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.

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 . . .

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.

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!

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?

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. 

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!