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.

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?

Standing in the Garden

I find myself standing in the garden more these days, not particularly doing anything constructive, though once in a while I do threaten a weed or two with the blade of my hoe . . . mostly I just stand there and admire God's handiwork and watch the birds flit about in the trees. I don't answer the phone, I don't text, I don't check FB, and I do not wonder what else I should be doing. The garden has turned into my technology 'dead-zone' and consequently has become my safe harbor.

More and more, 'days off' at the farm have become farther and fewer between. It's no-one else's fault, I own my work ethic, yet I am beginning also to own my spirit's need for peace, my body's need for rest, and my heart's need to savor the journey. This time between Advent and Pentecost is always something of a maddening period for Pastors, especially for folks like myself who have been raised to believe that idle hands are the devil's workshop, which is only further complicated by being something of an 'A' type personality. There is always more to do, one more person to call, one more committee assignment to finish, one more service to write, one more person to visit, one more meeting to attend . . . and one more day becomes history, lost to the white noise of 'accomplishment'. While in service to God I sacrifice the joy God intends for me to know in life for the satisfaction of believing I can bring the Kingdom in on my own. A sad and not very faithful commentary for a Pastor to write about themselves, but there it is, God help me.

So, this evening I'm going to stand in the garden for a while. I may even move our patio table and chairs near it so I can sit there for a while with a glass of iced tea with lemon, no sugar thank you. If you happen to drive by and want to sit and visit, feel free, but let's just talk about the goodness of God's creation (Lord only knows we can't fix the State of Illinois!) and, there in those moments, treasure what most God wants for all people in laughter, grace, understanding, connectedness and peace.

As the garden heals from the recent hail storm, so it also is becoming a balm to my weathered soul. The vegetables yet to be harvested are already nourishing my deepest longings. I pray you have a garden to stand in, too.

Things To Which I Cling Tightly

Things to which I cling tightly:

The love of God which surrounds me; the forgiveness of Jesus who befriends me; the presence of the Holy Spirit who guides me; the love of a woman who knows my foibles and stays with me anyway; the gift of three sons who, in spite of the challenges of growing up as 'preacher's kids', still regularly pick up the phone and say, "Hi, Dad, how are you?" and wait to hear... what I say because it matters to them; the adoration of three granddaughters who know that all they have to do is look at me and say, "Papa, I love you!" and they will get anything they want, yet embrace me with kisses not wanting anything more than kisses and love in return; the steady friendship of those who know me as 'Don' and require nothing more than me being me; the wonder of the gift of a call from God that carries me in every moment; the ecstasy of the Church striving mightily and humbly in serving God; the joy of the St. Paul UCC, Lebanon, faith family who tend to my spirit and ministry with arms of grace beyond my deserving; the blessing of Grace UCC, Culver, Indiana, who saw more in me than I ever saw in myself; and, the connective tissue of Lebanon, Illinois, whose communal understanding crosses every boundary with such completeness that even a stranger such as I find a home and place in the midst of daily life and service here.

Such are the things to which I cling tightly this day. How about you?

A Valued Gift

I received the nicest gift today, totally unexpected and humbly offered, which made it all the more valued: Kevin Schwaegel stopped by the house to visit.

Affectionately known among his peers as 'Snags', Kevin and I share a couple of things in common: We both love farming; My son, Matt, was a High School classmate and remains a friend of Kevin; and Kevin has a great sense of humor, especially when it regards irony. So, when he drove by the house today and saw that I was working in the garden and chose to stop by to visit for a few minutes, he gave me a great gift, especially when you consider that, until a few minutes ago as I sat down to my computer, I didn't know it was also Kevin's birthday today. Kevin stopped by - on his birthday - just to visit.

For anyone who knows Kevin well, the typical response is probably, 'Yeah, so what? Kevin always loves to visit', and you would be absolutely correct. But, to stop on a day that is filled with so many other things a person could be doing, not to mention celebrating your birthday with other people who know it is your birthday, well, that to me is a moment to be prized. Especially poignant is the fact that Kevin just wanted to visit . . . . he didn't need the church opened, didn't want to discuss some deep personal issue, or work through the shocking trauma of recently getting married (just kidding, Ashley and Kevin!), no, Kevin was just checking in. Kevin was being a friend - and I am ever so grateful for the gift.

After he got back in his truck and drove away I started thinking about what a nice visit it was with Kevin . . . and how often it is that I give that same sort of unfettered attention to God. How often is it that I pray without asking for something? How often is it that I just share the news of the day and a few of the humorous happenings with the One who calls me 'friend'? How often is it that I just check in because, in my life, Jesus matters, the Spirit is in my heart, the love of God fills my thoughts? How often do I see God at work and, in the middle of my running around, stop and share the load without any sense of expectation, other than friendship?

The answer to all of those questions is, 'Not nearly often enough. Not nearly often enough.'

Thank you, Kevin, for the gift you gave me on your birthday. Because of what you shared, I have learned something more about myself which will allow me to treasure your gift all the more in the days ahead. God's blessings guide and keep you in this day and in all your birthdays - for in your giving you become the blessing God desires in each of us.

Noah Thinks You Are Jesus

Olivia Captain came into the vestry yesterday after the 10:30 a.m. worship service with something clearly on her mind. "Pastor Don", she started, "Noah thinks you are Jesus." Noah is Olivia's younger brother who, for a long time, has been calling me 'Under-God', which in and of itself is a bit of leap for anyone, including me, to either understand or live up to, so I can relate to Olivia's consternation with her brother now thinking that I'm Jesus. Smiling, I said to Olivia, "Well, you know that I'm not Jesus, right?" To which Olivia responded, "Oh sure! I just didn't want Noah to get that messed up."

