Sick With Christmas

It shouldn’t be a secret that writing about Advent has to be one of the hardest tasks of a pastor, because what is a pastor going to say that has not already said; in fact even writing about how it’s hard is a cliché in itself. What more can be said about Advent and Christmas? We know the story, we know the celebration, we know our traditions, we know what’s going to happen. There’s nothing new left to talk about. We seem to know it so well, that it often rolls right by us.
One of the other trademarks that comes with the Advent/Christmas season is the cold & flu season, and especially this year, as we all know. Everyone crowds in line as vaccines come in, both for the regular flu and the H1N1 virus. We crowd around (amongst sick people? Is that not the best way to get the flu, right there?) waiting to receive a shot which will block this outside force coming into us and doing something to us, changing us, in a way we don’t want to be changed. We call this immunization. And now that we are immunized from the world, we can go about our business, doing the things we want to do.

When was the last time the season of Advent really had an effect on us? When was the last time we can remember something happening to us during Advent, during Christmas, that changed us in a way that we truly felt the miracle of the birth of Christ? We often forget that life is mystical because we are so used to it. We go to work, deal with bills, drive through snow, fold laundry, discipline children, turn in homework, stand in line, fill out applications, stand in line some more, cough, eat, sleep, sit in traffic, and have the flu. All this stuff going on in our lives, in our world. How can the story of the birth of Christ compete with that? It seems as though life has immunized us from the miracle of Advent. Do we expect anything to truly happen to us for Christmas, or have we become so immunized, have we taken so much of the vaccine of “the ordinary of life” that when the miracle of Christ is right in front of us we pass right by it?

In a modern film adaptation of Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol (“Scrooged”), Bill Murray plays Francis Xavier Cross, a wealthy television executive who is your typical modern day Scrooge figure: mean, unforgiving, dominating, and alone. Through his own Scrooge experience with several spirits, he learns the classic lessons of how he has lived his life in the past, what he’s missing in the present, and the consequences of the future. When he wakes up back in reality, his joy causes him to go on live national television and address the world; and instead of just merely talking about how happy he himself is about his dramatic life change, he also emphasizes the importance that this happiness, this joy, is about:
“You have to do something, you have to take a chance, you do have to get involved. There are people that are having trouble making their miracle happen. There are people who don't have enough to eat; there are people who are cold. You can go out and say ‘hello’ to these people. You can take an old blanket out of the closet and say "here" you can make them a sandwich and say, ‘Oh, by the way, here!’ I get it now! If you give, then it can happen...then the miracle can happen to you. It's not just the poor and hungry, it's everybody who's got to have this miracle!! And then you'll want it to happen again tomorrow, you won't be one of those Scrooges who says ‘Christmas is once a year and it's a fraud’...it's not! It can happen every day, you've just got to want that feeling! And if you like it and you want it you'll get greedy for it! You'll want it every day of your life! And it can happen to you! I believe in it now! I believe it's gonna happen to me now! And…it's great! It's a good feeling, it's better than I've felt in a long time.”

In our expectation of the Advent season, for us to experience the miracle of Christ, perhaps we have to ask ourselves what kind of chance are we going to take this year, how are we going to be involved, how are we going to help others experience their miracle? What will we expect to happen? Let us look beyond the ordinary to see how we are already in the Kingdom of God, to look past the immunization of life we are so often in so that we, and others, experience the miracle of the birth of Christ.
Merry Christmas!

Dr. Beckett's Decision

Recently I heard a sermon that focused on sacrifice and self-denial, that in doing so as followers of Christ we are doing the work of "taking up the cross." For those who have attended church for any portion of time, we have heard this message in some capacity; in fact for many churches this is the cornerstone of their theology. We know of this popular message of giving things up, sacrificing what we want, what we think is important, so that we may please God and follow the ways of Christ, who gave himself up for us and sacrificed himself for the world so that we might know salvation. The problem that often occurs with projecting this type of theology is that it is very easy to convince ourselves--or convince others, especially if we're clergy--that in the giving up of what we consider to be important, we become unimportant, as well. This leads to people de-valuing themselves and others, because we are trying to reach an impossible goal to be like Jesus; and even though we know this is impossible, we continually portray the attitude that our faith--and more importantly our reward--in God lies upon how much we give up and sacrifice. In our looking toward how great a Christian we are in what we consider sacrificing, we tend to look away from how great a person God created us to be, until finally our only worth as a church-going Christian lies in our absolute worthlessness as a human being.

