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. 

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.

After Aurora

My prayers are with the victims and their families and friends of Aurora, Colorado. I am praying, also, for the shooter and his family and friends. Such pain and heartbreak. Such indescribable isolation and grief for all.


Over the course of the last few days I have listened intently to the news broadcasts about the events of that night in a place which seems so far away, yet brought next door through the technology of our day. Time after time, the horrific details are presented by newscasters trying to view a tragedy from every possible angle and, time after time, the unblinking eye of the camera is simply incapable of capturing the crimson of the blood, the torn flesh, the fading horror of the screams, or the acrid smell of a gunpowder filled auditorium. Truth be told, I'm not sure many of us could stand it if they could.

We are the incidental observers of disaster, wanting to know every detail, wanting to assist where we can . . . and desiring to place blame as quickly as possible, so as to assuage our personal and corporate consciences of any connection to what has happened. If we can blame the shooter, if we can name the company who supplied him with his protective apparel, if we can identify the places from which he bought his weapons, and if we can take a stance against the way this person acted, then maybe we have named the evil and sheltered ourselves from it ever touching us or being related to our lives. "Could it be me? No, it couldn't be me!" is our collective mantra, much like the disciples on the night Jesus was betrayed.

Guns. "If we could just outlaw guns!", a number of people of said. I suspect there were quite a few folk around in the days our Lord walked the earth who thought similar things about crosses. "Damn crosses! Those things should be outlawed!" I suspect, too, if we could have things our way, the same would be said about incendiary devices, tanks, bombs, landmines, drones, missiles and warships, much as in days gone by people said the same about arrows, spears, jagged war clubs and even pointed stones. 'If only we could take away or properly regulate access to such things, everything would be alright.' Thus, was birthed the party planks upon which politicians of every age have stood. Still, the problem remains that no-one is certain how to name or address: the human condition.

Since Cain rose up against Abel and slew him over a perceived slight, humankind has been in the business of killing. Killing for property, over mates, for money, for power, over food, even for the notoriety it can bring . . . you name it, humanity has and will kill for it. Weapons are a means to an end. It matters little which weapon is at hand when one person or a group of persons desire a way to make their point or to accomplish their task. Pointing our fingers at guns and saying, 'There, that's the problem!' when something like Aurora, Colorado occurs is like picking up a book of matches or a lighter when an arsonist works their evil and saying, 'Here! This is the problem!'

No, my friends, the problem is far deeper than either guns or matches. Fact is, I am not nearly qualified to name it, but I know it when I see it. You do, too. The problem manifests itself in many ways, insidiously weaving itself into and through the very fabric of every one of our lives, so tightly so, that to name it is to implicate the sin of our own living and that would simply be too painful. So, it is easier to legislate the means by which evil does its work, then to identify the complicity we have in the issue.

That we not get lost in the depth of despair of such a truth, God comes to us in Jesus. God takes on our humanity. God shows a higher way, a more intimate manner to live in relationship with the other. God honors the spirit in each one with the Holy Spirit for each one . . . and we are called the do the same.

Where honoring the integrity of God's creation in each other breaks down, crosses rise up. Guns are fired. Matches are lit. Food is not shared. Medical attention is not given. Water is not poured out. Strangers are not welcomed. The sick are not given care. Good News is not spoken to the imprisoned . . . and we can name such moments with terms like Holocaust, World Wars Ruanda, Ethiopia, Apartheid, World Trade Center, and now, Aurora, Colorado . . . and in the end, both victim and aggressor are left diminished, grief-stricken and despairing. For the victim, the violence of being selected and marginalized is crushing and, for the aggressor, the violence is seldom enough.

Yes, I guess the press and the masses are right. It is easier to address gun control and what kinds of weapons are available to what kinds of people, than it is to say we are a part of the problem. Yet, it is in the moment of confession, in the humility of admitting we are complicit in the crosses of every age, of this age, that finally, fully, we can become a part of the solution. It is not until we dare to see the other with the eyes of Jesus that we will ever be truly free and it will not be until we dare to walk the faith with Jesus that we know the joy of fully living. In such moments true change occurs in creation, but until we move there we will never know.

My prayers are with the victims and their families and friends in Aurora, Colorado. May God's Peace, Love and Grace keep each of them. And, may God forgive the part of James Holmes that is in every one of us . . . which deepens my awe of the Christ who said, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."

