Saturday, December 22, 2012

A Pilgrimage to the Manger

It's the eve of the annual Christmas pilgrimage.  The bags are packed.   The car is ready.  The journey awaits.  It will be good to go away, and it will be good to come home again when it is time to return.  There is a rhythm--a holy rhythm--to the discipline of keeping Christmas.

Our journey is different than that of Mary and Joseph.  But it occurs to me that nativity is always a call to a journey--a journey of faith.  We never really know what our lives will become.  Others remember and rehearse our story before we ourselves become conscious of it.  Sometimes the dreams we dream for ourselves and those we love turn out as we imagine.  Often there are twists and turns in life's path that hide the horizon and take us to places and people we had not known. 

In my album of Christmas memories there is a little boy, no more than three years old.  This toddler named "Tom" saw how our little church kept the baby Jesus--high up in a dark and dusty closet in the Fellowship Hall--for fifty plus weeks of the year.  In mid-December, someone would get a ladder and retrieve the manger with baby Jesus down for program practice.  (We never used a real baby in our churches.  That might have caused a controversy, favoritism over who got to play the holiest part.  After all, Jesus was so different, so special, so holy that no contemporary child could possibly stand in for him in the pageant.  That is, of course, a topic for another time.)

Tom saw the sad condition of our plastic baby Jesus, and he insisted that he become Jesus' guardian until Christmas Eve, when Jesus would be at the center of the scene.  Tom took Jesus home and prevailed upon his mother to help him bathe the baby, gently washing one who had not had a bath for several decades.  He persisted in getting his grandma make some new swaddling clothes to replace the dirty, yellowed ones that Jesus had worn.  Fresh straw was added to the matted straw of the manger. 

I remember Tom, as we begin our pilgrimage to the manger this year.  Tom took the baby to heart--so much so that he took him home.  As a three-year-old, Tom's faith was not articulated in some systematic way--but it was sincere, and it was lived.  Jesus was at the center to be cared for, cradled, and loved. 

Tom now has a little child of his own.  I wonder how this father's faith teaches his own little one about loving Jesus--and how that child's faith, perhaps, inspires his father on the journey.  I hope both can see Jesus in the flesh-and-blood babies, who cry for love and hope and peace in this world.  May that same faith take root and grow in all of us that Jesus will be at home in our hearts and our homes.  May it be so!
O God, let your Christmas come. 
Let your Child be born. 
Prepare us to believe and to receive him now.

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;
O come to us, abide with us, Our Lord, Emmanuel.

Alleluia!

Monday, December 17, 2012

One Word

It is hard to write today.  I have been numb since the news arrived of the shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut on Friday morning.  Many of my colleagues have weighed in and offered counsel to their congregations and pastors.  I have allowed the tragedy to steep in my soul for the past three days.  Now it is my time to write and speak . . .

I remember a recording that was made soon after 911 by Kitty Donohoe.   Her recording of There Are No Words brought solace to our souls and gave courage to survivors of that national tragedy.  Tragedy is linked with other tragedies--even though they are different.  Donohoe's music also speaks to the terrible trouble that has come to Newtown . . . and to our towns.

"There are no words" . . . .,  but we still do have a Word:  "In the beginning was the Word, and the word was with God, and the Word was God"  (Jn. 1:1, RSV).  It is the text that greets us at Christmas.  It is the Good News that floods into the darkness at our candlelight services on Christmas Eve:  "The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it"  (Jn. 1:5, RSV).  There is a Word in this horrible, holy time, a Word that comes to reassure troubled hearts, to resurrect our hope, and to make the world right.

That Word gives us courage to speak of our own complicity in this trouble.  Violence breeds more violence.  The weapons of war have invaded our homes and our streets.  What's the point and the purpose of citing the Second Amendment?  Were these the "arms" that our forebears envisioned for our society?  It is time to adjust our thinking, to come together, so that automatic, rapid-fire weapons are not accessible in our society.  It is time, now. 

And, the Word, challenges us to care more deeply for those in distress--for families in unimaginable shock and sorrow, for people with illness untreated, for neighbors in their isolation and fear.  The Word pulls us toward others at the edges of madness, of insanity, of harm.  It is time.  This is more than a "private" issue.  Newtown reminds us of the public cost that often comes.  It is time to come together, to stand and speak up, to kneel down, and to pray as we lift one another.  It is time, now.

May Christmas come with new power and enduring peace.  May the Word have its way with our society, our world, with us each and all of us. 

Come, O Come, Emmanuel!

Monday, December 3, 2012

It's About Time



Yesterday, as I sat in worship, there were times when—amid a beautiful Advent worship experience—I heard the tock-tick, tock-tick, tock-tick of a clock.  The sound did not diminish, but actually augmented my sense of God's presence.  The sound took me back to Bethel Presbyterian Church at Bay, Missouri—the church of my father’s family—the Schultes’ home church.  The little church closed some years ago, but, in particular, I hold a blessed memory of Lenten services at Bethel.  And, I remember the tock-tick, tock-tick, tock-tick of the old Regulator clock on the north wall of the sanctuary.  During silent prayers, the clock was particularly audible, marking the time, like metronome, rhythmically reminding us all that time was passing.


Yesterday, as I sat worshiping on the First Sunday of Advent, the sound of a sanctuary clock again reminded me of the passing of time.  In the church we do not “make time” or “kill time,” but we “mark time.”  We are not preoccupied with the passage of time, not anxious that each tock and tick reminds us of our mortality. Rather, in blessed hope and anticipation, we are reminded that each second is a part of God’s eternity.  In God’s good time, our redemption comes.  In God’s good time, a new creation comes.  In God’s good time, there will be life—new and glorious, no more tears, no more sorrow and sighing, no more death—just life!


So, today as I journey through my schedule, I will listen—straining to hear the tock-tick, tock-tick, tock-tick.  At least, I will remember that sound in my spirit.  I don’t have all the time in the world, but that is not a source of despair or anxiety.  I don’t have all the time—but God does.  And that is good news.  It is a gift to live in God’s good time and to be embraced by Advent hope today.


Eternity’s God, help me to center down in this moment.  Let me use the gift of this time—while there is yet time--time to make a difference in your church and in your world.  Raise my head and my heart to see your redemption, your righteousness, and your peace as it draws near.  Thank you for Advent!  Thank you for hope.  Amen.

Monday, November 5, 2012

Come Away and Rest

I always enjoy walking the beach at the Marie Joseph Spiritual Center in Biddeford, Maine during our annual Clergy Convocation.  But, even more than those walks on the beach, I enjoy watching the gulls at rest on a small pool away from the roaring waves.  Behind the sandy dune that separates the ocean from that pool of tranquil water, the gulls come to congregate.  They fly in to rest for a while, before returning to feed along the beach.  They get away from the noise and the endlessly rushing waters.  They recharge before they re-engage among the waves.  It is a sheltered, sacred spot for the birds . . . and for the busy pastors of the church.

It occurs to me that we each need to find that restful rhythm--the rhythm of the seagulls--to locate a some quiet pool, away from the rushing where we can congregate, rest, and be renewed.  Of course, one cannot stay there forever; but how important it is to hear Jesus say, "Come away and rest for a while."  (Mark 6:31)

May there be rest in the midst of our busy lives. 
May there be seasons of quiet away from the noise. 
May the Spirit breathe peace upon you today.

