In the middle of August, our congregation lost a recent new friend: Dan Terry, father-in-law of our Pastoral Intern, Chris TerryNelson. A seasoned mission-worker in Afghanistan since the 1970s, Dan and his wife Seija endeared themselves to our congregation during a recent furlough in New Wilmington. Ten minutes talking to Dan--a gift many of us enjoyed last winter--and it became clear you were in the presence of someone great, precisely because of his humility, boyish charm, and the sparkle in his eye as he related tales from the country halfway around the world he had come to call home.
In an email correspondance, shortly before departing for Kabul and a funeral service, Chris wrote to his friends:
"I wanted to thank you for your prayers and your support for our family in this time, as many of you have written and called with overwhelming encouragement. God is protecting us in a very vulnerable time, and is providing safe passage. I want to ask that you pray not only for us, but for the men who gave in to violence. Dan was a man of peace, and the first thing he would encourage us to do is to pray for these men and their families. Dan and the team knew the risks of going into this remote area, but the night before he left we talked to him in Skype, and he told us that he had to go, with that typical boyish grin and determination that was so much like him. As you’ll read in the papers, the people in the Northeastern area of Nuristan are in deep need, and nobody is there to help them. It is fitting that Christians, with the hope and joy of Christ, should put their lives at risk in order to help those in need when no one else will, and Dan was a supreme witness to the faith in this respect. But he was also a consistent witness in his life as a family man, by living this way with Anneli and I as a father-figure as a husband to his wife Seija, who is currently working with Cure International in Kabul."
Although our time to know Dan here in New Wilmington was brief, let us give thanks for those who model a living Jesus-faith and conduct themselves with diligence, bravery, and compassion.
His father-in-law's death comes on the cusp of Chris' departure from us, his year-long pastoral internship completed. Chris has accepted a call to be only the second installed pastor of the Emmanuel Presbyterian Church just south of Nashville, Tn. The congregation is a new church development project of the Middle Tennessee presbytery, and includes around 100 active members. He will begin his service to them as a Teaching Elder sometime in September.
Based on what we have experienced in knowing Chris, and how we have watched him develop over these last dozen months, we are confident that God will bless the people of the Emmanuel congregation with a bright, warm, theologian-pastor. Chris has blessed this year with a great hunger for learning, a deep theological curiosity, a tender openness about his own life and faith, and his keen interest in seeing the church exit its own walls and be the people of God wherever they may be. What we have seen and heard in seeds and new buds, may the Presbyterians south of Nashville, current and future, come to know in full bloom.
We have thanks for Chris' learning and service among us, and pray Godspeed upon his dear family and his ordained ministry.
August 12, 2010
August 8, 2010
One Tale to Rule Them All
In the life of any given family, every day generates new stories to tell. The refrigerator stops working, a postcard from Uncle George arrives from Budapest, your kid starts kindergarten. Every day, another anecdote.
Even so, not all tales are created equal. Some set the tone for others.
Recently, a person in my congregation was relating to me the narrative of how a house on the shoreline of Lake Chautauqua in New York state came into his family’s possession years ago. It is currently enjoyed by a fourth generation, with an eye toward a fifth. Buried there at the beginning of all that handing-down is quite a tale to tell—a story about a dream, a purchase, and a plan for construction. One could say that the decision of great-grandparents to develop a little spot by the lake has introduced countless new tales into the lives of his entire progeny. And you can bet that at least once a summer, someone pushes back from the dinner table and recounts for all the narrative of how this place came to be. One primal story has set the tone for countless others.
In a similar fashion, not all tales in scripture are created equal.
Books of quotations from the Bible—collections of singular verses lifted from their context and arranged by topic—have the unfortunate effect of flattening out the Biblical narrative, suggesting that every story is cut from the same cloth. True, one could (should) say that everything in scripture is important to us as the gathered faith community, but it is just as necessary to say that not everything in scripture is of the same importance. A few primal stories set the tone for all others.
In the Old Testament, for instance, there is one tale that rules them all: the Exodus. The second book of the Bible turns out to be first in importance, because it is the book of Exodus that narrates God’s first and fundamental act of redemption: liberating the Hebrew slaves from the hard hand of Egypt’s pharaoh. The living God overhears the cries of the Hebrew minions and sets in motion a plan for judgment upon Pharaoh and release for his bondage-people. This tale, this primary Old Testament narrative, sets the tone for all the others that follow and precede.
What about the creation stories of Genesis? Is not God’s act of creation more important than any rescue, if only because there could be no release without existence in the first place? That may be good logic, but it is not the theological-logic of the Bible itself. Genesis 1-3—important as they are—are best understood as a holy afterthought, an inspired prologue leading up to the crown jewel of the first Testament: the Exodus encounter. The first and foremost news of the Bible is that God liberates and restores. The creation narratives are later appended to the front of this tale in order to announce that the God who formed a people out of worthless slaves turns out to be the same God who formed the cosmos from meaningless chaos.