This all may sound harsh, but how many churches do you know of or have been to when the sermon is always about how corrupt and terrible humanity is, that the only good thing is Jesus Christ who gave himself up for us wretched sinners, and to truly be a follwer we must be in constant discipleship, which means constantly giving up and constant praise. What would pepole have to praise about? Many preachers have for quite some time been supported by congregations who beleive their pastor has the answer to fill their feeling of worthlessness, when that is exactly who they have received that image from. Not only does it paint God as an angry mob boss wanting to collect on a debt with Jesus being the enforcing legbreaker (who breaks his own legs to pay our debt), but it takes the message Jesus gave the disciples of denying oneself, taking up one's cross, and following him. Following Jesus is not about denying our humanity, but being a part of something so tremendous.

I was a big fan of the TV show Quantum Leap that was on in the 90s. Dr. Sam Beckett discovers how to travel through time, and experimenting on himself, he is able to travel into the past as far back as he's been alive. The problem is that he does not know how to travel back to his present, and so the show consists of his travelling to various time periods, appearing as different people, and trying to figure why he's in that particular time, fix the problem, and leap to another period, always hoping "that his next leap will be the leap home," as we heard the narrator say every week. In the series finale, Sam leaps into a bar in the 50s, and for the first time in the whole series the reflection he sees in the mirror is his own. Through the episode he discovers that the bartender somehow knows of his time travels, so Sam starts to suspect that this is the person who has been leaping him through time; in fact during their conversation, Sam asks the bartender if he's God. The bartender asks Sam why he created Project Quantum Leap in the first place, and Sam replied to put right what once went wrong.

"That's what you've been doing this whole time." Sam realizes that he's been leaping himself, saving people, correcting mistakes, mending history, and touching the lives of people, who have in turn touched other lives. "You've done a lotta good, Sam Beckett," the bartender tells him. Then he asks Sam what he wants more than anything, and with tears in his eyes, Sam simply says: "I want to go home." But now that Sam knows the truth, he understands that what he has been doing is so important to so many people, that he knows he still has work to do. At the end of the episode, instead of leaping home, Sam travels to a time when the wife of his best friend Al thinks he's dead, when he's actually a prisoner of war. Sam tells her that her husband is still alive, and that she'll see him again. The image fades to black with the words: Dr. Sam Beckett never returned home.

It is not simply that what God calls us to do is more important than who we are, but that who we are and what God has called us to do is so important and so meaningful and can affect so many other lives, how can we not follow Christ's message of denying ourselves, taking up our cross, and following him? It was not that Jesus didn't have a choice in what he did for the world, but that what God had called him to do what so important, how could he turn away? We are not called to the same exact mission as Christ, but as followers and disciples we must listen for the call God has given us as children whom God loves. It is so important, how can we turn away?

Coming Back...

Last week I attended the annual student orientation at Saint Paul School of Theology where I am attending my fourth and final year of seminary. I was fairly excited to get back into the swing of school and even more so get to the graduating part. So, last week, as I arrived in the parking lot and looked at the campus, I suddenly got that feeling as though it was only yesterday that I was in class, and a heavy wave of apathy enveloped me. All last week I found myself not really looking forward to coming back, getting back into heavy research, reading, and writing, the long hours of study, and all the chaos that comes with all that. Perhaps it was the next level of senioritis.

However, Tuesday was the first day of class, and it began with the Opening Convocation worship service in the campus chapel. Memories started flooding back as I entered, particularly of my wedding just over a year ago. As it came closer to the time of the service more and more students came in, and with them more memories, and just the joy of seeing them again after a break. The slight changes in their appearance, their usual mannerisms, and simply their being. By the beginning of the service most of the pews were full of current students, new students, former students, colleagues (some who were in one way or another my pastors/mentors), and current/retired faculty. The community was alive again, and it helped me remember why I came here three years ago.