 



Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Sometimes, There Isn't Enough Time

During a Service of Installation, the old Conference Minister was giving a charge to his eager new associate.  I remember it as though it were yesterday--because I, too,was young and eager at that time.  I recoiled when I heard the old man say, "Remember, there will be times where there simply isn't time to do everything you think you need to do.  Sometimes, there just isn't time."

I thought to myself, "That's just an excuse.  There is always time for doing what we really need to do.  It is a matter of prioritizing well."  I did not like to hear that the young Associate Conference Minister, who had lots of energy and determination, would be unable to do everything.  I did not want to think about my own limitations either.  I remember telling congregants in my first parish that I always had time for doing what was important--I always had time for them no matter what the issue might be.  I always had time to try to do it all!  What a delusion that was!

Now, I see more clearly the wisdom in the old minister's words.  His associate burned out and was gone in a matter of a few years, after being too accessible, too eager, and too engaged.  I think the Conference Minister knew the inside story and was hoping against hope that his young colleague would take some wise counsel.  But alas, he did not.

Now, I see more clearly that not everything is urgent or even necessary.  Ministry is about navigating through a myriad of needs--including my own need to be needed and appreciated.  It is the reality of being mortal and making choices.  It is about trusting the community that surrounds us to be in ministry, too.  We do not have all the time in the world--just that which is given.  Stewardship is also about the gift of time, using our time wisely, and blessing God through its use.

It's late now.  It's time to stop for this day.  What has been done, this is in God's hands.  What has been left undone is secure in those same unseen hands.  What needs to be picked up again tomorrow . . . this will be clearer as a new day dawns.

A favorite Psalm brings perspective, assurance, and rest at the end of this day:

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 your rise up early and go late to rest,
           eating the bread of anxious toil;
     for God gives sleep to his beloved.

(Psalm 127:1-2, NRSV)



Sunday, September 30, 2012

Coming Back, Remembering the Promise

Today in worship, I heard the prelude, "O Jesus, I Have Promised," and it that took me back to another time--back to Palm Sunday, March 19, 1967--to the day I was confirmed and promised to follow Jesus to the end.  Forty-five years ago, I promised to follow.   I couldn't have anticipated where that promise would lead.  It is an amazing adventure, and I'm not yet at the end.

What I remembered today as I listened to the organ play is that there were other promises spoken long before the one I made at confirmation.  There was a baptismal promise, made in 1956 by my parents and sponsors in a particular local congregation on behalf of the whole church.  Even so, that baptismal promise was not only made by those whose human hands cradled and cared for me from birth--a prior promise was rooted in the grace of God, who has promised to love me, us, and all--no matter what.  "For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God."  (Ephesians 2:8, NRSV)

As I listened to today's melody, I remembered the final verse of that confirmation hymn:

And Jesus thou hast promised to all who follow Thee
That where thou art in glory there shall thy servant be;
And Jesus, I have promised to serve thee to the end;
O give me grace to follow, my Master and my Friend.

Jesus promises to be there to the end . . . and even longer.  We are blessed with communion and community--covenantal connections.  We are not alone.  We are never alone.  All this is a gift!  An amazing gift of God!

Thanks be to God!  The journey continues . . .




Monday, September 24, 2012

Standing on Grandma's Shoulders

I am grateful to God--whom I worship with a clear conscience, as my ancestors did--when I remember you constantly in my prayers night and day.  Recalling your tears, I long to see you so that I may be filled with joy.  I am reminded of your sincere faith, a faith that lived first in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice and now, I am sure, lives in you.  For this reason I remind you to rekindle the gift of God that is within you through the laying on of my hands; for God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline.  --2 Timothy 1:3-7  (New Revised Standard Version)

To "stand on the shoulders" of the heroes and heroines--the spiritual giants--is a metaphor that speaks to my faith experience.  In the text from Second Timothy, the author reminds his charge of the spiritual giants who reside in his family tree.  Timothy's grandmother Lois and mother Eunice were faith-filled women.  In a new generation, Timothy's "sincere faith" has been handed up to him as a gift.  He is standing on the shoulders of his grandmother and his mother.  In the words of the Preamble of the United Church of Christ's Constitution,  Timothy is accepting "the responsibility of the Church in each generation to make this faith its own."

Today, I remember my maternal grandmother, Ida Caroline (Oberg) Witte.  Born in 1900, she was the eldest of the five children born to Henry and Sophie Oberg.  My grandmother was the one who tutored me in the faith.  She was diligent and dutiful, especially when I arrived at her house late on Friday afternoons, unprepared for Saturday morning's confirmation class.  She took the Evangelical Catechism seriously, and expected that I would do the same.  She was tough, asking those heavy, catechetical questions that I had never considered to be important in my eleven years of living.  On Friday night, I rehearsed the answers and memorized the scriptures.  And, miraculously, on Saturday morning, after hours of Grandma's tireless prompting, I would recite the answers for Rev. A. J. Schneider and my classmates.  Grandma's faith became my own.  Even though I have grown beyond my German Evangelical heritage, the faith that lives in me today is rooted in the memory of that family story.  I am grateful to stand on my grandma's shoulders.

I also know that there is a quality that I have inherited from my grandmother from which I need to be set free.  Grandma was a take-charge, hard-working woman.  She was a martyr who accepted responsibility for some tasks that rightly belonged to others.  She was often heard to say, "Unless I can't do it well enough for you, . . ." and then, she would proceed to take over and get the job done.   Her work was always done well, but sometimes it really wasn't hers to do.  Grandma was not one to delegate responsibility or let others "fail."  In those declining years before her death in 1986, the effects of that take-charge style became evident.  We were lost, adrift, dependent.

The gift of sabbatical time will soon end for me.  As I prepare to return to my ministry as the Conference Minister of the New Hampshire Conference of the United Church of Christ, I remember with gratitude the broad shoulders in the witness of Ida Caroline Witte, my Grandma.  But, I also realize that I need to share responsibly with others, so that they will not--in the end--be dependent upon me, but that together we may be more connected to Christ and to one another.

God of all faithfulness and love, grant that I may find a healthy balance of engagement and disengagement in the service to which you summon me.  May I grow deeper in that sincere faith that leads to "a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline."  May my ministry be your ministry, enlivening and lifting one another up in love.  Prepare my shoulders that others may stand on them.  And, may I ever commit myself and those dear to me to your never-failing love, in this life and in the life that comes.  Amen.

Sunday, September 16, 2012

"Breaker 19" - The Courage to Speak

The year was 1976.  I was driving my first car, a 1969 Chrysler Newport, at college.  A friend had sold me his used CB radio.  I remember my "handle" and the FCC license number assigned to that radio, KBP-3444.  While that old radio worked perfectly it had a problem:  an operator who never found his voice.  If you were traveling that same geography, you would have never known that I was out there too.  I listened to the chatter of others as I traveled the thirty miles to the United Methodist Church where I served as student pastor.  There were places in that thirty-mile trip where the signal faded and skipped, but that old radio kept me company on many a dark, winter night, but I never contributed to the conversation and never kept others company.

Today, I think about our discipleship--about following Jesus, which requires both listening and speaking.  How many times have I remained silent in the face of another's injustice?  How many times have I preached sermons that  avoided the weightier issues of the world around me?  How many times did I fail to join a conversation that might have carried others along?  Well, I know that such silence is not limited just to me.  I know a lot of other preachers and whole congregations that are silent about the attitudes and actions that demean and destroy others.  We don't hear much about war or economic justice or global warming coming from either our pulpits or our pews.  Have I found my voice?