More than even the creation stories, it is the Exodus that sets the tone for what follows in the Bible. God’s compassionate ear, God’s calling of unlikely Moses, God’s judgment upon the hard heart of Pharaoh, God’s making a water-way where there was no way, God’s leading his band of folk through the long wilderness, God’s promise for a promised land. These are the contours for every good Biblical tale that follows; these are the building blocks for every other bit of news the scriptures intend to announce. And chiefly, from the perspective of our baptized journey, these are the primal ingredients for the other great normative tale of our two-tiered Bible: the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus in the New Testament.
Two stories to rule them all.
Even so, not all tales are created equal. Some set the tone for others.
Recently, a person in my congregation was relating to me the narrative of how a house on the shoreline of Lake Chautauqua in New York state came into his family’s possession years ago. It is currently enjoyed by a fourth generation, with an eye toward a fifth. Buried there at the beginning of all that handing-down is quite a tale to tell—a story about a dream, a purchase, and a plan for construction. One could say that the decision of great-grandparents to develop a little spot by the lake has introduced countless new tales into the lives of his entire progeny. And you can bet that at least once a summer, someone pushes back from the dinner table and recounts for all the narrative of how this place came to be. One primal story has set the tone for countless others.
In a similar fashion, not all tales in scripture are created equal.
Books of quotations from the Bible—collections of singular verses lifted from their context and arranged by topic—have the unfortunate effect of flattening out the Biblical narrative, suggesting that every story is cut from the same cloth. True, one could (should) say that everything in scripture is important to us as the gathered faith community, but it is just as necessary to say that not everything in scripture is of the same importance. A few primal stories set the tone for all others.
In the Old Testament, for instance, there is one tale that rules them all: the Exodus. The second book of the Bible turns out to be first in importance, because it is the book of Exodus that narrates God’s first and fundamental act of redemption: liberating the Hebrew slaves from the hard hand of Egypt’s pharaoh. The living God overhears the cries of the Hebrew minions and sets in motion a plan for judgment upon Pharaoh and release for his bondage-people. This tale, this primary Old Testament narrative, sets the tone for all the others that follow and precede.
What about the creation stories of Genesis? Is not God’s act of creation more important than any rescue, if only because there could be no release without existence in the first place? That may be good logic, but it is not the theological-logic of the Bible itself. Genesis 1-3—important as they are—are best understood as a holy afterthought, an inspired prologue leading up to the crown jewel of the first Testament: the Exodus encounter. The first and foremost news of the Bible is that God liberates and restores. The creation narratives are later appended to the front of this tale in order to announce that the God who formed a people out of worthless slaves turns out to be the same God who formed the cosmos from meaningless chaos.
More than even the creation stories, it is the Exodus that sets the tone for what follows in the Bible. God’s compassionate ear, God’s calling of unlikely Moses, God’s judgment upon the hard heart of Pharaoh, God’s making a water-way where there was no way, God’s leading his band of folk through the long wilderness, God’s promise for a promised land. These are the contours for every good Biblical tale that follows; these are the building blocks for every other bit of news the scriptures intend to announce. And chiefly, from the perspective of our baptized journey, these are the primal ingredients for the other great normative tale of our two-tiered Bible: the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus in the New Testament.
Two stories to rule them all.
August 1, 2010
Nothing Will Be Wasted
In my relatively short time as a pastor to D.B.—two years
I have nevertheless embraced the privilege
of offering this particular passage of scripture:
Romans 8, the groaning of creation, the coming redemption of all things
... the privilege of offering these gospel words
to D. and M. over the course of a
half a dozen home communions
Neither I nor the Deacons who have accompanied me
will forget those encounters anytime soon
You see, it is one thing to say to one another
We believe God is here with us now
but is quite another to share in the generous fellowship of food
and to say
Take, D. Eat. This is his body broken for you.
Swallow this bread
and take his life into yours
And with each recent gathering,
the words of Romans 8
filled his sun-drenched bedroom
on the southwest corner of the B. home
I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. The creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed.
I have spent a great deal of time with these words
both in my study and at bedsides crowded by machines
and as a result
I do not imagine for a second that the Apostle means to say
Our sufferings are worthless, without weight of meaning
I think—indeed, I know—Paul means to say:
For now, there is real suffering
In the world, in this life, in these bodies
We would only disrespect the courage, patience, faith of our brother now departed if we suggested otherwise
But the stunning newness that God will soon transact
in the resurrection of his people and the recreation of creation
(a newness tasted in the appetizer of Easter morning)
When you catch a glimpse of that new world moving toward us
even if but for a moment
you will find that the sufferings of this present time are subdued into that glorious new perspective
It will be sort of like the way you go to visit a dying friend
starved of meaning in your spirit
tempted by the darkness of his circumstance
all ready to feel sorry for him
Only suddenly your find yourself leaving
warmed by the suffusing light of those rooms
with generous food in hand for your family -- Presbyterian Pesto
feeling sorry that you ever intended to feel sorry for him
It’s sort of like that, I think
A conversion of perspective
not because we settle for the bones of denial
but because we are richly fed, in the meal of grace
We come to consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed among us
To sojourn with D. and M. in these recent years
has been to know a well-attested hospitality
Many of you know of this meal far more than I
the warm welcome
the gracious space
even if shaky, the outstretched hand of fellowship
the twinkle in the eye, illuminating until the end
and as a postlude
a package of peppers or pesto to go home to your family
just because
it is in the nature of things there
This week
on the cusp of my departure
from a time of prayer and scripture with D. and family
I stood in the B. kitchen
and listened to gladsome talk
and food and meals and traditions
On the matter of M. making good use of every ingredient
she dispensed an off-handed comment about her mother
I guess I have a bit of her in me
She was of the Depression
When it came to food,
nothing was wasted,
everything was put to use
Those last words shot through me like watts of electricity
And at the great risk of melodrama
right there in the foyer of their home
it was though Romans 8 came together for me
and I could see it again, anew
what God is up to in these broken, beleaguered bodies of ours
what this God is doing amid the groaning of this world
We know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, those who have been called according to his purpose.
