Vacation Bible School

Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the Kingdom of God belongs.  Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it" (Mark 10:14-15, NRSV).

We just completed five days of Vacation Bible School (VBS) last night.  What I appreciated most about these evening sessions was getting better acquainted with some of the children of St. Peter's United Church of Christ and the children of the other churches who came to participate.  Sadly, a new pastor often meets the children last.  Children do not appear on search committees or church councils or in the adult fellowship groups.  They are visible--we want little children to be present--but in some ways they are also invisible, left in the background.  It was a joy to finally meet our children in the context of Vacation Bible School.

This week I went back in memory to the first time I was able to attend VBS.  Just across the back fence from my childhood home was Zion United Church of Christ (Zion-St. Paul UCC) in Bay, Missouri.  In the summer, in the years before I was old enough to go to VBS, I would hear the happy sounds of little children at play.  I would catch glimpses of them darting around the church yard at recess.  I could see them touching the old cistern pump as a base, a safe place, while playing tag.  When I was finally old enough to attend VBS myself, I was delighted to be there.  I had grown up!  It was all very good.

I remember VBS.  I remember Miss Ricka Leimkueller telling us a story about the danger of guns.  I remember Mrs. Lillian Schneider, the pastor's wife, teaching us to sing "We Shall Overcome" in addition to the songs with motions that little children loved to sing.  While I was unaware at the time, I now see that it took some courage to teach us to resist violence and work for the liberation of others.  We learned those songs during the civil rights movement and Vietnam.  At VBS, we received resources to be compassionate and understanding, to begin to find our way faithfully in the world.  Even as little children, we began to imagine a "Just World for All."  I remember the Bible stories about God creating the world, Moses parting the Red Sea, the Ten Commandments,  and Jesus calling his disciples and calming the stormy sea.  I remember the parables of the Prodigal Son and the Good Samaritan.  I remember the Good Shepherd, who lays his life down for the sake of the sheep.  I remember craft projects that took some time to complete and are still among the treasured artifacts in my study.  Later, when I was a youth in that church, the adults trusted me to help teach at VBS.  This was a formative influence in who I am today.  I am grateful.

So, I wonder what VBS might mean to the children I got to know a bit better this week.  I wonder whether we have provided them with resources that might guide and steady them throughout their lives.  Did we teach them to trust Jesus through life's storms?  Did we teach them to sing the songs of freedom and hope?  Did we teach them to be compassionate and loving with all people?  Did we give them songs and stories to anchor their faith in God now and in the times yet to come?  Did we teach them to resist evil and violence, to choose another path in life?  That is certainly the prayer of my heart as I remember the week we shared.  It is my prayer for our children.

I also wonder about the way we are doing Christian education/Christian faith formation now.  It seems churches have such a compressed schedule.  Everything overlaps--especially on Sunday mornings.  We are in such a hurry, controlled by the clock and our overloaded lives.  The children come to worship, but they do not stay there for long.  When are they present for a whole service?  We trust the curriculum and the videos to do the teaching for us, rather than sharing the scripture stories and our own experience of God.  A lot appears to have changed in the time between my first experience with VBS and what we do now.  Perhaps I am just getting old and overly anxious.  I wonder, however, whether we are providing the depth, the foundation for faith that will last for a lifetime.  What are the texts and stories that our children will take to heart--resources to sustain them when sickness and sorrow, conflicts and troubles come into their lives?  Will there be depth of soul, resilience of hope, and reality of love?  Will they know that they are always accepted and accompanied by a God who knows them by name and loves them forever?    So, I am wondering if we can go deeper, rethinking and adapting, revising our ways of doing Christian faith formation, so that we incorporate what was good from the past into today's ways of teaching our children.  

O God, grant us faith that endures and sees us through.  Bless all the little children . . . those near and dear to us and those who are distant and unfamiliar to us.  Bless them with your love.  Bless them, Lord Jesus, with your life.  Amen.

My Spiritual Advisors

In recent days, I've read about Paula White, a televangelist and spiritual advisor to President Donald J. Trump.  Every president has had a prophet, a pastor, a spiritual guide to whom they have turned.  In refuting those who are protesting present immigration policies by claiming that Jesus was also an illegal alien (when his family migrated to Egypt), Pastor White has countered that Jesus never broke laws, for if he had, "he would never have been our Messiah."  I disagree with White's interpretation, but that is not the point of this writing.

