September 11, 2001. We remember the moment we got the news. American Airlines Flight 11 had crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center. It was 7:55 AM (CDT) in Central Missouri. I had stopped at a convenience store near Whiteman AFB, en route to a Church & Ministry Committee meeting in Higginsville, MO. In the store, off duty Air Force personnel were talking about getting back to the base--a plane had crashed in New York City. Back on the road, I turned on the radio to listen to news. Another plane, United Airlines Flight 175, had crashed into the South Tower. Soon, there were more reports of hijacked planes and crashes at the Pentagon and in Somerset County, Pennsylvania. I phoned my wife at her work. I got to the meeting where we watched the events unfold on the television. There was shock. We wept. We prayed.
I remember a hastily-prepared prayer service at First Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) in California, Missouri on the evening of September 11, 2001. People shared their shock and sadness, their anger, and their fears. I recall the voice that cautioned that we not rush to judgment and treat our own citizens as enemies. I recall reading Psalm 46. Life as we knew it was changed . . . forever.
It hardly seems that a decade should be past already. We have fought two wars, and are still fighting. We have killed our enemies, Saddam Hussein and Osama bin Laden, citizens of Afghanistan and Iraq. We mourned the deaths of our sons and daughters as they served in those distant places. We have strengthened our homeland security. We have built detention centers at Guantanamo Bay and Abu Ghraib. We have viewed our Muslim brothers and sisters with suspicion and scorn. We have condoned the use of torture as an interrogation tactic. We have learned about the colors of terror levels.
But what next? What about the next decade . . . and the next? I wonder how 9/11 will be remembered and commemorated on September 11, 2101. What will they say of our terrible day? What might we do now to shape the hope that will sustain generations yet to come?
I am thankful that this anniversary comes on Sunday, the first day of the week, amid the celebration of Christ's resurrection. Today, I will worship and remember. I will pray. I will hope in God who is with us. Psalm 46 still steadies my heart and my hope, raising my courage and my compassion.
God is our refuge and strength,
a very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change,
though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea;
though its waters roar and foam,
though the mountains tremble with its tumult.
There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
the holy habitation of the Most High.
God is in the midst of the city;* it shall not be moved;
God will help it when the morning dawns.
The nations are in an uproar, the kingdoms totter;
he utters his voice, the earth melts.
The Lord of hosts is with us;
the God of Jacob is our refuge.
Come, behold the works of the Lord;
see what desolations he has brought on the earth.
He makes wars cease to the end of the earth;
he breaks the bow, and shatters the spear;
he burns the shields with fire.
‘Be still, and know that I am God!
I am exalted among the nations,
I am exalted in the earth.’
The Lord of hosts is with us;
the God of Jacob is our refuge.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Monday, September 5, 2011
Labor Day 2011
A tiny text keeps scrolling through my mind on this Labor Day. It is from Paul's letter to the church in Corinth. The words come as a conclusion to Paul's reminder about the resurrection: "Therefore, my beloved, be steadfast, immovable, always excelling in the work of the Lord, because you know that in the Lord your labor is not in vain" (I Corinthians 15:58, NRSV).
There are those moments, sometimes seasons, when I begin to wonder, "Does what I am doing really matter?" I have an aunt who has been known to ask some very piercing questions. Several years ago she asked, "What is it you really do?" My aunt knew about my practice of parish ministry. She held her own pastors in high regard, having experienced their ministry. She new about ministry. "But what does a Conference Minister do? "
I remember my aunt's questions, in part, because I did not answer it well. Perhaps that was because I had some role confusion myself. Perhaps I had yet to value my own ministry in the "middle judicatory" setting. So now, I'm going to answer the questions again:
On this Labor Day, I also am remembering others--in the church and in our society--who worry about their jobs. These are not carefree times. I pray that we will join together through this difficult season, that we will help one another rather than blame one another. I pray that everyone will be able to labor to make a livelihood. I pray for labor that brings dignity and builds up our nation. I pray for labor that blesses the world with peace.
