without walls

where to begin?

2012-01-26T10:15:00.000-05:00

a note from our new Moderator, The Rev. Thomas Stout!

Glimpses of Grace

2012-01-23T11:34:00.000-05:00

Pictures from the Presbytery Meeting at First & Central on January 21, 2012

Yes...it snowed...followed by a helping of freezing rain!

The meeting started with a worship service with Cynthia leading the Opening Sentences. We had great representation by nearly the entire Confirmation Class.

Jeanette led us through the Prayer of Confession.

In the midst of the service, our good friend, Tom Stout, was installed as the Moderator of the Presbytery...

...and presented a commendation to outgoing Moderator, Barry Gray.

Instead of a traditional sermon, Tom, Emily Schwenker, and Anne Gunn led us through a Lectio Divina on Mark 1:14-20. Was a good discipline of listening for a bunch of people who talk for living!

Tim and Randy presided over the Lord's Supper -- and we're very grateful to the Chancel Choir for their music and worship leadership.

Tom began the "business" portion of the meeting -- making history by being overruled twice by the commissioners -- all in due deference and respect!

One of the highlights of the meeting was the official "Welcome" by the host church. Typically one of the pastors does this, but we yielded our time to Jack and Izzy!

Our Executive Presbyter, Jim Moseley, gave a rousing "State of the Presbytery" talk -- complete with props -- the round thing is meant to be a steering wheel!

Most of all, by this time, we were ready for lunch!

The Temperature of Spit

2012-01-22T14:37:00.001-05:00

I couldn’t help but think of the Laodiceans when I heard the request.

Sitting, a couple of weeks ago, at a planning session for yesterday’s Presbytery meeting, it was announced that a couple of other pastors had requested a Special Called Meeting for the purpose of voting on two overtures to the General Assembly of the PCUSA.

Now…before your eyes glaze over in the muck and mire of Presbyterian polity – give me just a generous paragraph or two to unravel this.

A presbytery is a collection of churches in a geographic region. In our case, basically all of Delaware and a little bit of Maryland comprise our bounds and within those borders live 53 congregations of varying sizes and theological/social leanings. All adhere to some basic tenets, all consider themselves Christian, all Reformed, all Presbyterian. It’s a big tent and room for a wide array of faithfully held beliefs.

That “big tent” is held up by two formidable supports – the Book of Order and the Book of Confessions. Together they comprise the constitution of the church with the Book of Order providing guidance for how we live together as a denomination, and the Book of Confessions recording our more salient beliefs.

Over time various groups, even factions, have attempted, and occasionally succeeded, in tightening or loosening particular aspects of both documents as the church evolves and matures. The most recent tectonic shift was the removal of one of the last barriers to ordination. On our side of the street, we said “Thanks be to God” for that and other progressive moves.

As you can imagine, not everyone is thrilled with this shift in polity and the more conservative branch of the church is striving to find ways to keep the former “business as usual” on life-support. One way they have dreamed up is to have a “presbytery within a presbytery,” called an “overlay” so they can live with the old rules in a new system. It’s not currently part of our system of government and the constitution would have to be significantly changed to allow for it – a longshot at best.

But that and all other longshots begin at the local level – with a Session of a particular church--in this case, St. Andrews Presbyterian Church in Newark, DE. They crafted an overture to create an overlay presbytery and have sent it on to the next highest level, the Presbytery, for ratification so it can sent to the highest level, the General Assembly, for debate and consideration. (You may recall that our Session sent an overture to the General Assembly for same-gender health and pension benefits.)

Now getting a piece of business like that through this presbytery has little or no chance of approval. We vote 2 to 1 with a progressive slant on all major issues and furthermore, these latest changes to ordination standards have just taken hold and we’ve not had a chance to live together under the new rules. Yet, St. Andrews wants the Presbytery to discuss their overture, which is their right. Only this is where the story intersects with you – the people of First & Central.

Along with the overture came the request that the business be heard in a “special called meeting” of the presbytery, meaning not yesterday, and they further requested that the meeting be held in a “neutral” location, meaning not our sanctuary.

Now, I don’t know about you, but at first I was offended – angry, actually. I mean, is our atmosphere toxic? Do the molecules in our space behave differently? Is there a virus running loose that turns sane minded people into radical liberals? You mean, if you and I were worshipping in a different church we might think differently? Is the Holy Spirit that runs rampant in this structure a different spirit that inhabits another?

You get the point – and it really hits home when you consider that we’re called to be the church, the body of Christ, sisters and brothers, co-laborers in the field of righteousness – yet working in this vineyard changes who we are or the decisions we might make?

Just because, to cut to the chase, we’re perceived to be a more progressive church that means that a piece of business from a conservative church might not get a fair hearing?

Well, when I recovered from my pompous righteous indignation, I remembered the laodiceans.

Poor slobs that they were.

Here’s how “The Message” records the same passage that Jenn read a few minutes earlier:

Write to Laodicea, to the Angel of the church. God's Yes, the Faithful and Accurate Witness, the First of God's creation, says:

"I know you inside and out, and find little to my liking. You're not cold, you're not hot—far better to be either cold or hot! You're stale. You're stagnant. You make me want to vomit. You brag, 'I'm rich, I've got it made, I need nothing from anyone,' oblivious that in fact you're a pitiful, blind beggar, threadbare and homeless.

You’re not hot, you’re not cold; you’re lukewarm, tepid, the temperature of spit.

Laodicea is a neutral church. A church with no reputation, no one really has knowledge that it even exists. It’s a church that stands for nothing, that causes nary a ripple in theological pond. It’s a church that is beige, that has no color or diversity, that doesn’t debate or discuss or disagree. It’s a church that expends all of its energy avoiding controversy.

The church in Laodicea is one of 7 mentioned in these opening chapters of Revelation. Each church is personally addressed in the opening of the letter and six of the churches are referenced by what the author finds both positive and negative about the congregation.

That’s common today.

We describe churches in our vicinity the same way. “We used to go to that church – they had a great children’s program and lots of things for the youth, but the preaching wasn’t very good and the minister was too liberal!” Or, “they do a lot in the community and are very mission minded, but they really ignore the older adults and don’t appreciate the people who built the church.” Or, “the music program is fabulous but that’s all they have – in fact the worship service is really just a concert that begins and ends with prayer.”

The seven churches in Revelation are perhaps the earliest examples of the kinds of things that can go wrong in any church. Things like the danger of losing the love and closeness that they had at first, or the fear of suffering declining status and membership, or doctrinal compromise, or moral and ethical compromise, or spiritual deadness, or a failure to hang in when times get tough, or according to John, worst of all, lukewarmness.

Remember I said that six of the seven churches were referenced by the good and bad traits the author had found? Well, one was noteworthy in that the author had only a negative assessment, and it was the church in Laodicea – their crime was that they were neither hot or cold, they were lukewarm, tepid, the temperature of spit.

In fact, that church has the dubious honor of a permanent place in our modern dictionary. Look up the word “laodicean:’ it means “lukewarm, especially in regards to religion.” John considers it the most cardinal of sins for any Christian or congregation.

The good news is that no one who even remotely knows First & Central Presbyterian Church would mistake us for “First & Neutral Church,” or label us as “laodicean.” Surely, of the sins collectively committed, “lukewarmness” isn’t one of them!

The opposite of laodicean is passion. This church has passion and spirit.

For better or for worse, we have a reputation.

It ranges from great music, to community involvement, to active in social issues, to welcoming gay and lesbian folks and families, to being a vanguard of the city, to being a tad stiff, to opening our doors to the ignored and overlooked, to hosting provocative speakers and events, to the Labyrinth, to offering ourselves as an oasis to the city—its residents and workers. We’re known for housing the Urban Promise Academy, the Children’s Chorus, and Rodney Street Tutoring. Some think of us for starting up Meals on Wheels, and others still remember when we opened our doors and withstood the riots of the late 1960s and early 1970s.

I don’t doubt that we’re perceived a little liberal, a little gay, a little snobby, and a little aloof. Some of that is well earned and deserved.

Yet the point is, whatever our reputation – we have one – and it’s not tepid. And again I say, "Thanks be to God!"

We can't control what people think of us, but we can keep from becoming tepid.

This is a congregation that has been in the forefront of issues and causes for years and years. Today, we simply continue a grand tradition of rousing the rabble.

But enough about First & Neutral. Let's talk about you.

What is your reputation? What are you known for?

I mentioned in my weekly email that we recently held a memorial service for the mother of one of our neighbors and in the course of planning it; I listened to stories about the dearly departed and was delighted by the spice and heat in what I heard. This was not a bland woman...and was, in fact, quite the opposite! Now, a person like that is not always an ideal parent, but at least her kids know why they’re in therapy!

What do you stand for? What is your reputation? How would people sum up your personality or character? Would they use non-neutral terms? Would you be described in vivid hues or indistinguishable shades of beige?

Most of all would they know your compassion for the ignored and overlooked or your passion for justice? Would they know of your devotion to Christ?

I’m convinced that the world has reached its quota of tepid people and that not only does the church need to shake its laodicean reputation, but we as individuals need to step up and out, take risks, embrace confrontation, and speak our faithful convictions even when outnumbered or shouted down.

I know so many of you well – and I know you to be people of strong faith and principles…and so these words should simply reinforce. This wouldn’t be a church with a reputation if it didn’t have a few spicy folks in the pews!

I close with a Franciscan benediction:

May God bless you with discomfort at easy answers, half-truths, and superficial relationships, so that you my live deep within your heart.

May God bless you with anger at injustice, oppression, and exploitation of people so that you may work for justice, freedom, and peace.

May God bless you with enough foolishness to believe that you can make a difference in the world, so that you can do what others claim cannot be done.

I pray it be so…

Pretty good opening line...

2012-01-08T13:35:00.003-05:00

Call me Ishmael

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way

If you are thinking Melville, Dickens, Austen, or Tolstoy – grab a pen and jot down the name of the person who introduced you to great literature. And by “introduced” I mean some unreasonable teacher who forced you to read the classics under the threat of great punishment!

The editors of American Book Review selected what they consider the most memorable first lines of novels. The titles on the list span centuries and genres and include classics and even some contemporary novels that are certain to become classics.

An opening line is without question the most important phrase of any work. It’s an attention-getter and either grabs the reader or not. A mediocre opening might barely entice the reader to venture to the next sentence, but a lackluster opening is the kiss of death.

I know that I have only a few seconds to either convince you to listen or risk losing you for the next 15 minutes. The first sentence is the most crucial of any written work and every author is intimidating by the crafting of same…every author, that is, with the possible exception of God!

Now, given the fact that this church is known to be a tad progressive, even, God forbid, liberal – it should come as no surprise that this preacher doesn’t accept the Bible as the literal word of God. I’m sorry if that comes as a shock but I’m of the stripe that claims that we “take the Bible so seriously that we don’t take it literally!”

In that light of considering the Bible as God’s Word and a work of great literature, we add to the above listing of august opening lines its first sentence:

In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters. (Genesis 1:1-2)

It’s not “Call me Ishmael” but it’s a pretty great opener!

Every student of the Hebrew Bible, and/or every member of this year’s Confirmation Class, knows that the word for “wind” in this sentence is translated from the Hebrew “ruah” – and it equally appropriate to substitute “wind,” “breath,” or “spirit” – same word used interchangeably. It’s up the interpreter to decide which to use. Frankly – that’s a lot of leeway for a nerdy scholar.

Other equally nerdy scholars claim that this first line also contains the “premise of all biblical faith.”

That’s a lot of weight for an opening sentence.

Now, while it may be the premise of all faith, it’s not where the story began. The people who remembered this saga are themselves in the “formless void” of the Exile, staring at the face of the waters of Babylon, having seen their carefully ordered life shattered into deep darkness. They had known the halcyon days of the United Kingdom ruled under the charming and charismatic Kind David where unemployment was low, interest rates favorable, health care cheap and available, and national security unimpeachable.

You know those days. Career is chugging along, family is healthy, 401k is robust, and the world has order and purpose and promising trajectory. God is good all the time. All the time, God is good.

Then…a spot on an X-ray or a downturn in the market, or a merger and subsequent layoffs, or a phone call from the police, or a diagnosis with no cure or treatment.

“Out of the depths I cry to you, O LORD. Lord, hear my voice!” (Psalm 130)

And so, from the perspective of the ones who crafted the opening line of the Bible, they asked…

Where does one look in order to trust the ongoing ordering of the Lord when the temple is destroyed, one’s power has been shattered, and one’s captors follow a different calendar and worship different gods? Shackled in a prison cell, with only a slender slice of sky visible, the ongoing division between day and night might be your only sign that God is yet creating order out of chaos, the wind or spirit of God yet moving over the “face of the waters.” (Richard Boyce, Feasting on the Word, year B vol. 1, page 223)

It puts things in a different light, doesn’t it?

This first of two creation stories in the canon isn’t the grand prologue with humanity in the starring role, God’s agent of creation—no, this is the story for people whose lives have been shattered, whose hope has been swallowed by that deep and formless void, whose lives are chaotic and dark.

This creation story is a way of holding onto hope when all signs of order in our lives have been destroyed and we must look out for signs of the creative work of God beyond our control. If God is still creating order out of chaos in the succession of day and night, maybe God will one day create order once more out of chaos in the lives of God’s people. Hold on, and do not lose hope. (ibid)

This opening line is not solely an introduction to an epic; it is rather a confession of faith. A faith that states unequivocally that…

God was before the beginning.
God is creator out of nothing.
God is creator out of chaos.
God’s Spirit/Wind/Breath “ruah” is present in all places, even and especially those that are dark, void, formless, and deep.
God’s ruah is more than present – God’s breath sweeps over the face of the waters, the places in our lives where hope has been overwhelmed and all but drowned.

Jesus is immersed, baptized, in the muddy, chaotic waters of the Jordan and God’s Spirit, the one that swept over the face of the waters of creation, was yet again breathing life.

And just as Jesus was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit [ruah] descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my child, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

Today as we remember our baptisms, I wonder if there are places in our lives that are dark and void and formless and deep that need God’s wind [ruah] to sweep over them, to remind us that God has created out of chaos, that God will again bring the breath of life to those places where the spirit of hope has been overwhelmed.

In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.

This is the opening line of the Bible, it’s the first sentence of Creation, and it is the premise of our faith.

That’s a lot of weight for a few words.

Hacking Life

2012-01-01T16:02:00.001-05:00

Presbyterians are known for many things, and those thingsrun the gamut from courageous and innovative to fearful and petty.

The list of things for which Presbyterians can be proud ofis extensive: our role in the founding of this country and the formation of oursystem of government, the proliferation of public education, women’s rights,civil rights, the ecumenical movement, global and domestic mission, healthcare,peacemaking, disaster assistance, and concern for the environment. You couldprobably add a few things or possibly take issue with one or two that I’ve listed,and surely the church has not always been as prompt or strident as was needed,but on nearly every issue of national and global importance, the PCUSA hasstaked a claim and with rare exception, is on the side of justice with a preferencefor the poor, the ignored, and the overlooked.

Frankly, it’s the last thought that keeps me invigorated andpassionate about my denomination. Despite its flaws, with rare exception, itsheart is in the right place.

Oy…and we do have our flaws!

Now, I’m not going to start this brand new year with alitany of all that’s wrong with our beloved church – if nothing else – we don’thave that much time! However, for purposes of this morning, let me simplysummarize all of my discontent, frustration, and outright aggravation withthese: sluggish and near-sighted.

It’s a joke, and not a good one, at how slowly our churchmoves. “Glacially” is a term I hear often. The Session of First & Centralmade a fairly large decision not that long ago – and from start to finish – thepresentation, discussion, debate, and decision consumed only a portion of onemeeting. The assembled Elders were pleased with the not only the outcome, butthe process as well, and pronounced it “nimble.”

Of all the words you’ve ever heard to describe thePresbyterian Church – in any of its incarnations – would “nimble” come to mind?

We are a methodical people and “decent and in good order” isour scriptural justification for lethargy. Yes, we are sluggish, and sometimestoo little too late – and we have a tendency to get wrapped up in our ownlittle problems and skirmishes and lose sight of our mission as a church.

But go back to that long list of things about which we couldbe proud because I forgot one: we have an ailment named after us!

Presbyopia

According the US National Library of Medicine:

Presbyopia is a condition in which the lens of the eyeloses its ability to focus, making it difficult to see objects up close.

People usually notice the condition at around age 45, whenthey realize that they need to hold reading materials further away in order tofocus on them. Presbyopia is a natural part of the aging process and it affectseveryone.

So, our denomination is the namesake of a universalcondition in which people lose their ability to focus and see things that areright in front of them.

By golly, I think they have us nailed!

Interesting that presbyopia sets in at around 45. Recentstatistics from the Stated Clerk reportthat “the median age of Presbyterians is 61, up from 58 in 2001. Four out offive worshipers in PC(USA) pews today are age 45 or older.”

80% of Presbyterians either have presbyopia or are on theirway.

Explains a lot.

We’re increasingly unable to focus and have trouble seeingthings that are up close. We have old eyes. That’s what “presbyopia” literallymeans. It’s from the Greek translated as – “elderly vision”.

We may be afflicted with “elderly vision”, but what wesorely need more of is the “vision of elders.”

At a 80^th birthday party last week for an elderof the church, in response to a question about a recent move to a retirementcommunity and the requisite downsizing, he surmised the arduous task thusly:“Only thing we’re sure of is that we have stuff we don’t need.”

He may have meant that literally, but there’s wisdom in themwords! Made me think about the stuff I don’t need – stuff stuff and emotionalstuff and opinion stuff and prejudice stuff and judgmental stuff and fearstuff. Stuff that I have, my family has, my church has, my community has, andmy country has. It’s a great one-line resolution for 2012 – taking inventory ofthe stuff we don’t need.

One thing that won’t be on that list? Wisdom – the vision ofelders—knowledge tempered with perspective and experience.

I find it telling that Luke spills all kinds of ink on twowith “elderly vision” – Anna and Simeon – a rare gender-balanced depiction offaith and wisdom. They both have a lot of miles on them and they’ve seenwholesale changes in their world and culture; and they, despite pronouncedpresbyopia, recognize with sharp clarity, the baby before them. Simeon’s eyesmay not be 20/20, but they have seen “God’s salvation.” For Simeon, that’s notsimply a bold declaration, it’s a stark imperative of decision.

When we offer a blessing over a baby during baptism, I doubtmany of us proclaim, to the shock and awe of unsuspecting parents, “This childis destined for the falling and rising of many, to be a sign that will beoppressed so that inner thoughts will be revealed—and a sword will pierce yourown soul too.” “Oh…and here’s a certificate for framing that says all that…”

And then the prophet Anna, an octogenarian, began to speakabout the child to whom “all who were looking for redemption.” Two people withthe vision of elders who saw what many were looking for and they spoke withclarity and conviction. Elders of the community graced with the vision andvoice of wisdom.

Luke closes our visit with these two remarkable people witha brief synopsis of Jesus’ childhood and youth: “The child grew and becamestrong, filled with wisdom; and the favor of God was upon him.” Another way ofsaying that he hacked life.

In our vernacular, “hacker” doesn’t necessarily have a greatconnotation for it frequently means someone who breaks into computer systems,occasionally to do real damage, but mostly simply for the sport of it. Most havehad at least one of those emails from bank or credit card companies disclosingthat that there had been a breach in their security and some personal datamight have been stolen. Evidence of a hacker at work.

Yet, if you think about it – hackers are people with vision– albeit it at times with a healthy dose of mischief.

A hacker doesn’t accept arbitrary or imposed boundaries – but works to circumvent, work around, or undermine.

A hacker doesn’t accept simply “what is” – but lives a world of “what could be!”

A hacker doesn’t accept conventional constructs – but wonders how those same components could be put to work in innovative ways.

A hacker doesn’t accept limitations – but sees them as challenges and temporary obstacles.

A hacker doesn’t accept the status quo of a system – but is willing to take risks, even to point of running afoul of the law.

A hacker doesn’t accept the prescribed linear course – but lives in a world of taking unexplored routes, engaging unlikely folks, and finding new ways to sought after destinations.

Couldn’t we replace the term “a hacker” in the sentencesabove with the name “Jesus”?

Somewhere between the time he was presented to Simeon andAnna and the start of his ministry in his 30’s – Jesus hacked life.

Now, of course, having a famous father didn’t hurt – butJesus saw life differently, he had a new vision of what the world could be – hesaw the world, not through the lens of legality, purity, and conformity – but throughcompassion and love and justice. He broke into established systems, alteredinput, and radically influenced outcome. He tinkered with the intricatecomponents of life and tweaked perception. He re-wired our perception of thepoor, the ignored, and the overlooked. He programmed his life for hope and possibility.He operated in a system of forgiveness and new beginnings.

Jesus hacked life – and calls us to lead a hacking life – andthat is what we, in more sophisticated circles, call wisdom.

The irony is that most hackers that we read about are likelyin their twenties – but the folks who have really figured out how to hack lifeare our elders. They’ve seen enough not to take life too seriously; and they’veexperienced enough to know when to take it very seriously. We shouldn’t besurprised when Luke introduces the infant Jesus to the elders Anna and Simeon –it’s the merger of vitality and perspective that served him well.

On this first day of a New Year – I’d wish that for all ofus – that our vitality – that of Hanover, First & Central, the PCUSA, andthat of our families and communities might be merged and tempered with theperspective of experience and knowledge; that we might not just react to theevents and changes of our world, but that we might engineer progress; that ourvision would be clear and far-reaching and focused, not myopic and clouded;that we wouldn’t settle for an existence when God gives us life; that we’dapproached that life not as something to be endured, but something to behacked.

Friends, Luke tells us that Jesus grew and became strong,filled with wisdom; and the favor of God was upon him. May it be so for eachand every one of us – this coming year – and all that follow.

Isn't it Obvious?

2011-12-25T13:01:00.001-05:00

It is the rare person who has had their life publiclychronicled since birth.

I’m thinking of people like Caroline Kennedy or PrinceWilliam, which means that future biographers have a plethora of print and videoto scour. Their problem is the reverse of ancient biographers—today’s writershave too much information to sift and glean.

Luke had no such documentation when he wrote the story ofJesus’ birth from the perspective of cross to crib. He knew how Jesus’ lifeended, and although a generation had already passed since the crucifixion, theend of life experiences of Jesus were well planted, some could argueflourishing. Somewhere along the line, someone had to ask, “Where did this guycome?”

It happens all the time – someone does something noteworthyand sooner or later, the media quickly pastes together a retrospective on theirlife – perhaps visiting hometowns, interviewing teachers and classmates,digging up yearbook photos and write-ups, etc. By now, the routine is almostpredictable. Many times that’s done with the slant of digging up factors thatmight point to the current events or circumstances.

Luke did the same thing; yet in a somewhat unpredictableway.

Luke probably couldn’t come up with many details aboutJesus’ birth – and that’s in large part – the point. Given the details andsequence that he does employ, scholars surmise that he was trying to ground thebirth narrative on three distinct levels: religious, secular, and symbolic.

The religious, prophetic history of the Hebrew people, as fulfilledin Jesus, is not a thesis for Luke to establish but is rather a way of tellingthe story, of weaving old and new together as one fabric. No characteristic ofthis gospel is more pronounced that the insistence on the continuity of Judaismand Christianity. The Hebrew and Christian Scriptures tell one story, not two.God is not starting over with Christians, having failed with the Jews. ForLuke, every believer – Gentile and Jew alike, can properly say, “Abraham andSarah are my father and mother.”

The second level is secular history. Luke pins the birth ofChrist to the backdrop of a census. Much ink has been spilled in the debateover the accuracy or existence of such a wide-scale event – yet regardless ofthat outcome – Luke’s intention in clear: to tie the secular and sacred worldstogether. Religion is not a realm unto itself; it is a factor of all of life.The world is God’s, and the gospel is for God’s world. Mary’s baby is God’s“yes” to the whole world.

And the third level is symbolism. Why wouldn’t Luke just dowhat his predecessor Mark did – have Jesus the adult man, a follower of Johnthe Baptist, begin his ministry after John was shut down? Why would Luke takepains to present a picture of a baby? One possible answer is that perhaps it wasto convey that God’s child was vulnerable as every infant is vulnerable, was subjectto all the conditions under which we all live, and fully identified with everyhuman being’s need for love. That same baby birthed in a non-descript way basicallywent unnoticed.

Unnoticed, that is, except for the attention of some whothey themselves were an inconsequential bunch.

Shepherds in a field outside of Bethlehem, the poor andoverlooked of that and every society.

Shepherds were not just materially poor – they also sufferedpoor reputations. They were the “Squeegee Guys” of the 1^st century.You remember the squeegee guys in New York City – up until former Mayor Giulianiput them out of business, they’d rush up to the car while stopped at anintersection, smear dirty water on the windshield and then harass the driverfor payment? Shepherds, for multiple reasons, were treated both religiously andsocially as “non-persons.” They qualify easily as the least likely to havefound God’s favor.

Yet that’s kind of a theme of the Bible – folks who areleast likely finding favor with God.

Yet, here’s where God made a mistake.

