Resolved or Not?

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not rely on your own insight.

In all your ways acknowledge the Lord, and the Lord will make straight your paths.” (Prov. 3:5-6)

‘I promise to be different . . . ‘(which we have been explicitly taught to believe is ‘better’) is what we essentially say when we make a resolution at the beginning of a New Year. It is also what is essentially said when we confess our sins and seek God’s pardon. ‘I promise to be different . . .’

Not to be overly cynical but, in an effort to be transparent, rarely am I different for the sake of someone else or at another’s demanding, even that of God. God and others often help me to see there is a different way, yet until I choose that for myself it is little more than someone else’s notion of how I should live my life. A New Year’s resolution, like a vow ‘not to sin again’, made to satisfy another will seldom bear fruit, whether it is about losing weight, doing more exercise, trying to incorporate time spent reading or vowing to takes days off as I tell others to do. No, a resolution made for the sake of another is not my resolution. It is simply a means to appease, to acknowledge, or even acquiesce . . . it is not my own.

On the other hand, a personal decision made to change direction, whether in the gym, in the church or in the very Presence of God is just that: A personal decision. Individual or corporate confession cannot coerce such a decision, neither can a resolution give voice to such a choice. It is personal, requires commitment and demands integrity for such a change of direction to be true . . . and includes accountability.

God could lead the Israelite children out of Egypt, separate the sea, overwhelm the Egyptian armies and guide them towards freedom, but God could not coerce the Israelites not to build a golden calf or murmur about quails and manna or even to stop complaining when they were thirsty. Upon entering the land, the Israelites had to make a personal decision about whom it would be that they would worship and follow, as Joshua said to them, “Choose this day . . . “

John the Baptist could exhort the masses to confess their sins and be baptized, but he could not force them to live the meaning of baptism, such were the brood of vipers.

Jesus could heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, address the powers and principalities, even take on the cross itself, but He could not keep the disciples from running away in fear, the crowds from thirsting for blood or even the remnant who stayed with Him from believing in the power of death. It was only when they chose for themselves to believe in the empty tomb, whether because they viewed His pierced hands and feet and put their hands into the wound in His side or because they heard from others and were convinced it was true . . . It was only when they chose for themselves to believe that they were able to ‘change direction’ and become truly trusting of the Lord with all their heart – and affect such change in others.

Change: You can want it for me, but you cannot demand or require it of me. It is the way we are made by the One who designs and creates still.

In the coming days I am committing my journey to living my humanity more fully in God, not so that I can be viewed as ‘better’ or ‘more acceptable to Heaven’ but, rather, because my heart of hearts longs for more than this world is capable of providing. What I have not found in money or position or politics or power or even organized religion, I am coming to discover and savor more fully in service to God with family, congregation, community and world. It is a state of being human without regard for that which government and media uses to separate and define us. It is a state of being faithful without distinctions as classified by religion or ethnicity. It is a state of identifying and embracing the holy and sacred in others, even ourselves, regardless the profane which permeates that which many accept as ‘the norm’.

It is not so much about ‘change’ as it is a hope for ‘fully living’ the life we are given, I am given.

Resolve away, confess to your heart’s content, set it all in stone before the administrators of the world, but until you choose the path to walk – and allow the journey to become holy and sacred in your soul – nothing will change, ever. Have a blessed New Year and may the Way of Christ and the trust of the Lord guide your steps towards the Home of your being, the Realm of God already becoming known in love as you are Loved. 

At Home

It is Saturday, the day after Christmas 2015, and it is raining, dreary and grey.

So it is that I am at home . . . in my Church Office, preparing for tomorrow's worship services - and I am grateful to be here. Truth be told, I am glad to be so at home in the worship and fellowship facilities of St. Paul UCC, Lebanon . . . I'm feeling the need to be at home in God today.

Earlier in the day I drove to the hospital and spoke with a person who is really struggling with illness and a chronic debilitating condition. Throughout this day my heart has been in constant prayer for friends who are deep in the journey of grief and healing. A few moments ago, I received word from another that a diagnosis had just been received in their life and it was not what they were hoping to hear. For such as these the Gift of Bethlehem comes.

I would invite you to continue the Christmas festivities and gather with me in the pleasure and need of talking with God concerning the world in which we live and our sisters and brothers who are longing for understandable, believable, Spirit-filled answers . . . Will you join me?

Will you join me in Christmas Grace by being gracious to others?

Will you join me in Christmas Joy by sharing joy with others?

Will you join me in Christmas Abundance by giving of yourself for others?

Will you join me in Christmas Healing by sitting with and caring for others?

Will you join me in Christmas Comfort by gathering the uncomfortable into you and your home?

Will you join me in Christmas Love by seeing in others that for which you pray God sees in you?

Will you join me in Christmas Rejoicing by welcoming the opportunity to tell the Story?

Will you join me in Christmas . . . in the Home of God's own heart by praying for others as Christ does for you?

Will you join me in God's Home . . . in the sacred space of family gathered, in community shared, in the quiet of prayer and the raucous wonder of hymns?

Will you join me in God's Home in this day . . . just for the sheer gift of being present with the One who, in Jesus, is Present for you?

The Gospel text for services tomorrow is the story of the 12 year old Jesus lingering in the Temple and saying to his parents, who had thought they had lost him, "Didn't you know that it was necessary for me to be in my Father's house?" 

As it is for Jesus, may it be so for us all. Come, be at Home in God wherever you are, for God has come to be at home, through Jesus, in you.

Blessings in this Christmas Season!

The deepest injustice of this world is the heartache.

The truest justice is God's Love come to Heal and Restore.

There is a pain in a parent's eyes when a child to them is lost. One can see it through the tears and the warning is cast: 'Heartache, Strained Faith, Pain!', then words of consolation become mute, arms of support hang limply by the side and well-intended presence goes absent. So deep the hurt, so clear the helplessness, so final the severing, it is as if an abyss is established between what once was in vibrancy, laughter, wonder and joy . . . and the dull unending finality of death, dying, and loss of hope. As hard as it is to see, most turn away. As deep as it is through which to live, many never recover.

For such as these: Jesus.

God can not, will not, turn away from the heartache. God can not, will not walk away . . . for God understands the loss of a Child. God broods over the violence our world can impart, the disease our living brings, the choices which lead us away. With the purest of pain in a Parent's eyes, God knows.

Bethlehem is not a romantic notion, nor a far away fairy tale. In the coming of the Christ-Child, God takes God's place in the heartache of every parent who has lost or is losing, who has endured or is enduring, who has suffered or is suffering. There will be no mute voices, for angel's gathering voices transcend the silence. There will be no arms hanging uselessly by the side, for the embrace of God becomes fully embodied in the hands and arms of a Baby reaching out, clinging tightly to a finger, giving Hope. There will be no well-intended presence going absent, for in the life of the One who comes the Parent speaks a name, Emmanuel, God-With-Us . . . You Are Never Alone.

The truest justice our Parent God can offer comes in the gift of a Babe, in tones of Love, Healing and Restoration.

Whether the parent's heartache is in disease, addiction, hatred, self-loathing, accident, suicide, fear, failure or inflicted violence . . The Parent's Justice meets the longing ones at the crossroads and brings Life, the gift of a Manger and an empty Tomb. From beginning to Beginning, God, our Parent, resides and makes new.

May it be so for you in the Child of God, in every season of your joy and heartache.

