The Rules no Longer Apply

                                           Luke 1:68-79

Galatians 3:1-9, 23-29

               This week we continue our journey through the book of Galatians.  Just as we witnessed with our study of the book of Acts, the early church in Galatia is also struggling and dealing with conflict.  Today’s conflict has to do with how the Spirit is received.  It was a conflict then, and it remains a conflict now.

               “How did your new life start?”  Paul asks.  As we discussed last week, this continues the struggle about whether or not you have to DO something to be given or to find this new life.  And Paul is angry here as he writes to the Galatians.  He starts with these really strong phrases: in The Message version: “Did someone put a spell on you?  Have you taken leave of your senses?  … it’s obvious that you no longer have the crucified Christ in clear focus in your lives.”    In the Common English translation it says “You irrational Galatians!  Who put a spell on you?”  And the NIV translates it, “You foolish Galatians!  Who has bewitched you!”  Regardless of which of these translations you prefer, these are really strong words.  Paul is mad because people are trying to insist on certain things being done in order to be admitted into the faith.  They are fighting about who is doing what, and if they are doing enough, and if they are following the Mosaic law perfectly so that they can be admitted into the faith.  And he is emphasizing once again that it is not action that will save them, but grace.  There is nothing that you need to do or be to be invited in, nothing that you have to fix or follow to be loved and accepted by God.

               People were being foolish because they’d been a part of God working through them, they’d seen these amazing things taking place, these communities of deep faith being formed, these incredible connections with life and the Divine, and yet they’ve forgotten that this had very little to do with them, with their actions, with their behavior.  It happened all around them, it happened without them, it happened despite them.  They did nothing to earn it, they did nothing to bring it, it was all grace.  But they had quickly, very quickly forgotten this. 

               This was hard then and it is hard now.  My lectionary friend told me that she and a friend went to watch a baptism at the local Pentecostal church when she was a kid.  They did a full emersion baptism and then they apparently told the person baptized to pray until the Spirit “descended” by which they meant that they recognized a baptism by the Spirit as one that would cause the person to speak in tongues.  The person would have to pray for as long as it took for that “spirit baptism” to happen, whether it was 30 seconds or 5 hours.  They believed this to be the only “real” baptism and that if it did not happen for a person this way, their baptism was not legitimate.  While this was not something they had to “do” to earn grace, it was a sign that they had received that grace of the Spirit.  Without that specific outward sign, they would not believe grace and the spirit were given.  But you can’t force the Spirit.  It happens when it happens.  It comes when it comes.  And it comes in the way that it comes, regardless of what you do, what you want, the signs you seek, the demands you put on the Spirit.  You can listen for it, you can wait for it, but you can’t push it or earn it, you can’t control it, demand it, or expect it to manifest in particular ways.

We still struggle with this.  We don’t want “cheap grace” by which we mean, we feel better about the things we get if we’ve worked hard for them.  If we’ve done something to deserve them.  And when gifts come to us through grace despite what we have done or failed to do, we quickly re-write that story, claiming credit for what we have, forgetting that it was by the grace of God that we met that person, or were touched by this person; that we fell into that place, that job, that situation, that relationship.  We forget that grace abounds despite and not because of anything that we could do or fail to do.   

We hear in this story that the Spirit manifests most fully when people take the time to listen, to see, to sit and wait.  As the scripture we read from Acts 15 a couple weeks back said, “once Peter spoke, the whole assembly fell silent.”  That is a taking in of the Spirit, a listening and accepting of the Spirit offered.  That Spirit then inspired them to tell their stories of The Holy Spirit comes to us predominantly through LISTENING: the one thing that is so very, very hard for us to do.  And that takes place in so many ways.  Quakers services are all about simply listening, resting in the silence of God until insight or wisdom is given that one feels called to share.  For Presbyterians we believe that the holy Spirit manifests in community.  We listen at session meetings, at Presbytery meetings and at the General Assembly meetings for the Holy Spirit as it moves between and among people, understanding that it is the diverse voices TOGETHER that manifest the Spirit for us.  We believe deeply that “call” is discerned in community as well, which is why when a person wants to be a pastor, they must go to their church community for affirmation of that call, then the Presbytery as well. 