Any C- marketing student knows that in the public’sperception – the messenger is as important as the message. If one wants toannounce an event – an earth changing event at that – then one doesn’t useSqueegee Guys to tell it!

Why would anyone listen to a bunch of smelly shepherds?Surely the Creator of the Universe could have figured out a more dramatic wayof getting the message out!

But that’s re-writing history and the story we have is thestory we have.

The shepherds, minding their sheep and their own business,in the foothills outside of Bethlehem are told that the Messiah has been bornand they’ll find the baby wrapped like every other newborn and they’ll find himin an animal’s feed trough. What would be more common, more ordinary, morenon-descript to a bunch of people who tend animals for a living than a manger?They were looking for something common to them and non-descript to the rest ofthe world.

This was not a case of earth looking to heaven – this washeaven looking to earth. This was a case of the extraordinary pointing to theordinary. When the shepherds finally did make it to that manger – it was a timethat heaven and earth met – each witnessing each other.

And that’s exactly where we find ourselves this morning –heaven and earth staring right at each other each wondering what to make of theother – wondering who would believe it if we told ‘em.

Why would anyone today believe a message of “peace” any morethan they believed the arrival of a savior as told by the shepherds?

Peace? In today’s world? Shalom in the Middle East, in Iraq,in Afghanistan, in Nigeria, in Indonesia, in America, in Camden, in Wilmington,in our families, in our own lives, deep within our soul? Shalom – a wholenessof life that’s somehow made possible when all the forces of our livesmystically and precariously find balance?

Yet that’s the unlikely message told folks nobody wouldbelieve: “and on earth, peace.”

It’s still the message – and today – we’re the folks nobodywould believe.

It is a hope of the Gospel that somehow this non-descriptbirth of a vulnerable baby, who grew into a most extraordinary person, mightsomehow change the people we are.

It is a hope of the Gospel that the realization of God’slove for humanity as made known to us in the teachings, actions, andresurrection spirit of Christ might fill us with some degree of gratitude.

It is a hope of the Gospel that the embodiment andexpression of that gratitude might be visible; that we would love one anotherin a way inconsistent with our greed-based DNA, and that people would equate“Christian” with “Shalom.”

It is a hope of the Gospel that as we proclaim the messageof Christmas, that God came among us as an ordinary child, that when someoneshould ask, “why would anyone believe them?” that the answer would be, “isn’tit obvious?”

Amen!

Cameo Appearance

2011-12-18T17:55:00.002-05:00

This is the one Sunday each year that Protestants arecomfortable talking about Mary, and truth be told, that’s probably not a truestatement for all churches as I heard from a Lutheran pastor a few weeks agothat they’d never use blue in their church – “it’s Mary’s color!”

Poor Mary. The only mistake she really made was believing,kind of, what she was told.

I found this short piece by Madeleine L’Engle that Mary wasnot the first woman the angel Gabriel visited – but was the first to say yes.

And how unsurprising it would be for a fourteen-year-oldgirl to refuse the angel. To be disbelieving. Or to say:
“Are you sure you mean—
I couldn’t anyhow—
I’d be afraid. No, no, it‘s inconceivable, you can’t beasking me—
I know it’s a great honor but wouldn’t it upset them all,both our families?
They’re very proper, you see.
Do I have to answer now?
I don’t want to say no—
But I can’t commit myself to anything this important and Ishould ask my parents and I should ask my—
Let me have a few days to think it over.”
Sorrowfully, although Gabriel was not surprised to have ithappen again, the angel returned to heaven.

How could Gabriel not have expected those reactions? Fear iswhere we live—and although in this season we broadcast hope, love, joy, andpeace – we’re kidding ourselves if we don’t blanch a bit when the angeladmonishes Mary – “Do not be afraid!” How can we not be afraid? We can’t helpit – and it’s something we know howto do!

Fear is a large part of our inner landscape and commands asizable parcel of our emotional map.

What if the economy doesn’t recover, or our savings arewiped out, or we can’t afford our house, or my parents outlive their money, ormy father’s surgery doesn’t go well, or they don’t find out what’s wrong withme, or our child gets sick, or my partner leaves me, or I can’t handle thestress and anxiety?

And Gabriel says… “Do not be afraid!”

Parker Palmer, an author on Quaker spirituality saidrecently:

If you learn your inner landscape well enough you realizeyes, there's a piece of turf in there called fear. And you can choose to standthere if you want, but there are other places in that inner landscape where youcan stand as well if you work at it. You can stand in a place of hope. You canstand in a place of appreciation of beauty.

You can choose where you stand within yourself if you knowyour inner landscape, where you stand as you move toward other people, the newsof the day, the events of your own life, the situation of the moment. Those areactually choices that you can make. They're not always easy, but they'reimpossible if you're not reflective about your own inner dynamics.

There's no perfection in that. You screw up. But you canalso stand in a place of self-forgiveness, which is also somewhere in there,and cut yourself some slack and try it again.

We are bombarded with “annunciations” all day every day –from the moment we begin our morning routine with the radio in the backgroundproclaiming snarled traffic, skittish stock markets, frustrated occupiers,mixed sports reports, political candidates raising and falling with the tides, andthe occasional heart-warming story of someone doing something decent. Itshouldn’t be a surprise when we miss something important. Navigating thehighways and byways of our lives, to say nothing of our “inner landscape,”takes far more time, energy, or stamina than most of us have. Simply gettingthrough the day wears us out.

But Mary’s not overwhelmed by Gabriel’s annunciation, she’sperplexed: “How can this be?”

Awareness that we’re not fully in charge or our lives ordestiny is rarely a constant, and ebbs and flows. Startling news, either goodor bad, is cause for a time out – an aria during which to mull emotion andfeeling before continuing our story.

Mary’s aria is simply, “How can this be?”

Her puzzlement, her perplexity is a much needed break in theaction to adjust to astonishing news, to question whether or not her trials andtribulations, or God’s magnificent promises, are for real, and to contemplatepotential repercussions or unintended consequences.

But that’s almost laughable because really, isn’t life moreor less a free-fall of unintended consequences?

“How can this be?” is a reverberating refrain that remindsus just how much we don’t know. These may be the four most honest words in theBible. They may be the clearest statement of faith ever uttered.

How can this be? We admit, first of all, that we’re clueless.It means wandering into the wilderness of our inner landscape, to turf that’suneven, uncertain, and rocky. Step one, then, is admitting the obvious: wedon’t know everything.

Step two is in two parts: a-neither does anyone else, b-butGod does.

We’re in trouble the moment we think we have a lock on thetruth. When absolutes creep into our vocabulary that profess exclusivity – wehave really screwed up. But as Palmer reminds us, after doing so, we “can standin a place of self-forgiveness, which is also somewhere in there, and cut [ourselves]some slack and try it again.”

That’s what Mary did. She expressed her questions and herdoubt, and then Mary tried it again and she decided to take Gabriel at his wordand uttered: “here I am, the servant of the Lord.”

Honor yoked with struggle. Not hard to see in her face anexpression that somehow communicates, all at once, wariness and curiosity,caution and boldness.

Such is the stuff of a cameo appearance by Gabriel – amessenger with words of such import they are prefaced with “do not be afraid.”

And although our friends from the Roman church have elevatedMary to a status mostly out of reach, we still have a few things in common withthe Mother of our Lord:

At this point in the story, none of us, Mary northose here today, have ever met Jesus face to face and all of us are living offof the hope of a promise. Mary is told what’s coming, and we live lives in thedawn of the hoped for return.
Mary was an insignificant person, really even togive her status of “person” in her culture is a stretch, from a backwater,non-descript land that mattered to no one, a young, unmarried woman of noestate or notice. Why would God bother with her? Why would God bother with us? ButGod did bother with Mary and for whatever reason; God chooses to bother withus.
Mary was unsure, had doubts, even questioned andresisted and frankly, while consistently depicted as faithful, understanding,and loyal – never really figured it all out, yet was a “servant of the Lord”till the end. If those descriptors don’t apply to us, then I’m not sure we’redoing this right. Honestly – my spiritual life is marked by doubts,questioning, and resistance, yet my faith compels me to strive forunderstanding and loyalty expressed as service.

It’s possible, even probable, that the angel Gabriel has yetto make a cameo appearance in our lives – and I’m not sure we’d know it or hearit with the cacophony of competing annunciations raining down – but of this Iam sure: We, too, are among God’s favored ones – simply because we are allchildren of God – not because of special status or position or worth or wealth– but because God calls us God’s own.

And I’m sure that God calls us out of a place of fear andprods us to explore places of hope and peace and love and joy in our innerlandscape. A fearful people eschew gratitude and generosity and grace – hallmarksof followers of Jesus. God seeks for us the fullness of life, exploration ofall landscapes, knowing that we travel those places not alone, but with God andone another.

And lastly, I’m sure that our only vocation is the same asMary’s: “Here I am, the servant of the Lord.” If all of this doesn’t findtangible and visible expression in how we live our lives, how we view the restof the world, how we spend our money, allocate resources, write church budgets,engage our leaders, or care for the ignored and the overlooked – friends – it’sall carols and candy canes – meaningless tunes and empty calories – so grab yourplant, let’s go home, and shop some more.

God came into the world in a particular time, at aparticular place, in a particular person – but that event is not limitedhistorically for it has been replicated in ways great and small throughout theages – including this one.

Isn’t it possible that God is in the world at thisparticular time, right now; at this particular place, on the corner of 11^thand Market; and in the particular person…of you?

How can this be?

The 80%

2011-12-04T16:26:00.001-05:00

Benjamin Franklin wrote in his Poor Richard's Almanac: "There are three Things extremelyhard, Steel, a Diamond, and to know one's self."

The quest to “know one’s self” is almost as old as humanity.It was a maxim of Plato’s and philosophers before and since have struggled withthe pursuit.

In our context here we frame things a bit differently andseek to know ourselves in relationship to God, to know ourselves as the peopleGod has called and claimed us to be. To do so requires honest introspection,exploration of our innermost feelings, attitudes, and postures with integrityknowing always that what we find, God already knows—and God seeks relationshipwith us in spite of all that we might not wish to disclose or uncover.

Yet, we know that any relationship requires honesty – andour relationship with ourselves requires more than most.

On October 23^rd of this year, the folks gatheredfor worship on that Sunday, participated in a detailed survey of US Congregationswhich are growing. The purpose of the survey was to examine the worship life ofthose churches and then to evaluate strengths, connections, and spiritualgrowth. The survey, and its interpretation, will be the focus of our AnnualMeeting on February and we’ll do the Richard Dawson imitation of “Survey says!”hopefully with emphasis on “Family” and not “Feud!”

Yet, to provide a glimpse, there were a few interestingtrends relative to our strengths:

There were two general areas in which we were consistentlyin the lower percentiles, meaning that among other congregations of our size,more rated themselves higher than we did. Those areas are Spiritual Growth and FeelingConnected. I wasn’t surprised that these areas are not among ourself-perceived strengths, but I was, actually taken aback at how low we ratedourselves. Although folks had very positive ratings of the worship serviceitself, their own sense of growing spiritually – in all aspects of their lives– was somewhat meager.

The second area, of feelingconnected, is also a challenge and one that warrants focus. Creatingstronger connections for a downtown church where most of you travel somedistance to get here, where few of you live near each other, and where no onelives within a few blocks of the church, requires intentional effort and isobviously going to be a continued priority.

The second trend indicated that there were, as well, anumber of areas in which we rated ourselves very, if not extremely, high: Ourcare and nurture of young people, our focus on the community, the ways in whichwe welcome, our path to empowering leadership, and our look to the future!

We rated in the 94^th percentile on that last one– apparently we are an optimistic and enthusiastic bunch! The statement in thatgroup that garnered the highest response rate, nearly 80%, was this: “I feelthe congregation is always ready to try something new.” Well folks, today’s theday to test that out!

Many of us feel pulled and tugged in myriad ways and spendsome percentage of our lives feeling distracted and even confused. We could lament over the impact of technologyand the speed at which our lives are lived, but suffice to say that it’s justhard to keep up, get ahead, or even sense that we have the time to savor thelovelier moments of our existence. I believe all of that is related to ourperceived lack of spiritual growth – there’s simply no app for that!

I invite you, for the next 10 or 15 minutes, to get up andwander. There are designated areas of the sanctuary at which you can explore,you can contemplate, you can “know one’s self.” At one, you’re invited to lighta candle as you pray for someone or someplace in need – perhaps even yourself.At another, you’re invited to reflect on ways in which you’ve turned from God,or haven’t lived into God’s potential and fullness. In the front of thesanctuary is a Communion Table covered with cloth on which to note arelationship in need of reconciliation, and here too, you’ll find the font, aplace to dip your hands into the water of renewal and to remember God’s claimon your life.

As we do, a pastor and an elder will also be standing nearthe front for any who wish to pray.

This is something new – so at least 80% of you should beexcited by the prospect of trying it! It’s also a way of knowing one’s self –an extremely hard task that 100% of us should pursue.

Friends – in the company of those with whom God has placedus for this segment of our journey – may we continue our quest to knowourselves as the people of God.

Play it Safe

2011-11-13T15:38:00.001-05:00

Amanda had never been to camp – at least, not sleepovercamp!

She spends her summers in the city playing tennis withRodney Street Tennis and Tutoring, and the rest of the year, she attendsWilmington Friends. She’s a hard-working young woman with an equally determinedand industrious mother, both of whom spend most of their lives in and aroundHarrison Street and downtown Wilmington, DE.

Unbeknownst to Amanda or her mom, Amanda was headed for aweek at Camp Pecometh on the shores of the Chesapeake last July, and you, First& Central, sent her.

You may recall that last summer the Mission Development Unitof the Presbytery sent each congregation $100 and asked Sessions to read andstudy the “Parable of the Talents” before deciding what to do with the money.

Being good compliant Presbyterians, we did as instructed andafter reflecting on questions such as, “Where does the content of this readingtouch our lives as a congregation today,” and “I believe God wants us to…” wethen focused on this central question:

In this parable, it seems to involve more than naturalabilities and money, and speaks to how we use what we have. It also hasimplications about our willingness to risk for that which is valuable and thefear that causes us to play it safe. There is an emphasis on the growth gainedby those who were willing to risk what they had, and the lack of growth inthose who allow fear to control their lives. Where in your […] life do you feelGod might be asking you to consider stepping out in faith, taking a risk?

The outcome of the Session meeting was the decision to sendanother inner city young person to a week of camp. We already send two boysfrom my neighborhood and have done so for 5 or 6 years, so we were intentionalabout sending a girl. One of the elders offered to check with Harry Shur, thedirector of the Rodney Street program, and another offered to speak about theprogram and the plan the following Sunday in church.

You responded as you always do: with enthusiasm andgenerosity, and by the close of the service, had donated more than $800, plentyof money to cover to the $500 needed.

After a rapid succession of phone calls, we heard back fromHarry and he recommended one of his students, Amanda. I called her mother, whowas thrilled almost beyond words, and together we made the arrangements.

As it was Amanda’s first overnight experience, her motherdrove her to camp, and Nancy Mahoney, our Clerk of Session, picked up all thecampers a week later and brought them home.

$100 invested in the good will of a congregation with avision and passion for inner city youth yielded a total of $900 within an hour.I’m not sure what rate of return that generates but I’m sure it’s staggering.

Yet what’s beyond staggering, and wanders into transforming,is the possible impact made on a young woman’s life.

This was total gift—grace—by a bunch of people Amanda didn’tknow, nor did you ask anything of her, other than to simply accept a gesture ofcompassion.

I doubt a week on the Chesapeake changed her life – remember– it was on a pretty solid trajectory before we came along – but I bet it wasone of her best weeks ever and if nothing else, provided time away from asphaltand sirens. It was a lovely thing to do for a very deserving child.

Those in attendance will hear dozens of similar stories thiscoming Tuesday at the Presbytery meeting in Ocean View. Tales of churches usingthe $100 and multiplying the money in ways that benefit the “least of oursisters and brothers.” The Mission Unit will deem the experiment a success, andwe’ll all feel good about our charitable giving. We’ll convince ourselves of livingthe parable – yet if we have indeed lived out a parable – it’s not this one—maybethe “loaves and fishes” – but not the “parable of the talents.”

This isn’t a story about giving, or investing, or maximizingreturns – this is a story about fear.

Remember those reflection and discussion questions I readearlier? One of them zeroed in on the crux of the matter:

[The parable] alsohas implications about our willingness to risk for that which is valuable andthe fear that causes us to play it safe.

The parable begs the question, “What are you afraid of?”

Preaching a sermon extolling you to take risks—even faithfulones—is frankly pointless. You can cajole, encourage, even shame me all daylong for not taking the risk of sky-diving, but I can assure you, I’m scared todeath of jumping out of a plane and I’m simply not going to do it – and morethan that – I’ll development a healthy resentment for people who don’t take myfear seriously and instead badger me.

Badgering from a pulpit, preaching, is no exception.

Fear is a powerful motivator—some say the most powerful andI believe that at its root, all fear is loss.

Loss of love,
loss of life,
loss of status,
loss of money,
loss of an image,
loss of a relationship,
loss of reputation,
loss of esteem,
loss of perfection,
loss of the future we planned for ourselves,
loss of who we think we are to other people,
loss of security,
loss of a charade, of an imposter.
Loss of control.

What are you afraid of? What are you afraid of losing thatcauses you to play it safe?

Now, I’m not suggesting that any or all of this isirrational or unfounded. Fear and loss lead to pain, and pain avoidance is hard-wiredin all of us. It’s what keeps us from doing stupid things and proving Darwinright.

But there is danger in living a life controlled by fear andrisk avoidance, and that, I further believe, is the point of the parable.

All of us have overcome some level of fear or we wouldn’t behere – so the question is not living in fear or not – the question is why dosome forms of fear have a tighter grip on us than others?

Some are happy to speak in front of any crowd at any time – theyhave no fear of public speaking. Some are not a particularly shy person andhave no fear of meeting new people or talking to strangers. And, others have nofear of technology. Yet, for others, the escalator at Sears makes their heartrace and others simply refuse to leave their home.

All of us can, and should, take an inventory of those fearswhich we have overcome and those that remain resident and powerful. Most wekeep, like the third servant of the parable, deeply buried and hidden. Some wemask behind bravado, or aggression, or helplessness, or perfection, or apathy. Someof our fears are so neatly packaged and tucked away, that like things in thedeep recesses of our basements or attics, we’ve nearly forgotten they’re there.

But, when the fears are called upon, when dug up andcounted, we respond the way of the servant:

I was afraid I mightdisappoint you, so I found a good hiding place.

Sometimes that hiding place just isn’t good enough and ourfears find us and take hold in unexpected and powerful ways.

Yet Jesus calls our fears and us out of those hiding placesfor the outcome of playing it safe—not caring, not loving passionately, notinvesting ourselves, not risking anything—is something akin to death, likebeing banished to the utter darkness. Unless we are willing to give up control,to let outcome ultimately be in God’s hands, to allow the Spirit room to moveand influence – we stifle our potential, ratchet up the cost of risk, let feartake hold.

To the first two servants, the returning master said,

Good work! You didyour job well. From now on be my partner.

Here Jesus invites us to be his disciples, his partners, tolive our lives as fully as possible by investing them, by risking, by expandingthe horizons of our responsibilities. To be his man or woman, he says, is notso much believing ideas about him as it is following him. It is to experiencerenewed responsibility for the use and investment of these precious lives ofours. It is to be bold and brave, to reach high and care deeply.

For some of us, I think it’s the “care deeply” part thatstrikes the most terror in our hearts. We may take all kinds of risks in ourlives – but being vulnerable to another human being, trusting our feelings andhearts to another, willing to have those hearts broken – that’s a level of riskthat’s hard to take. Yet what is a life without love but an oxymoronicexistence.

If we see our lives in the same way that we hope that Amandasaw her week at camp, as total gift—grace—and we trust that God’s care,compassion, and love is real, that God cared so deeply that Jesus came into ourlives, then perhaps we can take those small steps to venture beyond ourprotected zones and risk that which is new, unknown, unsure, even unreasonable.

Jesus calls us to explore our fears, to determine that whichprevents us from taking even the slightest of risks – particularly those withother people – and to trust in the love will never let us go, that wants us to livefull and complete lives, that gave us life as a gift to be invested in others,and a return that demonstrates that outcome is not fully our doing.

Risk aversion is a way of life for many of us – from the waywe handle our money, to the people we allow to get close to us, to staying awayfrom parachutes – but if we are to live as God intended – we must firstrecognize and name our fears, and then examine the barriers within us thatinflate the cost of risk, and then give up control of outcome. The only failurethat we can know is allowing fear to paralyze and not allowing God’s spirit toempower and embolden.

I’ve been talking thus far on a personal and individuallevel, but as we’ve often heard, the Bible was not written to us as individuals;it was written to us as a community. It’s budget time here at the “OK Corral”and tomorrow night Session gets a preview of a ledger that surely doesn’tbalance. It’s time to take risks with money and assets; it’s time to step intothe future of God’s calling and God’s grace. It’s time to rely on that which wepreach – that’s God’s promise is the very stuff of which our bones are wrought.

The promise is this: God is good and God will provide.

On that I stake my life and risk all that I am or all that Imight be. On those words I trust for it has been said,

"The purpose oflife, after all, is to live it, to taste experience to the utmost, to reach outeagerly and without fear for newer and richer experience." (EleanorRoosevelt)

Occupy Church

2011-11-06T18:01:00.000-05:00

I admit to some ambiguity – which isn’tsomething I gravitate to – about the whole Occupy Wall Street movement. Ishouldn’t have any. I’m a liberal, Christian Protestant preacher who findswisdom and wonder in the words of the prophets and of Jesus. I am passionateabout access and inclusion and caring for the ignored and overlooked – and morethan that – I nurture a healthy anger about a system that allows and evencultivates an underclass. Occupy Wall Street, or as of yesterday, OccupyDelaware, should have me on the streets in a collar demonstrating the church’sallegiance with the oppressed.

Yet…I’m not.

I wonder if I had come of age in the late 1950sand 1960s if I would have been ambivalent about the Civil Rights movement.Would I have been one of those lukewarm churches addressed in King’s letterfrom a Birmingham jail when he decried that:

There was a timewhen the church was very powerful--in the time when the early Christiansrejoiced at being deemed worthy to suffer for what they believed. In those daysthe church was not merely a thermometer that recorded the ideas and principlesof popular opinion; it was a thermostat that transformed the mores of society.

Things are differentnow. So often the contemporary church is a weak, ineffectual voice with anuncertain sound. So often it is an archdefender of the status quo. Far frombeing disturbed by the presence of the church, the power structure of theaverage community is consoled by the church's silent--and often evenvocal--sanction of things as they are.

If today's churchdoes not recapture the sacrificial spirit of the early church, it will lose itsauthenticity, forfeit the loyalty of millions, and be dismissed as anirrelevant social club with no meaning for the twentieth century. Every day Imeet young people whose disappointment with the church has turned into outrightdisgust.

I think some portion of those young people arenow occupying the streets of lower Manhattan, Oakland, Seattle, Fletcher BrownPark, and cities across this country and Europe; and it’s no longer just thechurch that disappoints, it’s the culture at large and the society in general.

Still, we could dismiss them and their cause asa gaggle of whining white kids who didn’t get the job of their dreams and arenow throwing a tantrum. Could well be.

Yet, it's true that the disparity of wealth inAmerica has never been so stratified.

In the mid-1970s when some of us hit the jobmarket, the ratio of pay betweenthe CEO of a company and that of an average worker was 30 – so if the workerearned $20,000 per year, the CEO earned $600,000. In 2005, the average workerearned $41,861, while the average CEO made $10.9 million, or 262 times that ofthe average worker.

Government bailouts of banks, and bonuses paidto executives of those same institutions, are legitimate concerns and reasonsfor discontent as well. The movement that began in Zuccotti Park in New YorkCity is mainly protesting social and economic inequality, corporate greed,corruption and influence over government. The protesters' slogan, "We arethe 99%", refers to the difference in wealth in the U.S. between thewealthiest 1% and the rest of the population.

But again, they just might be a bunch of20-somethings who have faced their first real challenge in a life that’s been“a trophy for everyone on the team,” “gifted” classes, and AP everything.

Then again, maybe it’s a legitimate cause ofjustice.

Regardless of ambiguity, what business does thechurch have in talking about it anyway?

This is Stewardship Sunday – and one mightexpect a sermon about all the wonderful things going on inside, what AriaSwanson dubbed last week, these “marble walls.” You should be hearing about thevalue your participation with this community adds to your life and all the waysin which you can increase and enhance that value. A good stewardship sermonmight even sprinkle in a few facts about rising costs to operate this venerableshrine or to pay this ever so professional and talented staff. A great sermonwould tug at your heart strings, seduce you to greater giving with appeals togratitude, scriptural warrants about “grateful givers” and the quid pro quo of“much is given, much is expected.”

Instead, we’re wondering aloud about themeaning, purpose, and value of an increasingly large and unruly archipelago ofprotest.

I believe this gets us, however circuitous, tothe heart of Christianity.