I think we should cancel Christmas this year.
Who can really believe that an angel came to Mary and told her she was going to carry the Son of God?
Who can really believe that the baby whom Elizabeth carried 'jumped' for joy when he heard Mary's voice?
Who can really believe that, in response to Elizabeth's blessing, Mary would speak, much less sing, what we now call the Magnificat?
Who can really believe that an angel of the Lord would appear to Joseph in a dream and tell him to take Mary as his wife, rather than quietly put her away for her 'infidelity'?
Who can really believe in . . . .
A Savior born into the world, yet the starvation & thirst continues?
A Messiah born to lead us to new life, yet human governments and high placed corruption continues?
The Prince of Peace comes, yet hatred, prejudice, injustice and bigotry continues, much of it in His name?
Emmanuel makes His appearance, still landmines are planted, violence is plotted and billions are spent on the newest technology to blow each other to 'kingdom come'?
I think we should cancel Christmas this year . . . 
Put Santa Claus and the elves, even the Elf on the Shelf, in the closet, package up the Christmas lights, take down the tree, peel the decorations off the lawn and discard the Christmas cards . . . until such a time as what humanity professes to believe is reasonably embodied by how we choose to live, one with the other, including the Presidential nominees;
until an embrace of Jesus is also an expression of our willingness to take someone far different from ourselves into our homes;
until our romantic acceptance of 'Ho-ho-ho!' becomes the realistic manifestation of 'Home-Home-Home!' for all God's girls and boys;
until such a time as God doesn't have to prove God's own existence for the satisfaction of people who believe more in their own intellect than in the God who made them from the earth;
and until, in our hearts, angels can fly and sing, shepherds can witness and run in, Wise Men can travel long distances . . . and the hungry are fed, the thirsty are given drink, the naked are clothed, the imprisoned are visited, and the sick are given care,
In think we should cancel Christmas this year . . . but I don't have a vote in it.
God is far more gracious, just, loving, capable of mercy and willing to give second chances than I will ever be . . . and God believes in you. God believes in your capacity to see things differently this year, to believe more strongly, and to act more faithfully. God believes humanity is redeemable.
So, God sends Jesus.
I only pray we are as ready for Him as God believes us to be . . . otherwise, we might as well cancel Christmas this year. Yes, I know, I don't have a voice in it. You are right and . . .
God is God.
Get ready. Here God comes! Meet God!
Have a blessed Advent and Christmas!

The cause of Love is Justice,
The cause of Justice is Equity,
The cause of Equity is Unity,
The cause of Unity is Wholeness,
The cause of Wholeness is Divinity,
And the cause of Divinity is Love.

If it is Peace you seek, then Love,
If it is Grace you seek, then Love,
If it is Mercy you seek, then Love,
For it is in Loving that we find Our Source
and, in so finding, discover our Beginning and Ending.
The only answer to the prayer,
". . . on earth as it is in heaven . . ."
is Love.

This Christmas devote yourself to the journey
of the One who comes and,
in so holy and sacred a passage,
Meet God
In Love.

Wrinkled Wrapping Paper Christmas

Mom tried always to use new wrapping paper for our Christmas gifts. I know because I saw the tubes and neatly packaged stacks of it in the closet where she hid them for her elf-like work when we were out the house. It was also in that closet that Mom kept her favorite sharp scissors, tape, bows, bow making ribbon and . . . the occasional gift, though I won't tell you how I came to know that. That story is its' own sweet memory for telling at another time.

Yet, this day, I am remembering the wrinkled wrapping paper which occasionally surrounded Mom's gifts to us kids. I am holding one of those gifts in the hands of my memory even as these words are being written, turning it from side to side, admiring how Mom's careful eye made every corner seem as new, every former tape mark disappear and every crease seem as a part of the design. No, Mom never ever just slapped paper on a box or a gift the way I am often wont to do, she chose carefully the paper, just as she had chosen the gift. Nothing accidental or happenstance here, especially when she used the wrinkled wrapping paper . . . for it was the wrinkles themselves which told you how much Mom was thinking of you. Let me explain . . .

First, Mom never threw anything away. Mom was a child of the Great Depression, the youngest of four children born to her parents three years before the Stock Market crash of 1929. In her eyes, everything was usable, reusable and usable again . . . and again, until it was no longer usable at all. People today know little of such a mindset.

Second, Mom never wanted her children to have to 'make do' the way she did, but she also didn't want us to grow up not appreciating everything we had. Whether what we were given was new, hand-me-down, grown-into or from somewhere else, we always knew from the look in Mom's eye to the way she wrapped our packages for birthdays, Christmas, Easter or whatever other occasion, Mom had made a very intentional decision about the gift and us. What was given and the way it was wrapped was always from Mom's heart to ours.

Lastly, in my mind, some of the most precious gifts I could ever receive were the ones wrapped in wrinkled paper, for the wrinkled paper gifts told me Mom had chosen to reuse some wrapping paper because, whatever the design or appearance, she thought it the best for the gift I was being given. Simply put, the wrinkled paper gifts took more of Mom's love to select, more of Mom's time to wrap, and more of Mom in every fold and tuck. Mom didn't just 'make it work' for the gift, she made it holy in her care. Even today, I miss the wrinkled paper gifts my Mom used to wrap for me . . . Oh, I still occasionally receive wrinkled paper gifts and even a few comic page gifts, but now it is mostly because that was what was handy or cute, rather than chosen just for me. I can tell the difference - and so can you.

Maybe that is the reason God chose to send God's dearest Gift of Love as a Baby . . . wrinkled, wrapped just right and carefully placed where all might come to know Him. Were Jesus just to 'appear' all smooth, starched, new paper, new tape and new ribbon, most folk probably wouldn't have given Him a moment of their time thinking Him unapproachable, too good for them or even beyond their understanding, No, instead of all that fanciness, God chose to come as a Baby with the wrinkled skin of an Infant, the crumpled Grace of new life placed in a manger, wrapped with the carefully swaddled cloths of Mercy, attended to by the Hand-smoothed folds and corners of Hope, all held together with the tenderness and strength of Angel's songs and Shepherds stories, then topped with the bow of Wise Men's gifts. God so loves you, so sees the Good in you, so believes in God's own vision for you that God takes the time to use what everyone else might regard as 'the least desirable', the wrinkled, to wrap the newest and best of Gifts in Life . . . for all people.

Today I am remembering the wrinkled wrapping paper which occasionally surrounded Mom's gifts to us kids . . . and am thanking God for a Mom who loved us so deeply that her life, her choices, even the manner in which she wrapped her gifts all pointed us to Jesus . . . and I am praying you a wrinkled wrapping paper Christmas, too.

Blessings on the Advent journey!  

The Christmas in You and Me

Nearing the 39th Christmas in our marriage, our 46th since first we started going 'steady', what most I want for Christmas is the Christmas in you,Nancy Wagner . . . and what most I want to give you is the Christmas which is in me.
I believe the purest Gift of Christmas is Love, born anew each day in Jesus. If we cannot yearn for it, pray for it, even wish for it in others, especially those nearest and dearest to us, how then can we ever hope to yearn, pray or wish for it in others whom we do not know? How then will the world come to know Christmas if we do not long and live for the Christmas in each other?
Perhaps if we in the church spent less time working to make others become Christian and devoted more of ourselves to living the Christmas in our soul, the Love of God who meets us in Jesus . . . . perhaps, just perhaps, more than a few would see the Light of the Star and journey towards Him.
So, when I say, " . . . what most I want for Christmas is the Christmas in you . . .', I am saying to the love of my life what I long for in everyone . . . and I long to give no less than that of myself to you. It is the greatest gift, for first the Gift comes from God: Love.
Blessings on the Advent journey.