I knew what Olivia meant, yet I couldn't help but smile at how I had heard it. 'No, Olivia, I don't want Noah to get that messed up, either!'

I am not Jesus, nor am I anywhere near to whom Jesus is. Jesus is the One who is my Lord and Savior. Yet, especially for the young ones among us who are just formulating faith and understanding, seeing and knowing the difference is sometimes a hard thing, particularly when the Jesus of the faith is constantly being spoken about by the one who is Pastor of the congregation. 'Pastor speaks of knowing Jesus' = 'Pastor is Jesus'.

Seem like a leap to you? Not to me, at least when you think of it from a young child's point of view. For Noah, I am to him what he hears about in Jesus. One equals the other. I am touched that he made such a connection. I am also deeply uneasy with the implications . . . as well we all should be.

To those who are new to Jesus, to any who are just in the formative places of faith and understanding, to all who are searching for answers along the way and come to this peculiar community called 'Christian', we who are the ones they encounter, the ones who witness to Him, the ones who embody His welcome, are as Jesus to them. What is it of Jesus that they see in us? What is it of Jesus that they hear in us? What is it of Jesus that feel in their hearts in who we are with them on the journey?

The very thought of it humbles me beyond words. Still, there it is, "Noah thinks you are Jesus." I pray that Noah sees only the best, hears only the words, and knows only the feelings of Jesus in his heart in who he perceives me to be. Maybe that is the truest test of whether or not we Christians are who we pray to be. Time, and Jesus, will only know.

For now, whether known as Under-God or Jesus or just simply Pastor Don, I had better be who God created me to be in the most faithful way I can, for there are little ones watching and I know Who it is that I want them to see: God. Thank you for reminding me of that, Noah, and thank you, Olivia, for trusting me with what you know. I'll try not to get that messed up.

Have a blessed day everyone!

Post-Easter Day Ponderings

Garrison Keillor, in one of his News from Lake Wobegon monologues, referred to the month of March as God's way of helping those who don't drink to know what a hangover feels like. Paradoxically, from my humble perspective, the Great Vigil of Easter and Easter morning Worship Services are God's way of helping everyone to have a taste of what the Kingdom of God is like. Let me explain . . .

The Great Vigil of Easter and the Services of Word and Sacrament on Easter morning tend to be the unique times of the year when: a) Most Christians find time to attend a worship service; b) The kids are excited to be in Sunday School and Church Services; c) The adults in worship are excited to have children in church and are incredibly patient with those children who have seldom been there before; d)The 'regulars' in worship eagerly offer their seats to strangers; e) Worship bulletins inevitably run out and people easily share; f) All of the choirs sing/play/offer gifts; g) Only the very best of high praise music is offered by the musicians; h) People don't mind the service going longer than an hour; i) (at least in our tradition) The fact that everyone, absolutely everyone, is welcome to the Table, from the youngest to the oldest, is celebrated in loving fashion; j) The congregation reflects the diversity of our culture and that is reason for people to smile and laugh in wonder; k) It's 'standing room only' and people are okay with that; l) In the resurrection story of Jesus, people not only are given hope, but on this day claim it in profound and tangible ways; m) The people in the pews do their best to stay awake and smile at the Pastor during the sermon; and, n) For many, this IS the best service they will attend all year (irony intended).

I suspect that many of the more pious church-goer's are going to be really, really surprised by how broadly God chooses to be grace-filled in welcoming God's children into the Kingdom . . . and Easter worship services are God's way of warning all of us that none of us will ever have the perfect picture of that moment until we are there. That's okay with me. In these days, I absolutely adore what I am seeing of the gathered community in sheer praise of God's power and might in defeating death through the faithfulness of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I am in awe of lily-laced air, the squeals and laughter of 'untrained' children in worship, the hospitality of the 'regulars' for those who arrive just for the 'major moments', and the Spirit at work in it all. I am humbled by the capacity of God to make smooth the waters of division, to roll away the stones of intolerance, and to divide 'the way it has always been' with the staff of Living Bread that all God's children might go to safety on dry land. I love this foretaste of God's immeasurable goodness and long to drink deeply of its refreshing, nurturing nature always.

I pray it so for you, too. Until then, we have Easter morning memories to build upon and share. 'Go, tell the disciples and the others what you have seen and heard, and He will meet you in Galilee, just as He told you.' . . . and so I write this to you.

Have a blessed Eastertide!

Thoughts from an Early Garden

The potatoes are nearly all out of the ground and most are a few inches tall. I have planted four rows (two varieties) of sweet corn, five rows (two varieties) of green beans, eight cabbage plants, eight cauliflower plants, twelve (three varieties) tomato plants, twelve (three varieties) pepper plants, four cucumber plants, four zucchini plants, and five mounds of acorn squash seeds. Additionally, I have two more varieties of tomato plants and two more varieties of pepper plants which are too small to plant outside yet, but are waiting in the wings to be planted in the next two to three weeks. Am I pushing the gardening season?

"I'm not sure," is my calm response as I sit munching on freshly pulled red radishes while trying to decide how much lettuce to cut for supper, "but I'm fairly certain that I have never put a garden out this early before." Sometimes conventional wisdom doesn't fit contemporary circumstances. Sometimes you just have to risk doing things differently. Sometimes you go and do when others urge to sit and wait. What is never risked is never gained. What is never tried will never be known. Sometimes you are the head of the nail . . . and sometimes you are the point.