Recently taken to task for bringing issues ofsocial justice into the sanctuary, I responded that if we don’t read the Bibleas a social justice document, we may be missing the point.

Skip the Hebrew Scriptures for a moment andconsider how often Jesus and the early church are depicted as concerned aboutmoney, wealth, and its influence and power – both on individuals and society.

Matthew 19:21 Jesus said to [the young lawyer],"If you wish to be perfect, go, sell your possessions, and give the moneyto the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me."

Matthew 6:21 For where your treasure is, thereyour heart will be also.

Luke 16:14 The Pharisees, who were lovers ofmoney, heard all this, and they ridiculed him.

Acts 8:20 But Peter said to him, "May yoursilver perish with you, because you thought you could obtain God's gift withmoney!

1 Timothy 6:10 For the love of money is a rootof all kinds of evil, and in their eagerness to be rich some have wandered awayfrom the faith and pierced themselves with many pains.

Matthew 21:12 Then Jesus entered thetemple and drove out all who were selling and buying in the temple, and heoverturned the tables of the money changers and the seats of those who solddoves.

It’s not a huge leap from the temple to WallStreet.

But then again, I suffer from ambiguity.

I kind of like Wall Street – at least I like itwhen the Dow Jones spikes a couple hundred points and I know my IRA is a tadmore robust. I like Wall Street when people like you make money in the marketand feel ever so generous about throwing a few shekels into the basket. I likeWall Street when it funds and fuels companies that further research anddevelopment that improves the lives of people and organizations around the globe.

What I think I have is a genus-species problem.

Reach back to your first biology class when youhad to memorize

Kingdom

Phylum

Class

Order

Family

Genus

Species

“Kids Prefer Cheese Over Fried Green Spinach.”

What I think I have is a genus-species problem.

One cannot, for instance, take the story ofJesus overturning tables in the temple as an indictment against Jews orJudaism, but is rather a condemnation of the greed found by unscrupulousmerchants in the temple court. The genus of Judaism, the species of greed.

The genus is an economic system based incapitalism, symbolically centered on one particular street in New York; theoffending species is corruption, greed, and coercion of that system.

Perhaps therein lies the crux of ambiguity, agenus-species problem.

I hear criticism of the Occupy Movement basedalmost exclusively on the demographics or behavior of the protestors, andthat’s the species, but the genus is a systemic shift toward an unjust economywherein more and more people are finding themselves outsourced, underemployed,or simply left out. In a word, marginalized, and the marginalized have alwaysbeen the focus of the Gospel.

Jesus inaugurated his ministry with this clearand unambiguous mission statement:

"The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, becauseGod has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaimrelease to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let theoppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor." (Luke 4)

You might hope that the church leaders wholistened to Jesus that day were impressed with his knowledge of scripture, withhis self-understanding, with the clarity of his call – but they were none ofthat – they were enraged and like an angry mob led by Bull Connor and his dogsand fire hoses, chased him out of town.

John Dominick Crossan said, “Those who live bycompassion are often canonized. Those who live by justice are often crucified.”

The church has a voice and it must be heard even at risk of offending, of losing members, of taking a hit, of even facing extinction. Too many of us are vested in the institution, some might say “too big to fail,” but if we are to faithful to Gospel, it is a daily requirement to risk it all.

We work hard here to keep our gaze outward—fromWest Virginia to The Gambia, from Eastside Charter to 3^rd FloorTutoring, from Friendship House to Malawi—we work hard to keep our gaze outward.Yes, we take care of our people, we tend to the education, fellowship and spiritualnurture of our members and friends – but that is not an end to itself no morethan occupying city parks across this land or Jesus flipping a table in thetemple were ends to themselves.

Frankly – this worship service is not an end initself for if we think this hour-long performance on a Sunday morning is whatchurch is about? Friends…we are sorely mistaken and misguided.

Jesus undoubtedly knew the words of the prophetsfor he quoted them often. Surely, as the church elders were chasing him out ofthe temple, Amos’ admonition had to be joyfully ringing in his ears…

[Thus says the Lord God:]

I can't stand your religious meetings.

I'mfed up with your conferences and conventions.

I want nothing to do with your religionprojects,

yourpretentious slogans and goals.

I'm sick of your fund-raising schemes,

yourpublic relations and image making.

I've had all I can take of your noisyego-music.

Whenwas the last time you sang to me?

Do you know what I want?

I wantjustice—oceans of it.

I want fairness—rivers of it.

That'swhat I want. That's all I want.

(Amos 5:21-24, from The Message)

One thing about God, there’s simply noambiguity!

Caution: Direct Contact with the Bible...

2011-10-30T15:09:00.001-04:00

Perhaps unbeknownst to most, the FDA, Federal DrugAdministration, issues on certain pharmaceuticals, something called a “blackbox warning”! It’s language that the end consumer rarely sees or even knowsabout – but pharmacists and doctors not only know about it, but even payattention. A drug warrants a “black box warning,” so named because of the heavyblack border that surrounds the text, in the case of extreme adverseeffects—stuff that’ll kill you or come frightfully close—and that happens toyou even when you use it per the manufacturer’s instructions! All kinds ofnasty things happen if you go “off-label” but there’s no requirement todisclose those.

People in this country have been used to warning labels forgenerations now. Ever since the “hazardous to your health” caution appeared oncigarette packs in 1966, there has been an exponential increase in warninglabels and now, nearly every product sold, carries some level of caution.

Of course, we know they’ve gone to the extreme and one caneasily find websites that collect funny and ridiculous warnings. For instance… thewarning on the inside of car windshield sun shade warns, “Do not use whiledriving!”

The truly disturbing part is that one might assume thatthese things have been either done or contemplated or there wouldn’t be a needfor disclaimers.

Yet, as the FDA’s “black box” demonstrates, some things aredangerous even when used correctly. Apparently the Bible is one of them.

Now – in our day and age, like good, educated Presbyterians,we’re not afraid of knowledge or learning – and in fact, I’d bet that most ofus think that society is better served by an educated populous. From ourinception, we have been a people who invest in education for ourselves, ourchildren, and indeed, all people. Presbyterian’s commitment to public schoolsis legendary and our American system owes much to the Calvinist pioneers whochampioned the innovation.

Education of the general population actually pre-dates thefounding of America and was a component of the Reformation of the early 16^thCentury. Prior to that time, knowledge of and access to the Bible was marshaledby the church. Relatively few folks could read, ever fewer could muster Latin,hence what was contained in the Holy Writ was mediated by priests. Withoutrehashing all of the abuses of the Christian Church of that era and before,suffice to say that giving common folk access to the Bible was threatening, tosay the least. Folks could discover for themselves what the Bible said – andmore damaging to the hierarchy—what it didn’t say.

So, Martin Luther, along with a printer named Gutenberg, putthe Bible in the vernacular into the hands of ordinary people. Luther and his Biblereading followers went on to affect the Protestant Reformation and Lutheranism– John Calvin came along a few years later – reformed Lutheranism – and calledhis church, Presbyterian, and the rest, as they say, is history!

Having Bibles in the pews of a Presbyterian Church is notjust decoration—it’s a statement about accessibility to the Word of God. Havinglay people read the scripture is not just a fun way to involve folks – it’skeeping clergy from becoming sole arbiters of the text.

Yet, apparently, there’s danger in letting the likes of youpaw through the Bible.

The publication, ChristianityToday, which has the tagline, “a magazine of evangelical conviction,”recently published an articleregarding Christians and the Bible:

A recent poll from LifeWay Research found that 89 percentof American households still own a Bible, with the average home having 4.1Bibles. But owning a Bible is different from reading it—and pollsters might besurprised by what happens when many Americans do.

One blogger,commenting on the poll, said this:

Quite a lot of people have Bibles, and some of them mayactually thump their Bibles — but do they read them?

The American stereotype is that Bible-thumpers areconservative, but it seems that people who actually read their Bibles, ratherthan just thumping them, tend to be more liberal, and the more they read, themore liberal they become.

“Caution: Direct Contact with the Bible Can Be Dangerous!”

Here’s what the survey actually found.

For years we’ve known that the Bible was the best-sellingbook of all time, and we also probably fit into the category of owning at leastone Bible per household, if not the full 4.1 allotment. Yet, few researchersactually delved into whether or not folks were actually reading the Bible, andif so, what impact it was, or wasn’t, having. This recent survey, by aconservative organization, found that:

Frequent Bible reading has some predictable effects on thereader. It increases opposition to abortion as well as [same-gender] marriageand unions. It boosts a belief that science helps reveal God's glory. Itdiminishes hopes that science will eventually solve humanity's problems. Butunlike some other religious practices, reading the Bible more often has someliberalizing effects—or at least makes the reader more prone to agree withliberals on certain issues. This is true even when accounting for factors suchas political beliefs, education level, income level, gender, race, andreligious measures (like which religious tradition one affiliates with, andone's views of biblical literalism).

The survey went on to conclude that frequent Bible-readerswere less apt to support the government’s expansion of the Patriot Act, orcapital punishment, or harsher criminal penalties. As engagement with the Bibleincreased, readers proportionately ramped up their support of economic andsocial justice issues along with concern about consumption and the environment.

Across the board, those surveyed also claimed that asreading frequency increased, their understanding of the Bible as the literalWord of God changed and they were more likely to agree that science andreligion have things to offer one another.

Now, remember, the folks in the survey were not a bunch ofdo-gooder liberals like me – they were fairly conservative folks whoself-identified as evangelical Christians.

So…why does this happen? Here’s one possible explanation:

Frequent Bible readers may have different views of biblicalauthority, but they tend to read it devotionally, looking for ways in whichScripture is speaking directly to them. They will read until struck bysomething that sticks out in the text. Even if the reader thinks the Bible hassome error or needs a lot of interpretation, this thunderbolt moment can take ontremendous personal significance.

But frequent Bible readers don't just see the Bible aspersonal. They also see it as authoritative, written by an author who had aspecific context and intent, and they want to conform to its message. Afterall, why read the Bible with no desire to embrace what it teaches?

It’s a dangerous book and clearly deserves a “black boxwarning” for anyone – liberal to conservative – who thinks they’re going toremain unchanged, unchallenged, and unmoved by a scriptural encounter.

Now, although my personal bias is fairly obvious, I mean,look whose pulpit I occupy, this survey is humbling.

How many of us, liberal or conservative, evangelical orprogressive, gay or straight, young or old, are willing to encounter somethingthat might change the way we think or see things or understand the world?

Isn’t it far more comfortable to stick with our preconceivednotions and if anything, have them reinforced?

Having our belief system challenged, even disputed, ispainful and has serious side effects…the stuff of “black box warnings!”

Who among us are willing to face that level of risk?

People like me are in the greatest danger – people Bob Boltlikes to call “church bureaucrats” since we’re supposed to show up “ready forprime time” and have it all figured out. You even entrust your children andyoung people to our teaching and interpretation.

Yet, we’re the ones Jesus warned you about:

Here’s how his words are paraphrased in “The Message”:

Now Jesus turned to address his disciples, along with thecrowd that had gathered with them. "The religion scholars and Phariseesare competent teachers in God's Law. You won't go wrong in following theirteachings on Moses. But be careful about following them. They talk a good line,but they don't live it. They don't take it into their hearts and live it out intheir behavior. It's all spit-and-polish veneer.

“Their lives are perpetual fashion shows, embroideredprayer shawls one day and flowery prayers the next. They love to sit at thehead table at church dinners, basking in the most prominent positions, preeningin the radiance of public flattery, receiving honorary degrees, and gettingcalled 'Doctor' and 'Reverend.'

In short Jesus is concerned that our, all of our, deedsdon’t match our words – and leaders are not exempt and in fact, may be a biggerproblem.

In a word? Hypocrisy.

It’s a biting accusation and one to which church folk areespecially prone regardless of stripe.

Some people say, “I don’t go to church – it’s nothing but abunch of hypocrites!” And I say, “You’re right! And…there’s always room for onemore!”

I think the basic problem that Jesus is railing against,hypocrisy, has its roots in approval. Whose approval are we seeking? For me –yes – I want your approval, I want to be a good pastor and do a good job foryou. I want to be part of your lives in a way that has value for you. I want tobring people to a place of spiritual awareness and transformation, to knowChrist, to know that God loves them, and compel them to seek to serve. I trackattendance numbers and offering amounts and comparisons to budget. I like themto go up and feel responsible when they don’t. So while I preach God’s love andwelcome and inclusion and acceptance – I’m still looking for the more obviouspraise of people. And I’m supposed to know better.

The antidote? You know this answer. It’s the same thing thatactually started the whole Reformation and it was what Luther was seeking allalong. When he found it, it was like being blind and then could see. It is thatamazing grace of God.

Loved. Accepted. Fully known. Unearned. Gift. Grace.

Can you feel your soul relax?

Read your Bible – pick up any of the 4.1 in your home. Readit until something hits you. Something awakens within you. Something pokes atyour brain and rattles your perception. Something that won’t let you go. Don’tlet it go. Let it change you. Let it disturb you, even. Let it settle in toyour being. Chances are…it’s grace…and it’s a little risky…should come with awarning…cause grace will change you. It’s really the only thing that will.

Can you feel your soul relax?

When I survey...

2011-10-23T15:19:00.002-04:00

Since 2006, the world has witnessed the downfall, capture,or execution of Hosni Mubarak, Saddam Hussein, Osama bin Laden, and just thisweek, Moammar Gadhafi. Leaders in the Middle East and North Africa who facedthe demise of their reigns, their lives, or both. All ended in disgrace andfailure. All ended as a perceived means of justice. All ended as a celebrationof liberty and freedom. Yet, to some, they were martyrs. People who willinglygave up their lives for a righteous cause. The simple rebuttal to that claim isthat being found in a spider hole, a drainage pipe, a fortified villa, or onthe run is hardly the stuff of martyrdom.

In one case, the American government took careful steps toassure that a burial site would not become a shrine and instead the body ofOsama bin Laden, after being prepared in the Muslim tradition, was offered tothe sea.

The avoidance of an enshrined burial site is not reservedfor the tyrannical or the maniacal alone, but apparently extends even to themost revered and faithful of God’s servants.

The death of Moses is described in quite different termsthan the demise of the aforementioned despots and is one of the most tender ofpassings noted anywhere in the Bible.

God leads Moses, aged surely, yet not infirm, to the cusp ofthe Promised Land and allows him to survey the promise kept. Their eyes, insync, marvel at the vista before them—from the furthest point north, as far asanyone could see, to the land to the south. Moses takes it all in, relishesperhaps he accomplishment of leading the people from slavery in Egypt, throughthe desert wandering, and now, to the final step of their long and arduousjourney.

Perhaps Moses, in his last moments, allows his gaze to turninward, to recall his remarkable and tumultuous life – the risk, thefrustration, the anger, the disappointment, the success, and the failure. IfMoses were an ordinary person he’d be thinking about the people in his life –the relationships formed, strengthened, and nurtured. He’d recall the friendsand colleagues along the way, he’d also think of those who tested his patienceand pushed his limits, who were determined to undermine his leadership andauthority. Most of all, his mind would be filled with the people who werelovely – I think those are the most indelible of recollections.

A poignant moment few can imagine: standing at the cusp ofseeing his life’s work completed successfull knowing he was at the brink ofdeath.

It’s a powerful image.

What would, I wonder, the completion of our life’s work looklike? Where might we stand and in which direction might our gaze be directed?

Might we stand on the threshold of our home and survey thefamily we created?
Might we gather in the vestibule of a company in which wehad labored?
Might we assemble in the classroom of our minds as we takeroll of the students we had taught and mentored?
Might we index and collate the works of music, poetry, orprose – private journals or a published catalog – and muse over our creativeoutput?
Might we simply take inventory of the challenges to health,sanity, or employment and know that we survived thus far by some mixture ofgrace and grit?

What would, I wonder, the completion of our life’s work looklike? Where might we stand and in which direction might our gaze be poised?

When the day arrives that the wrecking ball comes to 11^thand Market and our beloved white marble temple is reduced to rubble, cartedaway, and the lot scraped clean for its next incarnation – I wonder how thoseassembled the day before the dumptrucks arrived – might reflect on the life’swork of First & Central?

Would they survey the people who gathered in the pews, orwere served on the streets? Would they hear music and song from a pipe organlong ago left for ruin? Would preaching or prayer be recited? Would they recalla wedding or funeral or baptism? My guess is that they’ll think about peopleand they’ll recall with varying degrees of fondness those with whom theyworshiped and served.

It’s not easy to think about the day that First &Central is no more, yet if we know anything, it’s that nothing lasts forever –Moses can tell us that! Nothing, that is, except God’s faithfulness, God’s company,and God’s love.

For when it was all said and done for Moses – he died the wayhe lived – in God’s care, and call, and claim.

And that’s how I hope this church lives, and when it’sministry is complete, how this church ends its days.

In a few minutes, we’ll have the chance to participate in anational survey of churches. We’ve been selected because we are a congregationthat’s swimming against the current, that’s bucking trends, that’s doing theunusual: we are a growing church. Not by leaps and bounds, surely to some ofyour great disappointment; but in a day and age when the norm is decliningmembership, such is not the case here. What’s also not the case here is that wedon’t take it for granted.

We will gather sound data and important opinions from thesurveys – both about this church in particular and others like it. The resultswill inform our future and give grounding with which to reflect on our past.We’ll extrapolate cause and effect hoping to live another generation offaithful service to God, neighbor, and the community. Like everything else – wedo it in the context of worship.

First & Central shall live to see another day and likelyanother generation but let us remember that our task is not to build a shrineto the great accomplishments of our past, but to take in the vista of ourfuture, to take account of work undone, and to lead people to lives of faithand wholeness and potential – people in these pews and of equal importance, thepeople outside these walls upon whom our gaze must focus.

Let it be said, when our days are complete, that never sincehas there arisen a bunch like those on 11^th and Market Street. Maywe know God. May we know each other. May we know those whom God sends.

Amen.

OPEN or NOPE

2011-10-16T15:37:00.001-04:00

When it comes to taking vacations, there are, I believe, atleast two kinds of people: those who take them to relax and “veg-out” and thosewho like to explore and do stuff. I’ve mentioned this before – but in myhousehold, we have one of each.

This most recent August we planned a nice quiet two-weekvacation in Lewes. It’s been a tad of a tumultuous year in our family and wethought 14 days of peace and quiet would be the perfect respite – and it was –kind of!

Our started mid-morning with a brisk walk around theneighborhood with the dogs, usually resulting in one of them pooping out due tothe heat and pace, and then we’d home and change into appropriate bike wear foran hour long sprint on our road bikes throughout Lewes and Cape Henlopen.

We returned from that in time to pack a light lunch, refillwater bottles, put on bathing suits, and balance two chairs, a large umbrella,cooler, Frisbee, towels, hats, books, and a variety of sunscreens on our mountainbikes. Then, we rode back into CapeHenlopen, park our bikes, and schlep all of our beach gear to the shore.

While at the beach, we had some time to read, snooze, andrelax – but we also took long walks, carefully avoiding bathers and nylonfishing line at neck level, and then returned to play Frisbee or paddle tennis.After a decent amount of time, we reversed the process, carried and rode allthe stuff home, put it away, rinsed off sand, showered, hung out clothes to dry– and, at about 5 p.m. – my idea of a vacation began.

We basically followed that routine for 14 days straight. Ilost 6 pounds and was in the best shape of the last 20 years. All whilesupposedly on vacation.

The route to and from the beach took us past a smallgrouping of rather rustic shops – a less charitable person might even call them“shabby.” One is a resale shop that specializes in all kinds of reclaimedbuilding parts – weathered shutters, old doors, tables, benches, weather vanes,keys, hooks, and hinges. It’s aptly named, “The Old Screen Door” and outside,hanging from a rickety porch rail, hangs 4 large hand-painted letters that tella prospective customer everything they need to know as they approach. Theletters either spell “OPEN”, or, whenthe proprietor is out gathering merchandise or doesn’t feel like working, thelast letter is moved to the front of the line and the sign simple says, “NOPE”!

No fancy signage, no neon, no complicated listing of hours –just OPEN or NOPE. Kind of says it all in an unambiguously simple way. Iteither is or it ain’t!

I wish more places used this system.

I’ve walked into restaurants that were supposedly open butthen had to peek around the corner to find a host or wait person; or storesthat you’re really sure want business, or customer service numbers where the“longer than usual” wait times extend to the “second coming.” Really – are youopen or nope? It shouldn’t be that hard to figure it out.

Well, since we’re in one, it’s only fair to include housesof worship in our “Cavalcade of Ambiguity”.

There’s just not a church on the planet that doesn’tconsider itself “friendly!” Google it and stand back from your computer becausethe avalanche of hits might actually spill off the screen. Signs, letterhead,websites, Facebook pages, mugs, cards, and banners al l proclaim how darnfriendly every Christian church strives to be. It’s become the litmus test oftheir marketing: “make sure you tell em how friendly we are!”

Once, how refreshing would it be, to see a church describeitself as “closed minded and grouchy – but looking for more like us!”

What do you think is meant by a church labeling itself“friendly”? That someone will greet you? Smile at you? Shakes hands andsay “welcome”? Invite you to sit near them? Help show you the ropes – maybegive you a “welcome packet” and point out the restroom? Invite you to havecoffee hour after the service and meet more “friendly” people? Introduce you toone of the pastors? Invite you back next week to worship with them again?

I think that pretty much captures it and on a good day – allof that happens here, yet I’d crawl under a rock before I added the word“friendly” to any of our marketing material.

We use that tagline, “a church without walls that welcomeswithout limits…” whatever that means! Iget a significant amount of good-natured teasing about that from colleagues whowonder how we hold up the roof – but I remind them that they’re just jealous!

Truth is, our church isn’t very friendly – not from theoutside at least. It’s massive, imposing, and somewhat intimidating – notunlike some boarding school matron!

Yes – it’s a lovely edifice and fits well on this augustcorner of Rodney Square, but given that the doors on Market Street are sealedshut most of the time and even 11^th Street doesn’t look very open –I don’t doubt that most of folks who trudge passed every day assume that we’rea closed up bunch. Our sign always says, “NOPE!”

Case in point – a week ago Thursday, during a noontimeconcert, the steel drum band of UD was playing – good golly – I’m convincedwe’ve never reached that decibel level in this room. We had the doors open anddue to the blast of sound emanating from the sanctuary, a small number ofpeople, tourists even, wandered in from the street and enjoyed the shortconcert.

Imagine – something happening inside the church, that whenfolks in the city heard it, they were compelled to venture through thedoors. Amazing…and sadly a rare timethat folks found the place open!

Now, no one joins a church for the music. It may be anattraction, it may be a wonderful addition to a worship experience – but Idon’t expect folks who attend concerts here to join – it’s not the purpose ofthe music and we’ll be sorely disappointed if we hold to that expectation. Notto say that folks who come to a music or speaker event or even wedding heremight be curious about the church, explore what it’s about, and then join – butthat’s a different scenario.

The goal is not, then, to be an entertaining or even a“friendly” church. Neither are biblical and are somewhat of an affront to thegravity of the community that Jesus envisioned, at least how it’s reported inthe Gospels and by Paul.

Yes, the world is full of “friendly” churches but what theworld needs, and Jesus expected, is “open” churches.

Open…to new people, new gifts, new wants, and new needs.

Churches that are simply “friendly” make use of some veryinformal and covert vetting processes: Do you look like one of us? Are you from around here? Are you educated?Who are your people? What are your interests? What other church have you been amember of?

An open church, on the other hand, seeks to understand howGod is calling them to widen the circle of inclusion and discipleship as theyembrace new people.

For truly open churches, two questions live in concert:

How will we share God with others?
How is God sharing others with us?

This little chunk of Isaiah 45 is perfect for this. If youwere to be asked, “who is the messiah?” By rote – you’d likely say, “JesusChrist!” and you’d be partially right if you were in the New Testament and 100%wrong in the Hebrew Scriptures.

Cyrus, King of Persia, is the Messiah in Isaiah’s book.

Cyrus ruled Persia from 558 to 530 BCE. The BabylonianExile, the time period in which this portion of Isaiah was written, took placebetween 587 and 539 BCE. While the Hebrew people were being held captive inBabylon, Cyrus conquered that country, and in a surprising move,he set thepeople free to return. As we know, just a fairly rabid minority did, the othershaving built lives in a new land stayed, yet Cyrus’ magnanimous gestureendeared him to Greek and Jewish historians alike.

Cyrus was praiseworthy in that unlike most of hiscontemporaries, his attitude after overtaking a country was one of tolerance andunderstanding. Now he wasn’t exactly Dr. Phil, but he recognized that once theterritory was his, he could spend his capital and military might wrestling thepeople into submission or he could allow them to live their lives – payingtaxes, of course, to his treasury. That posture allowed him to successfullyexpand his territory, increase his military, and continue his reign incomparative peace.

For all of that, he earned the title of “messiah,” of God’sanointed. Here’s the really strange little part of that: He had no idea who Godwas! Nope – no hymn-worth call story, no “is it you Lord” theatrics – he wascompletely oblivious that he was an agent of the God of Abraham, Issac, andJacob – in fact, he had no clue who they were either!