I am the Change

To walk down the patient hallways of Des Peres Hospital in St. Louis, Missouri, is to journey in the midst of an art gallery. On nearly every wall there hang paintings and pictures on various canvases and backgrounds, inviting those who pass to have hope, ponder more deeply, have a sense of peace and, maybe most importantly, to find healing beyond the dedicated and skillful work of the doctors, nurses and therapists plying their vocation in the Des Peres Hospital setting. Well chosen and placed, these pieces of art are a constant quiet reminder of the artistry which is life, regardless of circumstance or setting. God is at work in this place and the labors of the artists whose creativity grace the walls convey to patient, family and visitor alike that sometimes the 'more' we seek in ourselves, those around us and even our world, often, is just waiting to be experienced right where we are, in us, through us, if only we open our eyes to see with the Artist's Eye of God.

Yesterday, as I completed a visit with one of the folk with which I am blessed to journey, I departed their room, pressed the button on the sanitizer dispenser to cleanse my hands before moving on and, as I rubbed my hands together, stood there and pondered the pictures on the wall before me. Pondering on each one, this last in the line of art I viewed stood out as though first in meaning. By Janice Scherer, St. Louis, MO., I am the Change, 2015 Acrylic, can be found at MySLART.org. 
"I am the Change" . . . Standing there, looking deeply into this woman's eyes, sensing the sadness of what is going on in the world around her, yet believing in the hopefulness of what might be, I am the Change makes no apologies, offers no blame, directs no guilt. Rather, in this beautiful gift of a woman there is an emerging sense of 'regardless where I am, I am moving towards something better'. This is a woman who will not be tied down by history, by sexuality, by ethnicity, by race, by where she grew up, by what others think she can be, by glass ceilings, by what her parents taught her to think, by how her siblings shaped her days, by what her teachers did or did not teach her, by the culture in which she grew up . . . or by Ferguson, Chicago, Charleston, Paris, Colorado Springs, or San Bernardino. This is a woman whose clear steadfast gaze, with just the beginning of an offset grin, anticipates triumph in that which she undertakes.
She will not achieve perfection, nor will others dictate to her how far she can go. This woman is the change itself, in whatever measure, manner or expansiveness she can create . . . and from that place and time she looks at you and me, not in defiance, but in the calculated hope and truth which only her soul understands. I am the Change changes the one who dares to see with eyes open to new direction and, especially in the Des Peres Hospital setting where now this painting graces a space on a wall, requires the one who dares a glance to become the change as well.
In sickness or in health, in plenty or in want, for better or worse . . . I am the Change becomes the siren call to weary travelers on the road. There is no fear, there is no despair, there is no crying, there is no death anymore, for the former things have passed away.  I am the Change transforms the landscape of our experience, whether in a hospital, on the roughened street or the pitted country road . . . for this woman is, both, promise and challenge and she will not be content until we have entered into her labors.
I am the Change is the Coming Christ among us. Can you see her in Him? Can you receive her in you?
Something to ponder on the Advent journey.

*With special thanks to the creativity of Janice Scherer in creating I am the Change, and to Des Peres Hospital for thoughtfully and imaginatively creating an environment for health and healing which includes such powerful works.

Time to Rethink Christmas

Dare we re-think Christmas? Could it be that the 'Christian understanding' of why God comes to us in Jesus might be flawed? Might a different perspective on the birthing of the Christ help us move in a more positive direction in our care for ourselves and one another?

Such are the questions which have been mulling about in my mind this afternoon. I had just heard the details of the untimely death of a young lady who had been a student of mine when I was Student Teaching back in the early 1980's and that, coupled with ongoing prayers and concerns for the folks in San Bernardino, Paris and Syria . . . and Ferguson, Chicago, Charleston . . . well, suffice it to say, I have been thinking more about the 'why' Jesus comes, than the 'how' Jesus comes. Christmas has to be about more than a star shining in a clear sky over a stable in Bethlehem . . . or Santa is just a generous guy who shows up once a year and takes lots of credit the other 364 days he is hanging around waiting for his big night. The 'why' is critical.

For most of my life, including my professional life as a minister, the language in which I was steeped and by extension have used throughout my ministry is that, 'For a broken, wounded and oppressed world, God sent Jesus that we might find healing, know wholeness and be set free to serve God.' Nearly without fail, I have spoken those words around this time each year, praying they would give some sort of comfort in times of crisis for those most in need, some sort of restoration in peace for those longing for a new day, and some sort of wholeness for those struggling with fragmented living in a missing-puzzle-piece world. 

Then, today, it occurred to me that a functioning theology which requires everything being 'broken' before God is finally driven to act and send the Son is essentially a theology of imperfection with an ongoing expectation of lack and wont. Isn't that the very rationale that expects ISIS to attack, the Middle East to be in eternal conflict, that Republicans and Democrats will never get along, that Russia and the United States must be mortal enemies and Ozzie and Harriet could never really exist in real life? Where, in such an understanding, is the God who looks over creation at the beginning of time and reflects, 'Good'?

What would happen if we look again at the arrival of Jesus, however it is that you want to tell the story of how the Christ-Child arrives, but this time, instead of looking at the 'broken' people around Jesus and focusing on their brokenness as they come to the manger, now see the person needing a walker to move toward the stable as 'Good', just as she is . . . and the beaten spouse as 'Good', just as he is . . . and the soldier as 'Good', just as she is . . . and the man caught in adultery as 'Good', just as he is . . . and the woman with the breast cancer diagnosis as 'Good', just as she is . . . and the shepherds as 'Good', just as they are . . . and the politicians as 'Good', just as they are . . . and the combatants in the Middle East as 'Good', just as they are . . . ? What would happen if we look at the birth scene through the eyes of God, instead of only seeing the ones who are streaming their need towards the 'Deliverer'? What would it mean, if it were even imaginable, that God comes to us in Jesus with a priority for the 'Good' in all of us? That the purpose of the birth of Jesus wasn't so much to 'fix' our problems, but to allow our eyes to see the 'Good' which God sees in us as the very reason God would invest so much of God-self in all of us? What happens to our theology, to Christmas, even to Easter, if we stop for a moment and ponder Christ on the cross for the 'Good' in God's creation, rather than that His blood is only for covering over the evil in our hearts? What would it mean if the celebration of the birth of Jesus were about lifting up the 'Good' which God has envisioned in humanity from the very beginning of time - and now is coming, Face-to-face to underscore what such 'Good' means to God?

Isn't it easier to forgive the one who is 'Good' in your heart, rather than the one who is the dickens? Isn't it easier to live and die for those who, to you, are 'Good' for your soul as family, friends and neighbors, rather than for the stranger whose name you do not know? Isn't there more to be redeemed in the life of one you perceive as essentially 'Good', over the one whom you regard as lost? And if it such things are so with us, how much more with God?

Christmas, the celebration of the birthing of the Son of God into our world, if seen through the eyes of God, rather than through our own visually-impaired souls, is about the 'Good' in God's creation., the 'Good' in you, the 'Good in me. Were that not true, why would God ever dare to say from the very beginning, 'Good'? 

Imagine for a moment the birth narrative scene of the Babe lying in a manger, looking up with those Divine eyes at His parents, the Shepherds and the animals . . . with the angelic song resounding with 'Good'! The One who comes does so for the 'Good' in all creation, including the powerful and rich, the powerless and poor, the ones with tremendous abilities and those who struggle to tie their shoes, the blue collar worker and the white collar executive, the Amish and the Catholic, the Muslim and the Jew, the Christian and the Buddhist, the one who is conceal/carry and the one who would never pull a trigger, the Christian fundamentalist and the Islamic extremist . . . No matter who you are on life's journey, God sees the essential 'Good' in you and comes, in Jesus, to empower the Good . . . over evil, poor choices, lack of discipline, arrogance, anger, hatred, animosity, injustice, inequity, intolerance, poor health, broken bodies, fragile spirits and utter self-loathing. Still, God sees the 'Good' in you and comes to you that you might live fully the 'Good' in your soul. 