Grandpa's Grief

A couple of days ago my memory took me back to a place kept tucked away in the powerful images of childhood: I found myself sitting on the front porch of my childhood home, holding the hand of my Grandpa Triefenbach as he rocked gently back and forth upon the glider with big tears in his eyes. He had just received word that his best friend, Bill Deupke, had died and, as most stoic Germans do, he had gone to a place where he thought there was no-one else present to see his tears . . . and that is where I found him. The young boy I was I didn't know you shouldn't intrude on such moments, so I just went up the steps and asked, "What's wrong, Grandpa?" His lower lip trembled, the tears flowed even harder and not a word was spoken. Not receiving the answer I wanted, but sensing Grandpa's distress, I climbed up on the glider and sat beside him, holding his right hand in both of mine, allowing the world to go on by and for time to find its place of healing. Comfort would not come to Grandpa for quite a while and, being the kid I was, I stayed only until I sensed he wanted me to leave more than he wanted me to stay. Grandpa's grief and pain ran deep that day and, though I didn't understand it then, now I know that 'look' by name. Thinking back on those moments, I wish I could have been a better grandson, the one with just the right words, with just the right comfort, the one who could make it all better, yet those were not the gifts which were mine to give as a child. Mine was to sit there with him when all his world was darkness and loss. Mine was to be the accidental observer of death's long tentacles and, there, offer the innocent love only an adoring grandson can give.


Grandpa didn't live long after Bill's passing and today, looking back, I have a better sense of why: There is only so much a heart can endure.

The gift of Jesus, both in His life and teaching, extends to us the truth of our connectedness to all of God's creation, to all of our sisters and brothers around the world. We cannot ever journey alone in this life for we were never created to be alone. "No man is an island" is more than the title of a poem or a song, it is the steady reminder of our intimate weaving into the fabric of God's design. Each of us needs the other to fully live into the potential God has intended from the beginning. An afghan without all the yarn, without all the loops, is just pieces of fabric dumped in the corner, unusable by anyone. So, too with each of us.

Yet, among all those we know there are those who know us best, those with whom our lives are most tightly attached, those with whom we share the most joyous and the deepest of difficult times. These are the ones we call 'best friends', for they are among those we count on one hand. They are more than 'acquaintance', more than 'friend', and sometimes even more than 'sibling'. Sisters and brothers may share blood, but best friends share the DNA of life's journey, imbued with all the love, laughter and tears that may include. Even geography cannot separate us from the love of God . . . our best of all Friends, and as it is in heaven, may it be so on earth.

In the heat and intensity of Grandpa Triefenbach's tears I see my own life, my own relationships, my own friends. From his grief I am learning to count the blessings of those with whom I still share each day. From his broken heart I am taught, not to distance myself from others, nor to insulate my life from such pain, but to embrace the kind of caring which offers my heart to others in the same way, for therein is the greatest of gifts: To be loved as we love, to risk being mortally wounded for the grace to be received in the sweetness of caring so deeply.

Only those who have cried such tears, who have felt the pain of a broken heart, will ever be blessed to know exactly why God sent Jesus to roll away the stone of the tomb. The best of all Friends desires us to mourn no more. "What a Friend We Have In Jesus" . . . Thank you, God, for such friendship - and 'Thank you, Grandpa' for holding my hand and giving me such a gift that day, not so long ago. May it be so for us all.

Listening in Heat and Drought

What does one say to a farmer in 108 degree drought conditions as they watch corn stalks roast, soybeans wilt and alfalfa wither in the fields?

You say nothing. You 'stand with' always. You pray unceasingly.

My Dad is telling stories of 1954 when it got up to 112 degrees and the corn turned white, in one day. There's a lot of that going on right now . . . remembering. Remembering when, in a time gone past, crops didn't produce, livestock struggled, income shrunk, families went broke, farms were vacated, neighbors helped one another, friends shared resources, and the faith community became that one refuge of respite in the midst of the storm. Remembering when prayers were lifted up and rains did not come falling down. Remembering when the coolness of the servant soul was tested by the heat of the Summer sun. Remembering when the hopes of Spring planting hit the wall of weather's reality. Remembering . . . and wondering what these days will bring.