God accomplished God’s mission with a very unlikely personwho had no idea who God was. A servantcommissioned even in the absence of acknowledgment – not unlike little Rylanthis morning.

God had a new method, a new person, a new place, and clearlya new idea – all of which is tough to accept especially when God has been sodomesticated by the likes of us.

Being “chosen” (frozen or otherwise) does not exclude God’schoosing and including others in God’s story even when the newly chosen is froma different tradition or family or has different interests. When you thinkabout it, what allowed Israel and Cyrus to joyfully co-exist with God’sapparent blessing was that they shared a common purpose.

There may be many different kinds of people, and lots ofdifferent ways to vacation, but perhaps there are only two kind of churches. So,good people of First & Central – are you and we OPEN or…?

Amen!

A Sermon in Search of a Title

2011-10-09T15:51:00.003-04:00

We had finally taken the leap.

After weeks of regular attendance, of our children gettingused to the Sunday School, of us meeting enough folks to think we’d fit in, oflistening to enough sermons to know that we hadn’t heard the only good one ofthe year, we checked the box on the sign-in sheet that said, “wish to join.”

It was a bit of a moment for us – after spending everySunday for 7 years together, we’d not settled on a church – mostly because we hadn’tattended any.

After being confirmed in a Missouri Synod Lutheran Churchwhile in boarding school, I rarely darkened the door of a church.

Church was not a “blip” on the weekly radar.

Yet, despite our lackluster attention to our spirituallives, we were asked to be “godparents” for some friends’ newborn daughter.

With no idea of what was expected, we quickly and happilyaccepted.

That sacred duty meant of course, that we’d have to actuallygo to a church.

To church we went and a few months later, were checking thatominous box on the sign-in sheet.

On the Sunday of the baptism and for the first time in myadult life, I heard someone answer the “so what?” question. For the first timethat I could recall, someone made religion relevant. For the first time someonetalked about religion, politics, and culture all in the same paragraph. For thefirst time I heard a call to justice, and kindness, and humility. For the firsttime I felt that “strange warming of the heart” when God’s spirit began to takehold and I understood that life was more than getting ahead, getting even, orgetting your share. For the first time, I heard about love, and acceptance, andwelcome, and gratitude, and forgiveness. For the first time, I felt as though Iwas in the presence of God – and it was humbling and comforting and frighteningall in the same moment.

It was in those same pews, years later, that I gave me lifeto serving God in this particular way.

Because we had checked that decisive no-going-back-now box –we received a call from the church a day later setting up a time for the pastorto visit. We set a date, pulled out the vacuum, cleaned up the place and inshort order, were ready for our first pastoral home visit.

All went well – I recall being strangely comforted when heaccepted a beer – at end the very end I asked what was expected of us asmembers. The answer was very straight-forward:

to show up on Sundays – regularly
to participate in the life of the church – nottreating it as a menu of what we might want to do – but because people whobelong to something support it and they make it a priority.
to give money.

To that last point I asked about frequency of giving – forinstance, I suggested, could I just write one check a year? To that he said, “Ifyou can write one check a year, you’re not giving enough!”

That first adult experience of church set a template andstandard for all subsequent church involvement, including pastoral leadership.

It is my expectation that when someone joins First &Central, that they’ll be here on Sunday mornings – and not just when they don’thave something better to do – but to choose against something just to be here.It’s my expectation that when First & Central has a lecture, a concert, afellowship event, a special service, a book study, a spirituality group, acommittee meeting that a significant percentage of the congregation willparticipate and show up. It’s also my expectation that people who make thedecision to join will give money to the church to insure that it continues tooperate, that its programs are funded, that its staff is paid fairly andequitably, that its facilities are well-maintain, and that mission and outreachgiving is robust.

In short, unless church membership changes the way in whichwe live our lives, we really don’t belong – at best – we subscribe.

Lest we think this is something of a modern problem or rant,we should remember that the meaning of membership is a nagging question inChristianity’s DNA.

Just 20 years after Jesus’ death, Paul, while imprisoned,attempted to answer that question.

The folks in the church at Philippi had mostly come from theJewish community and their early practices and teachings were deeply ingrained.Those early followers were asking, “All the love stuff if groovy – but whatchange happens in our daily lives?” Just what, they were demanding to know, isrequired of followers of Jesus? They heard the preaching – now they wanted the“so what!”

Paul zeros in on two women of the church who were embroiledin a dispute – imagine, discord in the church! – and Paul was concerned thattheir squabble might grow into full-blown schism. Consequently he enlisted theaid of the members of the community to “help these women” be of the same mindas Christ.

He’s not prescriptive. He doesn’t lay out a step-by-stepconflict management protocol. The Bible is not “life’s little instruction book”– but rather our path as sisters and brothers unfolds when one takes steps tohelp another negotiate the travails of ordinary life. Paul simply says helpthem discover in themselves the same mind, the same attitude, the same posture,the same inclination as Christ.

In Presbyterian-speak we call that “mutual forbearance” andit’s one of the foundations of our way of doing business. In some circles itmeans “agreeing to disagree” but over time I’ve grown to think of it as“cutting each other some slack.” Giving each other the benefit of the doubt,showing some patience, leniency, tolerance, understanding, and not jumping downthe other’s throat. “Mutual” forbearance means that it’s a two-way street andthe slack you cut one day might be your lifeline the next.

Every long-term relationship eventually grates and grinds.Romantic, employment, friendship, or civic – every long-term relationshipchafes and jostles. We can respond with friction-inducing ultimatums, we canthrow a very satisfying tantrum, we can even rant from the pulpit – but if weare to put on the mind of Christ – we reach for and practice mutualforbearance. In the words of Paul, “Let your gentleness be known to everyone!”

Not called to be a doormat, not called to acquiesce topositions untenable, not called to subjugate our own firmly held convictions –simply called to show restraint, patience, and moderation in how we treat oneanother and how we discuss difficult, even controversial topics.

Last Thursday evening, First & Central, along with theDelaware Humanities Forum, co-hosted a talk by Dr. Mark Jordan of HarvardDivinity School. His topic was “Where do religious voices belong in publicconversations on same-sex marriage?” It was informative and provocative andvery well-attended by the general public, as the two F&C members thatshowed up can attest. It’s the kind of discourse that’s needed and I’m so proudthat this church was able to host.

Dr. Jordan offered 3 conditions that conversations aboutsame-gender marriage should have:

Be responsible when representing “marriage” inreligion and the Bible. In other words, read the text and be prepared torecognize that the Bible supports polygamy more often than it mentionsmonogamy, and the New Testament writers don’t appear to be much in favor of theinstitution at all!
Be responsible for expressing an opinion onbehalf of a diverse Christian group. It’s not accurate to say that “Christiansoppose same-gender marriage!” for I’m guessing I may find an exception or twothat statement among the Christians gathered here.
Be candid whether or not you have a stake in theoutcome of the conversation. What’s at stake for us, personally, if the “otherside” is right and we’re wrong? Would that undermine our neatly stackedfoundation of biblical principles or would it weaken our firm grip on knowingGod’s every intention and action? What’s at stake if we’re wrong? What’s atstake for folks on the other side of the argument if they’re wrong? Be candidand don’t settle for slogans – from ourselves or others.

Given that the PCUSA ordained its first openly gay ministerjust 24 hours ago and that shock-wave is still reverberating through thedenomination, my guess is that same-gender marriage will soon take the frontseat as we battle out yet another ounce of inclusion, justice, and welcome. Dr.Jordan’s conditions, and surely others, will be vital to keeping theconversation honest, unvarnished, and out of the muck and mire ofbumper-sticker theology.

Paul would instruct us:

Summing it all up, friends, I'd say you'll do best byfilling your minds and meditating on things true, noble, reputable, authentic,compelling, gracious—the best, not the worst; the beautiful, not the ugly;things to praise, not things to curse. Put into practice what you learned …,what you heard and saw and realized. Do that, and God, who makes everythingwork together, will work you into [God’s] most excellent harmonies.(Philippians 4:8-9, The Message)

Harmony…the blending of voices – not the lock-step ofunison, but the diversity of varying pitch and even cadence, yet without thediscord of competition and impatience.

What’s expected of the followers of Christ? The work ofChristians is this:

To build a community of people, who can sustain one anotherin the journey of faith, reminding each other of the goal, but even more, ofthe joy of attending the journey itself, no matter how arduous. (with thanks to David B. Burrell as published in Feasting on the Word, Volume 4 of Year A, page 162.)

I’ve been plain-spoken in my sermon-with-no-title aboutinvolvement in the church and I’d invite your response, in the spirit of mutualforbearance, to share your expectations of membership, and your expectations ofthe church. Be open and direct about programs we offer, the events we sponsor,the groups to whom we open our doors, the way in which we spend money, and thepeople and places we seek to serve.

Together, we’ll put into practice what we’ve learned – whatwe heard and saw and realized – and together, God will work us into the mostexcellent of harmonies.

Amen.

Kinotic Living

2011-09-25T14:01:00.000-04:00

Presbyterians, occasionally, get a few things right!

With all the hammering and yammering about this or thatamendment or form of government it’s easy to get frustrated with the generalstate of affairs in our stoic denomination. As a small example, in the recentfew days I’ve been reading emails from colleagues as we continue a conversationstarted over dinner a week ago as we share our impressions, hopes, and dreamsfor this brand of the church.

One of the younger pastors in our group expressed that hehoped for a more “missional” church, one with “organic” relationships, andclaimed that he and his generation are less loyal to the denominationalstructure as his predecessors and wonders, in fact, if there’s room for him andhis ilk in the calcified system of the PCUSA.

Another colleague, this one closer to my age, referenced hisstruggle to be ordained into a system that openly and loudly didn’t want himand his ilk and how they have striven to remain part of a church that up untila couple of months ago, made no bones about shoving him as close to the door asit could get.

If one were to form an opinion of the Presbyterian Churchbased solely on news reports of internal bickering and threatened schism, thePCUSA would appear to be one of Ezekiel’s bleached, desert, skeletons – butalas, there is flesh and sinew and muscle and skin on this expression of theBody of Christ – and with God’s spirit it lives in vibrant and vital ways –almost in spite of itself!

Presbyterians get a few things right – things like...

Our “connectional” system – churches aren’tfree-standing MacDonald’s-like franchises open to doing whatever we want wheneverwe want; nor are we “company stores” exact clones of each other with ahierarchal corporate structure. We have freedom within a system, a linkage thatholds us together allowing for variance and conscience.

Our constitution – we write down what we believeand take the time and energy to argue about it. Change in our system is hard toaccomplish because it requires deep and wide buy-in. In theory – that makes ismore permanent. Our core beliefs are published and have withstood controversy.

Our disaster relief system – the PDA is oftenthe first group on the ground when disaster strikes anywhere in the world andusually the last to leave. FEMA could learn a few things about responsiveness,training, relationship, efficiency, and compassion. We do, on a regular basis,“a heck of a job.”

Our training and education of clergy – clearly weare among the most over-educated bunch in robes anywhere. From the beginning ofPresbyterianism in America, public education, from cradle to grave, has been aproud hallmark of our denomination.

Our insistence on the use and employment ofinterim ministers and the whole transition process that churches are requiredto undergo when pastors depart. It’s probably one of the most despisedrequirements among congregations, who are mired in the call process, but itworks and we should continue to require it.

Congregations, like the stock market, don’t likeuncertainty. We protect and preserve stability even to the point of stagnation.When change is inflicted on a church through the resignation of a pastor, themost visible symbol of consistency is gone. Our knee-jerk reaction is to wantthings back the way they were and so let’s elect the pastor nominatingcommittee and have them get us a replacement quickly!

Not so fast, says the nagging and insistent Committee onMinistry – first you have to undergo a mission study, the equivalent of anecclesiastical colonoscopy, and you have to hire an interim minister and put upwith them for at least 18 months.

Now, an interim minister is not merely a substitute teacheror a retired pastor double-dipping. An interim minister is one who is speciallytrained and has a very specific task that’s not always loved and appreciated bya congregation feeling somewhat awash. They encourage, even cajole, acongregation to do things like…

Coming to Terms with History
Discovering a New Identity
Recognize Shifts of Power/ Encourage LeadershipChanges
Rethinking Denominational Linkages
And eventually, and hopefully, with the resultof Committing to New Leadership and to a New Future

In a word, kenosis! Emptying out, making room, purging.

At Interim Ministry training a decade ago, our class wasasked to think up a “symbol” for the task of an interim. Folks thought ofthings like a bridge, others a shepherd’s crook and still others thought of avariety of tools – for building up or rebuilding the church. Mine came to meinstantly and easily – a huge, heavy-duty, black trash bag.

How many of us really need to spend a day, or week, ormonth, cleaning out our basement, attic, garage, or a even just a few closets?Places where we stash stuff or store treasures or put things we don’t know whatelse to do with or hide the flotsam of our lives that we don’t want to dealwith? Being crammed full not only make the areas unusable and inaccessible,it’s paralyzing and energy depleting.

Churches are depositories for all kinds of useless stuff –tangible and otherwise – where junk becomes “sacred artifact” nearlyinstantaneously. The task of that in-between time is to clear out the clutterwith a ruthless, objective attitude, and make room for a new beginning.

Sorting, cleaning, purging – kenosis.

That’s what a good interim minister will help a congregationdo while they’re in-between called pastors. Frankly, it’s also what goodpastors should do in-between interims, and it’s what Paul is calling the congregationin Philippi to do. The odd thing is that that church is brand new and justgetting started!

One theologian notices two remarkable aspects about the earlychurch in the New Testament

That it’s clearly God’s chosen instrument foraccomplishing God’s mission on earth.
It’s equally clear that from the outset, somethinghas gone terribly wrong with that instrument!

If God values perfection as much as we say, especially hereat First & Central, surely God would have found some other way to get stuffdone then using the likes of us.

For the record, God does not seek or expect perfection fromhuman beings. God knows better!

God does, however, expect human beings to strive towardloving each other and loving God. Kenotic living. Emptying ourselves of our ownjunk, worries, problems, concerns, accomplishments, wants, and prejudices –dumping all of that into a huge heave-duty black trash-bag and setting it onthe curb.

You know what happens next.

Assume that you have spent a day cleaning that basement,attic, garage, or closet – and when finished you admired and beamed over yourtidy workmanship – wiping sweat from a very satisfied brow.

A week, month, year later…and? Still cleared out, pristine,airy, and organized?

Holds true with us as well.

Kinotic living isn’t only the emptying out – it’s thefilling up as well.

Kinotic living is when we are emptied of our selves to thedegree that we are overcome by the needs, pains, hopes, and desires of others;when concern for others takes us utterly beyond self-interest.

If then there is any encouragement in Christ, anyconsolation from love, any sharing in the Spirit, any compassion and sympathy,make my joy complete: be of the same mind, having the same love, being in fullaccord and of one mind. Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but inhumility regard others as better than yourselves. Let each of you look not toyour own interests, but to the interests of others. Let the same mind be in youthat was in Christ Jesus,

Gandhi is quoted as saying, “I like your Christ. I do notlike your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.”

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ – beimitators of Christ – live in a way that allows others to see Christ in us,which, may indeed be something different than folks might expect fromChristians.

To be a reflection of Christ? The first thing that means isnot to be honest with ourselves and understand that God is doing somethingunique and special in us and in others.

Kinotic living – clearing away our own stuff and then beingfilled with the needs, hopes, and dreams of others. Kenotic living is whenconcern for others’ well-being takes us utterly beyond self-interest.

Kintoic living – letting go of that which stifles and frustrates and insteadrecognize the gifts and graces in our lives, in the lives of others, even inthis imperfect instrument of God’s transformation we call the Presbyterian Church.

Kinotic living – a trash bag of prejudice, preservation, andpride purged and emptied –– imperfect and flawed though we may be – yet lovedby God, empowered by the Spirit, and filled with the love of Christ – who showsus how to serve the neighbors we have from him.

Amen.

Dead on the Seashore

2011-09-11T15:34:00.000-04:00

Two events that define them more than any others: TheBabylonian Exile in the 6^th century BCE and the Exodus, 600 yearsearlier. No other event prior to the 20^th century compares as tomagnitude or impact on the Hebrew identity.

The vast majority of the Hebrew text is written in responseto either the Exodus or the Exile and while a handful recount the events fromsemi-historical point of view and posture, most, including the Psalms, muse andwonder about God’s activity, humanity’s complicity, meaning, outcome, andinfluence on future and identity.

The text today attempts to do much of that.

The Hebrews were slaves in Egypt. They were a minority race,they spoke a different language, wore distinct clothing, kept to themselves,maintained cultural separation. The dominant population was threatened by theirnon-conformity and their strange worship practices, and consequently, sought tocorral, oppress, and enslave. All of that they accomplished and for hundreds ofyears the Hebrews never knew freedom.

Then, among the people, a leader arose—an unlikely pick—yethe led the people out of bondage to the cusp of the Promised Land. We hear oftheir treacherous beginning today when they overcame their first significantobstacle: crossing a marshy body of water with the Egyptian army in closepursuit.

Through some fantastical combination of God, Moses, nature,and paranoia—the Israelites escaped and lived to witness the Egyptians’ drowning– dead on the seashore.

There is, of course, great rejoicing and songs ofaffirmation that God was clearly on the side of the Hebrews and they witnessedto God’s awesome powers to smite Pharaoh’s army.

Those are the delicious moments of our lives. We right awrong, we outfox the opponent, we witness comeuppance, and our side emergesunscathed while the opponent is decimated. It’s lovely to be a gracious winner,to demure accolade, and deflect praise to a Higher Being. Such is the dance ofthe victorious.

There was no dancing in America ten years ago today. By the11 o’clock hour all four planes had crashed and both towers had fallen. Theskies were being emptied of aircraft, citizens were glued to radios and TVs,families were making contact, and the country was piqued fearfully wonderingwhat was next. No one breathed for hours. An eerie still overtook the countryfrom the Pacific to the Atlantic as the dead on that seashore were beingcounted. Washington DC, a field in Pennsylvania, and lower Manhattan were sitesof gaping, bleeding, smoldering wounds. America was under attack, and yetunlike the Day of Infamy that marked a previous generation, 9/11 was not adeclaration of war by a sovereign nation; it was rather, the most perniciousact of terrorism inflicted on the United States.

As I mentioned in my weekly email, the media is obsessedthis week with reliving that terrific morning. Images, stories, interviews,reflections, op-ed pieces, and what-if’s permeate the news and saturate ourawareness. Most everyone has a 9/11 story and the 10-year mark appears to bethe time to tell it.

But as we gather in these pews our focus is not on ourstories, but rather, on God’s story and our part therein.

In times of distress, danger, and oppression, believers inevery religious tradition look to God for support and help. In times of crisis, in combat, and whenconfronting death, even non-believers will turn to God for help. And time and again, they find deliverance inample measure.

Our God is, clearly, our help in ages past, our hope foryears to come.

But conversely, the scriptures warn against reliance onone's own power, allies, or wealth to prevail in the fight when the true sourceof power is available through faith.

Some may disagree, but I believe us to be first andforemost, a people of faith, and that faith takes the form not of doctrine orpolity or creed, but of relationship. As a community we build stories aroundthat relationship in an attempt to give it substance and material, to makesense of God’s interaction with us—not just today, but from the beginning oftime and to the end.

9/11 is a part of our story – to some it may be the definingmoment of their life, to others, something they’d like to forget and move onfrom. For us, I believe it provokes a response and certainly not an easy one.

It’s easy to go to hate, and war, and suspicion, and enmity.It’s easy to seek out targets, to track down perpetrators, and seek revengeunder the guise of justice. Yes, clearly, those who would do harm to thiscountry must be held accountable and punished. Yes, I was strangely relievedwhen Bin Laden was captured and killed.

A response as a follower of Jesus, for me, demands so muchmore and it is to that level of spiritual awareness and discipline that Iaspire. Is there a way to trudge through the rubble of Ground Zero with theintention to do justice, and love kindness, and to walk through the destructionwith humility? Is it possible to follow Jesus’ admonition to love our enemy? Tolove our neighbor in the same way that we love ourselves? To serve and love Godwith our entire being—body, mind, and spirit?

Can we emerge from the burning Pentagon heeding the call:“blessed are the peacemakers for they shall be called the children of God?”

Can we climb out of the crater in a Pennsylvania field in theconfidence that Jesus truly is with us to the ends of the earth and till theend of time?

Dancing with the Israelites as they traversed the dryriverbed to freedom while their oppressors were dead on the seashore – then, wecan proclaim God’s goodness from Psalm to Psalm; but when our loved ones, ourfellow citizens, our friends are dead on the seashore—to proclaim God’s graceand love—that is an act of faith.

But don’t listen to me for on the topic of 9/11, I have noobjectivity and am filled with more bias than usual for in my vocabulary,September 11^th will never be anything other than a day of joy,happiness, and amazing good fortune. For it was in the evening, 29 years agotoday, on the upswing of the clock, we said our vows. Believing that God is good,that God does provide, when I remember that day—is not an act of faith, but aliving, breathing certainty.

I tell you this to give light to the option we face: Eventshappen to us, our response we control. Two different perspectives on the samecalendar. Regardless of impact, how do we, against not the backdrop ofsmoldering towers nor the flickering candles of a wedding chapel, how do we, asChristians, against the backdrop of Jesus—child of God, Suffering Servant,Prince of Peace, healer, teacher, Savior—how do we find ourselves in God’sstory, in the embrace of Christ?

Therein lies our faith.

Amen.

Luster Undimmed

2011-09-04T14:17:00.000-04:00

Ever since John Locke introducedenlightenment philosophy the church has become, in many, perhaps most, cases, a"voluntary association of autonomous individuals." In the UnitedStates we revere individualism, self-reliance, and individual accountabilityand authority. Clearly, these are not bad things—especially to a bunch ofYankee Calvinists! Yet they come at the expense of something the Jesusapparently highly valued and something that Paul preached in nearly all of hisletters: community.

For Jesus and Paul, the church wasso much more than a club, it was a body, an interconnected, mutually dependent,intentional gathering of people, each of whom recognized that they wereincomplete, one without the other. The suffering of one is the suffering ofall, and therefore onflict within the church was not limited to those personsdirectly impacted.

Conflict in the church is painful.We know that, but it’s not something to be avoided or glossed over.

We do a lot of weddings here and consequently I spend a fair amount of time counseling. I use an "awareness inventory" as part of that process and the the first question in mypre-marital questionnaire is this: "Conflict in a relationship is not a goodthing. Agree or disagree." The only correct response is to disagree. Conflict,in any relationship, is a given. Learning how to resolve, learn, grow, andthrive in the light of such conflict is the challenge.

Even Jesus, the Prince of Peace,assumed conflict. His instruction was not to avoid it all cost, but rather howto address the inevitable when it arises. What makes us Christian is not thatwe live without conflict but ratherhow we resolve our differences.

Jesus calls us from the quagmireof slugging it out, either privately or publicly, or the other extreme, oftaking our toys and going home, and prods us to the higher tasks of resolutionand reconciliation:

The process in Matthew begins onthe initiative of the one wronged and with the goal of regaining therelationship through a private confrontation and discussion.

Should that not lead toresolution, then the entire fellowship is involved but the intervention is heldonly within an ethos of care. The language throughout the process is builtaround

· Confession

· Restoration

· Reconciliation

As a last resort the offendingparty is removed from the community as they have, in essence, renounced theirmembership or willingness to be bound by their vows of upholding the commongood.

The overarching standard for Jesusin facing conflict is that we seek to care for one another even when injured oroffended.

This is not a congregation immune from conflict, for while it wasborn out of the desire of two congregations to merge efforts and "dobigger work in a better way", in its relative infancy First & Central wasstricken with a most pernicious infection which has become known as the “Laird Era”.The genesis of the conflict arose from an increasing tendency for Presbyteriansto subscribe to what was becoming known as “fundamentalism.” In the small book,“Delaware History,” Mr. Laird’s arrival to First & Central is chronicled asthus:

In 1933 Laird accepted the call tobe pastor of First & Central Presbyterian Church at Eleventh and Marketstreets, next to the Hotel du Pont in downtown Wilmington, which presented afertile field. First & Central was staunch in adhering to fundamentalismand, in that era of doctrinal controversy, fervently desired a fundamentalistpastor of Laird’s spirituality and ability as Bible teacher, preacher andchurch builder.

In its nascent years, First & Central saw membership of over athousand fairly consistently. At its peak, the rolls boasted 1,296 souls (thatwas in 1932). The records indicate that in that same year the congregationreceived 154 new members – an all-time record. The founding pastor, Dr. Webbleft First & Central at the end of that year and a year or so later, Mr.Laird was called. He is the only minister whose image does not grace the vestibulein which the church hangs its pastors. Perhaps that’s due to the fact thatunder his leadership the rolls plummeted to a low of 464 in 1936 – the year inwhich the Presbytery, as the result of a disciplinary action, suspended hiscredentials.