What would happen if 'Good' were the basis of Christmas, instead of 'under-repair'?

If we come to accept that God sees us, first and foremost, as 'Good', how much more inclined would we be to see each other as 'Good', first and foremost? And, how would that change the stakes of the political, religious and economic games we are playing at the cost of so many lives around the world? If we can no longer give precedence to being 'sinful' and 'broken' and 'in need of redemption' as the reasons for which Jesus comes - no longer using those images to enslave and punish others because of their imperfections before God, could we become more accepting of differences, more caring for the disadvantaged and more tolerant of the manner in which God expresses and exposes 'Good' in others?

'Good' . . . it's not just for the Genesis story anymore.

In the new Beginning God says, 'Good', again, and does so in tones we can hear as 'Jesus'. 'Good'.

Have you ever wondered why He comes? Jesus comes for the 'Good' in you - and everyone. Live like it. Hopefully, such a faith will make it harder on us all to pull a trigger, detonate a bomb or fire missiles at each other, sacrificing the 'Good' in ourselves in destroying the 'Good' in you.
Maybe it is time to rethink Christmas. 'Good'.

Something to think about on the Advent journey to Bethlehem.

  

Live the Hope - Embody the Joy

"Run, Hide, Fight"

      is what society is reduced to

     when, as a culture, we don't

     live justly, equitable and responsibly

     one-with-the-other.

When you believe you can crucify the Christ

     and you shut Christ in a tomb

     with your privilege, arrogance, and entitlement,

     the Gospel becomes muted and distant

     and others become angry, even ready to lash out.

Blessedly, God is not distant,

     nor will God be muted.

The Son comes to Bethlehem

     and the tomb is empty in Jerusalem.

Stand up with Him and live in faith with others

     as you are birthed to do.

This is not an issue of guns,

     but a lack of value for the Life God intends,

     a break down of cultural and corporate responsibility,

     one-for-the-other.

Live the Hope.

Embody the Joy.

     Lest all you are left with in life is

     "Run, Hide, Fight".

The Bethlehem Star (Shines Only Over the Christian Privileged?)

I saw it again last evening as I drove home. Just North of St. Libory on Route 4, on the South side of the road, a Bethlehem Star shines brightly in the night, each night, announcing the place where Jesus lay (in the hearts of those who welcome Him). How appropriate. It is the Kramper Dairy Farm - and the Star stands high and bright . . . upon the top of their blue Harvestore silo overlooking the large stable of lowing Holsteins below. This singular sacred sight quiets me at the end of a long day.

God is with us, Emmanuel.

God is with us in San Bernardino . . . and in the Siteman Cancer Center . . . in the imprisonments of our body and soul . . . in the shame of being abused by one you love . . . in the wonder of birthing new life . . . in the exultation of doing work you enjoy . . . in the struggle of doing a job you hate . . . in the in-between times of having no work at all . . . in the ongoing construction of our daily lives . . . in the politics and politicians with which we struggle . . . in the animosity of competing religions . . . in the community of sisters and brothers of God . . . in the beauty of a family gathered together around an evening supper table . . . in the loneliness of a singular existence shared with no one else in particular . . . in the messiness of our cow lot existence . . . and in the warmth and safety of His stable birthplace. God is with us, Emmanuel.

Just look at the star shining there along the road . . . which, oddly enough, I am most likely to see and savor when I approach from the East. Hmmmmm, that seems somehow Biblical . . .

I had just been listening to the ongoing reports from the San Bernardino shootings when, turning on the curve of Route 4, and continuing westward towards the Star, the reporter said something which, for the first time, really caught my attention. She said, "The shooters were Muslim." I don't know the reporters name, but I know she wasn't the first one to have said it, nor was it the first time I had heard this particular bit of news, yet hearing it said in just the manner she said it, I wondered, "So, when was it that we began to identify aggressors, terrorists and killers by their religion?"

I thought about it for a while and I think, in my my memory anyway, we probably have to go back to the events in the United States of September 11, 2001. Reporter after reporter, news copy after news copy, politician after politician, average citizen after average citizen was likely to have been found in those days saying something like, 'The terrorists who flew the planes were Muslim' and, ever since, the language has stuck. I wonder why?

Does the Bethlehem Star over the Kramper Dairy Farm, the Light announcing the imminent arrival of Emmanuel, shine only for or over Christians? Is God keeping track of what people are members of what faith tradition as we abuse, terrorize, make war, starve and marginalize others?

Why did the papers not say of the gang member in Chicago who shot the little boy that he was Christian? (I don't know that he was or wasn't.) Why do the newscasts not say of the man who killed so many in the Planned Parenthood Clinic in Colorado Springs that he was Christian? What of the police officer in Chicago? Or Ferguson? Or the shooter in Charleston (who was in a church, after all!)? Why do we not require to know the faith of every perpetrator of every crime? Could it be that Christians are just as inclined to violence as Muslims or Jews? Are we to assume that every crime, if it was not exclusively reported that the aggressor was Muslim, was committed by a Christian? Or Jew? Or Buddhist? Or (your religion du jour)?

As aligned with the current hot topic of 'white privilege', could it be that what is emerging here in this age is 'Christian privilege'? (We won't say anything about your faith background . . . unless you aren't one of 'us', the 'in crowd'.)

I suspect the Star of Bethlehem shining in the ever darkening skies of the nearing Winter of our existence shines there for all and in all. In Emmanuel, God With Us, God isn't calling us to be Christian, God calls us to be faithful, mindful that all people are God's people. Were God to keep 'score' of our religious tradition in relation to our sinfulness, how deeply mired and mucky would the Christian tradition really be? Hmmmmm. 'Christian privilege' . . . the new, yet ancient, way to make the other among us 'the enemy', each according to their faith. Hmmmmm.

There it is shining along the South side of Route 4, just North of St. Libory, the Bethlehem Star. It glimmers and glistens with the soft light of Hope and Love made flesh, Emmanuel, God With Us. God, be with us all in Peace. Please! Oh, and God? Thank you for the using the Kramper's silo to post your Star that we might all see. Help us to see with our hearts what You already know in your Soul and, there, be willing to lay down our assumed privilege that others might find You, too. Amen.

A Perspective on the Shootings in San Bernardino, CA

Take a breath.

In the grist mill of 24/7/365 news outlets and their insatiable need to raise ratings,

In the midst of horrific images being thrust upon the airwaves with increasing urgency that you 'see' and are thirsting to see more,

In the culture of mistrust of those who are perceived as 'different', whether in race, religion, sexuality, ethnicity, or even by vocation,

In the rising wave of political correctness, volatile issues and hot button talking points which command more attention than any attempt at being truly human,

In the fear which is imposed on a community, a state, a nation and our world in acts of brutal savagery that reduce human life and spirit into collateral damage to be counted,

In light of 14 more dead and 17 more injured, not counting the aggressors themselves, in San Bernardino, California,

And with all due respect to events in Paris, the Beirut bombing, the downing of the Russian jet liner, the Turkey peace rally bombing, and the events of war in Syria, Iraq and Afghanistan . . .

Take a breath.

Breathe. Turn off the television and radio. Take in the quiet and listen to your heart.