May it be so for all who labor and carry heavy burdens. Indeed, it is!
There are those moments, sometimes seasons, when I begin to wonder, "Does what I am doing really matter?" I have an aunt who has been known to ask some very piercing questions. Several years ago she asked, "What is it you really do?" My aunt knew about my practice of parish ministry. She held her own pastors in high regard, having experienced their ministry. She new about ministry. "But what does a Conference Minister do? "
I remember my aunt's questions, in part, because I did not answer it well. Perhaps that was because I had some role confusion myself. Perhaps I had yet to value my own ministry in the "middle judicatory" setting. So now, I'm going to answer the questions again:
- My labor is to serve the whole church by encouraging local churches and those who serve them.
- My labor is to speak the truth in love, even when there are those who think that is too challenging.
- My labor is to lead with courage and a passion for justice.
- My labor is to make peace--in the church as in the world.
- My labor is to be agent of diligent oversight and God's grace.
On this Labor Day, I also am remembering others--in the church and in our society--who worry about their jobs. These are not carefree times. I pray that we will join together through this difficult season, that we will help one another rather than blame one another. I pray that everyone will be able to labor to make a livelihood. I pray for labor that brings dignity and builds up our nation. I pray for labor that blesses the world with peace.
There is another verse that stirs within me as I write these words. I hear the melody of an old spiritual.
Sometimes I feel discouraged
And think my work's in vain,
But then the Holy Spirit
Revives my soul again.
May it be so for all who labor and carry heavy burdens. Indeed, it is!
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
A Naive Reply
Friends from Vermont have been in touch. They are stranded at home as the flood waters have swept away a bridge that connects them to town. My first response was, "Just say the word, and I'll be there." I actually wrote that in an email reply. But then, I saw the videos. It is obvious that going there is not possible now. Later, maybe--but not now.
Sometimes we respond before we know the depth of the crisis, we wade off into a situation without considering what is really needed, and what we can realistically accomplish. We get in over our heads and make things worse. This is a time when I need to remember that my strength is insufficient to this trouble. I cannot get there now. I cannot--no matter how much I might try--make this right. I am not God.
There will be a time, perhaps, when I can stand amid the mess, be present, and offer help. For now, I will "be there" in a different way. My heart aches as I see those videos and hear of homes lost and communities devastated. There is great hurt, tremendous loss.
Sometimes we respond before we know the depth of the crisis, we wade off into a situation without considering what is really needed, and what we can realistically accomplish. We get in over our heads and make things worse. This is a time when I need to remember that my strength is insufficient to this trouble. I cannot get there now. I cannot--no matter how much I might try--make this right. I am not God.
There will be a time, perhaps, when I can stand amid the mess, be present, and offer help. For now, I will "be there" in a different way. My heart aches as I see those videos and hear of homes lost and communities devastated. There is great hurt, tremendous loss.
The Lord sits enthroned over the flood;
the Lord sits enthroned as king for ever.
May the Lord give strength to his people!
May the Lord bless his people with peace!
the Lord sits enthroned as king for ever.
May the Lord give strength to his people!
May the Lord bless his people with peace!
--Psalm 29:10-11, NRSV
Friday, August 26, 2011
Getting Ready for the Storm
For the past week, the news has chronicled the development of a storm, the emerging hurricane called Irene. Interestingly, that name comes from the Greek word eirene, which means "peace." Seems a strange name for a storm!
I'm spending this sunny day getting ready for the storm. At least, I have time to prepare. The lawn furniture will be secured. The canoe will be moved closer to the house. The garage will be prematurely filled with things that normally come inside in late October. Today I'm wondering what might blow away and what might blow in. Is this innocent object going to be harmful when driven by the severe winds?
There are things today that cause anxiety. Should we have trimmed those pine trees? Will the electricity be off for a long time? Will the cell phone and the Internet still be working?