On days like this, I try to do a lot of listening for it's in the telling of stories that the balm is remembered in Gilead. I am not God, nor am I in a position of defending God when things aren't going well (Though, Lord only knows that everyone and their brother wants to take credit for 'having influence with God'when everything is going well and prosperity is the gospel upon which kingdoms are built!), yet as a servant of Jesus Christ I am called, in season and out of season, to witness to the Presence of God, the nearness of the Kingom, even when the world seems painful and despairing. I am called to 'stand with' those in deepest distress, not with words of explanation, but with the same heart of compassion Jesus shared with the lepers, the tax collectors, the sinners, and the oppressed.

Sometimes, when words finally fail, the Spirit can break in - making new the hope that was left back in the land so long ago.

It is going to be hot and dry today . . . again. The God who was with you in the days of adequate rainfall and moderate temperatures is with you also in the days of drought and heat. Listen.

Roger

I had the privilege of celebrating the life of a friend yesterday as we said goodbye to him on this earth. The sanctuary was nearly full of friends and neighbors, many of whom this person had given nicknames to over the years, and there tears mixed with laughter as memories were shared, stories were told, sympathies were offered to the family and the good news of the Gospel was proclaimed. It was an incredible visage as this vast mix of humanity clung to resurrection hope in the midst of deepest despair much like the woman who reached to touch the hem of Jesus' robe as He walked by.

The power of an empty tomb has that effect on us: God gives us a reason to believe beyond the domain of earthly understandings. God grants us a peace which death cannot deny.

I will miss my friend's easy smile, hard-working ethic, wise-cracking ways and, especially, his continual living out of the story of the Good Samaritan. I know when Jesus told that story, He told it of my friend whose life the story embodied. Yet, I know, I believe, I trust, I have faith, that all my friend ever was, as much as I will miss him . . . he is now even more as he dwells in the perfection and wholeness of the One who birthed him from the beginning. Someday, somehow, in the time beyond this time, in the Kingdom beyond this earth, we will meet again and my heart will rejoice when I hear him say, 'How you doin', Preacher? Welcome home!' . . . and I will know, in the mercy of God, my friend, Roger, will have helped to pull one more life out of the ditch - and this time it was me.

Rest in the Peace of God, Roger Trentman, child of God, disciple of Christ, member of the Church eternal.

A Stitch in Time

Last evening the St. Paul UCC Women's Fellowship held their Annual Mother's Day Celebration Event. Focused on the theme of 'Quilts', many in attendance had brought special, precious quilts which had been made for them or which they had made. I was in awe. Some well over 100 years old, one still in the quilt rack in which it is being quilted, and the rest everywhere in between, each told a story, each revealed a tenderness, and each touched a heart. From a grandmother's wish for her granddaughter to a whimsical interpretation of raising a grandson, from a quilt made from feed sacks to one made from ribbons, from one which told various Biblical stories to one which told the stories of a daughter's sports accomplishments, all bore the sacred stitches of love and passion which only a quilter can fully fathom and appreciate. For folks like me who are more interested in how a quilt feels on a cold night than the pattern and stitching with which the quilt was made, it was an evening of apocryphal proportions. The nearness of the Kingdom was announced in a language and with a heart that few among us truly know, but all can savor and understand.

One quilt which captured my heart wasn't even there on display, yet was the focus of the program compliments of a wonderful Power Point program: The Patriot's Quilt told the story of an array of women whose contributions to the Revolutionary War helped write the history of an emerging nation. It was a history lesson no class on early American history ever taught - and being a history major in college, I can assure you (at least when I attended college) no such class was even offered. More is the pity, yet incredibly powerful the lesson taught in the blocks of a quilt.

Such are our lives in the hands of God: each of us a stitch in the Master Design; each of us an intentional connection to the other; and, each of us a part of the Story. Though our human minds and wisdom are unable to comprehend the whole of the beauty, I believe, in the moment we enter into the fullness of God which we call the Kingdom, there we will see, there we will know, there we will be known in the completion of the Pattern. Inconceivable as it might seem, such is the power of the Quilter's Hand and we are both, observer and participant in what is, even today, being created. Look and see.

The Streets Smell Like Curing Hay

It smells like curing hay in town, so full of battered green leaves are our streets. Another sobering reminder of the storm which passed a few short days ago.


