Standing in the Storm

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

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

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

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

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

But tragically, in the industrialized world there is a terrible absence of understanding or concern about those who are enduring lives of despair and hopelessness. We have not yet made the commitment to share with others an appreciable part of our excessive wealth. This is a potentially rewarding burden that we should all be willing to assume.

 

Ladies and gentlemen:  War may sometimes be a necessary evil. But no matter how necessary, it is always an evil, never a good. We will not learn how to live together in peace by killing each other's children.
 

--Jimmy Carter, Nobel Peace Prize Acceptance Speech, December 10, 2002

 

 

Today, I am thinking about engagement beyond isolationism.  I am thinking about how conflicts, whether interpersonal or international, affect us all.  I am thinking that one need not be an expert in resolving or transforming these troubles; but approach life with a willingness to engage in bringing peace to our troubled world.  Yes, the "rewarding burden" may require much of me, but it reminds me of the cross of One who stood in the midst of the storm and spoke his peace.

 

 

O God of Love, whose peace seems so elusive in this time, grant me the courage to engage as a child of your peace in this very moment and always.  Amen.

 

So This Is Ministry

The gifts he gave were that some would be apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, some pastors and teachers, to equip the saints for the work of ministry, . . . ."  (Ephesians 4:11-12a, NRSV)


In the months following my call to become New Hampshire's Conference Minister, I lamented with a colleague, "So where is the ministry in this?"  My question was not answered directly.  In fact, it was ignored.  I had come to the New Hampshire Conference directly from parish ministry with the notion that I could engage in this ministry with a pastor's heart.  I did not want to become a manager, but hoped to remain a minister as I continued to live out God's call and claim in my life.   The role of Conference Minister requires that one be an astute and competent manager.  It goes with the territory.  My question persisted for a long time:  So where is the ministry in the midst of the management?

In recent days, I have come to answer to my own question.  When I described the type of engagement that I have with churches of the Conference, a friend pointed out that this is ministry.   Showing up in settings where folks are sad and conflicted, confused and angry is ministry.  Even when there is no clear path through the tangle of feelings, a willingness to show up, to be present, and engage with others is ministry.  Curiously, I had never really stopped to consider this.  It was a break-through moment.  I am glad that my colleague had not offered a quick and simplistic answer years ago, and that I was given the opportunity to discover it for myself through the diligent practice of this ministry.

Yesterday after worship, as I visited with the pastor and members of Monadnock Congregational United Church of Christ, I asked, "How might we bridge the geography between Colebrook and Pembroke?"  This local church is farther from our "Conference Center" than any other.  Afterward, a member approached to say, "Our pastor is the one who keeps us connected.  She helps to keep us connected with God.  That's the most important connection of all."  And, that's ministry!  Ministry is connecting and building up everyone in their relationships with God and each other . . . and with the world where God moves us to love and serve with Christ.  I am grateful for this local church and its faithful, creative witness . . . and I am grateful for this pastor who makes ministry real in the life of her members.  It was a wonderful day in this ministry.

Yes, I have learned much in the past week.  Being a faithful administrator and manager of the resources of the New Hampshire Conference, United Church of Christ is ministry.  Engaging in ministry--connecting and being present through seasons of celebration and sorrow--sitting prayerfully with the perceptions and experiences of others--this is truly holy work.  This is my ministry.  Thanks be to God!

O God, send your Holy Spirit upon every minister of the church, including this one!  Help us to be and to do, following wherever Jesus leads us to minister.  Grant us wisdom, grant us courage, and grant us peace.  Amen.

Fireworks and Rainbows

God said, "This is the sign of the covenant that I make between me and you and every living creature that is with you, for all future generations:  I have set my bow in the clouds, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth.  When I bring clouds over the earth and the bow is seen in the clouds, I will remember my covenant that is between me and you and every living creature of all flesh; and the waters again shall never become a flood to destroy all flesh.  When the bow is in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is on the earth."  --Genesis 9:12-16, (New Revised Standard Version)

This week there is quite a contrast of symbols in the sky.  I am writing on the Fourth of July, Independence Day in he USA.  Tonight there will be fireworks.  According to a 2010 article in Forbes, Americans spend $600 million on fireworks with two-thirds of that money being spent on backyard displays (Forbes, June 29, 2010).  The fireworks remind us of the "Rockets' red glare, the Bombs bursting in air."  They reassure us that our flag, the symbol of our nation's courage and resolve, is enduring through every time of trouble.  Tonight many will gather in backyards, on beaches, and in public parks to see the sky illumined and catch another glimpse of our national symbol. 

On Wednesday night, I traveled to a little village in southern New Hampshire to meet with members of a local church, where the congregation is praying that it will have a new settled pastor soon.  This is a beautiful place with thick forests lining the winding roads.  As I was preparing to seek a call as New Hampshire's Conference Minister, the Rev. John Thomas, our General Minister and President, counseled me about the closed-in feeling of New Hampshire's geography.  It is a beautiful place, but one seldom sees the horizon here.  I remembered John's wise words as I traveled to meet with that search committee at Mason on Wednesday.  The reality is that we sometimes do not see a storm coming until it is right on top of us.  Conversely, we often do not see the possibility of empowering hope and great joy until it is nearly too late.  Unlike those who live in the Midwest, we do not see the clouds gathering and rolling toward us long before they actually arrive.   That is true for the churches of New Hampshire, as well. 

On Wednesday evening, there was a bone-drenching summer thunderstorm with bombastic thunder and flashes of lightning.  Winds blew, tree limbs fell, and power failed in many towns across the state.  But as I prepared to leave the search committee, I caught a brief glimpse of the sky after the storm.  The light was diminished because evening was drawing to a close; night was descending.  But there, in the sky, just above the steeple was an unmistakable symbol of hope and promise:  A rainbow.

Today, I think today about the symbols that appear in our skies.  The rainbow at Mason is a sign of reassurance for a little church that has experienced changes and faces challenges.  We cannot see the horizon, but we still see a symbol of hope in our sky.  It is a gift from God, who promises to be present and to love us no matter what--that's covenant!  The United Church of Christ embodies that hope.  Our congregations are not isolated and alone--we share a covenant that brings us together to love and serve God--no matter what.

Some years ago, as I was driving home from a hospital where a beloved member of our little congregation had just died, I passed through an intense thunderstorm.  And just beyond that storm, a brilliant, beautiful rainbow appeared.  It was not faint but bold against the fleeting storm clouds.  I remember alluding to that symbol of hope at the funeral several days later.  The grieving family had also seen that rainbow and received it as a symbol of hope on their journey home from the hospital.

So the contrast, fireworks and rainbows--one part of our annual civic pride and patriotism, reminding us of the wars we have fought and the enduring strength of our flag, and the other, a reassuring gift that appears quietly after the storm to remind us that God loves the earth and all its creatures.  I may see some fireworks tonight, but it's the rainbow that I cherish most.

God of thunder and lightning, God of covenant making and covenant keeping: Thank you for every glimpse of your grace and every reminder of your love.  Bless the little village churches as they seek to be faithful n calling new pastors to become agents of your peace and prophets of your truth.  Open our eyes to see rainbows--especially in times when we cannot see all the way to your horizon of hope.  Amen.