I think of Jesus, the Word en-fleshed.  He spoke up for those who were despised and rejected.  He included them in his movement for life.  He shared their cries, their afflictions, and their sorrows.  He spoke up when it would have been far safer to have remained silent.  Among his teachings, Jesus proclaimed, "Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God."  True peacemaking involves the words we speak, as well as the deeds of love and mercy that we are inspired to do in Jesus' name.

O God, open our lips, that we may declare your praise!
O God, open our lips, that we may proclaim your truth and love for the world!
O God, open our lips, that we may accompany your children in the journey toward peace and life!
May it be so!

Monday, September 3, 2012

To Those Who Have Been Given Much . . .

"From everyone to whom much has been given, much will be required; and from the one to whom much has been entrusted, even more will be demanded."  --Luke 12:48 (NRSV)

Did you see the little article in the August 22 edition of The Concord Monitor?  It says that New Hampshire residents gave 2.5 percent of income to charitable causes in 2008.  This puts us at the bottom of all the states.  We ranked 51 out of the 50 states plus the District of Columbia.  We might take some consolation in the fact that Maine (50), Vermont (49), and Massachusetts (48), were in the same sorry boat.  But we were at the bottom.

According to the U.S. Census Bureau, New Hampshire ranked 7th in median household income in 2008.  There are, of course, higher and lower salaries here, but the fact is that we are not a poor people.  In the faith community, we believe it is God who provides for us in abundance.  We have been given much.

I wonder if those who were gathered in our Congregational churches in New Hampshire could have started and sustained those congregations by giving 2.5 percent.  I have a hunch that they had to give more of their income, their goods, and themselves.  There was a sacrifice in their service.  Much was required.

Is it any wonder that many of our congregations struggle so to "survive" now?  We no longer pray to "thrive" in our mission.  We settle, if we can, simply for survival.  Maintaining aging church buildings, paying a living wage for clergy salaries and benefits, and the increasing cost of utilities - all create anxiety and leave us diminished.

So what does following Jesus mean for us?  For our communities of ministry and mission--our churches?  For our wider church covenant, i.e. the United Church of Christ? 

What is required of me?

O God of generous faith, hope, and love,
with gratitude for the great gift that has been entrusted to me,
so open my heart and hands (and checkbook) that I may give.
Amen.



 

Saturday, August 25, 2012

Remembering the Class of 1920

We always give thanks to God for all of you and mention you in our prayers, constantly remembering before our God and Father your work of faith and labour of love and steadfastness of hope in our Lord Jesus Christ. 

--I Thessalonians 1:2-3, New Revised Standard Version
 

Just to be clear: I was not there in 1920 when the last German-language confirmation class gathered in the school house on the parish lawn.  I was not there on Palm Sunday (March 28, 1920) when the class members accepted their baptismal promises and committed themselves to following Jesus at St. Paul Evangelical Church.  I was not there, but I had the privilege of being the pastor of St. Paul United Church of Christ sixty-two years later.  All but one of the members of that class were still active in the life of the congregation.  One had moved on to become a pastor and a leader in the denomination, but the rest remained life-long residents of the community and active members of the church.  Confirmation in 1920, by the grace of God, was real for Lizzie, Bill, Helen, Ida, Ella, and Paul.  I remember.

Following Jesus was at the core of their lives and faith.  They worshipped.  They kept their heart attuned to the voice of Jesus (piety), and they were able to hear and respond to the deep cries of the world (mission).  They were generous.  They gave themselves to the work of the church because they were disciples of Jesus, living in community.  When they died, they left generous bequests for the future of the little church that had nurtured them throughout their lives.

There is a legendary, inspirational story of a Saturday night pinochle game.  Two couples, each with a spouse from the Class of 1920, began to visit about what the church had meant to them and what they would leave in their wills.  This is not the kind of casual conversation that one encounters at a social event; but it was normal for these church members.  Their feelings for the church ran deep and were at the heart of their beings.  This was an early planned giving seminar--heart to heart, eye to eye, faith to faith testimony time. 

The Class of 1920 shaped the spirit and ministry of a young pastor far more than they could possibly know.  I continue to hold them in my heart and be inspired by their example.  My prayer is that I, too, will embody our faith by following Jesus, sharing the bounty that God has given, hearing the Spirit speak and responding to the cries of those around me in the world.  I pray that I will love the church as much as they did--even with its complexities, conflicts, and brokenness.  I pray that God will grant us generous and hopeful hearts that we may be disciples whose example is worthy for others to follow.

And then, there was the Class of 1921 . . . another inspirational story for another time.  I remember with humility and deep gratitude.
 

Friday, August 10, 2012

Sabbatical Time: Experiencing A New Way of Being


I am in Branson, Missouri.  It's family vacation time.  Beauty surrounds us.  It's rained here, thankfully.  Sabbath time continues and is very good.

My days begin with a new way of praying--more intentional intercession--more listening for the Stillspeaking God.

Early in the day, I take a long walk along Hwy. 76 (Main Street) before it gets too hot and the traffic gets stalled.  The hills are a challenge, and there are lots of hills here.

I am reading Walk in a Relaxed Manner: Life Lessons from the Camino by Joyce Rupp.  It was a gift from a pastor as I began my sabbatical journey.  It is the perfect gift for one who is often consumed with the outcome and focused on the destination rather than simply appreciating the process and enjoying the journey.
 
Yesterday I created a Twitter account.  This technology stretches the introvert in me.  (I think to speak, not speak to think.)  I had a CB radio in the 1970s, and did much more listening than talking.  I never felt like I had much to contribute to a conversation--especially one with a lot of strangers.  As an ordained minister I've had to work to overcome that feeling.  Anyway, I'm on Twitter now. 


I am also enjoying the time with family.  We had opportunities in the evenings to visit with our son Jesse who lives and works in Springfield (just up the road about 40 minutes).    We celebrated my mother's birthday last Sunday.  Tomorrow, we are gathering with good friends in Mt. Sterling in the hills above the Gasconade River. 

God is good.  Life is good.  The journey continues . . . .

Monday, August 6, 2012

Are We There Yet?

"In everything do to others as you would have them do to you;
for this is the law and the prophets." 
 --Jesus in Matthew 7:12


As we left Concord last week for a summer road trip, the familiar question was on my lips about a mile from our house, "Are we there yet?"  We laughed. 

The news this morning is about violence again--violence against a Sikh temple in Oak Creek, Wisconsin.  Six people are dead because a gunman may have been crazy with hate and misunderstanding.  "Are we there yet?"  Instead of laughter, I hear Jesus cry.

This trip is bringing be close to my roots. I write from the Missouri Ozarks. Here in the Bible belt I am struck by the political ads for those gearing up for the upcoming primary election. It's still politically fashionable to be selfish when it comes to those at the margins of our society. And, the tone is offensively loud and obnoxious. The ads are poison. No wonder so many have given up on the political process. "Are we there yet?" Instead of laughter, this time, I hear Jesus sigh.

Yesterday, a former governor and talk show host appeared on our TV to praise the owner of a chicken fast-food restaurant for expressing his support for "the biblical definition of the family unit" to the Baptist Press.  Ok.  More noise while our families and friends continue to suffer from fear and discrimination.  "Are we there yet?"  Instead of laughter, I hear Jesus say, "Follow me." 