The smell reminded me of days gone by, when once such a storm stopped the baling of a field of hay which was dried and ready on our farm. The rain poured down for a day, then continued in fits and starts for another day (one of those 'surpri...se' rains no forecaster foresaw), while the hay laid raked and ready for the baler. By the time the field and hay had dried enough for us to even think about baling, the hay was, in fact, moldy and wasted. Too much time had passed, too much water had soaked it, too much moisture was still trapped underneath the rows. All that was left to do was chop it onto the ground and wait for the next crop to ripen, praying all the while that the next crop would be more bountiful than ever. It is a sad day on a dairy farm when that happens, both in mourning the loss of critical winter feed for the cows and in anticipating what it is going to take from slim profits to purchase enough from other sources to make up for the difference. Many is the farmer which has looked up to the sky with questioning eyes in such moments and voiced a deep disappointment.

I can't speak for other farmers in similar situations, but I can tell you of what I observed in my Dad in comparable moments. When such things happened Dad never blamed God, yet he shared his disappointment as a precious gift of trust with the One to whom all people can go. Even the voice of disappointment in the ear of God is a precious gift of intimate prayer, for both the one who prays the truth of their heart and the One who hears those pained words are moved by that moment of closeness - and out of that shared wound comes healing.

Trust God enough to share everything with God, including the pain, disappointment, grief and anger. In Christ, we are taught that no more honest language can be shared than that of child and Parent.

If the god you believe in isn't big enough to take such candor, than it is a very small god you believe in, indeed.

God can take it all . . . and more, which is good to remember when the streets smell like curing hay. Have a blessed day.

Good Intentions

Good intentions are often divided from action taken by the fine line of taking the time. I cannot tell you how many are the moments I have thought of giving someone a call, stopping by to visit a parishioner, one of my brothers or my Dad, listening with a willing heart to the entire story someone has to share, and, well the list goes on and on . . .

My life is riddled with good intentions whose memory hangs like the albatross upon my heart, for I have looked into the eyes of those whose fortune it has been to be one of good intentions. The haunting, forlorn, hurt that courses those looks will not quickly leave my soul, nor should they, for they stiffen my resolve not to live a life made up exclusively of good intentions. Easy are the excuses, hard is the reality. No-one, including me, ever wants to know they are little more than a good intention on your list of things to do.

Which is why God sent the only Son. God doesn't just intend to bring all of God's children home, God comes to us and shows us the way. Jesus is God's gift of faithfulness that overcomes our every good intention in faith, in life, in living. The stone rolled away from the tomb bears the tears and scars of generations who wanted to live such faithfulness, but never seemed to have time time or resolve. God's Spirit rolls up the grave clothes of our wanton disregard of God and each other, inviting us to a new reality, a new time of being who God has created us to be.I am grateful to those in my life who regard me as something more than a good intention and pray forgiveness for those moments I have not taken time for another. May God be kinder to us all than we are to each other in all of our good intentions.

Peace on the journey, my friends.

A Certified Pilot

Yesterday, driving up to the Cell Phone Lot of the East Terminal at St. Louis International to wait for a friend's arrival, my 'text notification' played (the ESPN theme) letting me know that someone wanted to get in touch with me. Being unusually cautious, I chose not to look at it until I was stopped in the lot . . . and I'm glad that I did.

The text was from our youngest, AFA Cadet 3rd Class Christian Wagner, 'Ched', who is currently on Spring break with his class of Instructor Pilot trainees in Willcox, Arizona, getting in extra flying time in an ideal sailplane setting. Ched's text read:

"I just passed my 'phase check"! Which means you are now talking to the newest certified pilot for the TG-10B sailplane. Now on to instruction!" (which means he is to the final stage of preparation for being an Instructor Pilot in the TG-10B)

While reading his text, two F-15's from the Missouri Air National Guard took off heading East out of Lambert International, rising up off the runway straight across from where I was sitting in my car, then powered quickly into the early afternoon skies leaving the ground shaking in their wake. I texted back to Ched my congratulations, then added, "As if on cue, as I read your text, two F-15's took off here . . . in salute to you, I'm sure." And if the F-15's weren't in salute to Ched, they should have been - at least from this father's vantage point! Ched is doing what I once dreamed of doing: flying. He is experiencing the exhilaration of soaring in the winds of God's Spirit and turning in the currents of God's dynamic creation.

'Proud' is not the appropriate word for what I am felt in that moment. It was something far more tender and powerful, even connected in the essence of awe and humility. As with his brother's before him, if it is even humanly possible, Ched's news made my heart swell with love and wonder. News of a child's accomplishments have a way of doing that to parents, don't they?! And, if so with us as earthly parents, how much more so for God?I'm trying to imagine God doing 'the happy dance' that I do to embarrass our kids when they bring me good news - and, somehow, it's just not happening. Yet, I know in my heart of hearts, God is no less over joyed, no less exuberant when told of things in our lives going well. When was the last time you celebrated a moment with God? When was the last time that God was the first one you wanted to tell when something special happened in your life?