Mr. Laird was among the men leading a mutinous boycott against thePresbyterian Church. They did it the same way folks do it today – theyattempted to restrict giving and thereby starve the church into submission. Thedenomination didn’t tolerate that from pastors then any more than it doestoday. Clergy take vows to uphold the “peace, unity, and purity” of the church.As a result of his disagreement with the direction of the denomination, Mr.Laird and a large chunk of the congregation left on June 18 of 1936.

The small, but viable remnant of members who remained did so witha relatively new building and a sizable wad of cash that was the residual fromthe sale of the previous two churches. The best part of an endowment is that noone can hold the church hostage. A skeleton crew with a captain-less shipweathered yet another dark and stormy night.

And then, the light of dawn brought the patron saint of RodneySquare – the Rev. Dr. Willard Purdy. He served the church from 1937 until 1957and once again the membership climbed over the 1,000-person mark. Dr. Purdypresided over the restoration of fortunes that this and most other mainlinechurches enjoyed in the post-WWII “baby boom” years. Very early in his tenure, in1937 as the church was celebrating the 200^th anniversary of thefounding of First Church, Dr. Purdy wrote in the preface to the small historypublished for that occasion:

A sacred trust has been committedto our hands which must be faithfully discharged and transmitted to futuregenerations with luster undimmed. If we face our tasks, our responsibilities,and our opportunities today, with the same spirit of faith [in Christ] that ourforebears possessed, then, our achievements will be worthy of [the One] we loveand whom we serve.

One might ask then that although this is a heartwarming tale andone with a happy ending, what relevance it might have today? Well, my friends,history is poised to repeat itself.

With the passage of Amendment 10-A and the ratification of the newForm of Government, a handful of our more conservative congregations willcontemplate and even execute departing from the PCUSA, even here in ourpresbytery. Our polity doesn't allow for congregations to depart...it does haveprocess for pastors to transfer credentials, renounce jurisdiction or to bedefrocked, and it has clear steps for members wishing to transfer or deletetheir membership in a local congregation; but it assumes, and is predicated onthe principle, that the assets of the congregation are held in trust for thepresbytery.

Churches leaving are an anathema to the foundation of the churchand should a sister congregation attempt such an action, the story of First &Central should and will be told often for it demonstrates that a faithfulremnant, with passionate leadership and financial assets, can rebuild with"luster undimmed" the sacred trust it carries for generations tofollow.

There will always be those that for whom this flavor ofChristianity does not meet either their needs or expectations, and thanks be toGod, that plethora of options exist; but that does not give them, or any of us,license to take a scalpel to the body of Christ.

Conflict in a relationship is nota good thing. To that we disagree – but to that we also apply the Rule ofChrist and do so in an ethos of care, and under a rubric of Confession, Restoration, and Reconciliation.

We do so in hopes of relationship maintained, trust growing, common purpose solidifiedwithin a recognition that we may come to the table from very different placesand points of view – but that the we share the table in common – recognizingour mutual dependence and the conviction that… “If we face our tasks, our responsibilities, and our opportunitiestoday, with the same spirit of faith [in Christ] that our forebears possessed,then, our achievements will be worthy of [the One] we love and whom we serve.”

Unless You Can Improve upon the Silence

2011-08-07T12:28:00.000-04:00

Temperature warnings, air quality alerts, oppressive humidity, and over-taxed antiperspirant – clearly, the “dog days of summer” are upon us. Sometime between mid July and early September, the weather turns beastly; folks head for the beach, and those of us who remain give thanks daily for Willis Carrier and his “air treating apparatus!” The “dog days” curtail activity, slow down productivity, and lead to a certain melancholic malaise; yet it may be comforting to know that the “dog days” have been around for thousands of years and are not a result of global warming, industrial pollution, the gay agenda, or activist judges.

It may have been in the midst of those “dog days” where we find Elijah this morning. Elijah is dejected, he’s depressed, and in fact, is somewhat beyond a melancholic malaise and is sounding even suicidal. He has dragged his wearisome body up Mt. Horeb and has parked himself in the shelter of a cave.

It’s a little surprising that Elijah’s in such bad shape. Just days earlier he was basking in the glory of a monumental victory against some hired preachers, who were in cahoots with the monarchy, headed up by the dubious duo of Ahab and Jezebel. Ahh, the good ol’ days when heads of state just put preachers on the government payroll as parochial propagandists. None of this fuss over the separation of church and state: no, in the dismal days of the demise of Israel, everyone expected corruption and collusion and few were disappointed.

Ahab’s reign of Israel was less than stellar. It lasted nearly 20 years and took place in the middle of the “dog days” of the Hebrew people. Put into a bit of historical perspective, much-revered King David and his son, wise and philandering Solomon, ruled during the golden age of the United Kingdom of Israel during the turn of the first millennium, around 1000 BCE. Upon Solomon’s death, the unity of Israel perished as well. The country split into two kingdoms, north and south, known as Israel and Judah respectively.

Fifty years later King Ahab came to power. He was a strong military leader who maintained a solid and stable government. He is the first northern king on record to defend his country against its nemesis, Assyria. Yet despite his military prowess, Ahab is most notorious for his taste in women. He sounds like a strange mix between Dwight Eisenhower and Bill Clinton. One woman in particular, Jezebel, is who gets him the most biblical ink. Jezebel worshiped a god named Baal and she went so far as to worship Baal in Israel. And Ahab allowed it. Ahab got a lot of bad press for letting Jezebel worship Baal in the Promised Land of the Israelites.

Now during the time of Ahab and Jezebel, there lived the prophet Elijah. Elijah was a Hebrew, and was one of God’s most ardent supporters. It’s easy to see then that Elijah, a servant of God, didn’t get along well with Jezebel, a devotee of Baal.

Elijah decided one day that it was time for a showdown between him and all the prophets of Baal, and so he challenged them to a divine death match and let the prophets of Baal take the first shot. They failed miserably. Then it was Elijah’s turn. With God’s careful coaching and some sideline intervention, Elijah rocked. The people in the stands were awe-struck. They reportedly dropped to their knees by the thousands and proclaimed the God of Israel as the only true, living God. It was a huge day for Elijah.

Jezebel was understandably less than happy and issued a death warrant for Elijah. That got Elijah’s attention and he took off. He made tracks for the wilderness and headed for the hills.

Now for all of his mouthing off and his strength of preaching, apparently Elijah wasn’t very thick skinned. He was a somewhat sensitive guy. Dabbling in psychological analysis of Biblical characters is usually a risky business, but in this case, we’re given so many explicit clues as to Elijah’s condition that it’s borderline negligence not to. The story of Elijah fleeing from Ahab and Jezebel describes a case of generalized depression that sometimes results from stress, in this case the stress of fear. It’s a blatantly honest depiction of one of God’s most celebrated servants who, in the face of an aggressive adversary, is ready to give up.

But God is not ready to give up on Elijah. In the midst of his melancholy, Elijah is awakened by God who asks a simple question: “What are you doing here, Elijah?” Elijah tells God that he’s been very faithful and even zealous. That the Hebrew people have given up on God; that they’ve destroyed places of worship; and they’ve killed every other one of God’s prophets. Now it’s only Elijah, and they’re after him.

In response, God resorts to a little “shock and awe.” God huffs and puffs and blows a huge windstorm at the mountain. Then he shakes, rattles, and rolls with the force of an earthquake. Finally, God lets loose with a burning ring of fire and scorches the side of the mountain! But apparently the tactics didn’t work. Elijah remained unimpressed. None of that got him out of the cave.

Only the aftermath, only in the calm after the storm, only after the cacophony has concluded does Elijah venture from his crevice. It’s the sound of sheer silence that lures Elijah to the entrance of his cave.

God asks the same question all over again: “What are you doing here, Elijah?” And Elijah gives him the exact same answer.

God responds to Elijah in that “still small voice” that signals to Elijah that the show is over, Elvis has left the building, and it’s time to get back to work. God sends Elijah off in a new direction, with instructions to inaugurate new leadership, and then to replace himself with young Elisha.

It’s a great story. It’s the Bible at some of its best: there’s stirring imagery, tension, blood and guts, awesome special effects, and the set-up for a sequel. The folks who first heard this story must have been very inspired.

See, the situation in Israel didn’t improve after Ahab, and in fact got steadily worse and deteriorated into clusters of red and blue states, and in the absence of inspired and compassionate leadership, the house divided did not stand. The Hebrew people were marched onto large-scale agricultural internment camps. A “Trail of Tears” in the dog days of their history that created levels of disillusionment and despondency that scales mountainous heights when indigenous peoples are forcibly displaced from their homeland.

Just as Elijah sat dejected and depressed in his cave on Mt. Horeb, the exiled Hebrews sat despondently by the waters of Babylon. They too were people who felt that they had been strong supporters of God, who had defended God in the face of pagans and gentiles, who struggled to maintain proper worship, and who were oppressed and despised because of their love of God.

If the story ended there it might be a consciousness-raising documentary of a minority people packaged up and removed by those in power. We can write that story here in America with a casual tour of any Native American reservation. But for Elijah and the exiled Hebrews, the story has a more promising ending.

In their dejected states, not only were they afraid for their welfare, not only were they on foreign land, and not only were their respective identities in question – the most devastating loss was their sense of purpose. All Elijah knew was the prophet gig. All the Hebrew people knew was serving God on their homeland – or at least trying. Jezebel forced Elijah out of the only job he knew and the Babylonians shoved the Hebrews out of the only life they knew.

It happens to us all the time. Downsizing, divorce, death, disability, or diagnosis – all jarring to our well being, all lethal to our sense of purpose. Children leave home, long-term partner or spouse takes a job out of town, change in circumstances in our workplace or home – all things that impact our identity and our sense of purpose.

To us God says, “Go, return on your way.” Life isn’t over and loss isn’t the final word. God recommissioned Elijah, God returned the Hebrews with a renewed purpose and call, and God provides the same for us. It may not come to us like an earthquake, or a hurricane, or an eruption – most likely it will come as a still small voice in the sheer silence of the dog days our lives.

Life wasn’t restored to the way it used to be for either Elijah or the Hebrews – life was recommissioned and a new future, a new direction, and a new purpose were discerned.

Be alert to those times of sheer silence in your own lives when the noise and commotion end and the stillness is deafening. We so quickly want to fill the void with more chatter and clatter – yet the old proverb holds truth today: “don’t speak unless you can improve the silence.”

God may be speaking in that still small voice that sends us off in another direction, empowered for the work or challenges ahead, gifted with travelers for the journey.

And so we take risks. Step out. Dare to change the world. With renewed courage we sin boldly in our quest to…

Change attitudes
Change systems
Change laws
Change perceptions

in our mandate to…

Challenge hate
Challenge prejudice
Challenge ignorance
Challenge an acceptance of violence

in our call to confront the oppression...

of women
of the aged or infirm
of gay and lesbian persons
of persons of color
of immigrants and the homeless and migrant workers

and we vow not to…

stand in silence
look the other way
ignore the cries
or, worst of all, leave it up to somebody else

God has chosen us and so we respond to God’s call with the journey we take, with the companions we empower, and with the people we disturb. Like Elijah, we find confidence in God’s call, and as we continue on our way, we know that even in the “dog days” of our lives, God is good, and that God does provide.

Can't Get Enough...

2011-07-31T12:10:00.001-04:00

With apologies to vegetarians and lovers of pachyderms everywhere, I’d invite you to recall that old adage: “How do you eat an elephant?” Yes…”one bite at a time!”

Some things just appear too big to tackle, a job so enormous that simply the thought of it paralyzes and stymies. We see it all the time – in friends’ lives, in our own lives, and in our community and country.

I mean, can anyone really fathom what $14.3 trillion really looks like? Or what it means to pay annual interest of $200 billion. To put it in slight perspective, these interest payments are taking up more federal spending now than federal outlays on education, transportation and housing and urban development combined – numbers too large and overwhelming to really get a grip on.

I’m old enough to remember when a million dollars was a lot of money! Million, Billion, Trillion – after a while, as the saying goes, you’re talking about real money!

Problems of enormous proportions are numbing and induce motivational paralysis.

Crime stats in the city, drop-out rates, unemployment, prisoner re-entry, homelessness, eroding tax revenue and city services are all complex, interrelated quandaries that are difficult to unravel or approach, much less solve. Many have tried to conjure solutions and programs, all have failed, the social ills persists, and even when we might consider taking a run at them, we back off, knowing that really, the problems are simply too big to solve, and so we walk away or ignore.

Even something closer to home – deciding that our house is no longer appropriate for our needs and it’s time to downsize and move to a community that offers some needed services can be completely daunting. Cleaning out basements, attics, closets of decades, if not generations of “treasures” is a lot of work for anybody – perhaps overwhelming when one factors in age and the emotional energy required. I know plenty of people who say I’d love to live somewhere else – I just can’t muster the oomph to get there!

Not hard, then, to empathize with the disciples when they saw that enormous crowd of hungry people, and said, “send them away!” They had no way of feeding them, no source of food, they were out in the boonies and remember – the Bible says that there were 5,000 men – to that add women and children and you’re well over 10,000 hungry mouths. It was an insurmountable obstacle that the disciples knew they couldn’t overcome and so, paralyzed and stymied, they wanted it to go away.

Yet the people couldn’t just hop the bus and head into town to the Hollywood Grill, the Kozy Korner, or Presto – they were in the wilderness, in the desert. Remember, Jesus wasn’t looking for a preaching venue – this all stated because he wanted to be alone.

It’s a natural reaction when someone gets bad news – to retreat, to isolate, to simply be alone with one’s thoughts.

Word had just come that John the Baptist had been executed by the state – his head displayed at a lavish banquet where food was plentiful and everyone satisfied to a gluttonous finish; quite a different story from the hungry mouths in the outback.

It’s been suggested that John the Baptist was the head honcho of a band of disciples of which Jesus was a member, perhaps even the second in command. News of John’s death meant more than the loss of a dear friend and a valued leader; it meant that Jesus’ moment had arrived—it was time for him to step up and lead.

Faced with that daunting challenge, Jesus needed time to figure things out, to gather his thoughts, to pray and surmise a path forward. John had been quite a charismatic presence and following in his footsteps was no easy task. Hard to blame Jesus for wanting to collect himself. After all, in spite of everything else, he was fully human!

We find Jesus in the wilderness. In the Hebrew world, the wilderness or the desert was a place of wandering and uncertainty; the desert was a place of rebellion against God; and the desert was a place of temptation, of testing, a place where Jesus had not very long ago pronounced to Satan that humans “don’t live by bread alone!” That may be true, but, as we’re learning in today’s story, humans also don’t live without bread!

The desert, for Jesus in this episode, was as far away from the Roman Empire. He was away from the Roman governors like Pontius Pilate, away from client kings like the head-serving Herod, and away from the local elites who took delight in oppressing many of the people who were chasing after Jesus—people who apparently just couldn’t get enough of him.

Jesus offered them an alternative world, one where compassion overturned status, and one that stood in stark contrast to the imperial brutality that was their everyday life. The alternative world also stood in contrast to Herod’s banquet and the brutal death of John the Baptist. Yet the alternative world has a problem: nothing to eat!

We don’t want to miss the juxtaposition in the move that Matthew makes – taking us from the lavish birthday party that Herod is throwing, something that the Gold Ballroom would aspire to, to the stark, barren, arid, rocky chaparral in which Jesus ministers. We also might want to know that in those days, Rome considered itself the “breadbasket” to the world and produced enough food to feed the global population – yet some of its own citizens either go hungry or are held as indentured servants just for bare subsistence. Rome used food as leverage and whether you ate or not wasn’t so much the government’s concern.

We might hear some of that today coming from Washington, that charity and social programs are not the prevue of the government, and we can argue and engage in intellectual debate but one cannot argue with hundreds of thousands of starving children in Somalia where food is clearly being used not just as leverage, but as a weapon.

It’s a problem that’s nearly impossible to fathom.

According to the United Nations:

The combination of one of East Africa’s worst droughts in 60 years and Somalia’s relentless conflict has depleted the country’s food supplies, and tens of thousands of Somalis have died of malnutrition-related causes in the past few months.

“If we don’t act now, famine will spread to all eight regions of southern Somalia,” “Every day of delay in assistance is literally a matter of life or death.”

Speaking at the United Nations, Secretary General Ban Ki-moon said that nearly half of Somalia’s population — 3.7 million people— were now in crisis. A total of $1.6 billion was needed to help, he added, with about $300 million of it required in the next two months to mount an “adequate response.”

The Islamist militants who forced Western aid organizations out of Somalia last year, right as the drought was looming, are now urging the groups to return. But aid officials are wary, citing the dozens of workers who have been killed in Somalia in recent years. Also hampering the emergency efforts, aid officials contend, are American government rules that prohibit material support to the militants, who often demand “taxes” for allowing aid deliveries to pass through.

Hundreds of thousands of children who simply can’t get enough, simply can’t get enough food to sustain life. Hospitals in bordering countries are full of malnourished babies taking their last breaths.

Jesus said, “you give them something to eat” yet the problem, the crisis, is of a proportion so complex and overwhelming, that even the most powerful countries in the history of the planet are paralyzed and stymied.

It’s nothing new… Biafra, Ethiopia, the Sudan: famine and starvation at the hands of war, conflict, and brutal regimes.

Jesus offers an alternative and the people can’t get enough. They followed him to a godforsaken land apparently without thinking where their next meal was going to come from.

Jesus offered them something they apparently valued more: compassion. He embodied an ethic of compassion. He responded to their need and was moved, figuratively and literally, to satisfy their hunger.

This story is frequently referred to as “Jesus feeds the five thousand,” but that’s not accurate. It should be “Jesus feeds the twelve, and the twelve feed the five thousand.” The same crew who were intent with dismissing the problem they couldn’t solve, are now the agents of relief and recovery. Jesus didn't distribute the food himself, he had help and assistance, people empowered for first-person ministry. The 12 didn't act at first; after all, they thought they had nothing to offer. When Jesus told them to give the crowd something to eat, at first they said, "but we have nothing...except some bread and dried fish." They didn't have "nothing" - they had something but they just didn't think it was enough. Meager is not nothing.

Now, at the risk of offending a congregation I adore...boy are we guilty of that. We have so much, so much more than the vast majority of churches in this country...and yet we behave as though we're on the brink of extinction.

Jesus called on the 12, and calls on us, to dream bigger. The 12 had to change their own perception about their power in the world. How many times have we turned away from something because of our fear of powerlessness?

God will give us the power to work for good in the world. The 12 thought that feeding was impossible--the need great and the resources meager, yet they had enough.

This story is the only miracle account that appears in all four gospels...some thinks it's important and some event think it’s the heart of the Gospel message. This tale tells us that not only will God give us the power to work for good but that God is the source of that power and God is love. God is love and God is compassion. Jesus approached the needs of the crowd not from a strategic or political position, not from one of first taking inventory or weighing risk vs. reward, but from a posture of compassion. It wasn't abstract...it was clear and concrete...it was need-based option for the poor. God's ultimate power in the universe intends peace among nations, an end to hunger, the wellbeing of all families, and spiritual wholeness for God’s people.

Yet, like Jesus and the hungry crowd, God doesn't do any of that alone: we are entrusted to be the body of Christ, the hands and feet through which God works. The hope for a new world is the blood of our veins, the struggle for justice is the beat to which our hearts respond, and God’s promise is the very stuff of which our bones are wrought.

There is no worldly situation to which we cannot respond. Our only limitation is a lack of faith-filled imagination and if we are to be the hope for a new world...of that, we can't get enough!

Amen!

A Hungry Flagger

2011-07-28T13:09:00.002-04:00

I've said this so many times I don't doubt some will roll their eyes reading it again -- but there's just nothing like a "downtown" church.

Not to split hairs, but there's a difference between a "downtown" church, an "urban church," and an "inner city" church. Rather than give examples or explain those nuances, I'll ask "how do you see First & Central and what kind of church are we (or should we be)?"

This morning, a downtown vigil is taking place on our sidewalks and steps in response to the planned execution tonight (technically tomorrow morning). Session gave their unanimous approval for the use of our property and with our highly visible corner, it's the perfect spot to attract attention. While it's a controversial topic among some in our city and society, there's no ambiguity in our denomination's stance on the execution of convicted felons.

In the midst of the vigil and sign display a man walked in the 11th Street entrance a little while ago. He's been in before and we know each other. Now, we get a fair number of folks in the doors looking for "help" (read that "cash"), which we never, ever give out -- it's simply not safe for the staff to have it know on the streets that the church has access to cash -- and consequently refer most folks to Friendship House and their social workers for some type of evaluation and consideration of their needs. FH knows to call us if there is a legitimate need and we reimburse out of the Local Mission line in the budget. This is a frequent occurrence.

However, this gentleman has convinced me that he's on a path toward self-sufficiency and employment. He's a traffic flagger for a construction company and while the work is not overly steady, it's frequent enough that he can pay his rent and basic bills. This morning he came in hoping for a sandwich for his lunch. Not wanting to give him money, we walked over to the little cafe in the Wilmington Trust building and bought him a box lunch, a candy bar, and some coffee -- all for under $10! He was very gracious and appreciative -- and wished us a good service this coming Sunday. (Yes...he's been invited to worship!)

As I walked back to the church, by the death penalty signs, I realized that what this job gives me that is rare and special, is the chance to do something nice for people who don't have many pleasant days. I was struck by the juxtaposition of the magnitude of the drive to overturn the death penalty with the simple gesture of buying someone lunch before they head off to work.

We can't do anything to prevent an execution shortly after midnight -- but we can help a hungry flagger at noon.

"For I was hungry and you gave me food." I've read that somewhere.

To be human is to have a story...

2011-07-24T15:38:00.000-04:00

When my children hit their middle school years, I gave them both a small hand-made booklet. It contained pictures and a story; the story of their birth for their dad’s perspective.

My experience with our children is that at some point they ask about the day they were born: who was there, what was the name of the hospital or person who delivered them, what time was it, and other details that make the event even more special or unique in their minds.

My little booklet took a slightly different approach and I told the story as I remembered it: through the eyes of the non-birthing parent, the one standing by, looking encouraging, hoping not to pass out.

In a traditional setting the that parent is simply referred to by the nurses and hospital staff as “Dad”. They say it, at least in both of my experiences, as though you’re someone who’s a little slow-witted and clearly in the way – like breathing furniture they have to keep moving around the room.

We went to all of those classes meant to make “dads” feel needed and necessary – elevating our status to “birthing coach,” a euphemism for “slow-witted, breathing furniture that’s always in the way.”

So, since we were not the focus of attention, a biological condition for which I will be forever grateful, I had a ring-side seat to the greatest show on earth.

Upon my son and daughter’s 10^th and 13^th birthdays respectively, I thought back to the days leading up to, and shortly after, their births – and of course, what it was like the moment they were born.

Not unlike biographers today who write retrospectives on famous peoples’ lives – really, with the exception of presidential children and the off-spring of royals, few have their early years chronicled – and consequently, we’re left with faulty memories and a handful of snapshots, the number of pictures decreases as birth order increases. Again, like the folks who write infancy narratives of famous people – Jesus most notably – we know to some degree how they turn out, what traits they exhibit, and we’re able with varying accuracy, to discover those traits at an early age.

Here’s a brief excerpt from the story of Madison’s birth that I wrote in 2002 when she was 13:

I’ve had three perfect days in my life: the day your mother and I were married, the day Ben was born, and the day you were born. I remember that August morning so clearly.
It was a clear, warm Santa Barbara day as your Mom and I drove just a few blocks to Cottage Hospital. She had been in a hurry to meet you (imagine your Mom in a hurry!!) and for the week or so before you were born tried everything she could think of for you to be born. She did jumping jacks, drove around in our bouncy Jeep, and talked and talked to you so you’d hurry up! Of course, none of that worked—then, just like now, you like to take your time!

After I talk about the chaos in the hospital room and her actual birth, I added this:

You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen – a perfect little round face, no hair, strong pink little body, and a healthy cry. I fell in love with you at first sight! I cried, your mother cried, I think even the doctor and nurse cried. It was just a perfect moment.

To be human is to have a story. Stories provide identity, they shape perception, they alter history, and they engage us into a wider community.

I don’t doubt Walle’s version of the kids’ births might differ from mine and she may recall details that didn’t register with me and vice versa— yet our stories would both be true and would share meaning and purpose.

In large part, what we do on Sunday mornings is share a story.

I often think how queer this must look to someone unfamiliar with Judaism, Islam, Christianity, or another religion with a basic narrative text.

Right up on stage, with a special stand and microphone, is a book – a story book, a book of adventures and engagements and people and events and magical, mystical depictions that all attempt the same goal: to tell about the day humanity was born and God’s perspective on our birth and growing up.

It’s a story that begins with those perfect moments of creation and progresses to the growing reality that we’re a screwed up people; a story that moves from freedom to slavery, and then exodus; from building and forming and maturing into a community, to infighting, bankruptcy and devastating exile; from return and rebuilding and recapturing identity, to miracle births, incarnation, and a people of The Way; from healing and teaching and walking with, to scorn and betrayal and walking away; from death and despair and desolation, to a new day, a new life, and a new heaven and a new earth.