I have been thinking about those who are and have been my spiritual advisors, my mentors and counselors.  Once, just  when I had bid farewell to my first parish, I was deeply troubled in spirit.  A friend had died suddenly.  I got a call from the grieving family, inviting me to return to do the funeral service.  In my mind, I had every reason to return.  Then a friend and fellow pastor took me aside and said, "It's not your place.  You are gone.  You cannot go back without doing harm."  It was not what I wanted to hear, but those wise words were what I needed to hear.  A true spiritual advisor tells us what needs to be said even if it challenges  our own ideas and practices.

When I was a senior at Eden Seminary, my dad was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor.  I had decided that I would forgo my final semester, postponing graduation in order to care for my parents.  I was standing in the aisle in the seminary chapel, relating my plan to a wise professor who said, "You will be of more help to your parents if you finish your education and follow your call."  For a time, that counsel caused deeper soul searching.  It was not what I wanted to hear, but what I needed to hear.

In these days, as I settle more completely into my call and new life in Washington, there are spiritual advisors whom I trust to speak the truth.  There are voices that call me to accountability.  There are those friends and colleagues who do not let me alone.  They speak wise counsel--not necessarily what I want to hear, but what I need to hear.

One of those spiritual advisors spoke when I was installed in April.  Bishop Dwayne Royster reminded me of a higher calling that is grounded in the counsel of the prophet Micah.  "What does the Lord require of you?  To do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God"  (Micah 6:8).  I seek to be a spiritual advisor who speaks and serves with integrity and truthfulness.


O Righteous One, when I am called to be a spiritual advisor, a pastor, to another seeker on the way, remind me of what you require.  May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be just and true. Move me from pleasing others to serving you.  May my life and ministry be grounded in deep reverence and humility, for you alone are God.  I am grateful!   Amen.

Practicing Kindness

Every morning, I'd meet him on Highway K.  Bob was on his way home after an early morning at the coffee shop with his buddies.  I was on my way to the church to begin my day.  I recognized Bob's red pickup truck traveling in my direction long  before I saw Bob at the wheel.  When we are yards apart, there would be a welcoming wave, an acknowledgement that we were neighbors.  We did not belong to the same church.  We probably did not vote for the same candidates in the elections.  We did not socialize beyond that morning wave.  

Once, if I remember it correctly, Bob turned too soon onto Highway K in a snowstorm.  He ended up in the grassy ditch.  I remember stopping and helping to pull the red pickup back up onto the pavement.  That morning wave created a relationship, a bond of care, that transcended whatever differences might have been between us.  The wave built the bridge to mutual care and help when that was needed.

So, I'm wondering about waving.  In the Northeast where I lived for more than a decade, folks seldom waved to one another.  I recall driving into the parking lot at our Conference Office and waving to staff who were taking a short walk during lunch.  They looked at me quizzically, as though they had never seen me before.  Waving was not part of that culture.  It felt strange, not to have a friendly wave reciprocated.  The gesture was not understood.

Now that I am back in the Mid-West and serving as pastor and teacher in a small city, I find waving is again important.  I want to be know as the pastor who waves in recognition and greeting.  I also want to practice simple acts of courtesy and kindness.  

Recently, after a funeral at St. Peter's UCC, I observed three cars speeding along Fifth Street as the grieving family was trying to cross the street.  The crosswalk did not matter.  Those three cars did not stop; they did not even slow down for the group of ten or more that was waiting to cross.  I thought, "How rude!"  "How disrespectful!"   In the Northeast, motorists would slam on their breaks to make sure that pedestrians were given the right of way.  That is a major difference from the way we often drive here.

Perhaps today would be a good day to think of those simple acts of kindness and care.  Take time to be considerate of others--all others--even if they annoy you or disagree with you or make life difficult for you.  Wave, smile, and give them the right of way if they stand before you in the crosswalk.  Stop and help if they are stuck in the ditch.  You see, I believe, in those simple acts God's love and mercy are made visible for us all.   If ever there were a time when compassion and kindness were needed in human relationships, it is now! 

O Gracious God, help me to show forth your love in the ways that I live this life.  May simple acts of kindness help to change hearts and minds.  May a friendly wav make a difference in someone's life today.  Amen.

I Belong!