There are bigger concerns. What about those who live in low-lying places? What about the densely populated places--New York City and Boston? What about the poor? What about the depressed who just cannot take one more storm?
There is faith: I am bold to believe there is One who keeps us in every storm. No matter what comes, this One will see us through.
I'm spending this sunny day getting ready for the storm. At least, I have time to prepare. The lawn furniture will be secured. The canoe will be moved closer to the house. The garage will be prematurely filled with things that normally come inside in late October. Today I'm wondering what might blow away and what might blow in. Is this innocent object going to be harmful when driven by the severe winds?
There are things today that cause anxiety. Should we have trimmed those pine trees? Will the electricity be off for a long time? Will the cell phone and the Internet still be working?
There are bigger concerns. What about those who live in low-lying places? What about the densely populated places--New York City and Boston? What about the poor? What about the depressed who just cannot take one more storm?
There is faith: I am bold to believe there is One who keeps us in every storm. No matter what comes, this One will see us through.
Friday, August 19, 2011
The Necessary Thing
These are truly challenging times. It takes a special kind of courage just to read the morning paper or listen to the evening news. Who would have thought? I remember sitting by the cistern with my grandpa on summer evenings. His generation had experienced the effect of the Great Depression. Yet, he and my grandma were married in 1929. They faced the future together, started a family and made a life amid that depressing and tumultuous time in our economic history. Grandpa often wished out loud that we would never again see such a time. He hoped his family--in generations yet to come--would never have to experience a similar trouble. I wonder what my grandpa would have said about our trouble . . . .
Last evening the Conference Council met for its monthly meeting. The Council is the governing body of the this church in which I serve as Conference Minister. It was a long session, as we faced some very hard news. Our cash will run short (probably run out) in early 2012, with our current rate of spending and current level of contribution from the local churches. Added to that news, we received a budget proposal for 2012 from a group of leaders who have worked diligently over the past five months to prepare it. That budget has a $62,000 deficit as its bottom line. There was deep concern because the members who sit at the Council table have a commitment to the health and vitality of the Conference and the ministries that it provides to so many others. The discussion also held proclamations of hopefulness and expressions of faith in our God, who still provides in great abundance and calls us to be faithful in the midst of challenging times.
This morning I am wondering: What is the one thing . . . the essential thing . . . that I can do right now to make a positive difference in the New Hampshire Conference? My meditation turns to Mary and Martha in Luke 10:38ff. Mary, as she sat attentively listening at Jesus' feet, was commended for choosing "the better part." Rather than becoming distracted with too much serving, with too much trouble, with too much bad news--it is time to sit and listen. "Be still, and know," that amid the cataclysmic changes of earth our God is still exalted in the midst of it it all (Psalm 46).
A memory springs forth of white-robed confirmands kneeling on the chancel steps. Hands are placed on their heads in blessing. A community prays in fervent hope for their life as disciples of Jesus Christ. And, in the end, leaders' hands are extended in support as a word of commission is spoken, "Rise and serve in the name of our Lord." It is the holy rhythm. Service is born in the kneeling. Proclamation grows in the listening. Courage comes with in a blessing that is prayed over us.
Today is my day to kneel anew . . . .
Come and join me.
Last evening the Conference Council met for its monthly meeting. The Council is the governing body of the this church in which I serve as Conference Minister. It was a long session, as we faced some very hard news. Our cash will run short (probably run out) in early 2012, with our current rate of spending and current level of contribution from the local churches. Added to that news, we received a budget proposal for 2012 from a group of leaders who have worked diligently over the past five months to prepare it. That budget has a $62,000 deficit as its bottom line. There was deep concern because the members who sit at the Council table have a commitment to the health and vitality of the Conference and the ministries that it provides to so many others. The discussion also held proclamations of hopefulness and expressions of faith in our God, who still provides in great abundance and calls us to be faithful in the midst of challenging times.