Wondering how to get the attention and devotion of the very creation God breathed into being, just as God was about to try again to pierce through their hardness of heart, God wondered, "Am I pushing my love for them too hard?" . . . and in Bethlehem a Child was born to Mary . . . and in the Jordan John baptized a Savior . . . and by the Sea of Galilee, like once upon a mountain, a Teacher spoke to the thousands . . . and through the East Gate the Christ rode into Jerusalem upon a foal . . . and in an upper room a Friend said, "My Body", "My Blood" . . . and on trial the Paschal Lamb said nothing at all . . . and on the cross the anticipated Messiah said, "Father, forgive them" . . . and from a tomb known for containing death, there comes shouts of joy, "He is risen!"

"I'm not sure," is God's calm response, "but I'm fairly certain that my people have never seen it done this way before." Sometimes conventional wisdom doesn't fit contemporary circumstances. Sometimes you just have to risk doing things differently. Sometimes you go and do when others urge to sit and wait. What is never risked is never gained. What is never tried will never be known.

Sometimes you are the head of the nail . . . and sometimes you are the point.

On this Holy Week journey with Jesus, ponder deeply God's love for you. What is happening, what is being undertaken, what is being risked may not make sense at all in the current climate yet, then again, sometimes new things have a way of changing our hearts. Sometimes the nail saves.

Amazing, the things you can learn from the garden.

The Well Pump

Dad's well pump 'went out' on Saturday. It broke down completely, never to be used again. Disastrous, right? Not so much, at least not anymore.A number of years ago, both my Dad's home on the farm and my brothers home, which is the main site of our farm, received 'city water'. A rural water district ran lines throughout the countryside, encouraging locals along the way to 'buy' into the opportunity to have this 'new' reliable source of water. Having grown up with only well water and cistern water (and if this doesn't make any sense to you, my explaining it here won't really help you understand), having water available without having to haul it in dry seasons or having to deal with hard water deposits in the water lines was a huge plus. Additionally, at the time the water lines came through the countryside, we were still milking cows and the health requirements of dairy farms stipulated that, if purified water were available, the farm must use it in the milk house and all milking processes. So, the farm got 'city water' and Dad's cattle can be watered with city water until the well pump is replaced. Nice option.

All of which got me to thinking about those people and places who are not nearly so fortunate to have such options. You know those places, where children and mothers walk for miles to get to a source of water (never mind whether it is clean water or not) and then have to carry those few meager gallons back to their home, just to repeat the process all over again the next day. You know those places, where a stream suffices for a laundry, where the same stream is the place of watering for the cattle and sheep who pasture nearby, where that same stream is the place of bathing for communities of people who have no access to running water near their homes and where water for cooking is scooped out with hand turned crocks. You know those places, you have seen them in National Geographic and in the news, you have heard about them in hushed Sunday School tones and in pleas for assistance, and you have pondered their plight while turning on the tap to wash your hands so that you wouldn't have to deal with germs which might ruin your day. You know those places . . . and pray that you never become one of them. Such is our affluence.

My brother called me this morning to tell me that Dad is purchaing a new pump which we will install in the days ahead. Another nice option. I'm not complaining . . . and am incredibly grateful that in this place and time we have the luxury, not only of running water, but of different kinds of running water. Yet, my conscience calls me out and my spirit keeps me honest. Many of my brothers and sisters do not have such amenities in life and they, as Jesus says, are the least among us. For such as these is God's priority . . . not for the ones who choose which water they will use without also assisting those who have no such choice. It is something to ponder . . . as health advocates remind us of how many 8 ounce glasses of water to consume each day in order to maintain and/or reduce our body fat. There are many in the world who are dying for the opportunity to have body fat, much less to worry about how to maintain it with gallons of cool clean water each day.

When the pump breaks down and there is no other to replace it, when you turn on the tap and nothing flows out and there is no fixing the 'city water' lines, where will you turn? Who will assist you? Just something to ponder on the way to Jerusalem, while announcing the good news of the nearness of the Kingdom.

Reflections on Harrisburg

The people of Harrisburg, Illinois who inadvertently became a part of the tornadic history of this region have been in my heart and prayers, especially in the last few days since journeying there to lend a hand in cleanup. The power of violent winds to tear apart and destroy, mixed with the seemingly random way such storms touch one place and not another, particularly evidenced as these storms moved through heavily populated communities, is mind-numbing.

Picking through the lives of those whose belongings have been spread out over the miles, sorting through the masses of wood, household appliances, insulation, shattered furniture, and broken dreams, brings to mind other places around the world where volunteers gather in similar fashion to extend the hands of God and neighbor to one another: Joplin, Missouri; Japan; Italy; Iraq; Afghanistan; Henryville, Indiana; and the list goes on and on. You see, not every storm is formed by nature's power and not every disaster is preceded by warning. Some of the worst scenes of destruction around us are wrought in the hearts of human desire for power and manipulation, yet their outcomes are eerily similar. Lives are lost, homes are left in shambles, the landscape is pockmarked with terror, and the human cost cannot be calculated.

I have long maintained that to call a tornado or a hurricane or a tsunami an act of God is incredibly unfair to the God who also creates the rose, a Springtime day, the songs of cardinals, and the likes of hummingbirds and bumblebees. We live in a dynamic, vibrant world which continues to change and evolve around us. We were not the first ones here, nor will we be the last ones left. We are part and parcel of all that God is creating, yet we are constantly mystified, even surprised when such events consume the very place where we have chosen to take residence, however close to the ocean or river, however deeply located in tornado alley, however close to the mountains we may have chosen to reside. Still, as indiscriminate as nature may seem, human warfare crosses beyond the boundaries of expectation, yielding heartache upon heartache, leaving the dead to bury their dead and the living to pick up the pieces.

