When Did We See You?

The Parable of the Great Judgment ( Mt. 25:31-46) has shaped my faith and ethics from my earliest days.  I realize the story is about the nations who are gathered.  The verbs are plural, rather than singular.  This is a parable for a group, for a society, for a community.  It calls people to see and serve Christ in "the least of these."  It might be addressed to a country whose policies do not extend care to those who are sick, suffering, and dying.  It could also apply to a church or a denomination that has defined "spiritual" so narrowly and personally that it does not engage in social and political arenas.

A clergy colleague once took the edge off these words by saying that Jesus was really concerned here with "brothers and sisters" in our church.   He claimed that Jesus was not teaching us to see and serve those who were outside our circle, those in the world around us.  That pastor had it all neatly exegeted in a way that resolved much of the tension in the text.  Perhaps it is easier just to focus on the faith community that is right before us.  Well?  I think Jesus had a larger understanding of kindred, and he wanted us to see him in the stranger, the foreigner, the outsider--those who are invisible and vulnerable in the world.  Can you see the Christ in that other one?  Can you serve the Christ in that person, that human being, that beloved child of God?

As a child, I was taught to fear and exclude those who were different economically, racially, or sexually.  The message came in subtle and not-so-subtle ways.  But then I met Jesus in church, and he challenged me by focusing my faith on the "least of these."  His parable shapes my service.  So, here's what I've learned:  Jesus will not be co-opted to shore up our prejudices.  Jesus always challenges those who think they have it all put together.  Smug spirituality that ignores the poor and needy leads to his condemnation.

In recent days, we have heard an explicit threat to the human rights of the LGBTQ community.  These people are my kindred.  They are worthy of respect and care as God's beloved ones.  As a disciple of Jesus, I see and stand with my kindred and my neighbors.  I am called to testify to God's love with loving words and deeds.  I will seek to serve the Christ in those who are despised and rejected by others.

Such care may be costly.  It may take us to people and places that we had never intended to go.  It may challenge us to stand up when we'd rather just sit down.  It may move us to speak up when we would rather be silent.  But then, we may also remember our Faithful Savior, Jesus Christ, and hear his call to follow and to rekindle our love and courage.  He knows well how it is to serve at the edge.  He risked becoming despised and rejected because he loved God and loved his neighbors.  He humbled himself, not  building a secure fortress to isolate and protect himself.  And, in the end, there was resurrection, glorious life, and great joy.

Righteous One, give me eyes to see my kindred wherever they are and whoever they are.  Make me a loving and engaging servant of Jesus.  Grant me his compassionate and courageous spirit.  Teach me to trust and to serve with all those who cry out for justice, mercy, and love.   Amen.

"The Burden of Eternal Incompletion"

From the cross in John 19:30, Jesus speaks a final word, "Tetelestai."  In the passive voice, the verb signals perfection:  "It has been completed, . . . accomplished, . . . fulfilled, . . . finished."  This passive verb also suggests to me that such completion rests not with Jesus himself but with that One who acts through and beyond his words and deeds.  The word reveals a deep and abiding trust.  Jesus dies, surrenders his spirit, in the assurance that he is one with the Father and that his relationship is made complete.  He has accomplished what he was sent to do.  It is finished.

The news of the ending of my ministry in the New Hampshire Conference of the United Church of Christ has now been widely shared.   I am receiving expressions of appreciation in emails, cards, and spoken words.  Yesterday, following worship at the Conway Village Congregational Church, United Church of Christ, there was a special gift, cards from the Moderator and Diaconate, and a cake.  Coffee hour became a farewell celebration.  I am deeply grateful for the people whose lives have been affirmed and supported by this ministry.  I am also grateful for those who have challenged me to grow and become a more faithful servant of the Gospel.  I appreciate the voices that have spoken the truth to me in love.  Endings are not easy.  They are complicated and messy.  The memory of one's ministry is not controlled by the one who is leaving.   I look to Jesus on the cross, not as a model for my own ending, but rather as my Savior who is able, finally, to bring it all to completion in the sweep of God's eternity.