The journey continues . . . . 

Friday, July 27, 2012

A Letter to a US Representative

Congressman Charlie Bass was interviewed after last week's tragic shootings in Aurora, Colorado.  The brief segment that was shared by Concord Patch moved me to write him the letter that is copied below.  To listen, please follow this link:  Concord-NH Patch: Bass Comment.

July 25, 2012

The Honorable Charles F. (Charlie) Bass
United States House of Representatives
2350 Rayburn House Office Building
Washington, D.C.  20515-2902

Dear Congressman Bass:

I listened with great interest to the recent comments you offered to Concord Patch about the tragic shooting in Aurora, Colorado.  Yes, this was clearly the action of a “deranged, crazy individual,” but I believe we each have a responsibility to use our influence as citizens of the United States and as leaders in our respective communities to make our society safer for all. 

Your remark that living in a free society requires that we “tolerate this kind of thing” and that you anticipate the Congress will only pass a resolution that condemns the acts and offers condolences to the affected families is not living up to your responsibility as an elected representative of the people. 

Your view that this heinous crime is one that has to do only with individual freedom is deeply disappointing.   I cannot believe that the authors of the Second Amendment to the Constitution envisioned a day when an AR-15 semi-automatic assault weapon with a 100-round drum would be available to our citizens.  What purpose is there in protecting the absolute freedom of persons in purchasing and using such weapons?

Yes, now is the time to care for the grieving families of the terrible tragedy that occurred at the theater in Aurora, Colorado.  That care must extend beyond condolences and heart-felt, pious prayers; we must ensure that other families across this nation do not experience a similar grief because of our attitudes that “tolerate this kind of thing” in the name of individual freedom.

As a member of the United Church of Christ in New Hampshire, I urge you to make our society safer for all, even if that means legislating appropriate limits on our individual freedoms.  The words of the First Epistle of Peter come to mind, “As servants of God, live as free people, yet do not use your freedom as a pretext for evil” (1 Peter 2:16).  Please use your position, not simply to pass a resolution, but to pass laws that make our society safer and saner for all. 


Sincerely,

 

The Rev. Mr. Gary M. Schulte

Thursday, July 19, 2012

Sabbatical Time: On the Move

It was in the summertime on my grandparents' farm that I learned to ride a bicycle.  My St. Louis cousins, Jim and Carol, had brought a bicycle with them to the farm, where we spent many good times together in the summer.  I remember trying to get my balance on that bike with no success.  The practice area was gravel out by the corn crib--no pavement on the farm.  There had to be some scraped knees and palms in the process; but from the vantage point of fifty years later, those have all faded away.  What I remember today is how it felt to finally get it.  I still am amazed that it just "happened."  I learned to ride, and I rode a lot--all over Owensville when I got back home. 

I bought my bike nearly 40 years ago, as I was preparing to go to college.  The manager of the local Western Auto Store let me put it in the layaway, and I paid for it with money I made from mowing lawns.  At college in Kirksville, I rode that bike on campus, around town, and down country roads.

For most of my ministry, we have lived in locations that were not "bike friendly"--mostly on gravel roads and country lanes.  Our present location in Concord is much better.  Here we have good pavement . . . but there is also lots of traffic rolling up Route 106.  It takes a certain kind of courage to get back on a bike at 56!  It is a bit like learning to ride again for the first time--finding the balance and the spirit to explore one's surroundings.

My sabbatical includes daily exercise.  Today I pedaled (and coasted) to the New Hampshire Motor Speedway.  After taking a brief detour through Loudon, I was determined to get to the Speedway . . . and I did.  It took me longer to get home, but I made it!  From a sedentary lifestyle to 20 miles today!  Maybe I'll get to Laconia before the summer is over.  Would be great to have lunch with Warren and Paula before I pedal back home.

I am grateful to God for the opportunity to move and make important changes.  I am grateful for the gift of this holy time.

Monday, July 2, 2012

Sabbath Time

I will continue to offer an occasional post while away on sabbatical. 


Yesterday, my computers were turned off until I needed a recipe to assist with supper.  In the future, Sunday will be a day when I take a complete break from technology. 

Had a good ride yesterday to Steeplegate Mall before church.  The old bicycle I bought with lawn mowing money back in the 70's still has some life left in it.  Feels good to get out and move.

My reading includes Saving Jesus from the Church by Robin Meyers.  There is some challenge there for one who has become accustomed to a particular way of interpreting the ancient texts.  Am I open to thinking a new thought?

I am also reading the Revelation to John.  The One who meets me in these texts offers grace, peace, and perepctive for this season of rest:  "Grace to you and peace from him who is and who was and who is to come."  God is present, past, and future.  God is present no matter what.

--gms

Monday, June 25, 2012

Pardon Me

The past month has been lived at a hyper pace.  I have had so much that I wanted to accomplish before I left for an extended period of sabbath time.  I have cleaned away papers that were lingering on my desk.  I have made provision for shutting down  my office email and transferring those ministry projects that were exclusively mine.  I have been sharing the load that has accumulated since I began this ministry in August 2006.  So much has happened, and so much remains undone as I depart for a season of rest and renewal.

I am reminded of a familiar prayer of confession from the Book of Common prayer:

Most merciful God, we confess that we have sinned against you in thought, word, and deed, by what we have done, and by what we have left undone. We have not loved you with our whole heart; we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves. We are truly sorry and we humbly repent, for the sake of your Son Jesus Christ, have mercy on us and forgive us; that we may delight in your will, and walk in your ways, to the glory of your Name. Amen.   

The truth is that this prayer feels deeply personal today.  In every ending, there have been things left undone.  When I left my job at the university library in Kirksville, Missouri many years ago, there were projects that I had hoped to finish that remained for someone else.  When I moved to new ministries in the parishes in Missouri, there were always things that were dropped along the way--so many things left undone and left behind.  There were words of blessing that remained unspoken.  There were deeds of kindness that--while imagined--still remained undone.  Life's jagged edges and endings.  Sometimes there is simply not enough time. 

Most merciful God, set me free from the memory of my sin.  I entrust to you the jagged edges, the unfinished business, the unfulfilled dreams, and the incompleteness of my life.   Lift my weighty burden by the power of your pardon.  Set things right in my soul.  Let your peace come . . . that I my go.  Amen.

Sunday, June 17, 2012

A Good Good-Bye

Life in the church always involves transitions.  The congregation that God gathers to worship this morning will likely never be together again in the same way, yet the church moves forward through every change.

A church that I once served as pastor and teacher suffered the untimely death of one of its members.  Joe dropped dead on a Saturday afternoon while mowing his yard.  He was one of those saints who always had a kind word, worked hard to support his church no matter what the latest argument might be, and gave generously of his financial resources.  On the Sunday morning after Joe's death, I overheard a woman say to her friend as they entered the vestibule, "Let's sit in Joe's seat this morning."  Initially, I was stunned at such a remark, so casually made so soon after Joe's death.  But later, I saw how important it was that Joe's seat be filled by others, that the role that Joe had played in that church be taken up by others.  The survival of the church depends, I think, on navigating the transitions in faith, trusting in the hope of Christ's resurrection.