And that, my friends, is what truly amazes me: the incalculable capacity of the human spirit to cling to hope, to extend assurance, and to build a new community upon the scars of pain and suffering. What I saw in Harrisburg last Saturday, I have seen mirrored in the eyes of those who continue to pick up the pieces of Joplin, Fukushima, Henryville, Baghdad, Tehran, and New Orleans. FEMA may or may not declare these places disaster areas, but to the people who live there disaster has visited them and they know day by day, bit by bit, prayer by prayer, life will be restored . . . not as once they knew it, but as God and neighbor, hand in hand, work with them to build it anew.

To pray for our sisters and brothers around the world who are visited by such events is an act of faith, yet to work with them in addressing the pain and sorrow while daring to construct a new future, whatever that may be, is truly an act of God. For to own our humanity in living in relationship as sister or brother, regardless our ethnic origin, is to become fully human, whole in the sight of the One who birthes and names us. For such as this we are created. Anything less is truly a disaster.

Writing Is a Luxury

Sometimes it seems writing is a luxury -

and I am a poor man standing at the showroom window looking in.

For a person who grew up not liking to sit at a desk and do his homework, in my middle years I find myself strangely, even ironically drawn to the miraculous turning of the English language and time spent crafting story and image. It's not a easy craft, either to learn or practice, nor is it an art to be splashed upon the waiting canvas of convention. Rather, at least for me, writing is a gift to be opened slowly, savoring the design of the wrapping, the intricate tying of the bow, and pondering the intention of the giver. To spend a moment of my life allowing my mind to wander, my heart to ponder, and my soul to express faith, is to dive deeply into my origins for, indeed, the God who created me, created me in God's own image. So, to express something of that image is to utter a word of God's own activities through me and that notion alone gives me pause. The fingers of a poor man handle the luxury and sacredness of the word - and I dare not drop it.

Nor can I turn away from it.

Long before the advent of the printing press, before the time of monkish labors over copied text, before scrolls bore the perspiration of those who made them from papyrus, or stones reflected the articulation of chiseled idea, the word existed. Story shaped experience, even as experience found life in the telling, and in the hearing of the word new perspectives found their genesis, and narrative formed community. Cultures chronicled the best places to fish and the right times to plant. Yarns around the fire became legends shared with the young - and the word established the parameters of race and ethnicity, poverty and power, wholeness and despair, triumph and failure, even life and death.

The authority of the word was not in and of itself, but in the reverence it commanded as a gift of the Word from whom all things come. Thus, even today, to misuse a word is to abuse the Word and to render the gift as little more than a tool of manipulation. Similarly, to ignore the word is to deny one's own existence and to forfeit the luxury set in our hands.

Thus, I find myself once again moving from showroom window to cluttered desk, endeavoring with trembling lips to articulate that which is yearning to be known, that which is emerging to be seen, the One who is Word before all words. I pray for the Word in you, as well.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Love Never Ends

“Love never ends.”
I Corinthians 13:8a NRSV

Picking tomatoes in the garden yesterday, this scripture kept swirling around in my thoughts. Love never ends. . . .kind of like tomatoes when in season, except that tomato season ends. Zucchini season ends. Cucumber season ends. Pepper season ends. Sweet corn season ends. Potato season ends. Love never ends.
Unlike the produce gardeners are renown for dropping into the lap, onto the porch, or in the car of the unsuspecting recipient, love is not given to another because we have an abundance from which to be freed. Rather, love can only be given in proportion to the recipient’s willingness to receive. If completely, then completely; if not at all, then not at all. I can love someone with all my heart, soul and mind, yet if they do not wish to receive my love, I cannot slip it into their lap, drop it on their porch, or slide it into their car. It is the anomaly God created in us as God created us in God’s image: God gives us free will. You might be able to leave a bag of vegetables at my front door and retreat into the night without my having consented to receive them, but you cannot leave love at the door without waiting for an answer.
Love never ends. It is an apt description of God: God chooses to love and to be known in love. Love never ends. So the question is not about God’s choice regarding God’s relationship with you: Love never ends. The question is whether or not you will choose to receive God’s love . . . and at what level.
The presence of Jesus in our world is God’s statement of how far God will go that we know the fullest extent of God’s love for all of humankind: I will come and stand at your door and wait for your welcome embrace, says God. Some receive and welcome such intimacy, some slam the door in the face of such boldness, and others nail it to a cross that they not have to face such offers ever again. Incredible! Yet, regardless of how any of us react, Love never ends. Don’t believe it? Look at the empty tomb.
God has just enough love for you, just as you are. I don’t love any of our children because of what they might do for me or how they make me feel in any given moment. I love our children because they are of me. I love my wife because she is of me. I love my friends because they are of me. I cannot no more deny them than I can deny myself, a concept which did not originate in me, but in the One in whom I am capable of love. Love never ends.
Picking the last of the cherry tomatoes and stopping to brush it off a bit, then pop it into my mouth, I savor the delicious sweetness and juiciness of God’s love for me. That I not hunger, God’s love provides. That I not know thirst, God’s love provides. That I not know only bitterness, God’s love provides sweetness. That I not know want, God’s love provides plenty. Love never ends . . . and I fully receive that gift in the moment I extend it to another, standing with them as they choose to receive or not, as God stands with us.
There is a big difference between handing someone a sack of tomatoes and saying, ‘Here’s some of my leftovers,’ and slicing a juicy tomato and handing a half to another and saying, ‘Let’s share this together’. Taking time and sharing space may not be our long suits, but it is what God does with us. Love never ends.
Just some love from the garden which I would share with you.
Your servant in Christ,
Pastor Don

Vacation Days

What is it about vacation days that makes them fly by at something nearing the speed of sound? I am nearing the end of a second week of vacation and, suddenly, this morning realized that there are only four days left for me to 'relax' before getting back to the work-a-day world of ministry.