Who knows what might thunder by when you do, but you will never know until you do. God is waiting to hear from you today.

Facebook or Not

Reading through this morning's Facebook posts, I got to wondering about what God thinks of our post-able priorities. Because you can take a picture of something with your cell phone and post it, should you? Because you can type some words about someone or something, should you? Because you are of one bent or another politically, economically, culturally, religiously or socially, and can post ad nauseum about it without fear of direct responsibility for your words or images, should you? I am wondering about our post-able priorities and admit I have no easy answers. I am, after all, a part of it.

How did Jesus deal with all the hype around him? The pro-Rome, anti-Israel sentiments? The 'new-cult' haters? The pro-tradition platform folk? The people who were always passing off opinion as fact? The folks who wanted healing without future encumbrances? The ones who knew well how to complain about the state of the world, but wouldn't constructively engage in being a part of the solution? The folks who complained about the politics of Rome while modeling similar behaviors around Jerusalem?

Would Jesus have answered positively to my Facebook request by pushing the FRIEND button or would he have rathered push the IGNORE button just so he wouldn't have to read my clever posts? It makes me wonder, especially since Jesus displayed such a propensity for personal conversations. Would Jesus even have spent any time on Facebook at all?

In a conversation this morning about Facebook and the incredible amount of time apparently being spent on it, a friend suggested to me that, "Facebook is what you make of it, communication tool or idol." Good words of wisdom.

I can't judge what others do or how they choose to express themselves or their opinions, I can only choose what path I will follow . . . which is essentially what Jesus did in his ministry. I only pray to be half as focused and faithful in living my Baptism as he was amidst all the people with whom he journeyed, Facebook or not.

Walking on Sacred Ground

Over the years I have had the sacred privilege of sitting with those who have suffered the death of loved ones. Wives, husbands, grandmothers, grandfathers, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, grandchildren, nephews, nieces, neighbors, friends . . . each drawing deep upon the well of God's love and hope to take the next breath, to make the next second, to move the next step. Each looking death in ...the face, as though for the first time, and wondering why it touched the one so close, so intimate, so dear to the heart. Each shedding tears they never knew they had as an unwanted emptiness embraced them and placed a sharp knife in their soul.

Today, I crossed that holy ground again.

Sitting beside them as they face mortality, change, uninvited brokenness and hurt, it is an unceasing and humbling experience to behold as God's Spirit of Peace and Comfort begins to break in where words fall silent and hugs have lost their effect. It is an incredible sight to behold as, along the path to the tomb, they recognize the stone is rolled away and what once they knew to be true in death gives way to something they have never quite beheld or understood before. In the most intimate reaches of unfettered love, in the quiet between touching and knowing, in the whisper of satin stories and ruffled memories, God eases the pain and quiets the sobbing, God dries the tears and strengthens the trembling knees, God touches the heart . . . and what once was finds voice in new transcendence.

Congregations can surround with thoughts, prayers and support; Communities can rally and stand in solidarity with the passion of those who know such pain; Pastors and Priests can speak their liturgies and celebrate a life that now knows Life . . . but, only God can articulate that for which a grieving human soul longs. Only God truly hears the cries of God's children and comes to deliver ~ and ours is to to sit with the other, to cross that holy ground again and again, trusting, believing, clinging to the One who never will let any of us go, nor forsake us to the wilderness.

It is our sacred privilege.