Whenever I think about this, I remember the Presbytery meeting I attended in Ohio where the pastor was saying that seminary students should be allowed to attend whatever seminary they wanted, without guidance from the Committee on the Preparation for Ministry.  He gave a long speech about how he was called to attend a different seminary, but that the Committee on the Preparation for Ministry had insisted that he take a couple classes at least at a Presbyterian Seminary.  He kept saying they were wrong to push that and he had defied them because that was not his call.  But to all the rest of us it was clear that he had actually not understood at all what it meant to be Presbyterian and that his very speech, declaring a call that was in great contrast to the call discerned by the larger BODY, was proof of his lack of understanding.  In fact, two years later he left the denomination completely.

The thing is that people can use “spirit language” pretty manipulatively, as we know.  “God said to me” or “The Holy Spirit spoke to me” and then they usually say whatever it is they want to believe, or whatever it is that they want others to believe.  This is why we believe that the Spirit is recognized, manifested, understood, and heard in community.  It helps us to stay accountable for what we believe we have “heard” from the Spirit.  It helps us to stay accountable for what we believe the Spirit is trying to tell us.   The Holy spirit is against the personality cult.  The spirit can touch us personally, it can move within each individual, but it is never private: call is discerned together, the Spirit is made manifest in community. 

As my lectionary group discussed these passages and the showing up of the Holy Spirit, we all talked about the many times parishioners have approached each of us and said, “Thank you so very much for saying x today” and then went on to say something that we had never, ever said.  I can’t tell you how many times that has happened for me, personally, and as we discussed it, we found that all of us had had this experience multiple times.  But in those moments, we recognize that sometimes the Spirit can help people to hear what they need to hear in a moment, even if it is NOT actually what has been said at all!  In those moments it is personal, but again, not private.  The messages heard are always messages of caring for one another, of loving one another, of connection and community.

Barb George forwarded to me a YouTube video this week, one that I had seen before but which is really very appropriate for today’s focus as well.  The video is called “shoulder taps”  and in it Bill Hart says this:

Toni and I were having lunch at California Pizza kitchen the other day and I noticed this elderly woman who’s dressed nicely sitting down at a large table by herself for about five minutes.  And then after a while her daughter and three or so grandkids show up.  And they are looking spectacular and like they are getting ready for a nice meal.  About that time a voice in my head says “You need to go and tell her how pretty she looks.”  Then our food arrives, the check arrives and we’re going to go down this walkway in this strip center and on to the next thing that we are going to move to.  So…  on my way out, I kneel down put myself down at her level where she is in her chair and I say, ‘if no one else has told you this today I just wanted to say how lovely you are.’  And she looks at me with a look I’ve never seen before and she says, ‘I know you.’  And I said, ‘no, we’ve never met each other.’ And she says, ‘I know your spirit.’  And it gets really quiet between us and she says, “my husband died a year ago and that is something he would have said to me.’  And at that moment I can’t talk.  I’m overcome by emotion and I just hug her, smile at her through tears and I leave.  But here’s what I know and why I’m telling you this.  I believe God taps us on the shoulders and uses us at just the right moment.  And what I know for sure is that she was blessed and I was enormously blessed.  So I’ve learned in my life to listen to these shoulder taps because they do happen.  And the more we listen to them, the more in alignment we are with God.  And that’s an awesome place to be.”

 

               Those are moments where the Spirit reaches out and touches us with grace.  But, as Bill Hart said, we have to be listening for it.  We have to be open to it. 