I have been reflecting recently on a phrase that comes from the Rev. Lillian Daniel in an essay that she wrote about being an associate pastor.  It is in the book, This Odd and Wondrous Calling, that she authored with the Rev. Martin Copenhaver.  The phrase is this: "The burden of eternal incompletion."   I know that burden well!  It is a heavy one because it says that this ending will not be perfect.  No matter how much I might want it to be otherwise, I cannot control it.  Something will, of necessity, be left undone.  Relationships will change and end.  This ending will have some rough edges, good-byes left unspoken, and projects left in pieces.  It will never be complete, but I will move on in the assurance that the burden is not mine alone to carry.  The goodbye belongs to us all.  It is part of the reality that comes with our mortality. 

I trust in Jesus, my faithful Savior, to shoulder this burden and release me from its weight.  I trust that others will come who will sort out what is really important and what must be discarded.  The time that remains is short.  What is most important now is saying goodbye in order to prepare to say hello in a new ministry with joy and wonder.  And, in the end, it will all be well because this is not about me or us, but about the God who has claimed and named us all as beloved ones.  In the end, it's all about grace, mercy, and love.  In the end, as is true of every ending, there is the blessed hope of a resurrection; there is gratitude; and there is great joy. 

Eternal God, I give you thanks for your Church and for this ministry that I have shared with your people in the New Hampshire Conference, United Church of Christ.  Your call was clear when I began.  Your call is clear as I end.  I entrust this ending and the future into your hands.  Amen.

Generosity Begins with Fifteen Cents

I remember with thanksgiving the lessons I have learned about generosity.  As a small child, who was drawn to the church by the sounds of happy children playing at Vacation Bible School, I looked forward to Sunday mornings.  On those mornings, without fail, my mom would give me a nickel for the Sunday School  offering and a dime for the worship service offering.  Generosity began with small and simple gifts, totaling fifteen cents.  When I was confirmed at the age of eleven, I received my own offering envelopes--a symbol of discipleship and a visible reminder that I had gifts to offer the church.

My ability to give has increased over many years.  What began with fifteen cents became twenty-five cents.  When I got a part-time job, I increased my giving to a dollar.  I remember moving through levels of giving, from a dollar, to ten, and then to twenty . . . and more.  It felt good to give.  It was good to participate and do what, I believe, God expected from me as a member of Christ's church.

Fundraising is done from the perspective and need of the receiver.  It is a corporate concept.  Generosity begins in the heart of the individual disciple and is rooted in gratitude.  I give because I am thankful to God for the gift of the community that seeks to faithfully live out the love of Christ.  I give because giving was modeled for me by my parents, who made sure that I had my fifteen cents in a coin purse before I went to Sunday School.

I have encountered many generous disciples through my ministry.  The woman who brought a tithe of an inheritance that she had received.  The parishioner who gave his gifts while still alive to be able to see and enjoy the effects of his generosity.  The child who saved up pennies to send someone else to church camp.  I have been privileged and exceedingly blessed by the witness of the saints who responded to the blessings of God by living generous lives.

Last night at the General Synod of the United Church of Christ, a vote was taken to change how we support the Church--in particular the Church in our National Setting.  The old pattern of giving that had covenantal partners sharing with one another from the Local Church to the Conference to National Setting is passing away.  It is no longer the norm.  That vote, I believe, moved us from generosity to fundraising, from disciples to donors, from an offering to a donation.  I understand why our denomination needed to do this, but I grieve what it signals.  The Church becomes another non-profit in search of funding for its missional purposes and its very survival.  We reach around the covenant to contact those whose pockets appear to be deep, ignoring the child with a purse that holds but fifteen cents.

I will continue on, giving because God has loved me through the waters of baptism and has included me in a community of compassion and care that extends far beyond the walls of my local church.  I love the United Church of Christ and will do all that I can to support it in every way.  I still believe that generous gifts, consecrated collections, still can and do change the world.  The denomination will be supported and be faithful if we live with grateful hearts, trusting the generosity of God who makes all blessings flow.

O Generous God, whose grace and mercy we behold in the outstretched arms of Jesus on Good Friday's cross.   We see how you love all and call us to serve all with glad and generous hearts.  Receive my gift, multiply it and merge it with those of others, and use them all to magnify your hope for justice in the world.  Amen.