Nothing is wasted
Everything is put to use
This does not mean that all things are good
This does not imply that
we are not Cold Stubborn Fatalists
We are Easter Christians
warmed—embraced!—by the news that
nothing will finally escape God’s
dogged insistence to deliever a new creation
from the groans of our painful labor
The recent journey of our brother is submerged in mystery, to be sure
But let the mystery rest in why it is God’s otherwise good creation
so regularly resists his call to abundant life
and appears so prone to stubborn decay
And in parallel
let there be no mystery about this news:
That what God is working for is freedom—the freedom of his children
That the Spirit is not the cause of the but the help in our weakness
That this God is, in fact,
more acquainted with our sufferings than we are
and therefore able to pray for us
to intercede for us
with groans of longing we ourselves cannot even name
That in all things God works for the good of those who love him
That in the end
in the sweeping newness of that great Easter morning to come
nothing will have been wasted
not even the loathsome persistence of Parkinson’s
The markers of this promise even now?
an infectious smile
a glimmer in the eye
a deep Friday-like concern for others
a hint of Sunday-mischief to enliven the day
It appears that many people picture
God up on high
dispenser of pain and pleasure
kind, maybe, but mostly indifferent
distributer of circumstances
with which we can only learn to cope
What if it turned out
that God was more like
a Depression Era mother
diligent
stubborn
generous
insistent that nothing be wasted
determined that no single ingredient will spoil the meal
finding divine gladness when everyone is fed
That his baptism marks his belonging to this news
That he is for now held safe in the care of this God
That in the resurrection he will be raised up, healed and whole
this is the pesto of our praise
(for DMB)
I have nevertheless embraced the privilege
of offering this particular passage of scripture:
Romans 8, the groaning of creation, the coming redemption of all things
... the privilege of offering these gospel words
to D. and M. over the course of a
half a dozen home communions
Neither I nor the Deacons who have accompanied me
will forget those encounters anytime soon
You see, it is one thing to say to one another
We believe God is here with us now
but is quite another to share in the generous fellowship of food
and to say
Take, D. Eat. This is his body broken for you.
Swallow this bread
and take his life into yours
And with each recent gathering,
the words of Romans 8
filled his sun-drenched bedroom
on the southwest corner of the B. home
I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. The creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed.
I have spent a great deal of time with these words
both in my study and at bedsides crowded by machines
and as a result
I do not imagine for a second that the Apostle means to say
Our sufferings are worthless, without weight of meaning
I think—indeed, I know—Paul means to say:
For now, there is real suffering
In the world, in this life, in these bodies
We would only disrespect the courage, patience, faith of our brother now departed if we suggested otherwise
But the stunning newness that God will soon transact
in the resurrection of his people and the recreation of creation
(a newness tasted in the appetizer of Easter morning)
When you catch a glimpse of that new world moving toward us
even if but for a moment
you will find that the sufferings of this present time are subdued into that glorious new perspective
It will be sort of like the way you go to visit a dying friend
starved of meaning in your spirit
tempted by the darkness of his circumstance
all ready to feel sorry for him
Only suddenly your find yourself leaving
warmed by the suffusing light of those rooms
with generous food in hand for your family -- Presbyterian Pesto
feeling sorry that you ever intended to feel sorry for him
It’s sort of like that, I think
A conversion of perspective
not because we settle for the bones of denial
but because we are richly fed, in the meal of grace
We come to consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed among us
To sojourn with D. and M. in these recent years
has been to know a well-attested hospitality
Many of you know of this meal far more than I
the warm welcome
the gracious space
even if shaky, the outstretched hand of fellowship
the twinkle in the eye, illuminating until the end
and as a postlude
a package of peppers or pesto to go home to your family
just because
it is in the nature of things there
This week
on the cusp of my departure
from a time of prayer and scripture with D. and family
I stood in the B. kitchen
and listened to gladsome talk
and food and meals and traditions
On the matter of M. making good use of every ingredient
she dispensed an off-handed comment about her mother
I guess I have a bit of her in me
She was of the Depression
When it came to food,
nothing was wasted,
everything was put to use
Those last words shot through me like watts of electricity
And at the great risk of melodrama
right there in the foyer of their home
it was though Romans 8 came together for me
and I could see it again, anew
what God is up to in these broken, beleaguered bodies of ours
what this God is doing amid the groaning of this world
We know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, those who have been called according to his purpose.
