My Work Is Just Begun

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

I Gave Jesus a Ride Home Yesterday

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

In Response to Lafayette, LA.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pastor Don

Questions of Church Growth

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

Sweet Mercy

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

To Whom Do You Look In These Days?

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

Longing for the 'Good Old Days'? Really?

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