Don't get me wrong, I love the ministry to which I am called. I am one of the very blessed people of the world who have the privilege of doing every day what it is that they love to do, which by definition means that I do not have a 'job' but, rather, a 'vocation'. Yet, the thought of only a few days left before re-immersion in ministry leaves my head spinning and my heart wondering if it was all just a dream. It also makes me wonder if I have allowed the ministry, that vocation which I so love, to cloud over and make dreary the days I have been given to serve the God of my life.

The institutionalization of religion oft clouds the depth and wonder of faith. The mundurnity of the day-in, day-out paperwork, service preparations, occasional services, visitations, networking, and oversight of staff while serving in a solo pastorate, makes long and sometimes monotonous the time we are given to proclaim the wonders of Jesus Christ. Not that every day has to be a walk in the park, but it gives me pause in my life when I realize that so few of my days are a walk in the park with the Savior of my life or, for that matter, in the love of my family. Time spent on the mountain, in a place apart with Jesus and family, should not be the exception in our days, but the rule. When the joy of God's calling in my life becomes the burden, I have missed the mark of loving obedience to the Christ of my faith and have, instead, given myself over to, " . . . the powers and principalities of this world" (to paraphrase the Apostle Paul).

I cannot believe that God has created the world and all the wonders therein to become the ball and chain of humanity's existence. Neither can I subscribe to the notion that Jesus ever intended discipleship to become a loathsome experience. The Christ of our faith, the God of our salvation, the Spirit of our soul, calls humanity . . . you and me . . . to live the delicate dance of self-giving and self-realizing in the midst of shared journey with others. Too much time spent in either dimension deadens the joy of our time in Christ and extends beyond our reach the nearness of the Kingdom Jesus gives His life that we might know.

Four more days of vacation . . . and a lifetime of wonder in Christ. That is the balance I pray to keep, so that at the end of my days I not be found praying more for the 'peace of eternal rest', than anticipating the ongoing joy of life in my Savior.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Dead End

Dead

End

This is the sign which appeared at the end of a cul-de-sac, the entry of which meets up with Main Street in Culver, Indiana. Not an unusual sign by any stretch of the imagination, certainly one utilized in most towns and cities across our nation. Yet, what makes this one sign stand out in a way others like it cannot mimic is the fact that the employees of the City Street Department of Culver chose to post the sign next to Bonine Funeral Home.

Granted, the sign was posted at the point where Culver's Main Street makes a 90 degree turn to the East - and to proceed straight ahead means that you enter a very short cul-de-sac serving two homes and the garage of the funeral home, still, posting a Dead End sign literally next to Bonine Funeral Home gave no end to all sorts of quips and smart-aleck remarks to be endured by Jim Bonine, the proprietor of Bonine Funeral Home.

I was prompted to recall this sign, posted twenty years ago in my ministry, when I was recently asked, "What is an appropriate age for children to go to a funeral home?"

First of all, is there some sort of aura around ministers that make them the experts on how people will react in a funeral home, regardless the age? Secondly, what is it that we fear children might experience in a funeral home? Death? Life? Questions? Grief? It's makes me wonder.

When I was a child, growing up in the rural Marissa, Illinois area meant that: 1) you were related to nearly everyone in the area; 2) even if you weren't related to them, you or your parents knew nearly everyone in the area; and 3) you learned very early in age that death is just as much a part of life as living itself is. Mom and Dad did not have the luxury of dropping us kids off at some sitter's home while they went to pay their respects to grieving families at Finger Funeral Home. Each of us boys were 'properly attired', told to behave ourselves, were packed into the car and driven the 10 minute drive to the funeral home, unpacked from the car and arranged in chronological order, then followed Dad and Mom through the visitation line offering appropriate condolences for our age. Once the formalities were over, we kids sought out other kids our age in the back room of the funeral home and played games while the adults hashed over the tragedy before us. When things were going really well, or when our parents expected to be a long time at the visitation, we kids were given a couple of dollars each and allowed to go next door to the movie theatre and catch the latest flick on the big screen. Secretly, I think, most of us kids prayed for long visitations, not that we wished any ill-will on any of our favorite relatives, but a long visitation for our parents meant the treat of a good movie for us kids - and, yes, this is back in the day when a movie theatre was a place where you didn't have to worry about what might happen to your children. The Mars Theatre in Marissa was a safe place to be when one was tending to the issues of death next door.

I don't recall ever having issues with death or of having to go through a funeral home when I was a young boy - and I think a lot of that has to do with the fact that my parents never made it an issue. Like the farm on which I was raised and the cattle for which I cared, human life on this earth is not forever. The pastors in the church we attended every Sunday kindly reminded us of that on a regular basis: "Keep your heart right before God for you never know when your day to stand before God will occur." The 'farm kid translation' of which is: Behave! Tomorrow might be your day to be shipped out with the old cows to market! (Crude, but accurate.) It has just never bothered me, nor has it ever occurred to me that life on this earth is permanent.