As I move toward the gift of a sabbatical from my ministry with the New Hampshire Conference of the United Church of Christ, I sense a deep resistance in my own spirit.  I don't want to go because I am apprehensive about what I might miss while I am gone.  I will not be present for the search committees with whom I've served.  I will not be here to help make important decisions that may have a long-lasting impact on the future of the Conference.  I will not be here to celebrate at installations and to share the liturgies of farewell as pastors move on to other ministries.  I will not be here

So, in this sabbatical time I'm rehearsing a good-bye, a good good-bye.  What the sabbatical time signals is a kind of spiritual transition that will be as important for the New Hampshire Conference as it is for me.  This is not the ultimate farewell, but it is a type of good-bye that is important.  I see far too many ministers who never have  experienced a good good-bye in the settings where they have served.

As I prepare to leave for a time--to be disconnected from the ministry that has shaped my life--I remember the words of Paul:  "Finally, brothers and sisters, farewell.  Put things in order, listen to my appeal, agree with one another, live in peace; and the God of love and peace will be with you." 
--II Corinthians, 13:11, NRSV.

O God who calls us to follow Jesus on the journey, grant us faith in every transition to trust you to see us through.  May there be a blessing in every parting, deep gratitude, real release.  Amen.

Monday, June 4, 2012

It's All about the Journey

Yesterday's Installation of the Rev. Jennifer Valentine as Associate Pastor and Teacher of First Congregational Church, United Church of Christ, in Manchester was a high and holy moment.  It was so good to see and hear youth participating in the service, leading, singing, and giving witness to the faith that grows within them.  The music was uplifting, lively, inspiring the gift of joy.  It was the sermon the Rev. David Neil, preached that moved me to deeper reflection.  His text was Mark 6:7-13.  He spoke of what we are called to take along and what must be left behind as we follow Jesus.  But, ultimately and always, it's about the journey we share with one another and with Jesus.

As I prepare for the journey of my sabbatical, I am clearing my desk and arranging my files.  A lot of things simply need to be packed away or discarded.  I cannot keep it all.  I should not keep it all.  The Rev. Dale Hempen, the Acting Conference Minister, will receive a desk that is not laden with fifty pounds of paper.  It is time to put it all away and move on.

But, the baggage of life and ministry is not always the tangible stuff--bread, bag, money in the belt, and that extra tunic.  Sometimes the heaviest baggage is inside--the fear, the guilt, the sad memory of a time when I did not follow Jesus as I had promised to do.  I settled for a "settled" ministry rather than one that was moving foward in faith, hope, and love.  Forgiveness--mutual and multifaceted forgiveness--is one way that life becomes unencumbered and free again.  Extending a hand and a humble heart--while there is yet time--is to open ourselves to the possibility of a new adventure in ministry.

It is also reassuring to remember that Jesus still sends us in company together, "two by two."  We are not alone.  We are never alone.  Our partners in ministry provide essential support and focus.  When we are tempted to wander off, become self-deluded, or wallow in self-pity, our companions can help provide perspective and point us back to the journey with Jesus.  There's a world that needs our word and witness, our love and care.  There are demons to drive out.  There are many who wait for annointing and healing. 

Today am grateful to God for companions in ministy, for Jennie, David, Dale, and many, many more.  I am grateful to God, who calls us to the journey, and for all who share it as friends and colleagues in Christ.

Let's go . . . .

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Memories of Ministry

Tomorrow is the 30th Anniversary of the day when I was ordained--Pentecost, May 30, 1982.  Seems like a long time ago now.  The time has gone so swiftly.  Yet, the memory is clear and powerful.  I remember the thunderstorms and the deep waters that made getting to the church difficult. I hear the echoes of a sermon that the Rev. Dr. Lionel Whiston, Jr. preached that day.  I remember big promises and the laying on of hands--exceedingly heavy hands.  I remember the presentation of a robe and stoles, bibles and a home communion set.  I still hear the offertory as it is sung and the postlude, "For All the Saints".  Yes, I do remember.

And, I remember the people and places to which God has taken me over these thirty years.  It has been a remarkable adventure of sorrow and joy, exile and homecoming, death and resurrection.  I remember the saints (and the sinners) who welcomed me and argued with me, who taught me to serve and to love with humility and hope.  I remember flood waters and baptisms.  I remember confirmation classes.  I remember goose-bump moments, Holy Communion, and the stirrings of the Spirit.  I remember sermons, some of which I wish I might not have preached.   I remember weddings each with its own unpredictable, memorable moment--the hope, the promise, the commitment to a future together.  I remember the long, solemn processions, preceeding the dead--the committals.  I remember Easter morning.  I do remember!


A favorite text begins to sing within my spirit.  There is hope that the God who called me to this journey also remembers and will see me through.  Listen!

For you shall go out in joy,
     and be led forth in peace;
the mountains and the hills before you shall burst into song,
     and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.
Instead of the thorn shall come up the cypress;
     instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle;
and it shall be to the LORD for a memorial,
     for an everlasting sign that shall not be cut off.

                   --Isaiah 55:12f. (NRSV)

It is enough. 
   It is enough. 
      Yes, it is more than enough.

It is our gift.
   It is our hope.
      Indeed, it is so!

Thanks be to God!

Sunday, May 13, 2012

Sabbatical Plans

In six weeks, I will be on sabbatical (July 1 - September 30).  This will be the first time I've really had the opportunity to step away and to disengage from the routines and rituals of ministry since I was ordained nearly thirty years ago.  It is time to let go.

So what's my plan for the gift of sabbatical time?  The main learning will be to experience how it feels not to dress in a suit and tie, a  robe and stole for three months.  I will be giving the Conference cell phone to the person who serves as Acting Conference Minister.  I will not be checking and responding to email.  My keys to the Conference Center will be in someone else's pocket.  For the sabbatical time, being will be more important than doing.

During the sabbatical,
  • I plan to cultivate a healthier lifestyle--more regular exercise and a more balanced diet. 
  • I plan to spend more reflective time in study and prayer. 
  • I plan to work in our home, cleaning up and cleaning out the junk that has a way of piling up. 
  • I plan to visit with relatives. 
  • I plan to use some banked timeshare weeks and get away. 
  • I plan to do some fishing, cycling, and hiking. 

And, when the time is fulfilled, I plan to be back, ready to engage for the next chapter of my ministry in the New Hampshire Conference.

In the meantime, I'm starting to tie up the loose ends and get mentally and spiritually prepared to let go.  May God, who rested on the seventh day, grant me grace to really be gone and to grow through this time of rest and renewal.

 

  

Monday, May 7, 2012

A New Thing

Do not remember 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?

--Isaiah 43:18-19, New Revised Standard Version


USA Today recently reported on a major shift in our culture.  The headline caught my eye, "States Hanging Up on Land Lines."  The article said that Indiana, Wisconsin, Alabama, Kentucky, and Ohio have allowed public service communication companies to discontinue land-line telephone services in their states.  This is not our grandparents' generation.  New things are coming.

That caused me to remember stories about my Uncle Louie, who opposed the expansion of telephone lines in his rural neighborhood in the Twentieth Century.  Uncle Louie apparently saw little use for having party-line phones in every home.  Maybe he objected to having the landscape marred with poles and wires or maybe he saw danger in wasting too much precious time by gossipping over the phone.  Whatever his reason, Uncle Louie was remembered for his crusading spirit on the issue of the telephone.  He was slow to embrace technology.