Nothing is wasted
Everything is put to use
This does not mean that all things are good
This does not imply that
we are not Cold Stubborn Fatalists
We are Easter Christians
warmed—embraced!—by the news that
nothing will finally escape God’s
dogged insistence to deliever a new creation
from the groans of our painful labor
The recent journey of our brother is submerged in mystery, to be sure
But let the mystery rest in why it is God’s otherwise good creation
so regularly resists his call to abundant life
and appears so prone to stubborn decay
And in parallel
let there be no mystery about this news:
That what God is working for is freedom—the freedom of his children
That the Spirit is not the cause of the but the help in our weakness
That this God is, in fact,
more acquainted with our sufferings than we are
and therefore able to pray for us
to intercede for us
with groans of longing we ourselves cannot even name
That in all things God works for the good of those who love him
That in the end
in the sweeping newness of that great Easter morning to come
nothing will have been wasted
not even the loathsome persistence of Parkinson’s
The markers of this promise even now?
an infectious smile
a glimmer in the eye
a deep Friday-like concern for others
a hint of Sunday-mischief to enliven the day
It appears that many people picture
God up on high
dispenser of pain and pleasure
kind, maybe, but mostly indifferent
distributer of circumstances
with which we can only learn to cope
What if it turned out
that God was more like
a Depression Era mother
diligent
stubborn
generous
insistent that nothing be wasted
determined that no single ingredient will spoil the meal
finding divine gladness when everyone is fed
That his baptism marks his belonging to this news
That he is for now held safe in the care of this God
That in the resurrection he will be raised up, healed and whole
this is the pesto of our praise
(for DMB)
July 9, 2010
Free ... to be a slave
For whoever was called in the Lord as a slave is a freed person belonging to the Lord, just as whoever was free when called is a slave of Christ. -- I Corinthians 7
I believe it only took me about half-a-dozen sermons at the start of my work as a preacher before I realized how grateful I was for the unprecedented religious freedom this country affords us Christians. Not just for Christians, of course, is this independence. Religious freedom for all: however wise or wacky, similar or strange they seem to us. (We should note, however, that plenty of folk deem us rather wacky as well. Did you hear that Apostles' Creed? We profess some strange and wonderful news ourselves.) I desire religious liberty for all my neighbors in other faiths because I am likewise grateful that it is secured for all Christians.
My own conviction is this: As a follower of Jesus, I have at stake in maintaining and defending that freedom for everyone. I hold to this, not because I want or need this country to be “Christian” in some vague, rubber-stamp sort of way, but because I am grateful for the uninhibited space to follow Jesus in the specific and deliberate way of discipleship.
- - - -
Think about what a gift we have been given as disciples of Jesus, in this country and in this era of history:
It is Sunday morning again. For us: not just another weekend for leisure or the ramp-up to another week of work. It is the Lord’s Day, Resurrection Day! We have gathered at our normal spot for word and sacrament. We are doing our thing.
And guess what?
No one has barred the door.
No one is checking our papers.
No one is censoring our speech.
No one is threatening us with bodily harm.
The lights are still on.
The doors are still open.
The Book is still on the Pulpit.
The Table stands ready for our next Meal.
What a gift.
Yet it is not so for many of our brothers and sisters around the world.
Do remember our guest preacher last summer, on the Sunday of the New Wilmington Mission Conference? Rev. N______, a spirited pastor from Zimbabwe. He told us the tale of how their church building was burned down ... 3 times ... by members the government!
The hardest decision many of us faced today was: REGULAR or DECAF? For me: Which bow-tie to don?
These 75 minutes together, in this space
Right here, right now
That we are gathered here, uninhibited
This is an extraordinary gift.
- - - -
It occurs to me that this nation’s birthday is a day for Christian communions to ask a fundamental stewardship question:
We are free. Thanks be to God. Now what? To borrow the old query of Francis Shaeffer: "Christian, how then shall we live?"
The early church teaches us through Paul’s counsel in 1 Corinthians 7: In whatever condition you were called, brothers and sisters, remain there with God.
In whatever
culture
society
philosophical milieu
political climate
socioeconomic condition
you find yourselves
Whether the winds of culture blow for you or against you, “remain there with God.” Follow Jesus Christ, and be secured by the presence and power of the Holy Spirit. In effect, Paul’s counsel is something on the order of: "Christian, bloom where you are planted."
And the terra firma of our ministry is America.
The test of our appropriation of such remarkable religious liberty is not in our unqualified or unfettered devotion to the state, but rather it is proven in our greater, deeper, wider devotion as the Baptized to Jesus and his way. Let us neither push this way of life on others in monstrous hegemony, nor surrender this way of life to others in embarrassed inclusivity. Neither stance honors the Lord of all lands.
As stewards of this particular space and time we must ask: For what other purpose exists religious liberty than for greater commitment to the one whose way we have found ourselves called to follow? This one whose grace secures us, whose power sustains us, and whose example directs us.
- - - -
The challenge that comes with independence is to maintain responsibility once the control of others is cast off. We might consider ordinary examples.
Will the teenager be responsible for the car once mom and dad are no longer visible in the rear-view mirror? Will the college student learn to manage self once the family of origin is not downstairs waiting every morning, with a nucleus of direction?
More widely, will a nation practice self-control once it is free from the political jurisdiction of a king and queen? Will a society seek the common good and practice restraint as technology offers more and more “freedom"? Just because now we can, should we?