Yesterday, the first question of the Heidelberg Catechism suddenly came to my mind.  It was an unexpected moment of inspiration.  The Spirit spoke.  The day was nearing its end.  A lot had been accomplished, but a lot still remained undone.  It is often hard for me to close the door and walk away.  Just one more email, one more letter, one more phone call, one more . . . and then one more . . . and then one more.  The endless pattern is addictive.  The catechism's piercing question is this, "What is your only comfort in life and in death?"  That question brings focus to a life filled with too many distractions and obligations, too much guilt and worry.

And the answer creates a great calm, an antidote to the addiction of my endless busyness:  "That I am not my own, but belong with body and soul, both in life and in death, to my faithful Saviour Jesus Christ."  This is grace!  I belong to Jesus Christ because God in Christ has claimed me even before I was aware of it.  God has named me.  Those baptismal waters are alive with God's embracing love.  I belong--no matter what I may do or where I may go.  My work is important but not ultimately so.  Belonging to Jesus Christ is the foundational relationship that shapes all the others.  I belong!

So, in those seasons when life is filled to overflowing, may you also ponder this question and take its answer to heart.  There is joy and peace in belonging.  Through all we have already experienced and through all that is yet to come, "I am not my own, but belong with body and soul, both in life and in death, to my faithful Saviour Jesus Christ."

Thanks be to God!

Letting It Go

I am writing this morning from the Holiday Inn in Columbia, Missouri, where the Missouri Mid-South Conference, UCC is meeting for our Conference Annual Gathering.  This is my first Conference meeting since bidding the New Hampshire Conference, United Church of Christ farewell in August of last year, when I was blessed on my way.  This is also an anniversary.  It was one year ago on this same weekend at Horton Center that I informed the Board of Directors in the New Hampshire Conference of my emerging call and requested appropriate confidentiality until that call was accepted.  I remember hiking with the Conference President to the ledges to survey the expansive, magnificent view of the White Mountains before leaving the camp for the last time.  The photos are etched in my memory.

What I am concluding in these days back in my home Conference is that I need to let some things go.  Sometimes the memories are too pointed, too painful, and far too subjective to be helpful.  I miss my days in Conference ministry very much.  I miss the relationships, the colleagues, and the friends.  I miss pinochle games and Hallelujah Farm.  I miss the beautiful geography that had become home in a very deep way.  I miss the spirit of those rugged New Englanders.  I miss the engagement in the public square where we raised our voices in song and prayer and courageous witness to the love of God for all people.  I miss being up front and offering a word of encouragement, hope, and challenge to the Conference at an Annual meeting.

Yes, I am waxing nostalgic this morning, but I also know that I am again at home.  St. Peter's United Church of Christ is my calling body and I have promised to serve that setting faithfully--as faithfully as I know how--in this time.  I am grateful for those who continue to lead in the wider settings of the United Church of Christ, but it is good to be grounded again in a living community of faith.  It is good to get to know more and more people in Washington, Missouri and hear their stories and share their prayers.

So this post is a way for me to let it all go so that I can really be where I am called to be.  I cannot go back, but I can be here and look forward to what God has in store for us in the future.  Through it all, I know that in the baptismal waters, I am forever blessed to be a child of God, a disciple of Christ, and a member of the Church.

Thanks be to God!

Vacation

So, how was your vacation?  I am anticipating the question.  It often comes after some time away.  A simple, one-word answer, "Good!" is never quite sufficient.  So, today I've decided to say what this vacant time away means to me.

It is about self-care.  I cannot keep going incessantly, working day after day, week after week, weekend after weekend.  I am not God.  Yes, I know that theologically and intellectually, but sometimes I don't act like I know it.  It is important to disengage in order to reengage more faithfully.  It is important to lose focus in order regain focus and live with greater clarity.  It is important to step out of my routines and my role, to realize that life is more than what one does.  It is a gift to be cherished.

I am glad to have completed the course with my first confirmation class.  From World Communion Sunday to Pentecost Sunday was a long haul with many challenges, but I wanted to be present for our ten confirmation students.  I find myself praying for our confirmands, these newest disciples of Jesus Christ.  I am praying that the Holy Spirit will be evident in them throughout their lives and that the gift of faith will be sufficient to see them through their own challenges.  I pray that they will be filled with joy.  I pray that the community of faith will continue to be important to them.