Churches in the "mainline" are also slow to embrace technology that will assist them in the proclamation of their mission.  Thirty years ago, many of the churches I knew had one phone line that rang in the church office (if there was one) and in the parsonage.  The phones were all of the rotary type.  Parish halls and sanctuaries had no phones in them.  We were slow to get in the Twentieth Century. 

I recall when the Council President in the first church where I served after seminary suggested we replace the aging typewriter with a computer.  My Uncle Louie would have been proud of me, for I argued that we needed to purchase a new self-correcting typewriter instead.  Why in the world would we need a computer?  The idea seemed absurd in 1982.  When the church purchased a computer instead of a typewriter, I was hooked.  How reactionary I had been! 

No, technology is not our salvation; it is but a tool.  The way we use it makes all the difference.  I must confess that I'm not a big fan of projectors and screens in our sanctuaries.  I still appreciate a sermon that is grounded in the texts of scripture.  I like hymns with theological depth rather than endless, mindless choruses.  But, I probably should examine all of those attitudes carefully, for I am, when all is said and done, my Uncle Louie's nephew.


O God, open my eyes, that I may perceive your new thing, and open my spirit to embrace it.
Amen.

Friday, April 27, 2012

Remembering Albert

On Tuesday, I got one of those phone calls that come when we least expect it and take us back to another time.  The news was that Albert had died that very day.  I had lost track of him nearly twenty years ago, but I always remembered . . . . 

Albert was my mechanic, but he first sent me down the road to another garage.  He looked me over and sent me packing.  He did not have time to work on my car.  Albert was notoriously independent.  One did not hurry him.  Later, when I learned to say, "If you have time, would you check . . ." and he always had the time--lots of time to work and to visit.

Albert was not a church-going person--although I believe he was baptized and probably had been confirmed in the very church that I was serving.  I suspect it was all more important to him that he would admit to anyone else.  Things went deep with Albert.  He always came to funerals for family and long-time friends.  He asked me to do the funeral service for his mother many years ago, and I did.  It was an honor to be asked.

I remember how Albert cared for his wife, Maxine.   It was especially evident as he supported her when her memory faded away.  Albert worked on cars in his shop while keeping an eye focused on whatever Maxine might be doing in the house.  It was not easy, but really loving someone seldom is.

On Tuesday evening, when the news came that Albert had died, I remembered what he said when I stopped by the garage for a final time in the summer of 1993.  I went to tell him that I was moving away. Albert responded with but one sentence: "I thought you'd be here forever."  It was not that I had worn out my welcome with him; but his voice revealed, if but for a moment, a feeling of sadness.  Forever.  That's a commitment we simply cannot make and certainly cannot keep.  Forever rests in the hands and heart of Another One--the one who creates, loves, and keeps us.  Forever is always about God.

Today, Albert's funeral is happening.  My heart is there.  My prayers are focused on that distant place that had been my home and for a friend who has remained close in heart.  And, I find myself echoing back the worlds he spoke in 1993:  "Albert, I thought you would be here forever." 

Holy One,
now let your servant go in peace;
your word has been fulfilled:
my own eyes have see the salvation
which you have prepared in the sight of every people:
a light to reveal you to the nations
and the glory of your people Israel. 

Holy One, be merciful to us and bless us with life--eternal, glorious, forever!  Alleluia.  Amen.

Monday, April 9, 2012

I Wonder . . .

In the yard a magnolia tree prepares to bloom.  I always appreciate the color of spring flowers after the barren grayness of winter.  In a week or so, the tree will likely be in full bloom with petals exposed to the elements that would quickly destroy--wind and rain.  Then will come the raking of shriveled brown petals strewn all about beneath the tree.  The flowering time is so very short.  Yet, each spring the little tree goes through the cycle.  In a way, the rest of the year prepares for this one moment of brilliant color.
I have come to see that life is not about longevity or holding on--but trusting God to bring out the buds and the blossoms, to splash some color against the backdrop of grayness if but for a moment. Nothing is to be gained from clinging tightly to past memories of springtime's splendor. Now is the time for new blooming, for sharing joy, and celebrating life.

And so, I wonder . . . who needs to glimpse the Easter life, the Risen One, the beauty that is alive in you and in me today? 

I wonder . . . who needs a word of encouragement?

I wonder . . .

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Do Not Fear . . . You Are Mine

Last week, the pressures of my call caught up with me in the middle of the night.  I was awakened by an intruder.  No, it was not a burglar or robber at 2:00 AM, but the intrusion of the troubles of the day that stirred me up in the night.  My dad used to say, "If you cannot sleep, you might as well get up and work."  I have considered that counsel and accepted it as my own. Some of you may have received notes from me in the night.

But last week was different.  I did not awaken from my slumber to work but to sit in chair downstairs in the dim living room and stress out.  I was panic-stricken, scared to death.  I felt a wave of insecurity crashing down over my head.  I was awash in self doubt and self pity.  "Woe is me!"

In the midst of the stress, I reached for my Bible and thought, "What is the one text that I would remember as my spiritual compass if all the other texts in this book gone?  What text--more than all the rest--would speak with clarity to my trouble?"  The answer was not long in coming:  Isaiah 43:1-7.  This is my text in the sleeplessness of the night.  This is my text for the trouble.  I hear God stillspeaking to my soul in this ancient oracle.

I am persuaded that Jesus found his courage to confront the powerful forces and paralyzing feelings as he moved through his ministry--and, especially, during the days of his Holy Week.  He found his courage to live and to die in the relationship he had with his Father.  I believe the Hebrew scriptures and the hymns of his faith made his heart brave in the midst of his terrible fear.  They kept his purpose and destiny ever before him.  He was faithful unto death, even death on a cross.

And so, I share my memorable passage with you as our Holy Week begins:

But now thus says the LORD,
     he who created you, O Jacob,
          he who formed you, O Israel:
Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;
     I have called you by name, you are mine.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you;
     and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you;
when you walk through fire you shall not be burned,
     and the flame shall not consume you.
For I am the LORD your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.

I have Egypt as your ransom,
     Ethiopia and Seba in exchange for you.
Because you are precious in my sight,
     and honored, and I love you,
I give people in return for you,
     nations in exchange for your life.
Do not fear, for I am with you;
     I will bring your offspring from the east,
         and from the west I will gather you;
I will say to the north, "Give them up,"
     and to the south, "Do not withhold;
          bring my sons from far away
          and my daughters from the end of the earth--
     everyone who is called by my name,
          whom I created for my glory,
          whom I formed and made."

--New Revised Standard Version

When your night is long and your fears threaten to unnerve and destroy you, in every season of uncertainty, may you know that you are held and loved forever by the God who has created, formed and made you. 


In life, in death, in life beyond death,
    God is with us.
We are not alone.

    Thanks be to God.

Monday, March 19, 2012

So, What Is It That You Do?

Occasionally someone will ask, "Just what is it that do you do as a Conference Minister in the New Hampshire Conference of the United Church of Christ?"  This question may come from a member of one of our local churches, a seatmate on a plane, or even from a family member who wonders why I left the ministry of the local church. 

The answer must begin with baptismal identity.  Ultimately, I am "a child of God, a disciple of Christ, a member of the Church."  Christ has claimed and called me, as he claims and calls us all in the waters of baptism.  God's love is there with us no matter what.  It is not about the attainments of a lifetime, academic degrees or doctrinal precision; it is about love, first, foremost, and aways: God's love for me, for us, for the whole world. 