And so by way of these analogies ...
Will Christians in this land continue to grow in discipleship and be stewards of so great a religious liberty when the prevailing culture provides little substantial pushback? For at least two hundred years now, it has remained socially acceptable in this country to be a Christian, at least in a privatized, devotional form.
How are we doing with that independence? What is the measure of our devotion? And better:
How am I doing with this independence? What is the measure of my devotion amid such freedom?
After all, we would not want such unprecedented religious liberty to foster in us over time a tepid resignation. Consider the Presbyterian congregation in New Orleans that nurtured my father to Christian faith. In 1950, it had within its walls some 1200 persons. Last year it was 15 ... all of whom had been there in 1950. (There's nothing wrong with being an older Presbyterian, unless of course you are all alone in the sanctuary.) This year the number is zero, as the presbytery has dissolved the church. True: This is not every congregation’s story. But it is more common than we like to admit. Too often, we have withered in an easy climate.
This is where the counsel of Jesus in Luke 12 proves so timely for us. Keep your shirts on; keep the lights on! Be alert! Be ready! Be poised for action! Pretend you are servants in a great household of riches. Would it not be wise to stay poised for the master’s return? to be ready to respond to his presence among you?
Let the delay of his return breed in you attentive perseverance, like disciples; not sleepy passivity, like consumers. After all, we would not want the gift of religious liberty to be, in a sad irony, our final undoing.
- - - -
Neither, however, would we want such bountiful freedom to seduce us into worshipping the sovereign state we inhabit over the risen Son whose Spirit inhibits us.
I like what Senator Byrd of West Virginia was often quoted saying o fellow members of the chamber in the heat of bipartisan debate: "Listen, I value you a great deal as a colleague, but I value the Senate even more." It seems to me that the Christian communion can mimic a similar posture with regard to this great country and proper devotion: We love this country a great deal, but we love the God who has met us in Jesus Christ even more. Not that the two always have to be in conflict with one another. But as objects of our devotion and worship, neither are they the same.
Is that posture not the earliest and best seed of religious liberty in this country? That a land and a document that would afford me such tremendous religious independence would not itself expect to be worshipped for that freedom. From the vantage point of these waters, America is, at its best, a blessed means to a more blessed end. And for the baptized, surely that greater end is to love the Lord our God with all that we have, all that we are; to love our neighbor as we would our selves.
I am Christian first and an American second, in large part because I know that one need not be an American in order to be a Christian. Rev. N_____ and his congregation, but several of a million examples. They have much to teach us about what Augustine called "ordered loves."
- - - -
It is the purpose of the Christian gospel to announce the news that, at the end of each day and at the end of my life,
that which secures my ultimate liberty
that which sets me free from all powers and principalities
that which affords the ultimate blanket of protection
is in fact no continent or nation or document
—-even the best of these, prone to decay and death.
In fact, my true life is not found in a THING or a PLACE,
or among a certain PEOPLE,
but in a PERSON
the one who taught
the one who died
the one who rose
the one who is alive
Therein I find my life, liberty, and blessedness. It is the God behind, before, and in this Jesus who deserves my ultimate devotion, the way a servant is devoted to a master. I celebrate a strange and wonderful bit of news: Once I was free, but now I am slave!
It turns out, then, to be a Christian in this land and in this time is a situation of blessed irony:
I am free as an American, to be a slave to Jesus.
Thanks be to God.
I believe it only took me about half-a-dozen sermons at the start of my work as a preacher before I realized how grateful I was for the unprecedented religious freedom this country affords us Christians. Not just for Christians, of course, is this independence. Religious freedom for all: however wise or wacky, similar or strange they seem to us. (We should note, however, that plenty of folk deem us rather wacky as well. Did you hear that Apostles' Creed? We profess some strange and wonderful news ourselves.) I desire religious liberty for all my neighbors in other faiths because I am likewise grateful that it is secured for all Christians.
My own conviction is this: As a follower of Jesus, I have at stake in maintaining and defending that freedom for everyone. I hold to this, not because I want or need this country to be “Christian” in some vague, rubber-stamp sort of way, but because I am grateful for the uninhibited space to follow Jesus in the specific and deliberate way of discipleship.
- - - -
Think about what a gift we have been given as disciples of Jesus, in this country and in this era of history:
It is Sunday morning again. For us: not just another weekend for leisure or the ramp-up to another week of work. It is the Lord’s Day, Resurrection Day! We have gathered at our normal spot for word and sacrament. We are doing our thing.
And guess what?
No one has barred the door.
No one is checking our papers.
No one is censoring our speech.
No one is threatening us with bodily harm.
The lights are still on.
The doors are still open.
The Book is still on the Pulpit.
The Table stands ready for our next Meal.
What a gift.
Yet it is not so for many of our brothers and sisters around the world.
Do remember our guest preacher last summer, on the Sunday of the New Wilmington Mission Conference? Rev. N______, a spirited pastor from Zimbabwe. He told us the tale of how their church building was burned down ... 3 times ... by members the government!
The hardest decision many of us faced today was: REGULAR or DECAF? For me: Which bow-tie to don?
These 75 minutes together, in this space
Right here, right now
That we are gathered here, uninhibited
This is an extraordinary gift.