Thinking of Teachers

I've been thinking about teachers this morning. My First Grade teacher was Mrs. Dorothy Campbell, a wonderfully patient, nurturing woman . . . whose retirement from the teaching profession probably had much to do with having taught my class. Similarly, Mrs. Stewart, my Second Grade teacher and Mrs. Church, my Third Grade teacher, both retired not long after having had me in class. My Fourth Grade ...teacher, Mrs. Stephens, new to the teaching profession the year my class came through, left the profession after that one year, and our Fifth Grade teacher, Mr. Ruester, retired not long after we came through. Is there a reoccuring theme here? I think so . . . my class of students was the product of an aging teaching staff! God love them all, the Class of 1975 was just enough to make nearly all of them see the viability of retirement as preferrable to staying in the classroom!
Yet, what got me to thinking about teachers this morning was not the list of sainted folk who endured my class, but rather, two very special teachers whose lives and journey have blessed my life these last few years. Rob and Amy Nunn are incredible Elementary teachers in the Edwardsville School District and their relationship with students and staff alike speaks volumes as to their effectiveness, both academically and professionally. They are, in the words of their colleagues and many of the parents of their students, "Wonderful Educators".
In the spirit of full disclosure, I have never spent a moment in either of their classes, but I have been blessed to be an observer of the many lessons they teach at home. You see, Rob and Amy's daughter, Savannah, was born with a very rare disorder, so unusual in fact, that the medical community is still studying Savannah's progress, growth and development to assist them in working with others who have similar challenges. Savannah is a bright, articulate, strong-willed little girl who is too much aware of medical communities and routines and too little accustomed to just being a little girl. Therein is the point: Rob and Amy are teachers. They teach life lessons to Savannah and are, themselves, adept students of life wonders from Savannah, thereby deepening by volumes the skill-sets they each have to share with others. The most treasured and challenging teachers among us are, first and foremost, committed students themselves. The world is their classroom and never would they assume to teach that which they hadn't spent time learning . . . and Savannah is both student and instructor for them. The rest of us around them are blessed observers, humbly receiving the faith and joy Amy and Rob share each day.
Savannah went into the hospital yesterday and, at the time I visited with them, was in Pediatric ICU being treated for a bacterial infection. It is hard to be courageous when you are little, tired, being poked and proded, and just flat out don't feel well, yet, there was Savannah, laying in Amy's lap, occasionally calling for her Daddy to hold her hand and taking in all that the doctors and nurses were trying to do for her . . . Rob and Amy explaining each procedure, each new test along the way. The connection between parent and child for most families is an amazing bond, yet for Savannah, Rob and Amy, that connection has the feel of a womb-like experience, whose umbilically-bonded existence pumps the lifeblood of family back and forth between them, even at the mere touch of their hands. Rob and Amy are parents who are becoming master teachers of life, not only for their daughter, but for all who dare to pause and watch. Like the Christ of their faith, the Master Teacher among us all, there is no going back, no doing over, no other way than forward in faith, trusting each step, each lesson learned, each moment to be taught, to the God who is all Wisdom.
Maybe that is why I have been thinking of teachers today: Rob and Amy remind me of those who are among the best at answering the call to their vocation. After all, did you notice? I can name all of my teachers, such was the impact they had on me. Amy and Rob, much like the students you teach at school, I doubt your names ever leave the depths of my soul for the lessons you teach me each day. Thank you for continuing to teach that which you are still learning in faith, hope and love.

Of Ladders and Faith

I had the aluminum extension ladder out at church this morning to put up some Lenten banners in the sanctuary. The extension ladder has two 14' sections, so the safe extension length of the ladder is somewhere around 21'. Looking at the ladder as I carried it from its storage spot to the sanctuary I realized that the extension section was bent . . . clearly a result of having been extended beyond its safe range, then having someone who is a 'tad overweight' climb up to its furthest reaches (Come on! You really didn't expect me to fess us to be a 'lot overweight', did you??). Having such a notion in your mind as you climb back up that same bent ladder makes one just a bit more cautious as each step upward is taken - all the while humming under my breath, "Nearer My God To Thee". "I was glad when they said unto me . . . " the job is done, you can put the ladder away. 'Whew! Thank you, Jesus! You improved my prayer life a hundredfold in just these few brief moments!'

A bent extension ladder is a practical matter really, after all, bent is not broken. The ladder is still usable until proven otherwise, right?

This got me started thinking about faith. Sometimes it is pretty bent up, fairly strained, nearly stressed to the breaking point, yet, still we keep climbing 'Jacob's ladder'. Still we keep moving upward, sometimes in the face of steady opposition, oft-times the weight of our sins straining every step we make. The ladder creaks and groans, the goal appears distant, even beyond reach.

Therein is grace. Where our faith would break, God's faith in us will not even bend. Where the weight of our sins would compromise the steps we take, God's forgiveness shown to us in a cross and an empty tomb lightens our load. When others would tell of the impracticality of our journey, God whispers of love and peace, granting strength and courage for the way. The ladder we are on in faith is God . . . and the steadfast love of God for each of us will not be broken. We are on sacred ground when we dare to ascend to the heavens in faith.

