyond Death

I have been reading J. Russell Crabtree's The Fly in the Ointment (Church Publishing, 2008).  The book is making the rounds in middle judicatory circles.  The subtitle gets our attention, Why Denominations Aren't Helping Their Congregations . . . And How They Can.

One of the ideas that intrigues me is that churches stop growing when some "critical resource" is depleted.  Crabtree says that a new organization will spend its initial energy getting its house in order, laying a foundation for its future, shaping its common life with the vision of those founding members.  There isn't much growth in the Organizing Phase, but a lot of important work gets done.

In the Replication Phase the organization puts to work what it created in that initial stage.  It reproduces itself several times over, growing ever larger.  This growth requires the expenditure of critical resources (not primarily financial).  For example, the key entry positions in the organization get filled, so that newcomers do not really have a place in which to be involved and become incorporated into the body.  Space may also become an issue: Is there really room in the parking lot and in the pew for everyone?

Most of our local churches (and the conference and denomination itself) have settled into the third phase of the cycle, the Stable Phase.  This phase, it seems to me, is really not so "stable"; it is mostly about stagnation and decline.  We have yet to discover new resources to encourage new growth, new energy, and new life.  We look back to some former time, some former leader, and some former success.  But, what was it that God spoke to the exiles?  Remember not the former things, or consider the things of old.  I am about to do a new thing, now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? (Is. 43:18f.) 

So, I wonder what is the "critical resource" that has been depleted among us?  It would be easy to cast this solely in economic terms.  We no longer have the financial resources to thrive.  Our endowments are being depleted.  Our buildings are in need of major capital expense.  We can no longer maintain what others have built.  But I suspect that the "critical resource" that needs renewing is faith, trust in the God who called us into this community in the first place.  God still calls us to be the Church.  God still promises us a future beyond decline and death--resurrection, new creation, eternal life.  God still speaks.

And . . . it's not only about organizations and churches.  It's about us.  It's about me.  This is the stuff with which I struggle daily.  Does the past have more power than the promise?  Are memories of times and people long gone stronger than the gift of hope that propels me to a new day, to new people, and to a new way of being in the world?  It's ultimately about trusting in the faithfulness of the Living God.

How to rekindle the gift of faith . . . .

Sacred Space

Last night I visited during the first senior high camp at Horton Center.  I arrived just in time for the talent show.  What a spirited time!  Great fun.  How do they come up with those skits?  Our churches have some talented and committed youth and young adults.

As I went to sleep, the Genesis text (Gn. 28:10-22) from next Sunday's lectionary lingered in my mind.  How does a "certain place" become for us a "sacred place"?  Jacob experienced that in the text when he saw the ladder connecting heaven and earth and heard God's promise spoken afresh, directly to him.  That promise, of course, had very public implications:  "all the families of the earth shall be blessed in you."  But, it must also have been reassuring to one trying to escape from the trouble with his brother.  God promised to be with him through the journeys--through awful and awesome places.  The "certain place" became for him, Bethel, the House of God and the gate of heaven.

Horton Center on Pine Mountain ("the Mountain") is like Bethel, a sacred place for so many, a place where God meets us and speaks to us.  I was privileged last night to experience the energy, the spirit, the hospitality . . . and look forward to another visit soon.

A Tribute to the Teacher

On Tuesday, July 5, 2011, the Rev. Dr. Lionel A. "Lee" Whiston, Jr., died at the age of 93.  Dr. Whiston served as Professor of Old Testament at Eden Seminary from 1956-1983.  He was a graduate of Bates College in Maine; received a Bachelor of Divinity Degree from Andover Newton Theological School (1942); and his ThD from Harvard University (1951).

Lee was the professor who sat on my junior oral exam committee at Eden.  He was there as I walked through the deep valley of divorce in 1981-82.  He offered me sage counsel when I contemplated delaying the final semester of my senior year because my father had been diagnosed with a brain tumor in November of 1981, and I felt conflicted in my soul.  In the midst of my confusion, Lee encouraged me to finish the course and get moving in my ministry.  He often signed my graded papers with "Power to you!"  Perhaps he did that with all his students; but for me, it was a special, propelling word of encouragement, a blessing that communicated courage and confidence.

On May 30, 1982, Lee preached the sermon as I was ordained.  The texts were from Jeremiah 1:1-4-10 and Philippians 2:1-11.  Again, I heard the encouragement, "Do not say, 'I am only a boy'; for you shall go . .  . and you shall speak . . . do not be afraid . . . for I am with you . . ., says the LORD."  I still hear it! 

I have often reflected about Dr. Whiston's journey--a New Englander, ordained in the Congregational Christian Churches, who found his way to the Mid-West and was at home there.  In his earlier years, Lee was a close friend of the Rev. H. Gardner "Andy" Andersen, who served in churches in New England, including many years as pastor of the Washington Congregational Church.  Andy died earlier this year, and I sent the worship bulletin to Lee in St. Louis.  Lee responded with a final note on May 11 in which he reminsced about his old friend.  He also said, "It was good to hear from you and find that a Midwesterner can survive in NH."  We each, in our own way, had gone to where we were sent. 

My world has changed.  One who lived with great courage and care for a long, long time is gone now.  I cherish the good memories.  I am grateful for that wise, enduring counsel and encouragement.  Power to you, Lee! 

Peace and Power to you!