God’s revelation is narrative. To be human is to have a story. To be holy is to be part of God’s story.

Our sense of self and the world and our community is relational and storied.

Consider for a moment this story of Solomon.

If all you knew was this snippet of his life, surely you’d think, “wow – this dude’s got it figured out!”

If you had one wish, if you could take one mulligan, if you could take back just one boneheaded thing that you’ve done; if your fairy godmother granted you one wish – what would you ask for?

“Ask what I should give you,” says God and Solomon’s response: wisdom. You have to admire the wisdom in Solomon’s request for wisdom!

In the realm of wise people, “Dilbert” this week has a 3-panel cartoon in which Dogbert is standing on the Pointy-Haired boss’ desk holding a clipboard and announces: “I’m doing a study to find out which managers make dumb decisions.” Next panel Dogbert asks, “Would you like to participate?” Last panel has the boss’ response of: “I don’t see why not,” to which Dogbert says, “and we’re done!”

You have to admire Solomon’s wisdom in asking for wisdom! Sometimes how we answer a question tells more about us than the answer itself.

But really, Solomon’s answer is more contextual than anything else. He didn’t need a “rod and staff” like Moses – the people were not in captivity; he didn’t need military prowess like his father, David – the people are at peace. The challenge to Solomon’s administration was to unify the northern and southern regions of his country under his charismatic leadership.

This current administration’s challenge of raising the debt limit appears hopelessly gridlocked in partisan politics and the full faith and credit of the United States, we’re told, is at risk. Whenever I see the talking politico heads on TV posturing and pontificating – it disgusts me. Did we really elect these people to hold dueling press conferences? While the Congress appears divided the American people are increasingly unified – in our impatience that as children these, the leaders of this great country, apparently never learned to “play well with others.”

Wouldn’t you love to hear these words today? Wouldn’t you love to know that every civil servant, from the president of the United States to the clerk of the school board, uttered this sentiment early and often? “Give your servant therefore an understanding mind to govern your people, able to discern between good and evil; for who can govern this your great people?”

Solomon could have asked, as God pointed out, for longevity, personal wealth, or vengeance – yet asked for none of those and therefore the request met with God’s approval.

But isn’t this what God expects from people in changing circumstances?

The ability to discern between good and evil is a theme that runs throughout our story. The great transgression of Adam and Eve “sentences” humanity to a life where discerning the difference between good and evil is often an ambiguous choice, one that frequently brings a series of catastrophic consequences.

We probably get the big ugly stuff – it’s the nuance that vexes. In all fairness to Washington, they get the big issue: “Thou shalt not default,” it’s the how’s and when’s and what’s that perplex and wherein lie the politically charged components. The frustration with Washington is, as a friend posted this week on Facebook:

Dear Politicians: there is a difference between keeping your voting base happy and making tough choices that aren't popular. Unless you figure that out things will never change.

Solomon didn’t ask for skyrocketing poll numbers – he was king so I suppose it didn’t matter so much – he asked for wisdom, in essence, he sought to align his beliefs, his trust, and his confidence with God, and not with his political base or self-interests.

Sadly, we know that Solomon turned out to be the Herbert Hoover of Israel. After his reign the country tanked. North and South split, both were eventually conquered by neighboring aggressors, and the Hebrew people carted off in a Trail of Tears to Exile.

It was during the Exile that this story was written – about 400 years after the reign of Solomon. By the Rivers of Babylon the people not only wept, they wrote.

The story was written for the people who had been deported, for the poor that remained in Jerusalem, and for the diaspora in Egypt. Its purpose? Identity! It provided a meaning to life to replace what had been lost in defeat and exile. In the story of Solomon, a young king seeks wisdom and a sense of self that only revelation can provide. God responds with a promise – to not only the king, but to the people. A promise that has sustained them and us from the time before our births.

Our story is our identity and to hear it told either from a lectern or by reading a letter from our parents provides orientation and perspective and alignment. Our task, as Solomon so eloquently requests, is to discern not just our way in life – but to seek wisdom to know God’s way for our lives, and then have the courage to live it. For while it’s the national pastime to deride our elected representatives for not having clarity or conviction – the harder, more humbling task, is to see those same deficiencies in ourselves.

“Give your servant therefore an understanding mind, able to discern between good and evil, for who are we to count ourselves as this your great people.”

Wouldn’t God love to hear those words today?

How awesome is this place!

2011-07-17T13:38:00.000-04:00

It’s possible, I suppose, to over scrutinize or analyze something rather than just letting it stand, speak, or simmer in its voice and meaning. Billy Collins’ poem, “Introduction to Poetry,” captures the sentiment well:

I ask them to take a poemand hold it up to the light
like a color slide

or press an ear against its hive.

I say drop a mouse into a poemand watch him probe his way out,

or walk inside the poem's roomand feel the walls for a light switch.

I want them to waterskiacross the surface of a poemwaving at the author's name on the shore.
But all they want to do

is tie the poem to a chair with ropeand torture a confession out of it.

They begin beating it with a hoseto find out what it really means.

Few texts are more tortured than the Bible, with, as we know, miles and miles of shelves – real and virtual – of books, commentaries, and opinion – some reasonable and objective, others slanted and even dangerous. But that’s old news around here and only mentioned as a qualifier that one’s approach to something as carefully crafted as the Bible requires more than naïve acceptance on face value yet less, than the above reference bondage.

A Princeton Seminary professor once admonished students of the book of Revelation to approach that obtuse, even bizarre, text with a “disciplined imagination;” meaning that one should indeed let one’s mind wander and wonder around the images and phrases, like a mouse making its way out of a poem, but to do so with a firm grip on one’s rational side and one’s intellect.

It’s a careful balance to maintain – to be swept away by srtistry of the story but not drown in the minutia of the text. As I read the passage this week something struck me about the first line, “Jacob left Beersheba and went toward Haran.” I wonder how far that is? It had to be more than a day’s trek since he had to bed down in the wilderness – but how far was it?

One estimate is that it’s about 600 miles. By car and on some of Pres. Eisenhower’s 50-year-old interstates that’s a hefty day of driving and barring construction, accidents, or overly congested traffic, would take somewhere between 10 and 12 hours. Not a fun day in a car – but do-able – especially with a GPS, Mapquest, or a Trip-Tik to guide.

Jacob had two feet and some kind of satchel. He followed stars and maybe a rut in the desert. At best he covered 40 miles in a day but probably far less than that. Chances are the trip took nearly a month on foot.

We enter a destination into our GPS or phone and it gives directions from where we are to our destination along with an estimate of time. From start to finish. Along the way the gadget notes turns and milestones along with distance to next event. We travel point to point ticking off turns until we arrive at our destination. What happens in between isn’t the story – it’s the destination.

But today’s story happens in between places “where nothing is expected. It happens between safe, identifiable places. Here everything is risky.” Here, Jacob is transformed.

Isn’t that how life really is? Very little of note happens in the safe, identifiable places – life-changing experience happens where nothing is expected, where life is risky.

We are transformed when things don’t go according to plan. It’s a cruel truth. The stories that we tell about our lives rarely, if ever, have to do with things that played out perfectly in our scripted story. The events that we remember, that change us, that shift our thinking or perspective and nearly always the unexpected things that happen in risky and vulnerable places.

Our company is sold, the market takes a dive, illness is diagnosed, a parent, child, spouse, or partner requires help or assistance, a break-up, a change in plans, an unexpected, unplanned, unwanted diversion – those are the types of things that transform us.

An engagement, the birth of a baby, a promotion, a windfall, a break, a gesture by a friend, a letter of acceptance, an offer we didn’t expect – those things change and transform as well. Things unexpected, unplanned, and even unwanted jar us from our complacency, stir us from placidness, and push us onto a path we likely didn’t choose.

It’s in those places, those risky places between the safe havens, in which stuff happens that matters.

Jacob, with his hard head on an even harder rock, was in that place – literally and metaphorically and God, with the special effects of divine escalators, made a point that rattled Jacob and should shake us a bit too.

When we’re in those risky places in between the safe havens and planned destinations, how easy to feel alone, if not outright abandoned. Yet, traveling to and fro, are God’s messengers connecting the divine to terra firma assuring Jacob, and us, that God does not aimlessly wander the cosmos, but that wisdom, compassion, love, and justice are imbued and incarnate in our every days and that God’s promise to us is timeless and trustworthy as it was to Jacob, his father, and his grandfather.

God intervened not when Jacob was on his guard, when he was alert to change, even danger, but when he was unarmed, when he was vulnerable and unguarded, when he was asleep! Apparently that's when God can get through. The rest of the time we're so busy being in charge that God can barley get a word in! That's apparently why God likes to catch us in between our carefully mapped out lives.

We had carefully mapped out a week of camp for three inner city young people this past week, and as the readers of my weekly email know, 2 out of 3 isn't bad.

One youth, who had already been to this same camp 5 years in a row, was sent home for fighting. Not just a skirmish on the basketball court, but fighting with intent to so seious harm. It's rare that a kid gets sent home so our young man was noteworthy.

In my email I wondered aloud what our next step should be and…

· Was it a bad idea to send inner city youth to a peaceful Methodist camp? No.

· Should we give up on the kids in the city? No.

· Should we stop sending this particular youth? Perhaps -- I'm not sure he'll be invited to return.

· Were we naive in thinking a week away from a somewhat toxic environment would make a difference? Probably.

We, or at least, I had carefully mapped out a path for the week. The kids would be delivered on Sunday afternoon, have a life-changing and amazing week at camp, and picked up on Friday full of excitement, tales of meaningful exchanges, and abundant gratitude. They’d bubble over and exclaim, “how awesome is this place!”

Instead, I took the pastor’s “walk of shame” and retrieved our expelled camper.

The director was incredibly gracious and left the door open for his return next year and made it clear that they see the camp as a ministry.

In my email I speculated…

What this experience tells me, at least at first blush, is that it may be a really good thing to raise money and send a kid to camp, but that's not going to change him/her or us. What's required is a relationship -- one that's long-term, dependable, trustworthy, honest, and meaningful. A relationship coupled with an infrastructure, education, employment, and social services that provide opportunity to kids born in circumstances that aren't positive and nurturing -- in short, that level the playing field.

And then asked…

What do you think?

While I didn’t rest my head on a rock, nor did a ramp drop down from the sky trafficked by heavenly messengers, but my inbox did fill up with some of the most thought-provoking and insightful messages I’ve received here. Responses ranged from multiple paragraphs of reflections derived from your own personal and professional lives, to a few words or phrases simply responding to our predicament.

One was short, concise, and struck a chord with me. The author said,

My thought about what you wrote: perhaps this experience did not level the playing field, but at least it got them out on the field. That has to count for something.

Yes, indeed we did get them on the field and while it may not be level, it does count for something.

Many of you affirmed and expanded on the initial thought – real change and transformation requires relationship, “one that's long-term, dependable, trustworthy, honest, and meaningful.”

Isn’t that what God said to Jacob?

I am God, the God of Abraham your father and the God of Isaac. I'm giving the ground on which you are sleeping to you and to your descendants. Yes. I'll stay with you, I'll protect you wherever you go, and I'll bring you back to this very ground. I'll stick with you until I've done everything I promised you.

We were generous and loving and compassionate to send three kids to camp this summer – for 2 out of 3 – it was an awesome place. For one, not so much! But the choice now is not to drop him like a failure, to write him off as a bad risk, to distance ourselves from an unpleasant and embarrassing situation – can you imagine, really, if God took that attitude toward us?

Jacob’s dream gives us the wisdom and direction we need – in the midst of our most vulnerable, even embarrassing times, God is with us fully and completely. God promises relationship with us that’s long-term, dependable, trustworthy, honest, and meaningful – surely that’s our posture and response to each other – even when our carefully laid plans go awry and instead of reaching “point B” from “point A” undisheveled, we dust ourselves off and simply started climbing out again.

One day, when we look back on the difficult places of our lives, when we were vulnerable and at risk, we’ll see that God held us, guided us, and moved us into the future with love. Then, we’ll look back and think, “how awesome was that place!”

Community Redevelopment

2011-07-11T12:59:00.000-04:00

There’s nary a town or city in the country that doesn’t have a redevelopment project underway. Everything from a nostalgic return to “Main Street” to a cleaned up urban core, municipalities across this great country of ours glaze over with hopes of kick-started revenue streams, pedestrian vitality, and reduced crime statistics all through the panacea of redevelopment.

The aspect that’s truly addictive? It works.

As one nearby example:

The mixed-use Heldrich Redevelopment Project, which opened in March 2007, is emblematic of New Brunswick’s successful redevelopment strategies.

The 365,000-square-foot project, which has had an estimated 40,000 visitors since it opened, contains a 248-room hotel, a 50,000-square-foot conference center, academic space for Rutgers University’s John J. Heldrich Center for Workforce Development, ground-floor retail, restaurants, 54 underground parking spaces and 48 market-rate condominiums. The hotel and conference center share an adjacent, jointly constructed 820-space parking facility with other redevelopment projects and public uses of the area. Moreover, the Heldrich rehabilitated the 150-year-old Monument Park that it faces.

Even closer to home, the Riverfront Development Corporation here in Wilmington has been charged with the improvement of the Brandywine and Christina Riverfronts since 1995. Just in the time I’ve lived here, the skyline has been altered with the construction of residential towers, office buildings, convention centers, and townhomes.

Right outside of our front door, banks and commercial buildings have been converted to upscale urban apartments, an historic courthouse is undergoing metamorphosis as a home for a law firm, and just a few blocks down on Market Street, a new cultural, retail, and entertainment district is being birthed, christened “LOMA” – for Lower Market.

Redevelopment is addictive because it not only works, but because it’s the “bricks and mortar” version of Easter Sunday – it’s resurrection. Rather than scrape clean the blight and decay, redevelopment renovates and restores the parcel often changing its use, direction, or appearance. Banks converted to restaurants, old theatres revived as trendy venues, storefronts retooled as design schools, and formerly boarded up shops find new life as cafes, hair salons, and trendy eateries.

Disney’s “Main Street USA” collides with the 21^st century complete with free WiFi, skinny lattes, and iPads.

Yet, it doesn’t happen overnight and it’s not without pitfalls and failures. Restoration of Market Street and the Riverfront are certainly not yet unqualified successes. Stigma of crime and threats to personal safety linger, even thrive, and until a critical mass of people live and play in the city, the infrastructure of commonplace stores and shops won’t follow. LOMA will be yet another “flash in the pan” – good money after bad – and while it’s an impressive undertaking today, it’ll be a fading memory of a failed attempt tomorrow without large-scale buy-in by the citizens of Wilmington. Our hope is that it’s an unabashed success and all of the hard work, risk, and investment pay long-term dividends.

Long-term dividends are what a successful project, one that takes years in the making, deserves. What the public sees as a finished product is not merely new skin on a decaying structure, but is the visible phase of a trajectory of restoration that began years earlier. It’s a step in a process that’s demanding and mandatory.

Some years ago, the City of Peace, Jerusalem, was undergoing a massive redevelopment. After over 50 years of neglect, decay, and destruction, the city was a shambles and folks decided to rebuild and restore. Couldn’t have been easy given the dearth of modern building equipment and design tools, yet somehow they persevered and clearly the redevelopment project was big news at the Jerusalem Starbucks.

So big that loud-mouths like Isaiah used it to make a point.

The people “got” what it meant to build up a city, to fix up the streets and shops and clear out the clutter and detritus; but Isaiah was sure that they had no idea how to do that for themselves and the redevelopment of their lives with God.

Yes, they went through the motions – they attended church, put a few shekels in the offering bag as it went by, even volunteered to bring latkes to the congregational lunch. Some even went so far as to fast, depriving themselves of nutrients and sustenance as a means of pious spiritual discipline – perhaps the most difficult and revered of all such practices in the Bible.

Going through the motions, employing ingenious contrivances of piety, focused only on their participation in the practice and not as a means of being consumed with God’s will. Surely, they thought, their soul was being redeveloped and restored. Surely, they were rebuilding, fortifying, and discovering new purpose and meaning. Yet Isaiah remained unimpressed and unmoved convinced that a new skin on a decaying structure restored nothing. Spiritual restoration takes work and tenacity and conviction and risk – it’s demanding and mandatory.

It’s a few thousand years later and we’re in the same boat.

Bookstores, the ones you touch and the ones you tap, are chock full of myriad media on spirituality. For some it’s very acceptable, even preferable, to claim to be “spiritual” and not “religious” – a way of saying, “I’m just too lazy or uninterested to get serious about things other than me.”

Our friend, Jim Wallis, wrote this recently:

We say, "You know, I'd like to do something. I'd like to get my life together. But first I want to...I want to do service but first I need to sort of get my own stuff straight." Isaiah says if you do that you’ll be stuck in a trap. Isaiah is saying the best way to get your life together is to do something for those who have been left out.

Now, we see in Barnes and Noble and all our bookstores, books and tapes about self-help. Isaiah is saying, "Save your money." He describes here in this 58th chapter a wonderful description of human fulfillment that would satisfy the desire of any self-help enthusiast. He says, "If you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom will be like the noon day. The Lord will guide you continually and satisfy your needs in parched places." (Isaiah 58:10)

You got any parched places? Well, then this is for you. He says, "You'll be like a watered garden, like a spring of water whose waters never fail. Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt, you'll raise up the foundations of many generations. You will be called the repairer of the breach and the restorer of streets to live in." (Isaiah 58: 11-12)

“Is not this the fast I choose: to loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free?”

Is that not our charge, our mission, our vision? “To loose the bonds of injustice?” Is that not what we strive for at First & Central? Is not that not the bedrock foundation of Jesus’ Gospel?

What makes this so amazing, so remarkable is that in choosing God’s fast we venture fully into reckless self-forgetfulness! What a great term and great goal: reckless self-forgetfulness! To stop trying to save ourselves and to recognize and grasp God’s claim and God’s love and to allow that to not only forget ourselves but to be consumed with the quest the serve others. Not to serve them as the “needy” or the “poor” or the “marginalized” – but to receive all others as God’s gift, discovering that God’s engagement with us is a life that can only be a life together!

Restoration – of downtowns, communities, entire cities, or of relationships and reputations, or even of our very selves – requires a posture toward the “other” and not focused inward. Restoration must bend toward justice, must create what King called, “the Beloved Community.”

It has always been the purview and burden of the faith community to call themselves, and the society in which they live, to the cause of justice, to be restorers of the breach, to rebuild the streets to live in.

It starts in the pews. It starts in these pews. It starts with us.

photo by Tom Davis

Today we “celebrate” the removal of a cancerous tumor in the life of this denomination with the exorcism of Amendment B. It was a glaring, embarrassing, and a hideous impediment to justice and equality. We here in this church chose the fast of justice and refused to faithfully abide and were flagrant and proud in our defiance. This congregation gave the greater church the gift of passionate leadership and witness. We were not silent, nor were we demure. We strove to repair the breach and that bridge has tenuously been completed. Our job continues, we are barely in Phase I of restoration for we are called to strengthen and to expand that bridge, to guide and encourage its crossing, and to never forget those who simply gave up or found another path when the schism and breach were too great to attempt.

photo by Tom Davis

We have no mission but to serve in full obedience to our Lord: To care for all, without reserve, and spread Christ’s liberating word.

May it be so.

The Spitfire Grill

2011-07-03T12:03:00.000-04:00

Hebrew is a problem.

I took Hebrew the year after I took Greek – thinking that nothing could be more obtuse or confusing than Greek. Oh you silly, silly boy! On the first day there were 12 people in my Hebrew class – 8 of us were Presbyterians, read that “required to be there.” By the second class, we were the only ones still enrolled in Hebrew. Our professor was a newly minted PhD in Semitic languages from Cincinnati. He was Korean born of Presbyterian parents, himself a Seventh Day Adventist, who was trained in a Jewish university, and now teaching in a Disciples of Christ seminary.

The class was a disaster.

The professor’s expectations of us far exceeded our abilities and rather than begin by walking us through the “ABC’s” (or Alef, Bet, Gimmel’s), he immediately blasted off to the outer orbits of esoteric verb forms. It was chaos from day one and went down hill from there. By the end of the first semester the eight of us staged a mini student uprising and begged the Dean to find us a new Hebrew professor. Lo and behold, on the first day of the second semester in walked the savior of the students of the Semitics – Dr. Paul Redditt – an affable Baptist from a nearby college of the same stripe.

He immediately recognized the fragile state in which we wallowed and took pity on our confused and frustrated souls. We loved him from the beginning.

The eight Presbyterians in second semester Hebrew watched order wrangle chaos and from that a life-giving spirit emerged. Dr. Redditt took the dark, formless, watery voids that were our brains, and shaped, willed, decreed, and summoned a fertile place for learning. But he did more than that – he instilled in us a spirit that looked beyond the mechanics of a language so that we discovered poetry and song. He read Hebrew with a tenor, timbre, and tenderness that we hadn’t heard. Even though we didn’t know the words – we knew the message – and we sought the grace and beauty in the language for ourselves. Learning then became a quest, not for knowledge or grades, but for the music and wonder we could now unlock from an alphabet composed of 22 vowel-less characters read in reverse.

When the year was over the 8 of us pooled our somewhat meager resources and bought him a present to show our appreciation. In his thank-you note, he said:

You were a Hebrew class in search of a teacher, and I was a teacher in search of a class. The chemistry was just right. You may never know – but I hope you have experiences that show you – how gratifying it was to me to have a class respond to my subject, my teaching, and to me as you did. Not that my other experiences at [the seminary] have been less positive, but this was special – and we all knew it.

Yes we did. His teaching transformed us into students of Semitic poetry. Never again would I read the Hebrew Scriptures without Paul Redditt’s voice summoning me back to the feeling of wonder and awe in the winter of 1996 when grace arrived in the form of a solitary, middle-aged, bearded Baptist.

Grace arrived at the small town of Gilead, ME in the form of a young, female, ex-convict named Percy.

The movie, “The Spitfire Grill”, tells her story as some years before arriving in Gilead, Percy had been convicted of killing her abusive step-father and while incarcerated worked the phone bank for the State of Maine’s Tourism Bureau. Upon her release, with no home or family, she drifted to the state for which she had been an anonymous, yet enthusiastic ambassador.

We know so well here in Wilmington the hurdles and outright barriers that await released prisoners. Most have nothing but a record: no community, support, employment, or even valid ID. No surprise then that most return to the only skills they have, typically the vocation that resulted in their incarceration to begin with!

Yet Percy was one of the lucky few. The sheriff of the small town of Gilead gave her a hand up by introducing her to the ageing and decidedly grumpy owner of the town café, The Spitfire Grill. The customers were wary with tongues a-waggin’ but Percy slowly impressed them with her honed work-ethic, her steely personality, and her Kevlar resistance to their barbs and stares. In the end she quietly transformed the town: The owner of the Spitfire successfully sold the restaurant through a lottery engineered by Percy, a mousy and timid waitress found her voice and purpose and stood up to her demeaning husband, and the townspeople generally discovered a new outlook and the atmosphere throughout Gilead was markedly improved.

What we discover as the film unfolds, however, is that Percy, while the means of grace for a community, was incapable of finding it for herself. Never able to fully heal from the abuses of her step-father and the damage – physical and emotional – he inflicted, Percy’s life was one of quiet desperation that ended sadly. She died tragically and her funeral provided the impetus for the citizens of Gilead to reflect on her life and her impact on them.

This might sound familiar to those of us sitting in a Christian church…

Jesus is the means of grace for us and while he walked among humanity for only a short while, his words and works have been the focus of his survivors for millennia. We seek to discern his impact and how to best follow his message and purpose.

Yet therein lies so much of the problem.

Whenever I hear a politician supposedly speak for “the American people” I cringe. It’s hubris to think that one person can authentically represent over 311,000,000 people. It’s especially offensive when one takes a position that is controversial and clearly not one of unanimity: The American people do not want higher taxes! The American people want out of this war! The American people are tired of … take your pick!

I do believe that “the American people” do find consensus around some things, however. The basic rights, freedoms, and responsibilities of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence for starters – but even those are hotly contested and subject to biased interpretation and application. No one, perhaps we can all agree, has the full truth.

Such was the dilemma in which prophets like Zechariah were immersed.

They were the guardians of the rebuilding of Judaism that took place just before the Hebrew Scriptures close. The exile is over, folks are free to return home, and the peace dividend awaits. Yet their homeland has been basically destroyed. Nothing but rubble and ruin greets the returnees.

Leaders emerge, capital campaigns are conscripted, plans are drawn up, and slowly their lives and city take shape and grow from the void and chaos that welcomed them.

But as we know today, building it is easy – deciding how to use it, what to say, and to whom – that’s the challenge of any faith community. It’s to those challenges that Zechariah and his cohorts rose. As my beloved professor, Dr. Redditt, wrote:

“This diversity makes clear the issue that these groups were facing: who was Israel? Was the real Israel those loyal to the priesthood? To the Davidic family? To the urban elite in Jerusalem? To this or that sectarian group? Perhaps all of these different voices and others were cries that each group belonged to the real Israel. Each group reached to a part of Israel's overall tradition as the basis for its claim that it (and maybe even this or that nation outside Israel) belonged to God's people. Perhaps no one group could speak for all peoples; in pressing their own case, in reading their common history from their own perspective, they inevitably slighted this group, excluded that one. No one of them had the full truth; all saw the truth dimly. Therein lies one of their lessons and warnings today.”