This morning I am wondering: What is the one thing . . . the essential thing . . . that I can do right now to make a positive difference in the New Hampshire Conference? My meditation turns to Mary and Martha in Luke 10:38ff. Mary, as she sat attentively listening at Jesus' feet, was commended for choosing "the better part." Rather than becoming distracted with too much serving, with too much trouble, with too much bad news--it is time to sit and listen. "Be still, and know," that amid the cataclysmic changes of earth our God is still exalted in the midst of it it all (Psalm 46).
A memory springs forth of white-robed confirmands kneeling on the chancel steps. Hands are placed on their heads in blessing. A community prays in fervent hope for their life as disciples of Jesus Christ. And, in the end, leaders' hands are extended in support as a word of commission is spoken, "Rise and serve in the name of our Lord." It is the holy rhythm. Service is born in the kneeling. Proclamation grows in the listening. Courage comes with in a blessing that is prayed over us.
Today is my day to kneel anew . . . .
Come and join me.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
All Dressed Up, And . . . .
The vacation ends tomorrow. This morning I decided to worship with a congregation where I have not been recently. I checked the service time in the paper, and got to the church just before the appointed hour for worship. The church sign announced the time of worship. There was also a colorful sign in the front yard, inviting people to come to worship at that time.
It soon became evident that something was wrong. There were no cars in the parking lot or on the adjacent streets. I decided to walk up to the front door, just to be sure. It was locked. I felt dejected as I walked back down the sidewalk. I was looking forward to worshipping, to hearing the sermon and to singing the hymns. I had hoped to visit, renewing relationships and creating new ones.
After that, I decided to drive to other nearby congregations. What I discovered is that most had already started worship thirty to forty-five minutes earlier. What would it be for the Conference Minister to show up just in time for the final hymn and the benediction? Not so good!
One church had a sign posted at the edge of town, but there was no service time on it. When I neared the church building, there was no sign on the street--just a sign with very small letters beside of the front door. What time did this one start? There were but a few cars in the parking lot. I drove in, squinted at the sign, only to discover that the worship was long over. The cars probably belonged to friends who went together to lunch or to some who were lingering for a meeting after coffee hour.
As I drove back home, I saw folks jogging, walking dogs, mowing lawns, and playing golf. There were lots of cars in the parking lots of favorite restaurants. This is a big race weekend at the NH Motor Speedway, just up the highway from our house. Lots of race fans are headed north. What if, this had been the morning that some stranger had decided to go to church. What if they had gotten their courage up to walk through your church's door? What if they had carefully researched the time and made sure of the location? What if they arrived to find an empty church and a locked door?
I don't share this story to chide or belittle a church. You can't pry the name of the church out of me. I am concerned about having us all live up to our words: "No matter who you are or where you are on life's journey, you are welcome here." I hope we will all be more attentive, more hospitable. Check your newspaper ads, the outgoing message on your answering machine, the posting on your website, and the signage at the edge of town and in the church yard.
You just never know who might show up.
It soon became evident that something was wrong. There were no cars in the parking lot or on the adjacent streets. I decided to walk up to the front door, just to be sure. It was locked. I felt dejected as I walked back down the sidewalk. I was looking forward to worshipping, to hearing the sermon and to singing the hymns. I had hoped to visit, renewing relationships and creating new ones.
After that, I decided to drive to other nearby congregations. What I discovered is that most had already started worship thirty to forty-five minutes earlier. What would it be for the Conference Minister to show up just in time for the final hymn and the benediction? Not so good!
One church had a sign posted at the edge of town, but there was no service time on it. When I neared the church building, there was no sign on the street--just a sign with very small letters beside of the front door. What time did this one start? There were but a few cars in the parking lot. I drove in, squinted at the sign, only to discover that the worship was long over. The cars probably belonged to friends who went together to lunch or to some who were lingering for a meeting after coffee hour.