               I was given a song a couple months back, called “Speak Now” from “one Night in Miami”

 

Listen, listen, While the storm in your heart is raging, Listen, listen, listen

Listen, listen, To the echoes of martyrs praying. Listen, listen, listen

Listen, Brothers and sisters, Listen, listen, listen

I swear we'll never find a way to where we're going, all alone

Don't take your eyes off the road

 

Can you hear the bells ring out? Speak now,  Speak now

Can you hear the angels sing loud? Speak now. Speak now

 

Listen, listen, To the message of hope in the whispers of ghosts, Listen, listen

 

Listen, For the children will grow on the seeds that we sow; They listen, they listen

 

Oh, listen, Brothers and sisters

Listen, listen, I swear we'll never find a way to where we're going, all alone

Don't take your eyes off the road

 

Can you hear the bells ring out? Speak now, Speak now

Can you hear the angels cry out? Speak now, Speak now

Don't you hold your tongue

Speak now (speak now)

Speak now (speak now)

Speak now (speak now)

Oh-oh-oh-oh, oh-ooh-oh

Can you hear the angels? Speak now (speak now)

Speak now

 

               Growth happens, change happens because grace abounds.  And grace abounds when we listen and are open for the movement of the Holy Spirit.  But, just as the Galatians who were struggling to remember, struggling to be quiet enough to listen and be moved by the Spirit, we struggle too.

               One of my pastor friends in Ohio began a project there known as “the Phoenix Project”.  It was a church community that met in a store front in one of the more urban, poorer areas of Cleveland.  And it attracted young people.  Young people who were lost, most of them, struggling with many issues: poverty, drug addiction, rejection for sexual orientation or gender identity.  It attracted these young people who built an amazing community of support and care.  The Presbytery funded it initially, but we generally have rules in our Presbyteries that church communities have to be financially self-supportive within a five year period from their start.  There was no way that this community of very young, mostly homeless and extremely vulnerable young people would ever be able to support themselves and eventually the Phoenix project shut down.  The larger community of the Presbytery did not listen deeply enough for the movement of the Spirit that goes beyond finances and “what we’ve always done”.  It was a tragedy. 

But as we discussed it this week, I also heard that listening has to go both ways.  When we bring a new project, or a new idea; one that we have learned to hear, learned to accept, learned to support as a calling of the Spirit, we have to remember that when we present it to others, what may have rattled around in our own brains for 20 years or so may be completely new to those who are hearing of it for the first time.  The idea may need time to grow, to develop, to plant as a seed that will grow into a tree.  Our listening has to go in both directions.  The pain of change, or lack of change goes both ways.  It is not easy for us, but it invites us to listen deeply to one another as we all listen for the Spirit’s movement.  The UCC slogan of “I’m not done yet” – the idea of a comma instead of a period, it crucial.  In Presbyterian churches we say “reformed and always reforming”.  Same idea: the Spirit is not done with us yet. 

The Spirit continues to move, to grow, to have new things to tell us.  We can’t do anything to earn that.  We can’t do anything to deserve that.  We can’t force it, we can’t expect it.  But it is there through grace.  It is there inviting us to do one thing and one thing only: to listen.

I want to end by inviting you to hear the song I quoted above and to open your ears and hearts to listen for where God’s Spirit is speaking to you today.

The Controversies that Surround Us

 

                                                            Luke 23:33-34a, 46

Acts 6:1—7:2a, 44-60

            Today we continue with the narrative lectionary which moves into a study of the book of Acts, which is a book we usually do not spend a great deal of time on.  There are really important lessons in today’s reading, especially for our country and our culture at this very moment.

            At that time, there was a huge debate between Hebrew disciples and immigrant Greek-speaking disciples.  The Hebrew disciples had felt that they were the true disciples.  They were the ones who grew up in or near Jerusalem, they understood the laws, the practices, the rituals.  There was no room for these Greek-speaking immigrants into Jerusalem.  The Greek speaking followers recognized that their authority was not being honored, they were not being respected, they were not being treated as full human beings, let alone full members of the church of Jesus.  Their widows weren’t being cared for.  So they ordained another group of Greeks whose primary job was to care for the poor, etc., allowing the original disciples to focus on speaking and leadership, etc.  The resolution was finally reached to this conflict when seven of the Greek, immigrant leaders were chosen to be ordained into the diaconate.  As part of the diaconate, then, they would primary do the caring for the poor.  It was a resolution.  Or rather, people THOUGHT that a resolution had been reached.  After all, some parity had been officially stated between the two groups.