You can substitute “America” for “Israel” or even “Christianity” and the basic premise holds: no group speaks for all peoples. No one of them had the full truth.

Then if what we seek is nebulous and plastic how is it that any of us can speak with conviction about our lives as Christians?

For the answer to that, I suggest we return to the Spitfire and order today’s special: Grace served up in an expected way – for that is perhaps the one bit of truth that we can all claim. We have each known “grace upon grace” – we have each been claimed by God, reconciled by Christ, and enlivened by the Spirit – on that there is clarity and consensus, in that there is the full truth of our both our unity and diversity.

Grace may appear as a compassionate and insightful teacher, or as a suspicious stranger suddenly in your midst, or even when one realizes the great and underserved gift of being a citizen of a country like this one. Recognize it, respond to it, and use it to transform your beliefs, your presuppositions, your posture, and your attitudes for if grace doesn’t change you…really…what will?

As a personal postscript…

I’m a person who marks dates and special events. Today marks the beginning of my 9^th year in this pulpit and so often as I reflect on my life with you in Delaware, I’m reminded of my Kentucky professor’s words paraphrased as this:

You were a congregation in search of a pastor, and I was a pastor in search of a church. The chemistry was and continues to be just right. You may never know – but I hope you have experiences that show you – how gratifying it is to me to have a church respond as you do. Not that my other experiences in ministry have been less positive, but this is special – and I pray that we all know it.

First & Central has been grace in my life, you have changed me, and I am a grateful pastor.

Amen.

Disciplined Exploration

2011-06-19T15:04:00.000-04:00

In 1987, Les Miserable opened on Broadway and began a 25-year romance with American theater-goers. It’s hard not to like it – and it’s even harder not to be moved by the words and music that tell the story of Jean Valjean, a Frenchman imprisoned for stealing bread, who must flee a police officer named Javert. The pursuit consumes both men's lives, and through the course of the story, Valjean finds himself in the midst of the student revolutions in France of 1832.

One of the early pinnacles of the play is when Valjean must make the painful choice of either allowing another man to be blamed for his crime or to turn himself in. As he wrestles with the dilemma, he sings the powerfully haunting song, “Who Am I!” In the end, he declares both his identity as the person, Jean Valjean, and also that of convicted felon number 24601!

The struggle – haunting.
The ethical dilemma – wrenching.
The decision – timeless and enduring.

Professor Martin Marty echoes Valjean’s query nearly 200 years later and observes that in addition to that fundamental quest for identity, there are three other basic questions for the late modern world – building on the first common to both:

Who am I?
To whom do I belong?
By what shall I live?
How can I protect myself?

It’s a curious list and I wonder if it’s THE list.

Who am I? questions of basic identity, heritage, lineage, DNA…
To whom do I belong? What community, family, group, clan, or ethnicity do I claim or claims me?
By what shall I live? Ethics, morals, code, purpose, creed, commitment?
How can I protect myself? My physical self – and psychological and emotional – how much insulation, distance, vulnerability, attachment can I endure? How much ensures that I thrive? Where is the risk/reward balance?

I’m always suspicious of a definitive list – and wonder what other questions are “the” questions for a society of the 21st century that enjoys unprecedented wealth and security? A people who can afford the luxury of such a disciplined exploration into meaning, purpose, and origin.

Yet, we’re not the first to do so and surely not the last.

I believe it’s commonly accepted that at some point in the evolution of human beings, we became aware of our finite time to walk the earth and that we would one day die. Hence, anxiety about purpose, meaning, and concern with things beyond set in and we became a species identified by existential angst which gave birth to formal and practiced religions.

Owen Gingerich, professor of the history of science and astronomy at Harvard University observes,

One consequence of this self-consciousness is that we ponder our place in the universe, and we seek to find meaning and to find God. The search for God is subtle, but perhaps it is this long journey, this search, more than anything else, that makes us human. We are the thinking part of this vast and sometimes very intimidating universe, and our quest could well be the purpose of it all.

That quest no more succinctly and poetically depicted than in the language of the text for today.

Psalm 8 is not a scientific response. It is a hymn -- an evening hymn -- a vesper song. It is an expression of faith -- an act of worship -- a moment of praise. It takes place in the temple, not the laboratory. It springs from the soul rather than the mind. It is wonderment, not wondering. It is awe, not assessment. It is exaltation not experimentation. It is affirmation not analysis. It is celebration, not curiosity.

Psalm 8 is anthropology in the context of doxology.

For a moment, let’s be Bible geeks and examine more closely the psalm which is conveniently printed in your bulletin.

O LORD, our Sovereign, how majestic is your name in all the earth!

You have set your glory above the heavens.
Out of the mouths of babes and infants you have founded a bulwark because of your foes, to silence the enemy and the avenger.

When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars that you have established; what are human beings that you are mindful of them, mortals that you care for them?

Yet you have made them a little lower than God, and crowned them with glory and honor.
You have given them dominion over the works of your hands; you have put all things under their feet, all sheep and oxen, and also the beasts of the field, the birds of the air, and the fish of the sea, whatever passes along the paths of the seas.

O LORD, our Sovereign, how majestic is your name in all the earth!

You’ll remember that children studied this text last year during FLY, Faith, Learning, and You, and they composed the refrain that we all sang a few minutes ago. That refrain also frames the text as it appears in the Hebrew Bible. So, we find the same sentence opening and closing the hymn.

The first portion that we read begins with the phrase, “You have set your glory above the heavens...” and to that we respond with words of praise.

We move to the next section which reads, “When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and stars that you have established; what are human beings that you are mindful of them, mortals that you care for them?”

Therein lies our existential angst, the basic questions of our existence, the lament of “who am I?”

“What are human beings that you are mindful of them?”

Truly, one could argue, that all religion – not just ours – strives to answer that very question. Anthropology in the midst of doxology.

From this pinnacle of query the psalmist seeks an answer in the next two sections:

“You have made them a little lower than God and crowned them with glory and honor. You have given them dominion over the works of your hands…”

God gives humanity placement, purpose, and meaning. To that declaration, we conclude the hymn with the singing of the refrain, “O Lord, our Sovereign, how majestic is your name in all the earth!”

There’s a subtlety to the structure that points to meaning:

The psalm begins and ends with “O Lord our Sovereign,” and the next layer in from the beginning and the end begins with the word, “you” – “you have set your glory,” and “you have made them a little lower than God.”

The centerpiece of the poem is the question, “what are human beings?” and the answer is found in the placement. We are surrounded by God who created not only the cosmos, Creator of the macro world, but also the One who filled our earth with all creatures great and small – Creator of the micro sphere as well. In the middle of that – humanity is positioned with place and purpose.

All of that is bracketed in a life of gratitude and praise.

To that end, I’d suggest one more question to Dr. Marty’s four:

• Who am I?
• To whom do I belong?
• By what shall I live?
• How can I protect myself?

The fifth: for what am I grateful?

The psalm is a poetic expression of anthropology in the midst of doxology. I wonder if our existential angst couldn’t be resolved by striving for lives recognizing our full humanity in relationship with God our Creator, but to do so bracketed by a posture of deep gratitude and praise?

Clearly, it’s a disciplined exploration worth taking.

Amen.

nFOG + 10-A = Pentecost

2011-06-12T09:33:00.000-04:00

A month or so ago, we heard a moving and uplifting sermon by Jenny in which the passage of Amendment 10-A was announced and celebrated. For the uninitiated, “10-A” is the long awaited antidote of the dreaded and loathed “Amendment B!” All of this coded language translates to this: in 1997 our beloved denomination decided to add a clause to our constitution that effectively barred the ordination as Deacon, Elder, or Minister any openly gay Christians who are otherwise fit for service. 10-A, which becomes the “law of the land” on July 10th basically says that the church should consider a person’s entire life and witness and not just who they fall in love with.

The effort for full-inclusion in the church predates Amendment B and the passive of 10-A is the latest and most promising step in a debate that has wearied the denomination for over three decades. It’s no surprise that it garnered media attention and public interest throughout the past six months. As the 173 presbyteries were voting many in the denomination were glued to their spreadsheets as the results trickled in.

Yet, just a few days ago, another vote was announced and this one prompted no national news, no raucous celebrations, and no avalanche of tweets or Facebook postings. Last Tuesday, Trinity Presbytery in South Carolina voted 56-48 to approve the new Form of Government, casting the 87th vote in favor of the proposal. That means a majority have now voted in favor of substituting that smaller, more condensed, mission-focused document in place of the current and bloated Form of Government.

Again, you have to be a bit of a polity wonk for this to even register in your psyche; but really, it is a big deal. In one year, the complexion of the church is drastically and radically different.

This is a denomination that moves at a glacial speed and seems to abhor change. “How many Presbyterians does it take to change a light bulb?” “Change?!?” One would never use words like “nimble” or “agile” to describe our beloved church. We’re “stoic” and “formidable” and “predicable”! Change? In the PCUSA? Dear God…how could this happen?

Lovely that it happened the week of Pentecost!

As I mentioned in my email this week,

Yet the current heat-wave reminds us that this Sunday is Pentecost, the traditional day that people claim as the birth of the church. It was in a closed room that the Spirit blew through with tongues of flames, energizing and unifying the followers of Christ who had huddled for security. Although people of different languages and cultures, they were able to speak and understand, empowered and emboldened, from a mad rush of a violent wind.

Frankly, it doesn't sound very Presbyterian. We do and see very little mad dashing -- yet we still claim that the Spirit somehow moves among us, and we nevertheless claim a response.

The lethargic pace of 173 presbyteries voting will never be confused with “mad dashing” but the impact on the church is palpable and leaves few with ambiguous feelings about its future— feelings that range from ashes and sackcloth, to hosannas and alleluias! It is the perfect way to celebrate Pentecost.

Seven weeks and a day after Passover, the re-constituted 12, gathered in one place, and from out of nowhere, a violent rush of wind filled the house and divided tongues of fire rested on their heads and they could speak in ways that everyone understood. The division and segregation of the Tower of Babel had been reversed, and the disciples, now ordained with God’s Holy Spirit were sent to the ends of the earth to serve in word and deed.

The Holy Spirit, true to its nature, doesn’t easily conform to any one definition but it does appear that whenever the Spirit does make a cameo, one of two things, or sometimes both, occur: Mission and inclusion.

It is nearly always the sign and instrument, the catalyst of mission. It equips with speech and clarity. It empowers through signs and wonders, through healing and with economic sharing. It instills courage to face opposition, threats, even martyrdom. The church would never have left its residence in Jerusalem had the Spirit of restlessness not blown the twelve out of complacency and into the world

Remember too, that it’s the Spirit that offered guidance and discernment when the apostles expanded their horizon and included the gentile world. The Spirit offered counsel in crucial moments of leadership transition, and the spirit bound the community in shared vision and purpose despite internal grumblings.

We have seen the Spirit at work these days in the PCUSA. The Spirit of inclusion finally embraced through the passage of 10-A; and the mandate for mission that undergirds the revision of the constitution away from form and toward the function of service and mission.

Yet we Presbyterians aren’t all that Spirit-friendly! It’s a little disorganized, a little haphazard, way too unpredictable, and not very tidy.

We err, surely, on the side of structure – and no one, frankly, celebrates that more than I. I embody much of the angst over the new Form of Government, or “nFOG,” as it’s referred. I love the Book of Order. I’ve studied it, applied it, and voted to have it tweaked and modified. There’s little that I do that anyone would consider “sweeping change,” yet I voted for nFOG and am surprised and delighted that it passed.

I firmly believe that the passage of these two monumental pieces of ecclesiastical legislation are the work of the Spirit and signify that God is doing a new thing among us. I also think this is just the tip of the tongue of flame. No one really has any clue what nFOG is going to do to the church. The rule book has been tossed and we’ve been told, “go and do mission – the best way you know how in the time, place, and context you find yourselves.”

Friends, it’s that first Christian Pentecost all over again.

We don’t just celebrate Pentecost this year – we live Pentecost this year. nFOG is based upon the conviction that the “job” of the church is mission and that the place mission happens is in the local congregation. As one Blogger said,

This revision is not so much about the “what” that councils [Session and Presbyteries] do – our essential polity – as it is about the “who” and the “how.” Increased flexibility in structures and procedures in a less regulatory environment is the major change that has occurred. The new Form of Government allows councils to increase their focus on God’s work and how the church can most effectively participate in that work in each situation, rather than being focused on an increasingly lengthy and burdensome list of requirements.

It’s a lot of freedom and very little to contain it; the Spirit is asking – provoking really – us to reform the life and purpose of the church. It’s also continuing to lift our eyes outside of our marble safe-house and demanding that we further engage our context, the city, in ways that exploit and exhaust our gifts, talents, and resources.

It’s a tall order – and clearly – I could be reading all of this wrong, but I think and pray not.

In the midst of swirling change, in the wake of mad dashing, and in the uncertainty of life void of rigidity – we pray simply this:

Author of the new creation,
Come, anoint us with Your power.
Make our hearts Your habitation;
With Your grace our spirits shower.
Hear, O hear our supplication;
Blessèd Spirit, God of peace!
Rest upon this congregation,
With the fullness of Your grace.

Domine, Probasti

2011-06-05T09:32:00.003-04:00

Chase, Capital One, Sony PlayStation, Apple iPad, and Google – all have something dismal in common – in the last few weeks all have had to take the World Wide Web’s “walk of shame” and admit that their security had been breached and hundreds of thousands of email addresses and personal information about their clients and customers had been stolen. A little closer to home, last August, 22,000 Delaware retirees had their social security numbers, dates of birth, and gender posted by accident on a public website.

You don’t have to be a “super sleuth” to imagine the damage one could do with that kind of information. All of a sudden, people are exposed, their personal and financial data laid out bare for all to see and worse, exploit and profit.

In 1981 my home in Santa Barbara was burglarized and I came home one evening to windows pried open, doors kicked, and personal belonging strewn throughout. I won’t ever forget the feeling of the sanctity of my home being violated. I was vulnerable and for a few very nervous moments unsure if the robber wasn’t still inside. I called the police, they came over and “dusted for prints” which simply exacerbated the mess, and then asked me to list what was missing. It wasn’t until a day or so later that I had a complete list as I’d go through my daily routine and notice yet another thing missing. It was a creepy, unsettling, and nerve-wracking time and took months before I truly felt safe and didn’t get anxious driving up my street at night.

Those same feelings emerge when one is a victim of a modern-day burglary of one’s identity. Theft of any sort is a violation of our person; and theft of our identity confuses and compromises that which many of us hold as sacred – the person we are only to ourselves.

It’s a fundamental human right – privacy of self. We’d like to believe that people only know about us that which we choose to disclose. Anything other is an invasion.

Voluntary disclosure is something most of us assume and given tighter and more restrictive laws such as HIPPA guarding our privacy, one would think our personal security is increasing, yet headlines even this week, that a tech company as venerable as Sony has proven vulnerable, leaves one with unease.

Words from the psalmist such as “O Lord, you have searched me and known me. You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from far away,” may be intended to provide comfort but in a day when privacy is paramount descriptions of a divine GPS could provoke the opposite reaction.

Yet, at the same time, I think these words speak to a deep and profound desire for another to truly know and understand us. We protect our privacy and identity—yet want so much to be fully known!

Therein lies the tension of the psalm and the paradox of human relationship.

Way back when, in the dark ages of the early 1970s, I came across a poem that was written just a few years prior. It’s entitled, “Please Hear What I’m Not Saying,” and it was written by Charlie Finn in 1966 when he was just beginning his career as a high school English teacher. Long before the days of the Internet or even inexpensive copy machines, Charlie typed the poem on a manual typewriter and distributed a handful of copies to students and family. The original copies had no reference to authorship so it was distributed anonymously – no one’s identity attached.

I ended up with a copy while in boarding school and it captured so vividly and succinctly the feelings of a lonely teenager that I’ve kept it with me ever since.

It begins with these stanzas:

Don't be fooled by the face I wear
for I wear a mask, a thousand masks,
masks that I'm afraid to take off,
and none of them is me.

Pretending is an art that's second nature with me,
but don't be fooled,
for God's sake don't be fooled.
I give you the impression that I'm secure,
that all is sunny and unruffled with me, within as well
as without,
that confidence is my name and coolness my game,
that the water's calm and I'm in command
and that I need no one,
but don't believe me.
My surface may seem smooth but my surface is my mask,
ever-varying and ever-concealing.
Beneath lies no complacence.
Beneath lies confusion, and fear, and aloneness.
But I hide this. I don't want anybody to know it.
I panic at the thought of my weakness exposed.
That's why I frantically create a mask to hide behind,
a nonchalant sophisticated facade,
to help me pretend,
to shield me from the glance that knows.

To that lament the psalmist replies:

Even before a word is on my tongue, O Lord, you know it completely. You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is so high that I cannot attain it…

Both writers seeking that same thing: knowledge, to be fully known by another being.

Yet we protect ourselves with masks, masks in the form of user profiles and passwords, in the form of smiles and composure, in the form of professional standing and aloofness, in the form of perfection and status.

Vulnerable.

It’s that which we fear and simultaneously crave.

For some, we lead compartmentalized lives – some know us in one forum, others in another way – and most of us have a sense that if we were fully known, we wouldn’t be loved.

Therein is the power and grace of the 139th for it claims that we are indeed fully known and fully loved. God knew us from before time, before we were born and will know us beyond death. God completely knows our innermost being and God knows us from the widest of perspective, and God loves, claims, and unmasks. “Your eyes beheld my unformed substance.”

The psalmist concludes by requesting that God invade his or her private life: “Search me, O God, and know my heart…” No longer ambiguous or in paradox of God’s involvement but rather invites God to intrude. The one who knows us intimately and knitted us together before we were born, is the one who says, “I am with you always – even to end of the age.”

Charlie Finn says it this way:

With your power to touch me into feeling
you can breathe life into me.
I want you to know that.
I want you to know how important you are to me,
how you can be a creator--an honest-to-God creator--
of the person that is me
if you choose to.
You alone can break down the wall behind which I tremble,
you alone can remove my mask,
you alone can release me from my shadow-world of panic,
from my lonely prison,
if you choose to.
Please choose to.

Do not pass me by.
It will not be easy for you.
A long conviction of worthlessness builds strong walls.
The nearer you approach to me
the blinder I may strike back.
It's irrational, but despite what the books say about man
often I am irrational.
I fight against the very thing I cry out for.
But I am told that love is stronger than strong walls
and in this lies my hope.
Please try to beat down those walls
with firm hands but with gentle hands
for a child is very sensitive.

Who am I, you may wonder?
I am someone you know very well.
For I am every man you meet
and I am every woman you meet.

Amen.

An Exercise in Leisure

2011-05-29T09:16:00.006-04:00

In August of 2003, I preached a sermon one Sunday wherein I began by recounting the familiar family ritual of delivering one’s firstborn to college, ensconcing them in a freshmen dormitory, and then driving off knowing that the foundational dynamics of the family had been inextricably altered. That’s a nice way of saying that I was attempting to drive while unsuccessfully fighting back tears stemming from a cacophonous mix of pride and loss.

Yesterday, I sat with my family in the bleachers of Tubby Raymond stadium while we attended the commencement ceremonies for our youngest child, and again, so full of pride and joy. It marked the culmination of undergraduate studies for our children and again, we have walked passed a significant milestone.

Although I hesitate to say this in the presence of anyone who has just completed schooling of any level, in retrospect, college is an exercise in leisure.

Yes, it’s demanding and hard work, and it expands one’s worldview (if done right); but for most, it’s unadulterated time to study and read and explore and question unfettered by the need to fully support one’s self or a family. Even though the intellectual labors are intense, the venture remains an exercise in leisure.

The Athenians understood such pursuits, for according to Paul, the people living in Athens “would spend their time in nothing but telling or hearing something new!” They loved learning, possessed an insatiable desire for new thoughts and ideas, they hungered for more, and they left no stone unturned in their quest for knowledge.

As Paul wandered the streets of their city, the plethora of idols and objects of worship intrigued, and although the Bible doesn’t say this, possibly annoyed and vexed him. Yet Paul was generous in his evaluation and concluded that the expanse of religiosity was indicative of restlessness, of a quest for life’s meaning and purpose, of the satisfaction of an existential itch.

They went so far, he noted, to include an altar to “an unknown god” presumably to cover their deist bases. Apparently, the Athenians erected a monument to a god without an identity – perhaps in fear of incurring the wrath of an ignored deity.

Shortly after World War I, Americans erected a monument to an unknown soldier near the center of Arlington National Cemetery. The inscription on the tomb reads, "Here Rests In Honored Glory An American Soldier Known But To God”. The remains of soldiers whose identities are unknown from World Wars I and II, and the Korean Conflict are buried under that monument, but, with the advent of DNA identification, the remains of the soldier killed during the Viet Nam era were disinterred and identified in 1998.

The Tomb of the Unknown in Arlington was created out of respect, love, and honor. The altar to the unknown god in Athens was erected perhaps out of fear of neglect. Both monuments however commemorate homage to one, while their name may be unknown, their importance has not been diminished. Both markers proclaim that reverence is not dependent upon identity.

Paul affirmed their reverent quest and longing – groping as he called it – to fill a spiritual need – a need that Blaise Pascal called an “infinite abyss within the soul reserved for God alone.”

This is where language just gets us into trouble.

God, as far as I can tell, has a lot of baggage.

Our image of God, our names for God, how we experience (or not!) God varies greatly. For some, the term “Heavenly Father” is what they’ve been taught, is how Jesus frequently referred to God, and the title gives God a concrete and accessible identity. Others find that term limited and bound by gender and instead might assign specific attributes, “God of love,” or “God of life,” to lift the characteristic that captures the Divine for them in that moment. And still others will avoid all deist language and refer to the “Universe” or our “Source of Life” or the “Ground of Being.”

My guess is that to you, some of those felt familiar and even accurate, while others simply struck you as dated, wrong, or obtuse.

Paul describes God, as contrasted to the job-specific idols of the Greeks, as “the One in whom we live and move and have our being.”

Paul notes that God is the source of life, God is the universe in which we live, and God is within us.

Marcus Borg, a theologian I personally admire and read, calls this “panentheism,” and he compares and contrasts it with the other primary way of seeing God and God’s relationship with the world, “supernatural theism!”

Bear with me a moment or two and let’s pause for an exercise in leisure and dabble in a little theology:

These two concepts of God, panentheism and supernatural theism, run side by side through the history of Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. Both are biblical and both are ancient.

Supernatural theism imagines God as a personlike being (“Heavenly Father”) – but to be sure, God is an exceedingly superlative being, indeed, the Supreme Being. A long, long time ago, this personlike being created the world as something separate from God. Thus God and the world are sharply distinguished: God is “up in heaven,” “out there,” beyond the universe.

On occasion, God intervenes from “out there”, most notably in Jesus. God, according to this view, continues to intervene, especially in response to prayer.

Panentheism, the second way of thinking about God, imagines God and the God-world relationship differently. Rather than imagining God as a personlike being “out there,” this concept imagines God as the encompassing Spirit in whom everything that is, is. The universe is not separate from God, but in God.

Thinking of God as the encompassing Spirit leads to a different way of thinking about the God-world relationship. The notion of “intervention” disappears as panentheism speaks rather about divine intention and divine interaction. God is in, with, and under everything—not as the direct cause of events, but as a presence beneath and within our everyday lives.

I share this meandering bit of theology with you not to convince or cajole your own concepts of God, but to stir up a bit of the quest for learning and exploring and groping that Paul found in Athens. God is not static and neither should our concepts or ways of thinking about God.

Yet, like Paul, what I submit as the end result of such an exercise in leisure, is not well-crafted theory or all-encompassing names – but a deepened and even more vibrant relationship with God – however it is that you understand the Divine.

I’d further submit, with thanks to Dr. Borg, three dimensions to that relationship:

The first is that it is indeed personal, that the relationship we have with God engages us as persons at our deepest and most passionate level.

Secondly, I resist language such as “energy” or “source” and rather gravitate to God as a “presence.” I think this is the basis of the covenantal language which permeates the Bible. In overly personified terms, the closest thing we have as a covenant relationship is one between two people based in love, passion, commitment, and mutual dependence – what a marriage is meant to be. What we seek in such a relationship is not another’s energy or source – but to be in their presence – fully and without limit.

Thirdly, to quote my UCC friends, “God is still speaking!” Now, I don’t mean orally or by “divine dictation,” but through dreams, internal prodding or leading, through other people and through the scriptures.

Frederick Buechner puts it this way:

Listen to your life. Listen to what happens to you because it is through what happens to you that God speaks… It’s in language that’s not always easy to decipher, but it’s there powerfully, memorably, unforgettably.

Our relationship with God can be many things – but it cannot be purely an exercise in leisure.