Maybe it is time to replace the aluminum extension ladder at church, before a step gives way or a section bends beyond safety. But I pray the wisdom never to replace, either the faith God has in me or the faith I have in God's steadfast love for all of humankind. For of such the Kingdom of heaven is made known. Thanks be to God!

Our National Anthem

Last night I was privileged to lead the singing of our National Anthem before the final Lebanon Thanksgiving Tournament game of the evening. Though I have sung our National Anthem many times in similar circumstances and venues, something last night was very different . . . and to be honest, I find myself at a loss of words to explain it. Maybe it had to do with the nearness of the U.S. flag in the gymnasium, or maybe it was the number of folks who, indeed, sang along, or maybe, even as I was singing the words, I was hearing them for the first time all over again. I'm not sure. What I am sure of is that, as I was singing, I saw not only the stars and stripes, but also my brother, Larry, who served in the Army in Viet Nam, and my Uncle Del who flew as a gunner in B-17's in WWII and was shot down, surviving the Nazi death marches, and my friend, Dave Harrison, who is a retired AF 'boomer' in tankers, and Nancy's Uncle Ched, who served in the Army and lost his life in WWII in France, and our own son, Ched, as he now attends the AF Academy.
People close to my heart whose lives have included or, in some cases, have been eternally defined by their service to country, commitment to the flag, and a deep respect of our National Anthem are the very ones whose images I felt near, as the words and music filled the gym, uniting us all through the years. It wasn't spooky, it was emotion-filled, memory-comforting, even challenging - and when I sat down to continue the announcing I was shaking, my hands having a hard time holding the microphone. What is it about our National Anthem that it inspires and cajoles us so? What is it about the flag that tugs at the very fabric of our heart and soul? What is it about those who serve which demands our greatest of respect, our deepest of admiration?
Pondering on those who do not rise when a flag passes by in parade, on those who do not remove their hats when our National Anthem is sung, or who won't place their hand over their heart when the Pledge of Allegiance is spoken: it is their Constitutional right to do so. Yet, after last night's experience, I am coming to understand and believe that those who have little investment - have even less commitment. The deeper you are in the trenches, the more the battles mean, whether it regards our country or the church.
Make of this moment what you want but, now more than ever, I am coming to value and reverence the sacrifices of martyrs and saints of every generation who knew not only what their rights were, but gave of themselves to defend the rights and liberties of others. For faith, for country, for all who serve, I am grateful - and pray I never forget the cost they have paid, nor turn away from my responsibility to do the same that all might know life . . . much as the Christ of our faith has taught us.
Blessings on the journey, Pastor Don

Consider the Eagle

What is it about eagles that so draw us to them? Is it their size? Their power? Their ability to soar, seemingly suspended in the highest of air currents? Their acute eyesight? Their diving ability? Is it that they are so large? Is it that they are birds of prey, designed to hunt and kill, rather than feed off the scraps of others? Is it that they tend not to flock together? That they hunt singularly and live for the family? That their nests are high above in the most inaccessible places? That their soaring tantalizes the land-bound as they circle nearer the sun? That they live for such a long time? What is it about eagles that so draw us to them?

As I listen to the scriptures and consider what texts to send to our Basic Cadet at the AFA, as I stand with Elijah on the mountain away from the threats below and ponder the blowing of the wind, the shaking of the earth, a great fire and, finally, a great sheer silence and, therein, hear the voice of God saying, "What are you doing here . . . .?", it is there I begin to understand this dichotomy. Land-bound as we are, there is something in our DNA that longs to soar and admires those who do. There is within us a genetic predisposition for flight and an awe in our soul of that which flies . . . . and the eagle, both Biblically and in our current journey, opens the door of our imaginations and invites us towards a new reality.

As strong as the eagle is, its' strength is from the Designer. As high as the eagle may soar, the wind under its' wings is the very breath of God. As high as the eagle may build its' nest, the nest is no higher than the earth the Potter's Hand has shaped. As singular as the eagle may be, it is only in Relationship that young ones may come. As well as an eagle may see, what it sees is what the Maker has set before it. As long as an eagle may live, its' days are no more than what the One who births it assigns. Yet, however limited an eagle may be, still it is the romance of the eagle's life which beckons us to soar . . . and is the prayer we offer in scripture and heart for all our children and, especially in these days, our Basics.