Maybe that's the issue of the Dead End sign posted next to the funeral home: for too many people today, the sign states an accuracy with which they are incredibly uncomfortable. Crude jokes and smart-aleck comments mask the underlying truth of what is known and understood about death, which is what prompts the question of pastors about at what age it is appropriate for children to attend visitations in the funeral home.

In the moment we begin to attend to the eternal nature of life in God, the transient nature of life in this world is shaped with a far different meaning, robbing the Dead End sign next to the funeral home of its power. Perhaps if parents spent more time talking with their children about the wonders of life and the power of the One who gives life, they would find themselves less perplexed about the questions of death and the timing of adolescent visitation to death's presence among us.

The Dead End sign was removed a mere couple of weeks after being erected, mostly because the funeral director grew quickly tired of the harassment he was receiving every time he stopped by the local restaurants for coffee, prompting him to request of City Council that the sign be removed. Yet, I cannot help but wonder if folks in town, after smirking at the initial irony of the sign's location, didn't want the Dead End sign taken down as well. Sometimes irony prompts deeper questions of ourselves than we are prepared to answer. Better no sign at the end of the street than one which might provoke our children to ask what it means.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Rainbow Messages

As the storm rolled through, as the rains washed the earth, the sun began to emerge from under the western edge of the cloud layer and, there in the still-blackened eastern skies, a rainbow burst into being. Vibrant, bold, and audacious, as if shouting to the world, "See, I am still here! I have not forgotten my word! Out of the storms of your living, remember My Presence and know I am with you!" Then, as if the first rainbow were not enough of a reminder, there appeared a second, no less brilliant rainbow, echoing the message of the first. Awestruck and humbled, the Biblical words of Genesis reverberated through my heart, "This is my covenant with you." God makes covenant. We make promises.

Covenant always begins in God, for the Creator of all things is the Source of relationship, the Hope of a mutual journey. Humanity's best effort in responding is to God's covenant is not to make another covenant with God, but to live God's covenant with integrity. It seldom fails to amuse me as congregations, conferences, denominations, even commercial industries, take up the covenantal language, making covenant with God and others as though they have the creative, steadfast chutzpah of God to keep covenant as God keeps covenant. It is a presumptuous, even perilous step to take in tossing out covenantal language in the same way Morton tosses out salt: It loses its power and authority in the same way salt loses its taste when the only point of origin which can be claimed is the frailty of humanity.

God throws a rainbow in the sky and says, "Look! I remember My word and keep My covenant with you!" then, underscores the proclamation with a second, no less wondrous rainbow. Who among us would even dare to try copying God's claim? Rainbow messages are profound statements I pray my humanity never forgets to heed and live, for in living God's covenant with me I am blessed to walk with the God who speaks the covenant into being from age to endless age.

Here's to living Rainbow Messages!

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

I Sat For a While With An Old Friend

I sat for a while today with an old friend as she waited with a patient spirit for death to come. It has been a slow and agonizing journey, often fraught with vast periods of loneliness and longing. Friends who swore they would always be there, were for a while. Friends that promised to write and keep her up to date, faltered after a few weeks. Acquaintances who whispered sweet words of 'thoughts and prayers', quieted their thoughts and offered few words months ago . . . and my old friend has only the occasional visit of a child who rarely has time, the gentle tendings of hospice personnel and the vigil of a pastor who has been embraced as a friend.

If you were to begin counting your 'breaths' from the time you are born to the time you die, how many would you breathe? As I sat with my friend and watched her shallow breathing, I thought of the birth of each of our children and grandchildren. Each birth somehow amazingly accompanied by that first big breath of air . . . then the cry, the wail, the siren signal to the world to 'Watch out! I'm ready to take my place now!' From the time a baby first breathes to the time an aging woman breathes no more, how much air is a part of the body's journey? How many times do we breathe? Watching my friend welcome her final breaths of life, a grudging acknowledgment of being tired and ready for the next step of God's plan in her life, I wondered how we will ever know when the next breath will be our last breath. Does it even matter?

From the cross, Jesus cried out, "Into your hands I commend my spirit", and he slumped into the arms of God, breathless at the end of the journey, and died. I am not aware that Jesus ever counted his breaths, but I know that he counted the breath of God's creation as holy and sacred. That we might know life, he became our life. He became our breath. He become our breathing when the world would have counted us for dead. Then, in love for each of us and not counting his breaths as precious to him, he gave us his breath for us . . . that we might breathe forevermore.

Maybe it is as simple as this: A life spent counting breaths is a life whose breath breathes no meaning, yet a life spent breathing meaning into all around is a life whose breath lasts forever.

Her breathing was shallow as she slept away the time. I prayed and quietly left the room. Her time for final breaths is near, but not quite here. God's breath in her is moving her to new life, yet only in God's time. I may not be able to count the breaths, but God counts the life which gives breath to others - and though her breaths may diminish in this life, Christ's breath in her will take her to Life whose very breath is the breath of God. Thanks be to God.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

John 3:16

John 3:16

In many circles, all you have to do is say it, "John 3:16" and folks will in some manner resonate with what that text says. Others may have to hear the words, "For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whosoever should believe in him may not perish but have eternal life", before they remember what the text is. Yet, however these words from the Gospel according to John are articulated, they speak an intrinsic truth: God.

Some see "John 3:16" and stop at the Son, Jesus. Not a bad place to stop, except that it is Jesus who is speaking the words of the text. So, to what is it that Jesus is pointing?