No, this will not make these egregious events go away or any less complicated, but it will give you, your mind, your heart and your soul a chance to process on your own, without the pressing agendas of the politicians seeking support, special interest groups proving their point, media outlets trying hard to sell air time and relevancy, and fear overwhelming your life. Take a breath. Breathe out, breathe in. Pray.

A publication called the Daily News is receiving a great deal of attention this morning for their current headline, "GOD ISN'T FIXING THIS". I haven't read their article or given a moment of time to their intent, yet my first knee jerk response to reading the headline was, 'They are half right.' God isn't fixing this but, as in the life and ministry of Jesus, as in the moment He was betrayed, tried, and beaten, as in the event of Him being paraded down the streets of Jerusalem and crucified on a cross in the midst of a garbage heap . . . God isn't fixing this, but God is in the midst of it with more power, love, grace, mercy and transformative vision than any magazine, newspaper, television or radio reporter or editor might ever imagine. God is at work in this . . . so be careful of that for which you pray.

Breathe. Pray.

When you pray for Peace, do you really expect God to magically make peace occur in the hearts of women and men across the world?

When you pray for Comfort, do you expect God to be the one who makes whole the hearts of the grieving, as though it could suddenly happen?

When you pray for a cessation of war, do you expect God to silence the weapons of humankind and make merciful the hearts of those who have been and are historically oppressed by the privileged?

When you pray the hungry are fed and the thirsty are given drink, is God the one who is supposed to make the sandwiches and fill the glasses with water?

When you pray for everyone to get along, are you expecting God to meld the hands of victims and oppressors together and have them sing in harmony, "Kum Ba Yah"?

When you pray for sanity and understanding to guide the leaders of our nations, are you imploring God to mystically transform the insanity of our decision making processes and shower down goodwill for all people to receive?

God isn't fixing this, but God is in the midst of it . . . in you.

Perhaps legislating greater control over the sale of weapons would help, but the deeper issue is related to self-control, as opposed to entitlement, self-righteousness, and arrogance towards others. No government can legislate honor, respect of others, common sense or appreciation for the greater community. No government can legislate self-respect, self-control, care for the community or desire to guard the common good. No government can do for the common person what the common person must do for themselves in the building and under-girding of family, faith and community.

While we are busily assigning blame and assuring ourselves that someone else will do what we, personally, must be doing, those who would terrorize us do so by stripping away our assurances of safety, while taking credit for doing it and blithely accepting blame for that which most horrifies us. The world community is shot at, executed, bombed, and land-minded, literally, to death by our own unwillingness to accept responsibility for being peaceable, comforting, patient, understanding, gracious, merciful and hospitable with others.

Muslims are not the terrorists, Christians are not the terrorists, even ISIS is not the terrorists. We who pray to God to do what we ourselves are unwilling to do in our own lives and faith are the terrorists. We who expect others to protect and defend our faith (whatever that is) and our nation against those who are different (whatever that means) in the most humane and politically acceptable manner (depending on the day) and will not ourselves lift a finger or make a commitment or offer our own lives in the care and defensive of the defenseless are the terrorists. We who are better at assigning blame, naming the causes, and identifying the issues than we are at standing shoulder-to-shoulder with our sisters and brothers in caring for the widow, orphan and marginalized among us are the terrorists.

As frightening as all of the warring and civilian killing is around the world, the ones who concern me most are the ones who abdicate the fullness of their humanity in relating to our world as a holy community of sisters and brothers for fear of losing their own life, their own position, their own privilege and their own ease as part of the cost they may have to pay in being just, equitable and whole. No gun-control legislation will cure such narcissism, neither will prayers heal the community rooted in such living.

Breathe, Pray.

God is in the midst of the events of our age . . . inviting us to take up our cross and follow Jesus, not at the expense of, or retaliation towards, those who live and believe differently, but in the ongoing witness those who follow Him make in embracing the Realm of God in the present age. God longs to be at work in you - that the events of San Bernardino, Paris, New York, Pennsylvania, Washington D.C., Syria, Beirut, Egypt, Syria, Iraq and Afghanistan never happen again.

Breathe. Pray. Live.

Live as a people of hope whose confidence in is One whose weapons are exposed at the door of an empty tomb, for there we see Forgiveness, Love and New Life revealed for the first time, all over again, as God wipes away the terror of the night and brings Joy in the dawning of a new day. 

Breathe. Pray. Live.

May God bless the victims, their families and those who tend to them and protect them in San Bernardino . . . and in every age and place . . . as we learn to live together in the Realm of God come near. 

Solo Voices and Players

Our oldest granddaughter, Mary Cailin, sang a solo last evening in the Red Bud Middle School Christmas Concert. Well, it was not exactly a solo . . . Mary was one of approximately 150 students who sang together as a chorus, yet hers was the only voice her Papa heard. In my mind, all others joined in supporting her angelic singing, in harmonizing with her clarity and in expanding the fullness of her rejoicing. It was truly an incredible event organized exclusively for Mary that she might share with the world her operatic skills - and share with the world she did! "Bells of Christmas", "Jingle Bell Rock", "Let It Snow" and "Somewhere in My Memory" were never sung as pure, light and tonally clear as Mary sang them last evening . . . and "Silent Night" simply reduced me to tears as Mary's telling of the story brought the birth of our Savior into the home of my heart. 

Then, were that not enough, Mary Cailin, played a saxophone solo (albeit with the rest of the Junior High Band) that would have made Kenny G or John Coltrane blush with envy. She later told me that she missed one note, but I never heard it. All this Papa heard was her unencumbered joy of music being celebrated before hundreds of her adoring fans. The applause was thunderous, the adoration overwhelming and the lingering of well-wishers long but, what can one so talented do other than acknowledge those who see the gifts of God in her?

Later, after the throngs had dispersed, Mary, her Dad, Matt, and her Nana entered the local eatery where I had gone ahead to reserve a table for the emerging diva and her family at the end of an exhausting evening of performances. As Mary entered the room she opened her arms to her Papa and said, "Thank you for coming! I love you!" . . . and the world stopped spinning for a moment. There are no other words a Papa would rather hear from his granddaughter and, already so proud of her for her accomplishments, now his love for her, his willingness to do anything for her, and his incredible humility in even being recognized by her (in public!) deepens the connection they forging in love far beyond human expression. It is pure Joy. Pure Joy.

'Ask for the world and it is yours', I thought. 'Direct me to slay a dragon for you and it will be done', I mused. 'I will forever be the one who protects you from those who would hurt you', I promised . . . all said in my mind, not out loud, yet none the less true.
"Thank you for coming! I love you!" are the words my oldest granddaughter spoke in my ear last night and, from the depths of her being, I knew she meant every word. Not only can this girl sing and play the saxophone, she knows I would go to the ends of the earth for her . . . and she appreciates it! "God", I thought, "I am so blessed . . .and humbled . . . and grateful for such a gift. Thank you."

Later, as I drove home in my pickup truck, it was my last thought with her that kept coming to the foreground of my mulling along the miles of the journey. "God, I am so blessed . . . and humbled . . . and grateful for such a gift. Thank you." And, if such raw emotion can fill the soul of this Papa as he shares a moment with his granddaughter, how much more is it for You, God, The Papa, as You share each moment with us?

Are each of us 'soloists' in the choir and band? Do You look at me as I looked at our granddaughter and, though You see all the other mouths moving, hear only me? When I play my instrument in Your band, will mine be the instrument You hear above all the others? When I whisper in your ear, "Thank You for coming! I love You!", does your heart melt the way mine did?