As I drove back home, I saw folks jogging, walking dogs, mowing lawns, and playing golf. There were lots of cars in the parking lots of favorite restaurants. This is a big race weekend at the NH Motor Speedway, just up the highway from our house. Lots of race fans are headed north. What if, this had been the morning that some stranger had decided to go to church. What if they had gotten their courage up to walk through your church's door? What if they had carefully researched the time and made sure of the location? What if they arrived to find an empty church and a locked door?
I don't share this story to chide or belittle a church. You can't pry the name of the church out of me. I am concerned about having us all live up to our words: "No matter who you are or where you are on life's journey, you are welcome here." I hope we will all be more attentive, more hospitable. Check your newspaper ads, the outgoing message on your answering machine, the posting on your website, and the signage at the edge of town and in the church yard.
You just never know who might show up.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Hope in the Hills of Home
Some have the idea that the terrain in Missouri is all flat and very boring. That is a false assumption. The little village of my childhood is named, "Bay." You might not find it on a map, but it still exists just north of U.S. 50, at the intersections of Routes W and K. There is no bay nearby, but there are many hills. It is a sacred place. It has been the home of my heart--even as I have moved many times over the years.
Bay has changed a lot in 50 years. The Bay Mercantile Company (the store) went out of business years ago. The State Bank of Bay merged to form the Bay-Hermann-Berger Bank some years ago. (This was the only bank in the county that did not close during the Great Depression.) The Bay Roller Mill has closed a long, long time ago. Ollie's Repair Shop is gone. My Uncle Ollie died in 2005. There are three church buildings nestled amid the hills covered with oaks and cedars. Only one of these congregations, Zion-St. Paul United Church of Christ, continues to have services each Sunday; and that little community of faith struggles with familiar issues of survival. Things have changed in dramatic ways.
Often I have stood amid the stones in Zion's Cemetery, looking out at the surrounding hills. There a poet's question echoes forward, inquiring of my soul: I lift up my eyes to the hills, from where will my help come? (Psalm 121:1). Sometimes that question waits a long, long time for an answer. Sometimes it feels desperate even to allow such a question to rise up in my soul. I scour the horizon for help--but there is not a single sign of hope to be found. Everything has changed. Even the old hills, look different now. Where is my comfort? Where is my confidence? Where is my peace? Where will I discover healing and hope in the face of my brokenness and despair?
Bay has changed a lot in 50 years. The Bay Mercantile Company (the store) went out of business years ago. The State Bank of Bay merged to form the Bay-Hermann-Berger Bank some years ago. (This was the only bank in the county that did not close during the Great Depression.) The Bay Roller Mill has closed a long, long time ago. Ollie's Repair Shop is gone. My Uncle Ollie died in 2005. There are three church buildings nestled amid the hills covered with oaks and cedars. Only one of these congregations, Zion-St. Paul United Church of Christ, continues to have services each Sunday; and that little community of faith struggles with familiar issues of survival. Things have changed in dramatic ways.
Often I have stood amid the stones in Zion's Cemetery, looking out at the surrounding hills. There a poet's question echoes forward, inquiring of my soul: I lift up my eyes to the hills, from where will my help come? (Psalm 121:1). Sometimes that question waits a long, long time for an answer. Sometimes it feels desperate even to allow such a question to rise up in my soul. I scour the horizon for help--but there is not a single sign of hope to be found. Everything has changed. Even the old hills, look different now. Where is my comfort? Where is my confidence? Where is my peace? Where will I discover healing and hope in the face of my brokenness and despair?
And then, I know--as did the Psalmist--that my help is in the One who created the heavens and the hills. This is the One who will keep you and me "from this time on and forevermore." My help is comes from the LORD who made heaven and earth." My only comfort is in the assurance that God will not abandon me--God will not abandon us. There is hope as we face the challenging, depressing economic news. There is hope for little communities of Christ's followers, who seek to be faithful amid the changing times. There is hope as I stand amid the hills of home.
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