Some hear the words of John 3:16 and stop at the word 'believes'. Also, not a bad place to stop, except that the word, 'believes', in the context of the sentence, is being defined by Jesus as an appropriate reaction to something else towards which He points. So, again, to what is it that Jesus is pointing?

I ponder on this every time I see 'the end-zone guy/gal' with the poster, "John 3:16". Do they really have any idea what Jesus is trying to get across to Nicodemus as he speaks these words? Probably not. Few do. Most just turn this into some sort of Christological statement which is followed by an announcement of Divine Judgment - of which they are the 'righteous' ones making the declaration and are, thereby, saved by the belief of their words. Yet, like the Israelites who glimpsed the serpent upon the pole in the wilderness (v. 14 refers to Numbers 21:4-9) and were healed and began to worship the serpent upon the pole so, many well-meaning Christians view the cross, experience a transformation and begin to worship the cross. It is not a bad reaction to what is happening, but it is a shallow reaction. It fetters the believer to a precipitous, even perilous existence watching and waiting for the next 'event' to happen in their lives, hoping upon hope that something will happen again and confirm what previously had been acknowledged. Heaven save us from such circular living!

Verse 17 underscores 14, 15, and 16 in one word, "God". "Indeed, God . . . " It is the love of God, it is the grace of God, it is the healing of God, it is the mercy of God, it is the faith of God, it is the initiative of God, it is God that saves the Israelites in the wilderness. The serpent upon the pole offers them an opportunity to look up, as the Psalmist in Psalm 121 alludes, "I lift up mine eyes unto the hills - from where does my help come? My help comes from the Lord who made heaven and earth." The serpent teaches them to look up and see God at work. Similarly, when Christ is nailed to the cross with the nails of power, arrogance, and pride, those who dare to look up from the stinging of the serpents upon the ankles of their lives find more than the Son, not that the Son isn't a pretty incredible sight, but they are given a vision of God which, to paraphrase the Apostle Paul in I Corinthians 13 ("Now we see in a dimly, but then we will see face to face.") is a vision of clarity, wonder and awe, limited by the human mind as it is.

"God so loved the world . . ." is Jesus pointing beyond Himself to the One who is in Him, through Him, of Him. John 3:16 is the creation story from a whole new vantage point, it is the deliverance of Israel out of Egypt with a twist, it is entering the land with a purpose, it is God defining the identity of God's people from the beginning of time, it is a statement of being . . . and that statement is God.

I'm not sure all of that would fit on a poster, nor do I believe folks at a sporting event would even care. Maybe I should be content that a witness is being made . . . still . . . Oh, well, I better trust it to God. If it was good enough for Jesus to move on after talking with Nicodemus, it should be good enough for me. There is more at stake in this world than posters and Pharisees.

John 3:16. What does it mean to you? It is something to think about, to pray on.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

What Kind of a God

I was asked again today, "What kind of a God lets such things happen?" (referring to the recent shooting death of a Baptist Pastor in front of his congregation) Such questions are seriously asked and require serious responses, so I replied, "The same God who allows us to enjoy this beautiful Spring day." Then I received 'the smile', the 'knowing nod of the head', and the polite, "I guess you're right", as they moved on out of my office. Clearly, the inquisitor did not receive the answer and affirmation they were seeking and, so, stayed no longer, yet, in the words of a former seminary professor of mine, Rev. Dr. Walter Breuggemann, I choose never to, " . . . be in the business of defending God. God is quite capable of making God's own case. Thank you very much."

That said, let me also clarify, I am not God, nor do I pretend to know the mind of God: My frame of reference is Christ upon the cross and the empty tomb. The God I believe in has already fully entered the fray of humanity's inhumanity in the person of Jesus. Emmanuel, God With Us, is the Divine Love of God with us, even before us, in the sanctuary as the shooter pulled the trigger. Similarly, God was already with us as terrorists chose to divert innocent passengers to their deaths at the World Trade Center, the Pentagon, and into a field in Pennsylvania. Likewise, God With Us walks the way of those who hunger for food while AIG executives take their million dollar bonuses at the expense of the hungry. Likewise God With Us bears up both, child and parent, as the child enters into the cancer ward for the umpteenth time to receive 'life-saving' chemotherapy. Also, God With Us carries in God's arms the family violently forced out of their home and off their land as the latest of insecure radical supremacists inflicts their will and steals that family's life and livelihood.

"What kind of a God lets such things happen?" The same God who, in the wisdom of creation, created humanity in the image of God . . . and gave humanity a very God-like gift: freewill. God didn't shoot the Pastor. God didn't pilot those planes. God didn't take the million dollar bonus. God didn't give the child the cancer, nor did God give the parents the heartache. God did not place a violent supremacist in power. Humanity did. Yet, as long as we blame God we do not have to look in the mirror of our own existence and see how we continue today to drive nails of violence, massive consumption, disease, and power into the hands and feet of Jesus. As long as we can make it God's issue, it will not be our issue - and our faith and servanthood are safely intact . . . Amen! Thank you, Jesus!

God is already at work showing us the way to justice, peace, and deliverance from wont and pain, even in the midst of life's hard lessons, but dare we look into the face of Jesus and see our own need, our own shortcomings, our own lethargic responses? Dare we face the shooter in Maryville, the terrorists on 9-1-1, the disease in the lives of the most innocent, and the rancor of extremism - and see our own complicity, our own need for mercy? Or, is it simply easier to lay it at the feet of God, expecting some sort of 'miracle' to take us off the hook, and make the 'not-nearly-present-enough-God' the aggressor . . . that we not have to concede His Victory of an empty tomb in spite of us?

Sometimes it makes me wonder.