- - - -
It occurs to me that this nation’s birthday is a day for Christian communions to ask a fundamental stewardship question:
We are free. Thanks be to God. Now what? To borrow the old query of Francis Shaeffer: "Christian, how then shall we live?"
The early church teaches us through Paul’s counsel in 1 Corinthians 7: In whatever condition you were called, brothers and sisters, remain there with God.
In whatever
culture
society
philosophical milieu
political climate
socioeconomic condition
you find yourselves
Whether the winds of culture blow for you or against you, “remain there with God.” Follow Jesus Christ, and be secured by the presence and power of the Holy Spirit. In effect, Paul’s counsel is something on the order of: "Christian, bloom where you are planted."
And the terra firma of our ministry is America.
The test of our appropriation of such remarkable religious liberty is not in our unqualified or unfettered devotion to the state, but rather it is proven in our greater, deeper, wider devotion as the Baptized to Jesus and his way. Let us neither push this way of life on others in monstrous hegemony, nor surrender this way of life to others in embarrassed inclusivity. Neither stance honors the Lord of all lands.
As stewards of this particular space and time we must ask: For what other purpose exists religious liberty than for greater commitment to the one whose way we have found ourselves called to follow? This one whose grace secures us, whose power sustains us, and whose example directs us.
- - - -
The challenge that comes with independence is to maintain responsibility once the control of others is cast off. We might consider ordinary examples.
Will the teenager be responsible for the car once mom and dad are no longer visible in the rear-view mirror? Will the college student learn to manage self once the family of origin is not downstairs waiting every morning, with a nucleus of direction?
More widely, will a nation practice self-control once it is free from the political jurisdiction of a king and queen? Will a society seek the common good and practice restraint as technology offers more and more “freedom"? Just because now we can, should we?
And so by way of these analogies ...
Will Christians in this land continue to grow in discipleship and be stewards of so great a religious liberty when the prevailing culture provides little substantial pushback? For at least two hundred years now, it has remained socially acceptable in this country to be a Christian, at least in a privatized, devotional form.
How are we doing with that independence? What is the measure of our devotion? And better:
How am I doing with this independence? What is the measure of my devotion amid such freedom?
After all, we would not want such unprecedented religious liberty to foster in us over time a tepid resignation. Consider the Presbyterian congregation in New Orleans that nurtured my father to Christian faith. In 1950, it had within its walls some 1200 persons. Last year it was 15 ... all of whom had been there in 1950. (There's nothing wrong with being an older Presbyterian, unless of course you are all alone in the sanctuary.) This year the number is zero, as the presbytery has dissolved the church. True: This is not every congregation’s story. But it is more common than we like to admit. Too often, we have withered in an easy climate.
This is where the counsel of Jesus in Luke 12 proves so timely for us. Keep your shirts on; keep the lights on! Be alert! Be ready! Be poised for action! Pretend you are servants in a great household of riches. Would it not be wise to stay poised for the master’s return? to be ready to respond to his presence among you?
Let the delay of his return breed in you attentive perseverance, like disciples; not sleepy passivity, like consumers. After all, we would not want the gift of religious liberty to be, in a sad irony, our final undoing.
- - - -
Neither, however, would we want such bountiful freedom to seduce us into worshipping the sovereign state we inhabit over the risen Son whose Spirit inhibits us.
I like what Senator Byrd of West Virginia was often quoted saying o fellow members of the chamber in the heat of bipartisan debate: "Listen, I value you a great deal as a colleague, but I value the Senate even more." It seems to me that the Christian communion can mimic a similar posture with regard to this great country and proper devotion: We love this country a great deal, but we love the God who has met us in Jesus Christ even more. Not that the two always have to be in conflict with one another. But as objects of our devotion and worship, neither are they the same.
Is that posture not the earliest and best seed of religious liberty in this country? That a land and a document that would afford me such tremendous religious independence would not itself expect to be worshipped for that freedom. From the vantage point of these waters, America is, at its best, a blessed means to a more blessed end. And for the baptized, surely that greater end is to love the Lord our God with all that we have, all that we are; to love our neighbor as we would our selves.
I am Christian first and an American second, in large part because I know that one need not be an American in order to be a Christian. Rev. N_____ and his congregation, but several of a million examples. They have much to teach us about what Augustine called "ordered loves."
- - - -
It is the purpose of the Christian gospel to announce the news that, at the end of each day and at the end of my life,
that which secures my ultimate liberty
that which sets me free from all powers and principalities
that which affords the ultimate blanket of protection
is in fact no continent or nation or document
—-even the best of these, prone to decay and death.
In fact, my true life is not found in a THING or a PLACE,
or among a certain PEOPLE,
but in a PERSON
the one who taught
the one who died
the one who rose
the one who is alive
Therein I find my life, liberty, and blessedness. It is the God behind, before, and in this Jesus who deserves my ultimate devotion, the way a servant is devoted to a master. I celebrate a strange and wonderful bit of news: Once I was free, but now I am slave!
It turns out, then, to be a Christian in this land and in this time is a situation of blessed irony:
I am free as an American, to be a slave to Jesus.
Thanks be to God.