The many speakers at yesterday’s UD graduation all had a similar theme: the class of 2011 is endowed with great gifts, talent, and privilege. It is not theirs to squander or dole – but theirs to share freely, eagerly, and passionately.

I submit that our relationship with God falls into the exact same arena – it is not ours to squander but it is to be shared freely, eagerly, and with great passion.

An exercise in leisure is something only a very small percentage of the world’s population is given to undertake—the vast majority of humanity is too busy trying to keep themselves or their children alive to afford the time, energy, and education for such privileged pursuits. Those of us who indulge in such dabbling must not do so for the simple enjoyment of “hearing or learning something new” – but as a means of building, invigorating, and making manifest our relationship with God – a relationship made known to this dabbler in gratitude, compassion, and the relentless pursuit of justice for all of God’s children – especially for those who know not leisure.

Amen.

Mission Trip Survey!

2011-05-25T14:00:00.001-04:00

A week or so ago the folks from F&C who have been on Mission Trips in the past few years met to plan and assess their efforts and experiences. As part of that conversation, and as looking ahead to future trips, your input and feedback is requested and hoped for!

Thank you very much!

Loading...

Why Are You Still Here?

2011-05-23T09:13:00.006-04:00

Why are you still here?

OK…first off, I just have to say, I’m a little disappointed to see you here.

The fact that you weren’t included in the rapture tells me that I’m just not getting through to you OR, like Avis, we just have to try harder.

Last Friday, both the local paper and the venerable New York Times had rapture stories on their front pages. The articles were similar and were, in fact, connected as the Times referenced a family in Newark, DE:

Gary Daniels, 27, said he planned to spend Saturday like other believers, “glued to our TV sets, waiting for the Resurrection and earthquake from nation to nation.” But he acknowledged that his family was not entirely behind him.

“At first there was a bit of anger and tension, not really listening to one another and just shouting out ideas,” Mr. Daniels said.

But his family has come around to respect — if not endorse — his views, and he drove from his home in Newark, Del., on Monday night in a van covered in Judgment Day messages to say goodbye to relatives in Brooklyn. “I know I’m not going to see them again, but they are very certain they are going to see me, and that’s where I feel so sad,” he said. “I weep to know that they don’t have any idea that this overwhelming thing is coming right at them, pummeling toward them like a meteor.”

Either the meteor missed or Brother Camping of Family Radio yet again miscalculated the apocalypse; but for whatever reason, we’re still here – and, given that I wrote a sermon and printed a bulletin in advance of Saturday, I guess I didn’t really expect the beginning of the end. As a beloved seminary professor said in advance of the 1994 prediction, “In case of rapture, this school shall remain fully staffed!”

As funny as it is to poke fun, like a lot of Christians who endured FB postings of “Post Rapture Looting Parties” and backyard pools open for last-ditch baptisms, I cringe yet again at the mockery made of something I take so seriously.

After two weeks ago during which our denomination made headlines that I found positive and laudatory, that joy was short-lived when doom took over “above the fold” real estate.

Now, again, Christians are the laughing stock of the popular press, social networks, and talk shows. I hate it and it’s hard to avoid.

Last Wednesday afternoon I was on a bus coming north on I-95 and near the Delaware line and saw an electronic billboard with the message: “Judgment Day, May 21, 2011. The Bible Guarantees It!” Given technological advances, this particular sign also had a bright yellow box with the countdown of days – 5 – as of Wednesday.

What made that particular image memorable was that I was coming home with a group of Interfaith Clergy after spending a day at the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, DC. We were specifically exploring the relationship between the larger Church and its role (or roles) in the atrocities of Nazi Germany.

There is nothing humorous about complicity.

From Pope Pious XII, to the writings of Martin Luther, the Archbishop of Canterbury, the German Christians, and a tragic number of people who stood by, ignored, or averted their attention while millions died at the hands of the Regime – the Church of Jesus Christ aided and abetted in genocide.

Of that we can be sure with deadly accuracy.

The only glimmer of resistance that Presbyterians, and others of the Reformed ilk, can look to is a thin document tucked among our Confessions: The Theological Declaration of Barmen.

It was crafted in response to the rise of the German Christian Church and Adolf Hitler’s National Socialist agenda. At the end of May 1934, representatives of the Lutheran, Reformed, and United Churches met in Barmen to speak in one voice their fidelity to Christ as the only Head of the Church and to denounce the false doctrine promulgated by the Regime.

That group of people, clergy and lay alike, attempted to help other Christians withstand the challenges of the Nazi party and of the so-called “German Christians,” a popular movement that saw no conflict between Christianity and Hitler’s ideals. Most Germans took the unholy trinity of Christianity, nationalism, and militarism for granted and patriotic sentiments were equated with Christian truth.

Nonetheless, a few in the church resisted and they became known as the Confessing Church movement. Among those few determined church leaders were pastors Martin Niemoller and Dietrich Bonhoeffer, along with theologian Karl Barth. They and 130 or so other pastors, church members and university professors gathered and composed a statement that asserts six passages of scripture and their implication for faithful leadership, followed by a systematic rejection of the “false doctrine” of the Reich Church.

The first of those passages is from John 14 that we just heard wherein Jesus begins his “farewell discourse” with: “I am the way, and the truth, and the life.” The Barmen proclaims this:

Jesus Christ, as he is attested for us in Holy Scripture, is the one Word of God which we have to hear and which we have to trust and obey in life and in death.

We reject the false doctrine, as though the Church could and would have to acknowledge as a source of its proclamation, apart from and besides this one Word of God, still other events and powers, figures and truths, as God’s revelation.

The dire circumstances faced by devout Christians -- to say nothing of the plight of the Jews -- bear no resemblance to the comfort and freedom we enjoy today. Under Hitler, one held one's opinions under threat of treason. The great theologian, Karl Barth, found himself escorted to the border and expelled. The fearless pastor, Martin Niemoller, languished in a concentration camp for eight long years as Hitler's own personal prisoner. And Dietrich Bonhoeffer suffered a martyr's death by being hung at Flossenburg just days before the war ended.

And yet, with more than 65 years of perspective, and endless murmuring of “never again” – it continues. Rawanda, Darfur, Kosovo, the Ivory Coast – death on a massive scale and we watch or avert or deny or ignore.

Stupid projections of the end of the world capture our “above the fold” attention – while mass executions and people who tragically will die before the day is over are ignored. Put in sharper focus, according to UNICEF, 22,000 children, today, will die.

That is equivalent to:

1 child dying every 4 seconds
15 children dying every minute

The silent killers are poverty, hunger, easily preventable diseases and illnesses, and other related causes. Despite the scale of this daily/ongoing catastrophe, it rarely manages to achieve, much less sustain, prime-time, headline coverage like some wing nut on the radio repeatedly making false predictions about the end of the world.

Rather than submitting to the lunacy of one man attempting to hijack and corrupt the message of our sacred text, let us declare as “false doctrine” that which we, as followers of Christ, know to be foolishly and even dangerously manipulated; and instead let us proclaim that scripture we know to be true and to do so in ways that require costly discipleship, that elicit not snickers nor mockery, but acts of genuine faith and risk.

Costly discipleship for us is probably not a once and for all payment like one paid by Bonhoeffer – but is undoubtedly a few pennies remitted over and over throughout one’s lifetime.

What are the biblical texts upon which you stake your life? What are the passages of scripture that define your faith and witness? How do we submit to Christ alone and not to pressures of government, culture, and society?

These are questions worth pondering, researching, and declaring on billboards or FB pages or best yet – in the quiet simple ways we lead our lives.

Yes, we appear to have survived May 21, 2011 – but I’m not sure we’ve completely figured out why are you still here?

Two Weeks

2011-05-01T14:36:00.005-04:00

The Sunday after Easter, a Lord’s Day so anticlimactic for some that it’s known as “Low Sunday.” Can’t imagine denigrating an opportunity to gather, to worship, to pray, and to be a community of faith by labeling it “low.” The highpoint of my every week is when I simply stand in the center aisle and say, “good morning!” The chorus of voices alone that echo a greeting in return keeps any time we’re together from lowly status.

No, the Sunday after Easter is anything but “low” yet it does mark a certain shift in the rhythm of our lives especially given that Easter is so late this year, not Jesus’ fault, just the way the lunar calendar falls. It’s now May, Spring Break is over, and we’re in the sprint for the close of the academic year with summer just around the bend. Plans for vacations, college trips, reunions, gardens, and simply setting aside some “down time” – it is, in that respect, the ushering in of a “low season!”

While this may be pushing the calendar – booksellers and editors have already begun releasing their recommendations for “Summer Reads” which has become a literary genre unto itself!

Summer reading lists, other than those assigned by evil English teachers, frequently connote a time of guilty pleasures. It’s permission to dump the professional journals, textbooks, and the backlog of papers and articles; and it’s time to dive into “People” magazine, romance novels, and a few really good mysteries.

Grisham, Baldacci, Patterson, or Grafton few things constitute a bona fide page-turner like a really good murder mystery – add a little political intrigue – and I’m captivated for hours. (You know, if dawns in me, that with e-readers, Kindles, and Nooks a term like “page-turner” is destined for a similar demise like “dial a phone” or “play a record!” – anachronisms in the making before our very eyes!)

I’m sure that all kinds of smart folks have figured out the lure of mysteries – cop shows, CSI, Miss Marple, Perry Mason, Quincy – they’re just fun, and even more than that, they’re downright addictive.

A good mystery dribbles in clues that first challenge us to figure out if they’re germane or clutter. As we sift the chaff from the wheat we’re then in a dead heat to sort them out before the author solves it all for us in the epilogue or we sneak a peek at the last few pages….

Human beings like things to line up. The human mind searches for order, likes to make sense of things, and organize data into logical patterns and sequences. We see it from the earliest ages – shape sorters, lining up Cheerios, blocks in planned configurations – there’s a sense of satisfaction in structured design.

It’s that same quest for order that pushes scientists toward discoveries and it’s the core of legal arguments and even forensic debate. It’s that same quest to follow evidence, convoluted is best, until we reach some level of clear “aha inducing” resolution that makes a well-crafted mystery a delicious read.

Faith is a delicious mystery.

Faith is a delicious mystery of the heart that the mind craves to solve.

How often do we find that our hearts and minds don’t lead us to the same conclusion? “I know I should be doing one thing, but my heart is telling me something different.” Our mind seeks order and our heart seeks satisfaction. Faith resides in that gap of mystery.

Thomas is the poster boy of the quest to close that gap.

All faith is a leap.

By definition, if we had unimpeachable proof, we wouldn’t need faith although as we know, even with a preponderance of fact, we still avoid the conclusion – times when our hearts overrule our minds, or times when we simply refuse to assent to the obvious. (At this point the sermon could veer off any number of scientific and political hot-topics…but shan’t!)

Yet in genuine faith there is no epilogue where all the dots are connected and the mystery is resolved and neatly tied up. There’s always a gap: for to say or admit that we take certain things on faith means that we’re willing, to varying degrees, for some things not the make perfect sense. I often say that the best decision I ever made was asking Walle to marry me – and the “gap” in my life is wondering why she said “yes!” Some things don’t make perfect sense.

Still, it’s preferable to have our faith shored-up so that the aforementioned “leap” is as short a distance as possible! We might be willing to take the leap – but let’s keep it reasonable – we’re Presbyterians for goodness sake!

Thomas is, frankly, just looking to minimize his leap to the same degree as his cohorts. Thomas is asking for no more proof or evidence than the other followers got a week earlier. The diptych of encounters, although a week apart, are nearly identical. Both with fearful followers behind locked doors, but neither fear nor homeland security prevent the presence of Christ. Jesus greets with “peace,” shows marks of crucifixion, and invites that leap of faith – now reduced to a mere step.

Thomas didn’t believe the disciples from a week earlier – apparently they’re having their own crisis of faith given the locked and huddled condition of the group. Let’s also remember that this isn’t Thomas’ cameo appearance: he was “Courageous Thomas” in chapter 11 when he encouraged Jesus’ followers to ride into Bethany and confront the Pharisees; and he was “Confused Thomas” in chapter 14 when he responded to Jesus that they didn’t know the way to the place he was going. Now, he’s labeled “Doubting” simply because he demands the same evidence that the other’s received. Yet in a week such as this it’s tempting to draw comparisons between Doubting Thomas and another with the initials “DT” – perhaps Thomas is the original “birther” or “re-birther” as the case might be.

Really – of the “leaps of faith” that we’re asked to make – Easter takes the cake! It was our friend from just up the road, Ben Franklin, who said "but in the world nothing can be said to be certain except death and taxes."

I hope that by now you’ve addressed the latter and given your vertical status, the former has yet to come to pass.

Yet even though nearly 40% of Americans pay no federal income tax, no citizen, as yet, has avoided death. It’s where that “leap of faith” becomes the last step of our journey through life and beyond.

Late this week, I was called to a home of an older gentleman who is struggling with the decision to end treatment that is prolonging his life. He’s been told that he’ll survive only two weeks without should he make the decision to forgo. That’s not a lot of time to reconcile the mystery of faith.

As I drove an hour or so to visit with him, I was thinking how, for him and countless others in a similar situation either for themselves or loved ones, stories like this one about Thomas, become instantly real.

Thomas was, once we strip away all of the labels and conjecture, trying to establish one simple plank of continuity: that Jesus of Nazareth, the one with whom they walked, was the same as Jesus the Christ, the Risen One, who now stood among them amidst fear, uncertainty, and a future cloaked in mystery.

The man I spoke and prayed with last Thursday sought the same blessed assurance: that the Jesus he was taught about, that he worshipped and followed, is that same One who will stand with him in his time of fear, uncertainty, and a future cloaked in mystery; that he’ll say with Thomas, “Yes…my Lord and my God,” after he says a quiet and simple “no” to his doctors.

The end of life, ours and others’, forces decisions—impossible most of them. Life provides abundant practice in making imperfect decisions wherein our minds struggle to make sense, to provide order, and sequence, to solve mystery; but we eventually figure out not the ending but that there is no neatly assembled epilogue, only One who stands with us, offering moments of peace and the promise of the Spirit to comfort and convict.

It’s a mystery, surely, that the One who has hardwired our brains to seek understanding also holds the key to our hearts.

Jesus stands among us – here and now – offering himself for our inspection – yet from the empty tomb to the locked room – the mystery of faith remains unresolved, as it should be. So, the open questions remains, are you, like Thomas, from a posture of doubt and hope, on a Sunday lowly or high, prepared to leap to the same response to the most delicious of stories. Are we prepared to admit that some things just simply don’t make sense and speak the same epilogue? Could we with proof suspended simply utter those same words?

“Yes…Jesus…you are my Lord and my God.”

Be grateful, I suppose, that you’ll likely have more than two weeks to decide.

Peace be with you.

An Unlikely Audience

2011-04-24T12:58:00.006-04:00

According to my friend, Mrs. Forster, there are basically only two kinds of people in the world.

Now, you have to understand, she was an unusual woman. She lived her entire life aboard cruise ships or in hotels, never owned a residence, never worked, was married once for a short time but enjoyed the attention of many beaus dabbling in numerous shipboard romances, she managed her own investments—a self-proclaimed “gold bug,” and was never outside the company of a small dog.

Consequently, for Mrs. Forster, there were two kinds of people in the world: dog people and all others.

She summed up a person by their attitude toward pets – dogs in particular but cat people typically made the cut—and it wasn’t one’s personal selection of a pet that mattered but rather their response to hers. Since she was rarely without her dog, the one that I knew was named “Loki,” she would carefully evaluate one’s reception to the pooch far more than the greeting she personally received.

On a scale of 1 to 10, 10 would be a person who nearly completely ignored her but dropped to one knee to greet and engage Loki – a quick scratch between the ears, maybe an admiring hand on the well-groomed coat, and then allowing the dog a flick of the tongue on a human face. Mrs. Forster would simply beam and know that she, and Loki, were in good company.

The other end of the spectrum would find the poor slob who attempted to ignore the dog, even going so far as to brush the canine away with one’s foot. For them, Mrs. Forster had little time but plenty of disdain.

Really – who doesn’t love a well-mannered, impeccably groomed, good-natured mutt? You don’t have to take one home – just appreciate and enjoy its company.

Yet, conversely, most have had experience with snarling, growling, frightening dogs that get our hearts racing and all defenses on “high alert.”

Some of us may consider ourselves to be “dog people” – but there are some hidden qualifiers: we’re fond of well-trained and completely tamed dogs – nothing wild, unpredictable or dangerous. We like our wild-life wholly under control!

Without making light of dyslexia, I’d say that we like our God the same way we like our dog: fully domesticated, carefully corralled, operating within clearly defined boundaries; nothing wild or on the loose.

Yet Peter was figuring out that God wasn’t ready for “Best in Show.” God was clearly off the leash by the time Peter uttered his show-stopping soliloquy about God’s distinct lack of partiality.

I suppose we might hear those words from Peter as though they’re good news to be shared, but I wonder and I think it might depend on which side of the kennel we’re on.

If we’re on the inside and God is partial to us, like a loyal-to-the-death Labrador, partiality is a good thing and knowing that we’re on the A-list gives us a blue ribbon. Seems as though when we have something special, that we’ve worked for, that is an accomplishment, a rare achievement that has great value to us; that if it subsequently becomes common and ordinary, we feel diminished.

Peter had worked hard for his partiality. A good Jew, who followed Kosher requirements, and who was scrupulous in his adherence to Torah. Peter limited his friends, his social engagements, even his travels to stay within bounds – never so much as testing a boundary. He earned his partial attitude from God.

Hear him declare then God’s impartiality as a loss, and something striven for and then devalued, a feeling Kenya's Geoffrey Mutai might recognize. Mutai won the Boston Marathon this week in 2 hours, 3 minutes, 2 seconds - the fastest anyone has ever run the 26.2 mile distance, but because Monday's race had a strong tailwind on a downhill course, Mutai's run is not recognized by track's international governing body as a record. A winning time forever with an asterisk that says, “not really as good as it seems!”

Peter is now a good Jew with an asterisk.

In Peter’s day the folks outside the kennel were the gentiles. Jesus was the one sent by God for the Jews – the chosen folks – and no one else. It made sense for after all, those gentiles lived a very different lifestyle, the Hebrew Scriptures had nothing good to say about them, and really wasn’t their full inclusion in the faith community a way of asking the church to acquiesce to a sinful people? Surely someone walked around in those days saying that being a gentile was a choice…

Maybe even Peter thought that.

No…I’m not so sure Peter made his proclamation with joy and thanksgiving, but to his credit, he didn’t stop talking, maybe he was thinking out loud or letting pieces come together as he spoke, a new way of seeing the events that were the bedrock of his life and faith. This one he followed, this Jesus of Nazareth, who preached and healed and taught and freed – this one was put to death – not just any death, but a shameful, hideous, offensive death – hung on a tree. But God took that cursed demise and transformed it to one of forgiveness and reconciliation. For on the third day, God raised him – and from that moment on, God’s love has broken free and is loose in the world!

God’s love is wild and unruly; it’s winning hearts and minds; it’s reversing conventional categories of “in” and “out”; it eats with sinners, and it upholds love of enemies as the new norm.

Better catch it and cage it up quick before it does real damage and tears up the roses!

Two last thoughts for a short sermon on Easter…

The first: in the midst of Peter’s change of heart, a drastic shift of thinking, he’s able to recount the essential details of the Gospel and hits upon his elevator speech to a very unlikely audience: Jesus is, Peter simply proclaims, “Lord of all.” On this High Holy Day for Christians throughout the land, a day when many churches are full of unlikely audiences, what might be your elevator speech about Jesus? In the time it takes to go a few floors, how would you summarize your faith?

Secondly, Peter doesn’t so much “proclaim” as much as he “catches up.” It’s clear from the story and our own experience that the Holy Spirit blew through that place way before Peter and Cornelius wandered in. The shift had occurred and society was just catching up. Bishop Spong made that same statement in this room a few years ago. We’re playing catch-up to the movement of the Spirit. It’s clear that God has moved ahead of the church to embrace all people – it was true in Peter’s day and it’s true in ours. Peter, the church, and we are playing catch up.

So…on a day when we celebrate resurrection it might be appropriate for the church and for us to consider how the Spirit may be moving amongst us in unexpected and challenging ways, and to ask how the reverberations of the resurrection continue to rattle our carefully constructed cages.

Ponder that, if you will, but do so always in the knowledge that like it or not, God truly shows no partiality for in God’s eyes, we’re all dog people!

Sinew

2011-04-10T15:49:00.004-04:00

And the hand of God led Ezekiel to a valley, and the valley was full of bones. Bones bleached white by years in the blazing sun, an alabaster memorial to a battle long forgotten. It’s clear that Ezekiel had been set down amidst scores of bodies long ago picked clean by animals and birds –scoured by insects and bacteria. Nothing of the people these bones once erected remains, just life-less calcified timbers.

“Mortal, can these bones live?” Ezekiel, surrounded by chalky remains, is more struck by the inquirer than he was by his venue. “If you say so.” And to his response comes the command to preach to those dry bones. Ezekiel cried, “Dry bones—listen for the message of God!” For the Lord didn’t tell him to preach in a common way – but to prophesy to those bones.

And so Ezekiel did as he was commanded, he preached, he prophesied, and suddenly there was a noise – a rattling! And all around Ezekiel, as he sat in the midst of dem dry bones, all the sudden, and a great clammer arose – a rattling! And the bones started coming together!

All of those bones, thousands of bones, laid scattered on the valley floor, began to rattle – to shake and jump, lining up – connecting bone to bone. Ezekiel preaching, laying on the prophet’s strong words—the bones responding with a rattling! Soon the bones formed skeletons – rattling as the crisp dry bones bump against each other – no flesh to muffle their movements – skeletal wind chimes making a racket loud enough to wake the dead.

But that’s not enough – Ezekiel preached to the skeletons – over the din of rattling bones, The Lord tells him to prophesy and when he looks down he sees sinew connecting the bones – ligament and tendon and muscle forming around the bones – giving them movement and form. And Ezekiel keeps going and soon there is flesh on the bones – skin stretched and human features and the valley is no longer full of dry bones, but lifeless bodies, humans in every way, save one, they have no breath.

Then God said to Ezekiel, “prophesy to the breath, prophesy, mortal, say to the breath: Thus says the Lord God: Come from the four winds, O breath, and breath upon these slain that they may live!” And the breath came into them, and they lived, and stood on their feet and danced around, a vast multitude!

A story of bones re-assembled amidst a great clatter, strapped with sinew, clad with skin, animated with the breath of God—earthy, gritty, and dramatic – building to a show-stopping crescendo – breathless anticipation of the Spirit!

This story is one of the Bible’s great gifts to world of theater, song, art, and, of course, the pulpit.

From the vision of those resuscitated bones the preacher heads off to stirring sermons about new life where none thought possible, hope for the hopeless, regeneration of vitality in people and institutions.

Yet…let’s hold off and wait before we strap on the sinew and lace up those dry bones and commence the march to new life and vigor. It’s a strong temptation to get to the good part, vibrant new life, but that draws us away from the lessons buried in that dry, barren landscape.

Return to the valley floor where hope is bleached and memories calcified. Return to the valley floor to the disconnected and the brittle, to the wandering shards. Return to the valley floor, those spiritually dry times, that “dark side of the soul” where doubts, hopelessness, fear, and anxiety reside in prominence, for perhaps God’s question for us today is not, “mortal can these bones live?” but rather, “what can we mine about ourselves or our relationship to the world from the painful, difficult paths that we’re sometimes called to walk?

In a harsh region, a place where life is difficult, and the paths painful, a place today known as the Southern Sahara desert, archeologists discovered 200 graves of two successive populations from which they’ve learned that the region was not always an arid land but was rather quite lush and fertile. The initial inhabitants, known as the Kiffian’s, some of whom were six-feet tall, lived there during the Sahara’s wettest period. They were primarily hunter-gatherers who speared huge lake perch with harpoons. Later, a more lightly built people, the Ténérians, lived there hunting, fishing and herding cattle in what is today the Southern Sahara!

Not quite what scientists expected to find – and all the unexpected data came from bones--lifeless, dry bones without sinew, flesh, skin, or breath. Bones that nevertheless disclosed details, conveyed culture, illuminated lifestyle.

Amazing what bones tell.

What would an analysis of our spiritual bones tell about us? What would be disclosed about our maturity, or stature, or lifestyle, or diet of study, reflection, and prayer, of our practices?

Valleys of dry bones come upon us all—when we’re lifeless and hopeless, when our spirit has simply dried up and all of our enjoyment of life evaporated with it.

Dry bones first need sinew – connecting ligaments – bone to bone, the beginning of structure and form.

What words do we need to hear for our spiritual bones to be clad in sinew, to commence movement to invigorated life? What words do we need to say?

Who is God telling to preach to our bones so that they can be covered with flesh and skin?

How do we open ourselves to God’s breath from the four winds?

Perhaps the most difficult question of all is, “Can we envision our dry bones with sinew, and flesh, and breath – can we ever see ourselves dancing with new life?”

God continually challenges us to read the bones—the dry bones—and then offer them to God for the breath of restoration and resurrection.

So, mortal, can these bones live?

Amen.