The presiding speaker was Rev. H. Sharon Howell, Saint Paul graduate MDiv, 1973. Currently she is the president at the Scarritt-Bennett Center in Nashville, Tennessee, but before that she was my pastor at First United Methodist Church in Lawrence, KS. I remember the first time I entered that church; it was lead to the narthex where people gathered before and after the current service, it had/has a large table of church information, fliers, and materials. I felt like I was in an airport. Coming from Great Bend, KS, it seemed as though there were more people in front of me at the time than I had at my church back home. But I looked around and stayed for the service. I did not attend again for about two years. I was going through that non-church phase most young adults do, until my parents suggested I try it again. I have to admit in my shame that at the time it was not just the large building and congregation that I was not used to, but also a female pastor. As a sinner, I have repented.

The next time I remember attending was an evening service of some kind. I don't remember much about it, but I do remember Rev. Howell preaching on the topic of Harry Potter; in fact I think the sermon was entitled: "Harry Potter and His Friends." I remember being moved not so much that she was defending the series when everyone seemed to be condemning it, but the importance of community and relationship. And it was something I wanted to be a part of. Through the years I learned much from Sharon, and her leadership in the church helped me to see much in a new way. The experiences I had at FUMC in Lawrence helped shape the beginnings of not only my theology, but my understanding of my call to professional ministry. One of my last memories of her before she left was a small group class I was in the she led, and during the first session we all introduced ourselves, and after whatever I said about myself, she smiled at me and said: "We'll get ya into seminary, yet." I attribute that moment as one of several that has lead me to where I am now, and I'm very grateful to be able to have that little piece.

As I listened to her preach, I thought about what her experience at Saint Paul must have been like and how it shaped her to the person she is now, how it attributed to her all the pieces that made her who she was when I knew her; all her experiences and her successes and failures. To have accomplished so much in her time, and to also be the kind of person who would sit down with kids at McDonald's and listen to how they were doing, and all of the other things--big and small--she has accomplished, much of it probably did not involve dwelling on the approach of another year of the same thing and treating it as a burden rather than a gift of opportunity.

It can be very easy at times to see the situation we are in as a wall blocking us from what we think we want, or what we no longer want. But what we can never do enough of is letting/making ourselves step back and see the bigger picture, to try to see where we are right now as how God is leading us. Why are we here right now, where are we going next, and why the heck can't we find out? Perhaps we actually need to ask, and then quiet ourselves so we can hear the response.

Thanks, Sharon, for teaching me one more time. It was good to hear from my pastor.

Unconditional

So, as some you know, Morgan and I have recently gotten a dog. We've been talking about getting one for a long time and were always hesitant about what entails in getting a dog; with our schedules and being gone all the time, we didn't know if it was appropriate getting an animal that needed a certain amount of attention. We had been visiting animal humane societies in our area and found some neat dogs, but never really one that prompted us enough to do much more. A couple months ago we went to a clergy couple gathering, and one of the couples brought their Dachshund/Terrier mix named "Spike." Spike was small and cute and playful, he got along with everyone there, he was very playful and obedient; they had trained him to not jump on the furniture and all other sorts of commands. Throughout the whole time we were at this gathering, the couple just went on and on and on about how loving their dog was and how it did everything it could to please them. Spike's love for them was unconditional and was nothing but sharing. After that we decided we were ready for a dog of our own.

We found Buster at the Friends of Parkville Animal Shelter in Parkville, MO. Morgan had been looking online for dachshund mixes and found they had a pack of three, Buster (then named "Cinco," and hence our naming him "Buster") and two sisters who looked slightly more Basset. When we got there they had the dog in large fences outside; Buster was the first one we saw. He came out of this igloo shaped kennel, and started hopping through the grass because the grass was so tall. Right then we knew we wanted him. Those things do happen in life.

We've had Buster not quite a month now, and it has been great. Morgan and I have had pets before, but only when living with our parents. To have one's own pet, particularly a puppy, is a whole different experience. We've learned many things in the last few weeks, but the greatest thing is that which can be hard to find, but does exist--and I think the best way to see it exists, truly and honestly, is from a dog who is part of your family that you treat with decency: unconditional love.