The answer will also take me back to the ordination vows, when I promised to live in covenant with Christ and Christ's people.  I the questions are renewed in my memory this morning: 
  • Are you persuaded that God has called you to be an ordained minister of the church of Jesus Christ, and are you ready . . . to enter . . . and to serve faithfully? 
  • Do you . . hear the word of God in the scriptures of the Old and New Testaments, and do you accept the word of God as the rule of Christian faith and practice? 
  • Do you promise to be diligent in your private prayers and in reading the scriptures, as well as in the public duties of your office? 
  • Will you be zealous in maintaining both the truth of the gospel and the peace of the church, speaking the truth in love? 
  • Will you be faithful in preaching and teaching the gospel, in administering the sacraments and rites of the church, and in exercising pastoral care and leadership? 
  • Will you seek to regard all people with equal love and concern and undertake to minister impartially to the needs of all? 
  • Do you accept the faith and order of the United Church of Christ, and will you, as an ordained minister in this communion, ecumenically reach out toward all who are in Christ and show Christian love to people of other faiths and people of no faith?
And, in recent days, my response to what it is that I really do as a Conference Minister takes me back to to the birthing stall in the barn.  The barn wasn't just across the yard, but five miles away.  After supper, Dad would often drive back to the barn to check on a ewe that appeared to be starting with labor pains when he had done the evening's chores.  I would often go along.  Those were very special times, as I hugged the gas lantern for light and warmth in the cold, dim stall.  Sometimes those visits were short, nothing doing tonight.  Sometimes we sat for hours, waiting for new life to come forth.

In the past six weeks, as four congregations in the New Hampshire Conference, United Church of Christ, have called new pastors to love and to lead in their midst, I am reminded of the time spent in the old, drafty barn.  In this ministry, I often share the grief of good-bye with congregations and pastoral leaders.  Now, even in Lent, there is birth, new life to behold.  God has raised up pastors and teachers, prophets and administrators, who will equip the saints for the work of ministry together.  This is truly an exciting moment for us all. 

So, what does a Conference Minister do?  Well, I suppose you might say that this Conference Minister is a witness to new life, to the birth that the Spirit brings, and to the hope that is alive among our churches in these days.

I give thanks to God for the joy of this ministry.  Indeed, thanks be to God!

Sunday, March 11, 2012

What's With Church Membership?

"Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it."
(I Corinthians 12:27, NRSV).

I suppose if one needs a scripture to ground a discussion about church membership, this declaration from Paul might serve well in that regard.  If there is a body, it must also have members to carry out its various functions.  The body of Christ requires members who have a variety of gifts. 

Today it appears church membership is almost meaningless, a relic from another time.  After all, we're not in the 1950's anymore!  Many look askance at "joining" a church and becoming members of it.  The requirements for belonging sometimes seem far too easy and sometimes far too arduous.  Who needs the hassle of such a commitment?  We are already way too overextended!

Many congregations are currently reviewing their membership rolls.  This is to help them get a truer picture of the church's identity.  Inflated rolls are not helpful.  A 100-member church that has only 60 active members may be deluding itself, remembering how things used to be, not facing present realities.  Other leaders may be concerned that keeping inactive members on the rolls will cost the church financially; after all there may be an assessment based on per capita membership numbers.  Still others would rather define a church's size by focusing on its worship attendance: "It makes no sense to claim that we have 95 members when our Sunday worship attendance is only 40." 

I hear the reasoned arguments, but would add a word of caution:  Church leaders should review membership rolls with sensitivity, for those who are not seen may still have deep connections.  I once served a church where woman (I'll call her Sue) was said to be inactive for many years.  We never saw Sue at worship; I had never met her.  Yet, I noticed that Sue often mailed a contribution for a specific ministry of the church.  Year after year, her check would arrive in support of that ministry.  Finally, I encouraged the nominating committee to ask Sue to serve on the committee that was responsible for the ministry.  Lo, and behold, Sue not only reappeared, but she became a leader in the church and is still engaged in the life of that congregation some twenty-five years later.

Sometimes those who are inactive become invisible to us.  Yet, they may have fears and doubts that have kept them away.  They may feel guilty for having failed to live up to promises made long ago.  I recall another person (Dan) who did not feel that he could measure up to the strong and steady folks who showed up every week.  Dan felt inferior and unworthy.  When Dan developed a debilitating disease, we were there with him and the relationship was rekindled in amazing ways.  Had we erased his name from the church's membership record we might have missed an opportunity for relationship and for mutual care. 

Membership is different that joining a club or political party.  Church membership is an expression of something far deeper--Christian discipleship.   My membership at the First Congregational Church of Pembroke, United Church of Christ, means that I covenant, for this time in my life, to commit myself to practicing my discipleship--to worshipping and serving--with this particular community of Christ's people.  Membership is about discipline:  We need others to walk with us as together we follow Jesus.

Were I serving in a local church, I would not advocate for reducing the membership numbers without great care and attentive prayer.  Our local churches may not be as small as they appear to be.  God may have given them lots of members who still claim a relationship to this community of faith.  The challenge may be to go and engage more deeply with them, to listen long, to rebuild relationships, and to invite them to participate.  Isn't that, after all, what Christ has done for us?

Monday, February 27, 2012

A View from the Balcony

You then, my child, be stong in the grace that is in Christ Jesus; and what you have heard from me through many witnesses entrust to faithful people who will be able to teach others as well.
--II Timothy 2:1-2 (NRSV)

 Faith gets formed in a variety of places.  Mine grew on the balcony.  For one who has always had a strong aversion to high places, sitting in the front row of the balcony at Zion-St. Paul United Church of Christ in Bay, Missouri posed a massive challenge. 

I moved up to the balcony to hold down the bench with old Louie, who sang bass on the hymns he liked and stood silently through the rest of them.  We sat on opposite ends of the front pew with a lot of open space between us.  We nodded in greeting, but never conversed.  It was probably the generation gap thing.  But Sunday after Sunday, we shared that same pew, worshipping God in the balcony--each with our own gifts and perspectives.

Several years ago, I spent some time in the empty sanctuary, reminiscing about the place that had been so special to me.  It was mid-morning on a mid-week day.  The building was empty--but unlocked, open for all--just like always.  From the balcony I remembered the saints.  I could still locate them in the pews.  I remembered the pastors of my youth and the legendary stories that accompanied their ministries. 

Sure, it's just another old church building; yet it is so much more to me--it is the sanctuary for a community that lives in and beyond time.  Here is a place where we learned the first words of faith.  It is a holy space where little ones are still cradled in pastors' arms and welcomed through the waters of baptism, where the hungry are fed and sustained with Holy Communion, where couples make vows for a lifetime, where prayers are prayed in seasons joy and in sorrow, where the resurrection is celebrated in the valley of the shadow.  It is the place where the cross leads to trust.  It is a home for Christ's community amid the tensions and the troubles of the world. 

Louie is long gone now, but I still think I can hear his deep bass voice. Others, too, have come to sing the songs and be strengthened in the faith.  There is always movement as we come and go from such spaces.  I hope some other child has found the stairs up to that balcony and found a place to grow in faith, accepted and loved by a gracious and merciful God.

And, I hope it is so in every church building.  I pray there will be a loving community that teaches faith.  May God be blessed, and may God bless that community with peace and power and life. 