Though land bound, soar on the winds of God. Though challenged, see with the eyes of the Creator. Though days are hard, feel the strength of the Maker in your sinews and bones. Though pushed to become a singular achievement, know the power and potential of Community and the new life it offers. Though you may feel 'out on a limb', remember Who placed the limb there on which you now perch.

Consider the eagle, then live for the Holy One who made it. For both, you and the eagle, are of God's greatest Intention.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Considering the Source

One of the things that we have always striven to articulate with all three of our boys is this: When you hear something, whatever it is, consider the source and consider where it is that you are hearing it.

For example, there is a huge difference between me saying to one of our sons, "You better shape up!" and their basketball coach saying, "You better shape up!" Yes, the words are the same, but the meaning, context and intent are far different. Were my wife to say to me, "You got the garbage today." and one of my parishioners were to say, "You got the garbage today.", my response would be vastly different to the two.

Scripture says, "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself." (Luke 10.27, which is one verse of a GREAT story! Read it when you have time!) In the following parable which Jesus tells, how the priest, the Levite and the Samaritan all heard the same words was one thing, but how they consider the source, where they were hearing it, and how they were to respond, were vastly different. To help the lawyer who was testing Him to understand that simple lesson, Jesus then asked him a question which required him to take the place of the man beaten and robbed along the road: "Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man . . . .?" Plainly stated, which one considered the Source and where it was being said?

In the religious community it is one thing to know the law, even the lawyer knew the law, and quite another thing to perceive the spirit of the Voice who states it. In the parable Jesus tells, the Samaritan got it, even when the representatives of the religious institution were deaf to its meaning and blind to those who most needed them to understand along the road.

In many ways, at least in my mind, the process of Basic Cadet Training in the Air Force Academy is much the same. Words like Integrity, Honesty, Truthfulness, Teamwork, Loyalty, and Responsibility have long been a part of most of the Basic's life journey to this point. Now, in this intense, highly scrutinized, carefully structured environment, each of the Basics will hear those words from a new source, consider where it is they are hearing them, what those words mean for them in the context they are in, and decide how best to faithfully respond.

To you and me, it may seem so easy, a 'no-brainer', the choices apparent. But, to the Basics, the ones who are having to do the hard work of discernment of both, the ones who speak the words and the words themselves, recognizing the heart of the matter beyond the order being given is going to be a learning process. I pray for the Basics that, regardless the ones who are in their faces today shaping them into the leaders our country needs, they will always hear, first and foremost, the Source of the Living Word from which all other words and orders are derived . . . . and that they will always remember that, though people in this life may be in your face, the God of all Creation longs only to always be in your heart and living.

Consider the Source.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

Forgiveness

I was recently asked a question regarding forgiveness, which led me to offer the following observations:

Forgiveness is hard stuff, hard stuff. It is easier to ‘love the sinner’ than to forgive the transgression which has impacted our living, all of which makes Jesus upon the cross saying, “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do”, all the more poignant.

A couple of things cross my mind in response to your questions:
1. Forgiveness is a process, not an event.
2. Forgiveness gives you permission not to be enslaved by the choices of others.
3. Forgiveness does not mean ‘forgetting’, rather the practice extends peace in the place of anger and/or guilt.
4. Forgiveness is an acknowledgement before God of how much we all struggle with our behaviors.
5. Forgiveness is an extension of God’s grace to others, not a guarantee that they will receive it or be changed by it.
6. Forgiveness is more about the heart of the one offering it, than the transformation of the one receiving it.
7. Forgiveness has to be practiced daily, even moment after moment.
8. The more you practice the forgiveness of others, the greater your capacity to receive it from God.
9. Little that others may say of forgiveness makes it easier for you to embody it.
10. Finally, forgiveness is between you and God. Others may only receive of your relationship with God, not shape it.

Just some things to ponder on your daily journey of faith.

Your servant in Christ,

Pastor Don

In the Days of Life

In the days of life between here and There
God’s love has guided the way,
Held always by Heaven’s Spirit
Every night is lived as day.
We cannot imagine our world
Outside the salvation history of God,
For before we were, God was,
And after we will be, there still is God.
Human life arrives and passes away,
Kingdoms totter and fall,
Armies ride into yet another battle
And come face to face with a wall:
The one enemy they cannot conquer
Is, in fact, the one that limits them,
Death holds it sway in a mortal world
Severing mother from child like a limb.
Yet, all of Pharaoh’s armies
And all of Caesar’s men,
Proved what God knew from the beginning,
The tomb shall be empty in Him. DCW