July 1, 2010
Intercessions for the Lord's Day
As we gather before you, O Lord of heaven, and are gathered by your Spirit to your word, we count it a privilege to hallow your name above all others—to call you Holy, Other, Sacred. And so we give you thanks for this time and space to worship you. We come to this time awed to heaven in our hearts, yet bearing in our memories the matters of earth. From the six days of ministry now behind us, we fashion these prayers for your entire world. Your have heard our praises, now hear our intercessions.
We do pray that your kingdom will come, especially in places around the globe where the kingdoms at hand are unjust, unbalanced, unsympathetic to the call to justice and mercy. In Greece and Malaysia and the Sudan and Hong Kong and every other troubled place this week—and in our places as well—may your peaceable kingdom come, and quickly. As it is in heaven, in the space of your infinite light and love, so it may it be on earth.
We do pray that you would be generous with your daily bread around the world, both the bread the builds up the body and the bread that nourishes the soul. We pray for every hungry place—hungry for food, hungry for justice, hungry for good news, and we pray for the peculiar hunger in our own lives as well.
We pray for human relationships around the world, relations both great and small. Wherever there are broken bonds, old wounds, deep channels of vengeance, raise up voices to announce the news of your forgiveness and the possibility it brings for forgiving others, and teach us, O Lord, how to be a forgiven/forgiving people.
We pray for the church around the world—wherever folks gather under the name of Jesus, and seek to walk in his way. May none of your servants be lead into temptation, and may your Spirit deliver from evil all who are encumbered by sin or sorrow.
These intercessions we bring with us this day, and we offer them in the name of the one to whom belongs the kingdom, the power, and the glory, today and forevermore.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
We do pray that your kingdom will come, especially in places around the globe where the kingdoms at hand are unjust, unbalanced, unsympathetic to the call to justice and mercy. In Greece and Malaysia and the Sudan and Hong Kong and every other troubled place this week—and in our places as well—may your peaceable kingdom come, and quickly. As it is in heaven, in the space of your infinite light and love, so it may it be on earth.
We do pray that you would be generous with your daily bread around the world, both the bread the builds up the body and the bread that nourishes the soul. We pray for every hungry place—hungry for food, hungry for justice, hungry for good news, and we pray for the peculiar hunger in our own lives as well.
We pray for human relationships around the world, relations both great and small. Wherever there are broken bonds, old wounds, deep channels of vengeance, raise up voices to announce the news of your forgiveness and the possibility it brings for forgiving others, and teach us, O Lord, how to be a forgiven/forgiving people.
We pray for the church around the world—wherever folks gather under the name of Jesus, and seek to walk in his way. May none of your servants be lead into temptation, and may your Spirit deliver from evil all who are encumbered by sin or sorrow.
These intercessions we bring with us this day, and we offer them in the name of the one to whom belongs the kingdom, the power, and the glory, today and forevermore.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
June 27, 2010
Effortful Episcopalians
This procession is moving along. You are most welcome to come along with it, but don’t take it personally if we do not wait for you to get it—at least on the first try.
However difficult it may be for the neophytes to feel it, fumbling with a verbose bulletin and two—count them, two—books for worship, there is moving across the surface of this hour a determined cadence.
Celebrant—people, celebrant—people, celebrant—people.
At times we feel like some sort of high-church sculling crew: our boat made of blocks, our captains in albs. Each prayer, every response has the feel of one more pull across the shimmering waters. A race from pulpit to font to table. (Granted, the course reveals its technical traps: “What in the world was Rite II?” asks my fellow teammate, after the trip. He, too, is a rookie.) Even so, there was movement in our churchy minutia, from here to there and back again.
In this era when the rest of us Protestants are falling all over ourselves to “connect” with the burned-over crowds and on Sundays “meet people where they are,” some part of me appreciates how this boat-for-worship can—will!—move along quite without me in it. People matter, of course, but at least this liturgy calls forth more of a “we” than “me.” I am in this boat, but it is not mine.
For one thing, there are a great many actions for a great many people. The chancel is at times a rush-hour of activity. Choirs, ushers, acolytes, priests, pilgrims, all scurrying about—an Episcopalian pileup. We stand, we sit, we kneel. I sing, I speak, I look … I taste. Someone once dubbed this frenzy “the work of the people.” And because most of the movement of worship is not confined to the frontal cortex, but is embodied, in full view, perhaps for this reason it is difficult to escape the notion that none of this is about me. I am here, but this time is not mine.
So although the four-year-old two pews forward of me spent the entire Eucharist making fart-like noises with her cheeks and having a merry time of it, and even if the couple just in front of me spent the Sanctus chuckling at her mini-theater, prayer-book in hand … God was still praised. All around our gassy gal arose the larger doxological chorus. We sang and ate and sang some more, quite without her permission. Her cheeky little show, subsumed in a sea of hymnody. She made her presence known, but the boat would not be thrown off course.
“Holy, holy, holy,” high and lifted up, O Jesus.
Above cheeks and chuckles and even private connections, as in “If you don’t connect with me, preacher, I’m outta here.”
Alas, can’t you see the passing waters?
Pick up an oar and get out of your head.
Don’t you hear the captain?
Row, O self-anchored ones. Row with me across these baptismal waters. And sing as you sail. Sing to the Lord of this lake. Keep moving with me! One more prayer-pull. Feel the grace of possibly being left behind.