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Ashes, Ashes

Here we are: Lent again.  This season takes considerable spiritual discipline, a trust that goes far deeper than human ingenuity and initiative.  In the days of my parish ministry, I remember well the rigors of preparing to preach twice (sometimes three times) a week during Lent.  I remember how sanctuary lighting was always so dim.  It was harder to see at night than in the light of day.  The light was always subdued.  The windows were darkened to those on the inside; the light was reversed, flowing inside out. 

To keep Ash Wednesday among a people who resist a demonstrative faith was always a challenge.  We heard Jesus say, "Beware of practicing your piety before other people."  It gave us reason to resist the smudge of ash.  We had all the rationalizations ready to resist the ancient practice.  But, in every church, there was a group eager for the ashes.  I would number myself among them.  There is something special, holy in the ritual reminder that I am mortal, a creature of the Creator, who belongs--body and soul, in life and in death to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ.

I remember Ash Wednesday and how the line would form, moving forward in silent somberness--young and old, the well-to-do and those with so very little.  We all came for the mark of the cross, a mark that would soon turn to a gritty smudge.  The vestments and thumb of the celebrant were often deeply marked too. 

I remember Ash Wednesday and how I learned a different way.  The imposing expression, "Remember that you are dust, and to the dust you shall return.  Repent, and believe the Gospel" was transformed to "Remember that we are dust, and to the dust we shall return.  Repent, and believe in the Gospel."  I needed to be included in the mortality and in the community that entrusts itself to God.  We are not alone, even as the ashes are imposed.  I remember choking on the ash, as those getting "treatments" came forward in their feebleness and frailty.  It was hard to whisper the word about dust in the ear of the dying; but it was, for many of those with a difficult diagnosis--a call to a deeper trust.  Our hope is in the One who knows the dust and ashes of our lives and is able to create anew.

I remember Ash Wednesday.  In the line would be little children and babies carried forward in the arms of their parents and grandparents.  What is the word for this child on Ash Wednesday?  "Remember, that Jesus loves you and will be with you always."  I took great liberty with the literal words when the little children came.  What more important word for a child at the beginning of life's journey?  "Remember that you are loved by a Gracious and Merciful God, who loves you--dust, ashes, and all.  You will never be abandoned.  You will never be forgotten.  You will never be alone."

I remember Ash Wednesday, and a simple song called "Ashes" by Tom Conroy:

We rise again from ashes,
from the good we've failed to do.
We rise again from ashes,
to create ourselves anew.
If all our world is ashes,
then must our lives be true,
An offering of ashes,
An offering to You.

We offer You our failures,
we offer You attempts;
The gifts not fully given,
the dreams not fully dreamt.
Give our stumblings direction,
give our visions wider view,
An offering of ashes,
An offering to You.

On this Ash Wednesday, deeper than all my remembering, I hope in the God who calls me back to the ashes . . . and through the ashes to life. 

Blessed Lent, sisters and brothers, . . . Blessed Lent!

Monday, February 13, 2012

Can This Church Live?

"Many contemporary congregations (particularly in the old-line denominations) are declining because they do not have a distinctive sense of Christian identity and mission or a sufficient flow of spiritual energy."  This critique is offered by Ronald Allen in the Foreword of God in Pain: Teaching Sermons on Suffering by Barbara Brown Taylor (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1998).  We have lost our identity, forgotten our mission, and become spiritually dead organizations.  Heavy stuff!

My ministry takes me to some wonderfully vibrant congregations, where there is a deep commitment to following Jesus' call and command.  The members are disciples, who know--ultimately and always--that the church belongs to Jesus Christ.  It does not belong to some prominent lay member or to a spiritual leader, pastor or preacher; but it belongs to Jesus Christ.  The congregation is not mine or ours; but rather, it is always Christ's body, visible and broken, in the midst of the world.

Those congregations that are most alive are able to see beyond themselves and their own needs and anxieties, to see the world.  They have a mission; they exist for mission--to bring healing, hope, and life to their communities and, indeed, to the whole world.  Many times I will ask the leaders of a conflicted church to talk about what they hear to be their Gospel mandate:  Why are you here?  What's the point and purpose or your existence?  What are you passionate about?  Those are centering questions for Christian identity and mission.

The decline in the mission support that flows to and through denominations is a symptom of spiritual disease.  When we no longer understand our covenant connections as life-giving relationships with others.  We are adrift and alone.  We say to our partners in mission, "I have no need of you."  When we can no longer imagine changing the world, welcoming the strangers, feeding and sheltering the hungry, standing up for those who are being pushed down--we are as good as dead. 

Being a church is not about maintaining the shrine and preserving our antiquated heritage.  I once served a congregation that was surrounded by its cemetery.  Right outside the sanctuary--just feet from the windows and doors--were the graves of the saints, who were long dead and gone.  It was hard in that context to think about living when there was so much focus on heritage and history . . . and death.  The guests who would return for the annual Memorial Day service were surprised that the little congregation persisted, their focus was on hallowing the memory of ancestors and preserving the weathered stones.

It is in preaching and worship that the Spirit energizes us and reminds us of our Christian identity and mission.  Yesterday, I worshipped with Maranatha Indonesian United Church of Christ.  Most of the service was in the Indonesian language, which I do not understand.  Yet, I felt the power of Christ's life there.  I sensed that this small congregation, facing into the imminent deportation of some its members and friends, is still Christ's church.  It is alive and vital.  It is connected in covenant.  These disciples know their mission and are generous in the midst of their adversity.  They are a fellowship together in and after worship.  Would that our old-line churches had such spirit!

I am grateful to God for glimpses of vitality.  May the ministry we share help the church to live.  May they all be one, and may the dead live again.





Monday, February 6, 2012

Postponing Life

As I write this morning, I am surrounded by papers that beckon for my attention.  There are calls to return, emails that seek some response, crises of various degree that would claim my undivided attention.  All are important, few are urgent. 

As I write, I also behold the beauty.  From outside bright sunshine streams through the window panes, glistening snow, and forest shadow patterns.  Inside are those who share ministry with me in the New Hampshire Conference.  All are busy at their stations, engaged in their labors.  Beautiful, committed folks who care about the church.  I am grateful to God!

And yet, I must confess.  The stacks of papers, the calls, and the emails all give shape--perhaps too much shape to my life.  They are my routine.  They become my focus.  They become my obsession, my purpose, and my future. 

How often we postpone life because some project or problem seems more immediate today.  The hours evaporate.  Days fly fast away.  The years disappear . . . gone.  I find myself in tune with the author of Ecclesiastes:  "I have seen everything that is done under the sun; and behold, all is vanity and a striving after wind."  Sometimes it is tempting to put off life until . . .
until the kids are grown and mature,
until life is more settled,
until the the market finally recovers,
until I have more leisure time, . . .
until.

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of worshipping with the congregation at South Congregational Church, United Church of Christ, in Concord.  It was the church's 175th anniversary celebration--a day of re-dedication.  That congregation did not become the community of ministry and mission that it is today by postponing life until some time down the road--when discipleship would be easier and life would be simpler.  It did not delay sharing its bread and shelter with the community around it.  Experiencing God's life--welcoming the stranger and the outcast as Jesus' friends--was not left for some future time.  As I remember yesterday, I find a faithful witness that restores my hope today.

So, here is my resolution amid this reflection:  I will live this day to the full, glorifying and praising God, loving my neighbors, and resting in the sure and certain hope of resurrection and new life.  God is in this moment, and God will be in whatever the future brings.