My vacation was filled with joy at the birth of our grandson, Wyatt.  We have waited for his birth.  It is so good to be close enough to hold him and hope for a good life for him.  I pray that God will bless and keep him.  We are blessed.

My vacation was filled with some worry and waiting.  Early on, my parents took sick and were both in the ER in separate rooms with a similar illness.  It is one thing to visit the hospital as a pastor.  It is another to visit the hospital as a son.  Gratefully, both are home again and on the mend.

My vacation was sometimes disorienting.  I realize I like ministry more than I do the mundane tasks of sorting and settling, helping to manage a household.  I get depressed and disoriented when I do not have an appointment book that tells me what to do next.

My vacation brought deeper opportunities for prayer as I watched the local and national news broadcasts.  I have never prayed through a newscast before.  It may be an emerging spiritual discipline.  There is much that disturbs me in the news.  I am learning to "take it to our God in prayer."

Finally, I am reminded of the wise words of a clergy colleague who wrote an email to bless me on my way on the eve of my sabbatical in 2012.  Dick knew that I was reluctant to go away for three months.  My goal in that sabbatical was to get out of my role and need to control in the New Hampshire Conference of the United Church of Christ.  The pastor said that sabbatical was a matter of trusting in God--a foretaste of times to come--retirement and, yes, even death, when I would need to release my grip on life and not be defined by my work.  In a similar way, a vacation is about growing in trust and entrusting myself to God who brings order from chaos and chaos from order, who resurrects the dead, and whose love in Christ never lets go of me.

I am grateful for the time, for this vacation.

Creator God, who hallowed the seventh day of creation as sabbath time and who modeled that even on that silent seventh day when Jesus lay dead in his tomb, help me to remember my own need for sabbath time.  You are God; I am not.  That, indeed, is good news!  Thank you!  Amen.

Ascension Day

It was just another ordinary day.  Nothing different than the day before.  I met with other church staff members in the morning; enjoyed a lunchtime conversation with some catching up; and made some pastoral visits in the afternoon.  It was an unremarkable Ascension Day.

That was not the case on the first Ascension Day, as Luke tells the story (Luke 24:50-55 and Acts 1:6-11).  Then, it was a big day.  The Risen Christ disappeared into the clouds and left his disciples alone again.  It was a mysterious moment.  There had to be feelings of uncertainty and a abandonment. There may well have been a return of those difficult feelings from Good Friday.  As their ears  received the parting promise, "This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven," their hearts surely ached with confusion and sadness.  This was a big change.  This was another loss.

Arriving forty days after Easter, Ascension Day always falls on a Thursday.  Who has time to do anything different on Ascension Day?  It used to be that Ascension Day was the Mission Festival in the church of my youth.  There would be preaching in the morning and afternoon by someone who had experienced the foreign mission field firsthand.  Missionaries would come to enlarge our understanding and appreciation for the church's work in places like India and Honduras.  There would be an abundant lunch and visiting together in the shade under the towering maple trees.  It was a full day.  Farmers and business folk would take the day off to spend it at church on Ascension Day.  That was a long time ago, before the church became preoccupied with its own maintenance and survival.  We knew the world was large, and so was the purpose and mission of the church in those days.

In nearly forty years of ordained ministry, I cannot remember a time that I led or attended an Ascension Day worship service.  Now it is just another ordinary day--a very busy day.  I didn't have time to gaze up into heaven and wonder where Jesus had gone or whether he might be coming back soon.  (I am writing this in the morning hours following Ascension Day because I did not take the time to write during the day itself.)

Perhaps the reason that Ascension Day has slipped from our liturgical life is not so much that it happens during a work day, but that we do not want to face the fact that the Risen Christ is absent from us.  Waiting is difficult.  While he is away, we stay busy to avoid the feeling of grief that would quickly appear if we stopped.   So, we do something familiar to fill the time.  There is comfort in the routine of an ordinary day.  But, I wonder whether such busyness is really faithfulness.  Is it the best way to trust the promise that power will come when we wait?

And so, on this day after the Ascension, I confess my need to work and not wait.  I confess my resistance to change and loss.  I confess that I do not like the reality of an exalted, but absent Jesus.  Maybe next year, we will have a special Ascension Day service.  Or maybe we will, at least, remember that it is Ascension Day.  Maybe.