"What kind of a God lets such things happen?" The same kind of a God who lays God's own life on the line in God's only Son, Jesus, and shows us the way towards keeping such things from happening again. Such a God is big enough to take on our complaints and accusations - and love us into new life at the door of an empty tomb. Such a God is the God of the Gospel: "The kingdom of God has come near. Repent, and believe in the good news." (Mark 1.15 NRSV) The nearness of the kingdom is the breath of God brushing our lives in grace - which is the kind of a God who is with us in all that happens, no matter what. Thanks be to God!

Church Meetings

'For God so loved that world that God did not create the world by committee.'

I have spent the better part of an afternoon, a Sunday afternoon, in church meetings. I attended a region-wide event, which was a great time for renewing and enjoying friendships helpful for the soul, yet, that the intent of the day was 'meeting' and not particularly 'visiting' dampened the effects of our time together. Hmmmmm.

Having been in ministry for something over twenty years now, it occurs to me that often, maybe too often, religion gets in the way of faith. 'Officialdom' becomes the standard bearer of 'what needs to be done in the name of the Church', rather than faith guiding and directing our steps. What Jesus strove, literally, to accomplish in walking and talking with his companions along the road becomes mutated by meetings to set up meetings which inform the content of meetings that address the issues raised in meetings . . . ad nauseum. Is it any wonder that the current generation is skeptical of what relevance the Church has in the current culture? While taking on the trappings of technology and espousing the language of the world-wide web in all of its many names, the Church is losing touch with its own inherent mission and language of being the handmaiden of Christ. Christ has become a sales tool, spirituality a fix for the desperate, and service projects the antidote for misplaced guilt and anxiety.

God has birthed creation and, by extension, all of humankind to be in relationship, with God and with each other. Christ fulfills the covenantal nature of that relationship by overcoming in faith all that would separate us from God and each other. The Holy Spirit hearkens our souls to trust, love and obey in building bridges of faith over the chasms of this world's darkness's which would hide the Light of God from the eyes of those most in need. The Church is birthed in the Spirit to live into Missio Dei, God's mission of reconciliation of the entire world. The Church was never intended to be the master of its destiny, nor was it birthed to enslave God's children to lives of butt-tiring, brain-numbing meetings.

The Church is the Body of Christ called, still, to walk with all God's children . . . or it is not the Church. Though no-one ever said the Church is to be perfect, that should not become an excuse for not striving to walk in Christ's perfection. Meetings should never take precedence over relationships. May God save us all from the next meeting which will be set to discuss this 'pertinent and timely issue'.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Mulling on the Flat Places

I have been blessed to spend a few precious days at the Wagner farm this Fall helping with harvest. The soybeans ran well and were relatively easy to combine, but the corn, on the other hand, as a result of the severe winds of that Sunday in September, the corn has been a challenge. Every corn field on our farm was affected to various degrees: some stalks were slightly bent to severely bent from the force of the wind, others were/are nearly flat on the ground. Corn harvest has been slow and tedious, yet highly productive. Even given the wind damage, the corn crop is running very well . . . which got me to thinking.
From the road, many of our corn fields might be considered a disaster by those unacquainted with what plants and modern genetics have the capacity to accomplish. Soon after the winds of the storm blew through, I was one of the skeptics who voiced concern what those ‘flattened fields’ would ever be able to yield. Yet, though haltingly harvested, today those wind whipped fields are bringing forth yields which are baffling to even the most seasoned of farmers. God is proving a point: There is something good which can come from Nazareth.
From the poverty of hard labor and slim returns, from the lives of a lowly maiden and a humble carpenter, from the hard-crusted community of an ethnically persecuted people, from the fields of peoples livelihoods laid low by the fickle winds of oppression and politics, God introduces an unexpected and bountiful response to the cynicism of this world’s experts and leadership. There, in the small village of Bethlehem, God speaks a new word of Hope into a despairing attitude. There in the darkened skies above the world’s fields of fear and hurt, God’s angels sing of Courage and Healing, born in abundance in a place of little notice. There along the byways of passing privilege and power, in the heart of flattened dreams and crushed anticipation, God births New Vision and Realized Presence in the unexpected yield of a Holy Baby where no-one, no-one expected any good to emerge.
Is it any wonder that the shepherds were the first ones to hear and take notice? Should it surprise either you or me that, while darkness covered the land and deep darkness the hearts of the people, God placed a magnificent star above the Savior’s birthplace, boldly proclaiming a Mercy never before known, a Grace riding on the waves of gossamer angel songs, piercing the prevailing winds of withering drought and disease with Light above Light, an Answer to Prayer? Have we become so accustomed to hearing the Story of God elevating the Harvest in the planting of the Son, that our own expectations of anything being made different this year in His coming are little higher than the flattest corn? Our lives little more than rote holiday behaviors exercised on an annual basis in the hopes that others might not notice the lack of depth in our soul?
“Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight,” says John the baptizer in the Gospel of Mark.
Today is an incredibly wonderful day to see with God’s eyes the potential in those flattened places of our lives. Today is an opportune time to consider with God’s heart the abundant yield that waits to be harvested in those surprising places. Today is an excellent day to ‘Prepare the way of the Lord’, prayerfully expectant of God to bring forth from the birth waters of struggle new Truth, new Life, and new Faith.
I pray you and yours a blessed and bountifully powerful Advent and Christmas. God is entering into the lives of those who are ready and, through the birth of God’s Son, Jesus, the storm’s devastations are rendered new meaning. Come, see the Son, and there find Life Abundant.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don