I have often wondered what the life of a dog would be like, one who lives in someone's home as a pet, whose priorities are eating, sleeping, playing, and pooping; but to also have a master or two, people who in your eye are the entire world and there is no better. People whom you have no idea what they have done all day, how they have failed or fallen, but none of that matters. The dog just looks at you with those big brown eyes and slobbery tongue with nothing but love. There have been a few times when I've looked into the eyes of my dog and wondered: Would you still love me if you knew how much of a screw up I am? I think the answer would be Yes, and I think that's why I'm a dog person. I love cats, we have one, but there is something about the personality of a dog, that blind, stupid loyalty of unconditional love. I think perhaps God created dogs to truly show us the unconditional love that God has for the world. Because God does know who screwed we are, better than we do ourselves. And yet, God continues to love us unconditionally.

Last week Spike's owners Facebooked a note saying that Spike was missing. A couple days later they discovered he had drowned in a muddy pond he had been playing in with a couple of other bigger dogs. It was a place he had played at many times before with these dogs, somehow he had gotten stuck and wasn't able to get out. Morgan and I have been talking with them about how sorry we are, but that he had a great home and family, and to lose a pet is to truly lose a member of the family, and you go through the stages of grief because of that loss. They included an announcement in their church newsletter, along with a top 10 list of life lessons they had learned from Spike. At the end, they concluded with The Dog Owner's Prayer: "Lord, make me half the person my dog thinks I am."

If we could love each other, the way our dogs love us, we would truly see the kingdom of God.

God is not a bad word...

I though this was a good article to share...

http://www.cnn.com/2009/LIVING/wayoflife/08/11/o.faith.doubters.dilemma/index.html

So Many Ways...

Years ago my screenwriting professor at KU made a movie called Ninth Street, about Junction City, KS back when it was the party scene for all the military from Fort Riley during the Vietnam War. Among the performers were Martin Sheen and Isaac Hayes (sweet, eh?); and movie included not just what went on at night, but during the day, as well, which really wasn't a whole lot. There was one scene when the two main characters--a couple of old nobodies who have lived there all their life and spend most of the film talking about everything that's going on around them--are approached by a newly arrived, high spirited pastor, who keeps telling them how much they're living in sin, waving his Bible in their faces, and continuously invites them to church. Shockingly the two men refuse.

I've been thinking about that scene off and on, how it seems that that is how we often think of sharing our faith, and no wonder no one wants to do it.

Martin Sheen plays a Catholic priest who spends his time visiting with the people, sitting in the local barber shop with folks, knows everyone by name, even drinks wine with them. Never once does he mention God or scripture. Has ministry not taken place?

I keep imagining Jesus "evangelizing" to the poor and needy, how he did it with compassion instead of condemnation, with giving instead of demanding, with truth instead of persuasion. Yes, Jesus addressed the world's need of God, and the need for the world to change, but it was also in a way that reached out to the people to speak to them in a way they understood; perhaps not always on the surface, but in a way that drew them to want to know more, instead of feeling as though they had to come to God out of guilt. Perhaps in order for us to be able to share God in a new way, we have to look at God in a new way, and realize their are new ways to look at God.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer was a German pastor who was also a very profound pacifist, and after he was captured in put in a Nazi prison camp and a witness and participator in the daily atrocities, he became involved in the famous inside plot to assassinate Hitler. Before all that happened he was visiting Saint Peter’s church in Rome during Palm Sunday celebratory mass, and as he looked at the beauty of the church, the colors of the robes, the singing of the choirs, he realized “faith is like music; not a matter of the understanding, not like the spoken, written word. No, feeling, sensuousness, that is religion. Something powerful that makes demands on the entire person, heart and body. And the church, if it is to win over the heart and the mind, must be alive.”