God is here. And we are Thine.
However difficult it may be for the neophytes to feel it, fumbling with a verbose bulletin and two—count them, two—books for worship, there is moving across the surface of this hour a determined cadence.
Celebrant—people, celebrant—people, celebrant—people.
At times we feel like some sort of high-church sculling crew: our boat made of blocks, our captains in albs. Each prayer, every response has the feel of one more pull across the shimmering waters. A race from pulpit to font to table. (Granted, the course reveals its technical traps: “What in the world was Rite II?” asks my fellow teammate, after the trip. He, too, is a rookie.) Even so, there was movement in our churchy minutia, from here to there and back again.
In this era when the rest of us Protestants are falling all over ourselves to “connect” with the burned-over crowds and on Sundays “meet people where they are,” some part of me appreciates how this boat-for-worship can—will!—move along quite without me in it. People matter, of course, but at least this liturgy calls forth more of a “we” than “me.” I am in this boat, but it is not mine.
For one thing, there are a great many actions for a great many people. The chancel is at times a rush-hour of activity. Choirs, ushers, acolytes, priests, pilgrims, all scurrying about—an Episcopalian pileup. We stand, we sit, we kneel. I sing, I speak, I look … I taste. Someone once dubbed this frenzy “the work of the people.” And because most of the movement of worship is not confined to the frontal cortex, but is embodied, in full view, perhaps for this reason it is difficult to escape the notion that none of this is about me. I am here, but this time is not mine.
So although the four-year-old two pews forward of me spent the entire Eucharist making fart-like noises with her cheeks and having a merry time of it, and even if the couple just in front of me spent the Sanctus chuckling at her mini-theater, prayer-book in hand … God was still praised. All around our gassy gal arose the larger doxological chorus. We sang and ate and sang some more, quite without her permission. Her cheeky little show, subsumed in a sea of hymnody. She made her presence known, but the boat would not be thrown off course.
“Holy, holy, holy,” high and lifted up, O Jesus.
Above cheeks and chuckles and even private connections, as in “If you don’t connect with me, preacher, I’m outta here.”
Alas, can’t you see the passing waters?
Pick up an oar and get out of your head.
Don’t you hear the captain?
Row, O self-anchored ones. Row with me across these baptismal waters. And sing as you sail. Sing to the Lord of this lake. Keep moving with me! One more prayer-pull. Feel the grace of possibly being left behind.
God is here. And we are Thine.
June 20, 2010
A Prayer for Trinity Sunday
This is our worship, O God. We praise you and pray to you because that is what you made us for, and that is what Jesus taught us to do, and this is what your Spirit prompts in us now—our praise and our prayers.
From a week of living in your world, O Father, we gather now to worship you—you who are eternal, timeless, without beginning or end. This world we know is yours, and yours alone. You have made it, and so to you we lift our prayers for it. Dor people and places around the globe who cry out for your good gifts: mercy, justice, healing, truth … And we confess those sins of ours that mar the landscape of this week now finished …
From a week of discipleship in your world, O Jesus, we gather now to worship you—you who invaded our history and walked among us, wearing our flesh and announcing God’s news. This is your gospel, and yours alone. You have spoken it, and so we lift our prayers to you for those who most need to hear it. For people and places right in our own lives who cry out for faith, hope, and love, for a saving-healing-restoring word from you … And we confess those places in our own lives today that resist your call and conversion …
From a week of ministry in your world, Holy Spirit, we gather now to worship you—you who are present among us in this moment, connecting us to Christ and drawing us together in fresh unity. This is your time, and yours alone. You make it worship, and us God’s people, so we lift our prayers to you for people and places we have yet to know, for those to whom you will soon call us to go, and love, and serve … And we confess our fear of the future and our resistance to being led forward by you …
This is our worship, O God. We praise you and pray to you because that is what you made us for, and that is what Jesus taught us to do, and this is what your Spirit prompts in us now.
From a week of living in your world, O Father, we gather now to worship you—you who are eternal, timeless, without beginning or end. This world we know is yours, and yours alone. You have made it, and so to you we lift our prayers for it. Dor people and places around the globe who cry out for your good gifts: mercy, justice, healing, truth … And we confess those sins of ours that mar the landscape of this week now finished …
From a week of discipleship in your world, O Jesus, we gather now to worship you—you who invaded our history and walked among us, wearing our flesh and announcing God’s news. This is your gospel, and yours alone. You have spoken it, and so we lift our prayers to you for those who most need to hear it. For people and places right in our own lives who cry out for faith, hope, and love, for a saving-healing-restoring word from you … And we confess those places in our own lives today that resist your call and conversion …
From a week of ministry in your world, Holy Spirit, we gather now to worship you—you who are present among us in this moment, connecting us to Christ and drawing us together in fresh unity. This is your time, and yours alone. You make it worship, and us God’s people, so we lift our prayers to you for people and places we have yet to know, for those to whom you will soon call us to go, and love, and serve … And we confess our fear of the future and our resistance to being led forward by you …
This is our worship, O God. We praise you and pray to you because that is what you made us for, and that is what Jesus taught us to do, and this is what your Spirit prompts in us now.
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