Is that what You were trying to say when your angels sang over a stable in Bethlehem? When the heavenly orchestra lifted Your praise into all creation at the birth of Your Son? On each step of His journey, were You gathering us into your arms and reminding us just how much we mean to You? How far You will travel to sit, even in the middle of a crowd, and hear only us? Could it be that, in the moment we rejected your Gift, You still waited at the Table for us to return that, in the emptiness of the Tomb, we would enter Your continual embrace and be moved to say, "Thank you for coming! I love You!"? Do You weep as I wept when "Silent Night" is sung and the story of the birth of our Savior comes home anew into Your heart? And the questions kept coming . . . .

If it is so with we who are human, how much more are such things true for the One who creates us?

Our oldest granddaughter, Mary Cailin, sang and played solos last evening . . . or so it seemed for her Papa . . . and on his way home The Papa reminded him that it no less for any of us in The Papa's heart. Thank you, Papa, for Coming! Thank you, Papa, for Listening when I whisper in Your ear that song I would only have You hear! I love You, Papa! I love You always!

My Work Is Just Begun

When my life on earth is o'er, my journey done, my days flown by,
May it be said of me that my work is just begun,
The morning sun barely beginning to shine.
Like the worship service flow, may this time
Be as a well-played Prelude before the Call,
May the ministry in which I have shared
Point still to the greater Moments ahead:
The Word made Flesh, Proclaimed,
The Sacramental Chrism, Partaken,
The Final Benediction, Announced.
If all by which I am known or remembered
Is shackled by my time on earth,
I still will not have failed
If only He in me caused you to look and long
For the One who is coming indeed.
When my life on earth is o'er, my journey done, my days flown by,
May it be said of me that my work is just begun.

I Gave Jesus a Ride Home Yesterday

I gave Jesus a ride home yesterday. Oddly enough, he lives in Litchfield, Illinois.
He came to the door of the St. Paul UCC Church Office. Actually, I noticed him when he walked by the door as though looking for somewhere or something else, then came back to the door. At first appearance he was wearing a thin tee-shirt, jeans which were spattered with something, those hospital non-skid socks in institutional gray, and flip-flops. He also had hospital wristbands on each wrist. Ringing the bell at the door to the office, he turned his face towards the Conference Room where I was sitting in conversation with a couple of other people and it was then that I also saw his black-eye and bent nose. Clearly this man had been in a brawl at one time or another and was now here at the church needing something.
Not sure of his circumstance and feeling a need to shield our staff from Lord knows what (no pun intended), I went to the door and opened it to him, inviting him in and asking him his name. (I will not share his name here to protect his identity, but let's just call him 'Jesus') Jesus told me his name and then I asked about his hospital bracelets. So it was that Jesus told me his story:
It seems that on Saturday evening Jesus and his wife were home watching television when, suddenly, there was a commotion on their front porch and a pounding on their door. Jesus got up from his chair, went to the front door and opened it only to be met by the fist of a man who was in a drug-induced craze. "He was out of his mind", Jesus said, "and was beatin' everythin' and everyone in his way . . . and, I was jist the one at the door." "Turns out", Jesus continued, "that he had already beaten his uncle nearly to death before gettin' to me." "It was scary, but the po-lice came and got him in cuffs and took him away . . . or so I was told. I don't really remember much since I was knocked out from being hit and what I do remember is pretty hazy. I've got a concussion."
I inquired, "You've got a concussion?"
Jesus continued, "Yeah, that's what they tell me and that's why I was in the hospital. They airlifted me from my home to a hospital in St. Louis because they were afraid I was bleeding in the brain. They done enough tests now to think I'm okay and this morning they turned me loose about 6 or 7 o'clock."
Thinking this a pretty odd story because, really, what kind of a hospital receives a patient airlifted in with a concussion, diagnoses them, pronounces them 'Okay enough to be sent home with a concussion', then turns them out on the street with prescriptions to fill, but with no-one to receive them? Really? I asked him which hospital it was, but he didn't know. So, I asked for some sort of identification. Jesus didn't have anything in any of his blood-spattered pockets (Remember I said earlier his jeans were spattered with something? It was blood, his blood from  being hit.), except . . . except the 'Welcome' folder from the hospital with his prescriptions inside. There on the outside of the folder was the name, "St. Louis University Hospital". So, now we know who turns the beaten man away with no ride home.
Unemployed, probably uninsured (I never asked, simply because it wasn't my business), disabled by a construction accident some years earlier when he fell off a three story home, Jesus was turned out on the streets of St. Louis to figure out in his foggy state how to get home to Litchfield.
As it turns out, Jesus' wife has her own health issues as she battles her second round of cancer and the effects of treatments. She wasn't answering her telephone . . . I tried her number and left a message that Jesus was in our office where someone could pick him up. Then I asked him how he got here. Seems someone had told him to go to the Metro-Link station and get a ride to Illinois and he had managed his way to the Metro-Link station where someone had given him enough money to purchase a ticket which would take him to Illinois. Thank God for good Samaritans along the way! Yet, the Metro-Link only took him as far as Scott Air-Force Base. It seems that once Jesus was at the SAFB station, he was able to convince the driver of one of the Metro buses to give him a lift to Lebanon, where he would at least be on Route 4 and might get a ride North. From the Lebanon bus stop, he went to the Police Station and explained his circumstance and they told him . . . this clearly concussion affected man who was speaking and remembering with no little difficulty, with a black eye, broken nose, a thin tee-shirt on a cool morning, blood spattered pants, hospital bracelets on each wrist, and hospital sock covered feet in flip-flops . . . they told him to walk to St. Paul where he might be able to get some help. Hmmmm.
So it was that Jesus was in the St. Paul Church Office, looking for help to get to Litchfield, to get home to his wife for whom he was worried because she wasn't answering the telephone. I looked at our Office Manager and said, "Well, I was planning to drive to Litchfield sometime this week anyway to visit an old friend in need, there's no reason it can't be today." So, Jesus and I got in the church car and headed North towards his home.
Along the way, Jesus told me he had grown up in the Mississippi bayou, near Biloxi. Since he didn't have much education, he had worked as a laborer nearly all his life . . . well, up until the time he fell off the three story roof and hurt his back.
I asked him what brought him to Litchfield. Jesus looked at me with a twinkle in his dark brown eyes and said, "Well, I came here on a job - and stayed here because of a woman. Isn't that jist the way it goes?" We both laughed a man's laugh at such a thought. Later, driving into Litchfield toward his home, Jesus pointed out the building that had once been the tavern where he had met his wife. "She's a good woman, a hard working woman. Had a job all her life and raised her kids mostly by herself 'til I came along, then we did it together. Been nearly 25 years now. I got kids of my own in another state, but I ain't seen 'em much. Love 'em, just ain't seen 'em much."
I thought, "Isn't that the way things sometimes go for the laborers on the road?", but I didn't say anything. I just kept following Jesus' directions to his house.
Turning into his driveway, there were two men standing outside his modest single story frame home waiting for him. (His wife had called the Church Office after we left and our Office Manager told her we would be there soon.) Between the three of them there were about 16 teeth, but all of their teeth were visible because they were smiling so much to be back together. Jesus was home.
Before Jesus got out of my car he shook my hand and asked if I wanted to come in and meet his wife and have a cup of coffee. I declined the opportunity, reminding Jesus I had given him a ride because I was on the way to see someone else. He just smiled and said, "Thank you for bringing me home. I won't ferget 'yer.", and I firmly believe he won't . . . for I will never forget him.
After visiting with my friend and on the way back, I reflected on giving Jesus a ride home. "How many times in our lives", I wondered, "are we privileged to give Jesus a ride home . . . and don't?" Sometimes we are scared, sometimes we are too busy, sometimes we don't want to be bothered by the 'poor among us', and sometimes we simply can't bear the thought of Jesus riding in our car. But how many times do we miss the opportunity to be the Good Samaritan because Jesus only has a couple of teeth or blood spattered pants or some sort of hand-me-down tee shirt or flip-flops or hospital bracelets on each arm or clearly, doesn't have all his mental capacities because he has a concussion? And this guy had them all. Jesus was left along the side of the road . . .
In the Biblical narrative it is a lawyer who asks Jesus, "Who is my neighbor?" Sometimes, it is life itself which continues to ask such a question of us today.
I gave Jesus a ride home today . . . and I am the one who is at peace and healed because of it.
I just thought you would like to know he lives in Litchfield, at least that is where I took him. Have you met him anywhere today?
Peace on the journey.