If there is not life in our churches, why would we invite people to come to them. There's this campaign going on in The United Methodist Church to bring about awareness of the need of global outreach and various missions of action and participation that the church can and should be doing. The campaign is known as "Rethink Church," which can be a way for people both in and out of churches today see how the local church can make a difference by getting involved in project that reach out to those in need, as well as provide congregations with opportunities to put their faith into practice, so that life can come about. What if we could also Rethink God? What if we thought about the possibility that God is more than just all-powerful and unreachable, but as connected, involved, and personal? Near the end of Ninth Street, Martin Sheen's character has been moved to another church because he did not "witness" properly. Before he leaves he talks about how drawn he was to the life of this place, how it energized him and gave him something to be passionate about. He says this as a person who was connected with the lives of the people. Perhaps we need to be reminded of the connections we have in life, including with God.

In a novelized biography of Bonhoeffer, there is a section in which he is reading from theologian Karl Barth, and came across this statement:

“ There must be conversion, a turn, and a new church must emerge, a church whose God, rather than hovering about in some faraway, hazy “beyond”—from which he can then be summoned as a kind of cure-all for human concerns—instead reigns as the lord of our entire life, the whole of life.”

And from reading that statement, Bonhoeffer began to see God in a new way:

"He did indeed think of [God] as a phenomenon accessible to the senses, a phenomenon that spoke to human beings through the Bible."

How do we see God in our lives, and if we don't, is it God we're not seeing, or how God has been presented to us? Why can't we see God in a new way? Why can't we show God in a new way?

The Lewis Center for Church Leadership publishes great online articles and resources on leadership issues, and I have loved reading them each time it comes up on my Facebook page. Leadership is one of the aspects of ministry I am not crazy about, in fact it is one of the aspects that kept me out of professional ministry for a long time. I still find it uncomfortable to be in leadership positions, but it has gotten better. I recently came across on of the Lewis Center's "Leading Ideas" articles which can be found here:

http://www.churchleadership.com/leadingideas/leaddocs/2009/090708_article.html

One of the points of the article centered on the idea that churches and church leaders sometimes try to do ministry or missional activities by thinking that it is only about change and to change the world around them, rather than facing that perhaps what needs to change is the people, i.e. the congregation and/or the pastor. This is one of the things young clergy have developed a reputation for, sometimes positive, sometimes not, but at any rate that we as young clergy want to change, change, change everything, sometimes forgetting that perhaps we still have changing to do, ourselves.

One of the pitfalls that we as people always seem to fall into is when we get together and come together for a topic, get caught up in the conversation, and the agreeing with one another, and exciting each other into a frenzy, and then go out into the world that has not been part of that experience with us and meet with opposition, or even questioning, and come from it frustrated that no one else understands and is against us. I have felt this many times, most recently after Annual Conference. It's difficult sometimes to not come from this event (especially when it was as great as it was this year!) and want to just regurgitate all the events, and speeches, and sermons, and worship events, and everything every other church is doing and that we think our personal church needs to do, and then wonder in frustration why our church doesn't get it.

It is true that sometimes it is sound when the church creates opposition to change involving becoming more mission-oriented and going to giving and sharing rather than just receiving, but the great (and sometimes difficult) thing about a faith community/family is that this balance is always a struggle, but it is a balance. One of the quotes of the article read:

"Churches [and church leaders--my addition] must move beyond personal preferences into missional thinking. Or they must find a place where missional expression of church lines up with their personal preferences. The problem with finding a place to live out our preferences is that we are ministering on the basis of the very thing that will change: the culture around us."

This evening as I was leaving my church after an Administrative Board meeting that technically didn't take place because there weren't enough people who showed up, I walked out of the church wondering what the people are really wanting and what they are really needing. As I walked to my car I saw a few kids playing on the church's swingset and a family I didn't recognize. I thought about saying "Hi," but they kind of avoided eye contact with me, like maybe they weren't sure if their kids could be playing there, or not, so I didn't say anything. As I was leaving town I immediately regreted not saying anything. If nothing else I could have learned their names, told them it was great the kids were using the toys, and maybe they would have felt invited to come back, maybe even come to church. Was it to try to get them in our pews? No, but I would have wanted to let them know they were welcome there.

Perhaps the change that we're always talking about that needs to happen comes in the small things, too. This time I wished I had talked to the family rather than coming here to my Fortress of Solitude.