In Response to Lafayette, LA.

“Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord. Lord, hear my voice! Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications! If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities, Lord, who could stand? But there is forgiveness with you, so that you may be revered. I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope; my soul waits for the Lord more than those who watch for the morning, more than those who watch for the morning.” Ps. 130.1-6 NRSV

Last evening our 7 year old granddaughter asked her father, “Why do all these shootings happen?” as news of the killings in the theatre in Lafayette, Louisiana came across the screen of their television. It is a great question and one that I’m not sure anyone can answer with accuracy or certainty, yet the questions of our children and grandchildren will not be silenced. “Why do all these shootings happen?”

Already this morning there were the usual and varied calls for gun control and tighter gun availability through registration, which are the expected political speaking points on days such as this, for it is far easier to speak of reducing crime by controlling weapons than it is to consider the deeper issues of ‘why’ such crimes occur. Additionally, social media sources and individuals are calling for, and offering, prayers for the victims, their families, the community, those in the theatre not injured, the First Responders, the Police, the Mayor, the Governor . . . and for the shooter and his family. People, all kinds of people, are echoing the question of a 7 year old, “Why do all these shootings happen?”

“I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope; my soul waits for the Lord more than those who watch for the morning, more than those who watch for the morning.”

I cannot and will not argue the relative ease with which folk can purchase firearms, but before there were guns, there were swords and knives and, before there were swords and knives, there were rocks and limbs. People will acquire what they need, legally or illegally, to do what they want to do. Can gun registration be tightened? Of course. Might ease of accessibility of firearms be more restricted? Yes.

Yet, the bottom line is this: None of that answers the prayers of the masses or the question of a 7 year old, “Why do all these shootings happen?” By extension, one might surmise that along the Via Dolorosa on a day not so very long ago another 7 year old might have asked, “Why do all these crucifixions happen?” for, the truth is, we haven’t answered the essential question of ‘Why’, simply because it is easier to deal with the ‘How’ with our laws. The ‘Why’ requires something far deeper and self-assessing of each of us – and we would rather not touch such places or imagine such answers. Their implications might pierce our own comfortable soul.

What happens if the answer to ‘Why’ has to do with the widening economic gap in our culture? With those ‘who-have’ investing and legislating ‘those-who-have-not’ into even more cataclysmic financial burdens?

What happens if the answer to ‘Why’ has to do with modern day self-proclaimed prophets who tell the masses what is wrong with the state of their lives, create the stir for ‘reformation’, set the fires, then go back to their comfortable homes, private schools for their children, safe employment and retirement plans, smug in their certainty they are making a difference in race relations, equity and justice? Whatever happened to the prophet who lived and labored among the people – and didn’t just visit?

What happens if the answer to ‘Why’ has to do with an increasing sense of fear about and for our world and the broadening sense of insecurity among the people and our nations? With the building dread for who or what might be considered an enemy and the looming wonderment if we will even be able to tell?

What happens if the answer to ‘Why’ has to do with the state of religion in today’s world? With Christians who place themselves as judge and jury over anyone with whom they have a disagreement about sin? With radical Christians, Muslims and Jews, all of whom believe themselves so righteous in their faith that the only way they can keep themselves pure is to eliminate everyone who is not the same as them or is a threat to them?

What happens if the answer to ‘Why’ has to do with an ever-increasing devaluation of life itself? With husbands and wives who cheat with others, with video games which ‘kill’ then start over again, with the sense that nothing really matters if it doesn’t affect me directly or with the idea that we can use up the earth and its’ resources and pollute the earth while expecting no real consequence which will affect our generation?

What happens if the answer to ‘Why’ has to do with parents who birth, but do not parent? With communities which require compliance, but do not comply? With corporations which worship the profits, but profit no-one other than themselves? With nations which consume creation, yet create nothing on which others might depend?

What happens if the answer to ‘Why’ has to do with a faith which prays, but does not listen for an Answer? With a Church which seeks the conversion of all the earth, but only secondarily focuses on doing any earthly good? With a growing sense of having no voice in the outcome of life, yet hearing no one else’s dread of not being heard? With wanting to live each day for a purpose, but purposely living each day only for one-self?

What happens if the answer to ‘Why’ is simply and poignantly on display before us as the driver of the car casually tosses her beer can out the window? Throws his fast-food bag of trash on the ground? Or another refuses to ‘re-use’? And yet another plays the game, ‘Smash the beer/soda can/bottle against the highway sign while driving down the road?

What happens if the answer to ‘Why’ has to do with you and me . . . and our unwillingness to be neighbor to another, even as the Levite and Priest passed by on the other side of the road when viewing the man beaten and in the ditch? With our own sense of entitlement – and fear of getting involved – even though we are called to be as the Samaritan who chose to change his day and journey to tend to the wounded man?

What happens if the answer to ‘Why’ . . . impinges on our well-ordered theories of life and faith, revealing us to be no less hypocritical regarding those who are different from us than the Elders and Chief Priests were of Jesus? When we will not and cannot accept differences in sexuality, ethnicity, race, politics, equity of pay and justice for gender in the workplace . . . and the faith-place?

What happens if the answer to ‘Why’ . . . .

“Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord. Lord, hear my voice!” . . . and cause me to listen to Yours, to live your Word, to embody your Meaning, to do your Will.

I am convinced the answer to the question asked by my 7 year old granddaughter – and 7 year old children around the world, “Why do all these shootings happen?” will only superficially be found in our corporate management of firearms. I am also increasingly profoundly convinced that the root answer to such a question will only be found when, in praying to God for answers, relief, healing and comfort, we dare to look in the mirror of the cross and see ourselves in the nails which continue to pierce His flesh and hold Him on the rough wood of our behaviors.

In the moment we can divest ourselves from having to be right, have the most, be in control, have the authority, assume the power, gather all the resources, and be adored by the masses/elected to be king/queen by their joyous acclamation . . . in that moment, when we humbly believe and serve as we are believed in and served . . . we will be nearer the Answer for which our soul longs - and not until then.

I mourn this day for the loss of so many lives in Lafayette, Louisiana. I mourn for the community, our nation and our world in the face of such brutality and senselessness.

God did not cause this to happen, nor is God giving us only what we can endure, nor does God have such cruelty as part of some ‘grand-plan’ from which we can all learn something. No, such things are not of God, but neither are such things out of God’s capacity to redeem, as the teacher protecting the other teacher there that night reminds us. So it is that I mourn, too, our loss of innocence. Once upon a time we were content to blame everything upon the will of God and take ourselves off the hook for our behaviors regarding God and each other. No longer can such innocence be claimed or tolerated, lest we never answer the question of ‘Why’ because it is personally easier to address the issue of ‘How’.

As we near the end of Summer in the approach of August, I pray each of us are approaching a new day in Christ and the beginning of a future marked by truthful, thoughtful answers to the questions of 7 year olds throughout the earth. Their future depends on our diligence, honesty and faithfulness in facing the answers – and our soul requires no less. Peace be with you all on the journey.

Pastor Don

Questions of Church Growth

I recently read a column in a local newspaper which tried to address the issue of declining numbers in the Christian tradition. The author pointed to the dichotomy between nearby mega-churches with their large attendance numbers and the ever-shrinking numbers in their own faith tradition, all the while mingling the gall of a civic organization into the conversation, finding no satisfying answer to their wonderment.
I am no expert on why people come to Christianity or why they leave it, but these are a few things I am observing:
Most people do not want to become Christian for the sake of Christianity, to reach heaven or because they fear Hell. They become Christian because they have had or desire to have a genuine experience with Jesus that isn't laden by liturgy or sermons, but is highlighted, even set free, by acts of acceptance, welcome, healing, love, mercy and community, such as Jesus Himself modeled in ministry.
The local congregation which is not engaged in the issues present in the local community, providing leadership and opportunities for folk to witness in ways of justice, grace, equality, understanding and faith, is a congregation caught up in the study of its' own belly-button and will languish and die. There is far more to faith in Christ than Christianity and there is far more to Christianity than maintenance of tradition and tending to sacred cows . . . and those who are seeking a meaningful root to their sacred journey know the difference and are drawn to places where their time and gifts are nurtured and valued as those who are God's children.
The church was never meant to be judge and jury of God's people, neither was it intended to become the gatekeeper of God's Holy Kingdom. Those who are disciples of Jesus of Nazareth, the One who is Christ, Lord and Savior, are those who will be found feeding the hungry, welcoming the stranger, clothing the naked, giving a drink to the thirsty, tending to the sick and caring for the imprisoned. Those who are disciples of Jesus will be found in the leper colonies of our current age, touching the unclean, eating with sinners, offering welcome to the marginalized and striving for justice, God's justice, even in the midst of the Temple. Sometimes the tables have to be overturned before anyone notices something is wrong in the way we have been doing faith all along.
People today are multi-sensory in their daily lives and the thriving faith community strives to engage, both the wonder of sacred silence and the holy of joyful praise. This does not mean that praise music has 'taken over', nor that amphitheater seating with few religious symbols is the way to go. No, rather, the people who continue to walk in the door of the congregation with whom I am sharing the journey are seeking a time and space where the Spirit is welcome, praise is considered a response to God's ongoing Presence and Love, and Peace surrounds them in a community of faith which resembles the world in which they live, inclusive of race, sexuality, culture and experience.
Now, I am not certain I have answered the question any more than the author of the column I read, but of this I am certain: The church more engaged in reliving a memory of what once was or saying they want to become something they really don't value will struggle mightily until they truly walk with Jesus . . . or simply die away. The church is not a civic organization . . . the Church is the Body of Christ alive in the world. Maybe when organized religion accepts such a call and such an identity the questions some now ask will become moot . . . for the Answer will truly have the final say in Whose we are becoming.

Sweet Mercy

Sometimes it is what is behind the lines, not between them - and
Sometimes it is what is not written at all.
Those who understand need never read it . . . . and
Those who perceive it as in their soul simply nod their support.
All others try to cover the spaces with sound, their futility echoing as empty words in a hollow canyon,
The abyss between them the eternity of untouchable peace.
Come, sweet mercy, come, with nary a syllable of language to grant grace to this wandering pilgrim and
Wisdom to this seeker of Spirit.

To Whom Do You Look In These Days?

Until the American people stand as a nation truly united in heart, mind and soul for justice, equity and mercy for all people - and demand it of ourselves as much, if not more than, of our leadership on the local, state and national levels, we will find ourselves falling for everything which seems a quick fix for 'our particular cause'. More damage has been done in the name of political correctness than can be healed by the faithful hearts and lives of those who dare to live for more than themselves, save the One in whose name I pray to live . . . Jesus Christ.
Clear away the smoke and mirrors of grandstanding and politics and I think what most will find is a world waiting breathlessly for even one person who will dare simply to be true to the earth, the people and the heavens, as God is to us. One leader daring, not to be different but, to be true can transform our world.
I look to Jesus and pray He lives in me. To whom do you look in days such as these?

Longing for the 'Good Old Days'? Really?

After the recent Supreme Court decision regarding Marriage Equality was announced, I read one person's lament regarding the ensuing furor over right and wrong which included the words (paraphrased here), "I'm longing for the good old days when everybody just got along." I have been pondering on that statement for nearly a week now and this is what I am wondering:
Which good old days when 'everybody just got along'?
The days when the Europeans forcibly took control of Native American lands?
The days when the American government in the name of progress slaughtered the Native American peoples and drove the rest onto reservations?
The days when the slavery of people of color was condoned by both the Bible and the Church which thumped the Bible?
The days when separate meant equal?
The days when women couldn't vote, much less hold office?
The days when a woman wouldn't be found in a pulpit, much less leading the Board or Consistory of a congregation?
The days when women taught Sunday School, put on the dinners, took care of the children, and made sure they made it to school, but were not allowed to sit at the table with the males of the family?
The days when people of color had no or limited voting rights?
The days when more than 50% of marriages made it more than 10 years?
The days when . . . . .
Well, I think you get the idea. 
I believe we have come to juncture in the church and in the land when the manner in which we have lived, interpreted scriptures and established traditions will no longer 'just be accepted'.
Today the Church must interpret scripture from the context in which that scripture was written, not trying to make the parts fit which we want to hide behind or support our prejudices and bias. 
Today we have to understand that when we rely on the government to do everything for us and to judge every matter between us the government will do what is ultimately in the best interest of those in government.
Today people in our world community will no longer stand idly by allowing one ethnicity, color, race, nationality or creed to have a corner on ownership of the world or its' resources.
Today we are rapidly becoming aware 'that which once was' no longer is faithful, just, equitable, fair or bears the full weight of God's love shown to us in Jesus.
Today we have to do the hard work of discernment regarding such things as ISIS, Ferguson, racial equality, sexual understandings, the oil pipeline of railroad cars and pipes which traverse our communities and pollute our air and water, our stewardship of the earth, global warming, our care for space and the debris we leave in it, and so much more.
Today, each moment requires more of us than our ancestors could ever have imagined possible . . . and the cost of what is required far exceeds anything they or we could have anticipated back 'in the good old days'. 
You want everyone to just get along? Trying being faithful to God and loving as you are loved in the modern era . . . without exception, as did Christ.
Not everything in the world is determined by what makes you or me comfortable or by what allows us to go on our merry way without doing the hard work of discerning justice in this generation. What once was no longer is, which is precisely why God sent the Son to show us Grace and sends the Spirit to guide us in Mercy. 
I remember when . . . Dad and Mom used to make homemade ice cream very regularly throughout the Summer months . . . and there were 'Sunset Laws' on the books in several of the towns near where I grew up. Some things I remember more fondly than others and those are the things I continue to live and cherish today, like making homemade ice cream very regularly throughout the Summer months. Other things have, thankfully, disappeared, but not without great conflict, angst and fear . . . like sunset laws. 
I pray that when we long for the past we name the past for what it really was, choosing to claim for today only that which builds us up together in community, not treasuring and clinging to that which discriminates, separates and condemns.
For such as this, we each must make our choices. Choose well. Choose in faith. Choose to live in God's new age for you.