            But then we come to today’s reading. Stephen was one of those immigrant Greek-speaking disciples.  And he was not only good at caring for others, but he was wise, a good speaker.  He was doing amazing things as a leader of the people.  And he was falsely accused by the Hebrew speaking Jews from Jerusalem of betraying and denying Abraham, the laws, and in particular the centrality of the temple.  We don’t know why he was accused, but we can guess.  We can guess that it was because he was Greek, or because though he joined their ranks, he did not give up who he had been previously.  I want you to think about that.  He joined them, but he still remained himself, a Greek-speaking immigrant into the faith.  And he dared to do what some of the other leaders saw as their job alone. 

            We see this in the church.  White churches yearn for people of color to join them.  But they don’t want those who join to join as themselves.  They want them to CHANGE in order to join.  To speak the “right” language, both literally and metaphorically, to behave in the ways that we have decided are acceptable, are right, are appropriate.  We do this with children too.  Of course we want more children in the church!  But we expect them to behave according to the rules we have set up: no talking in church, dress appropriately, use the language we want you to use, even if you don’t understand it and it has no meaning for you.  We do this too.  And so we can understand their anger with Stephen.  They “welcome” him, but only in so much as they expect him to become like them rather than welcoming him truly as he was: a Greek-speaking immigrant to their community. 

            Well Stephen isn’t putting up with it.  So when he is hauled in front of the authorities, he has the audacity to speak truth.  He gives an entire history of the Jewish people, of God’s actions among them (this part is skipped in today’s reading) and then he ends with his own condemnation of the practices of the Hebrew or Aramaic speaking disciples – he says they are not following the laws!  And then he accuses them of crucifying Jesus.  They accuse him of not following Moses.  He accuses them of killing Jesus.

            Different sides, each accusing the other of destroying what matters most deeply to each side.  Attacking, accusing.  In today’s story that ended with Stephen’s death.  On January 6, 2021 that ended in five deaths.  These accusations, these attacks from both sides: when we cannot hear one another, when we cannot listen to one another, when we cannot tolerate truths that don’t agree with what we want to believe, people die.  We know, we understand that there are different versions of the truth.  And people feel so strongly over what is “true” that they are willing to kill, to fight with violent measures.  That was the case then and it is the case now.  Stephen is speaking truth but it is not what they want to believe so they kill him. 

            (as a side note, in Stephen’s case, his death in many ways also mirrored Jesus’ death: Jesus experience of being accused, killed and then from the cross asking forgiveness for those who were killing him.  Stephen did the same.) 

Much of this conflict between Stephen and the other Christians centered around the understanding of the temple.  It had been a source of conflict for a very long time: where is the correct place to worship?  Does it have to be in the temple in Jerusalem?  Many Jews at the time believed so.  The Samaritans were another group with the same beliefs, the exception being they believed God could be worshiped in other sanctuaries.  Jesus’ answer to them all?  “You Woman, believe Me, the hour is coming when you will neither on this mountain, nor in Jerusalem, worship the Father. …But the hour is coming, and now is, when the true worshipers will worship…  in spirit and truth…. God is Spirit, and those who worship Him must worship in spirit and truth.” (John 4:22-26)

We know that during this Covid time, that debate has come back.  Is it necessary to worship God in a building?  Or is God really and truly bigger than that and so can be worshiped and loved and served wherever we are?  There are all of these rules about being back in a building to worship.  But the worship of God happens in spirit and truth.  It’s interesting that this argument keeps coming back when the truth was that the early Christian church, for the first few centuries, only met in people’s homes.  They did not meet in cathedrals or special synagogue buildings at all until Constantinople.  To this day, the Seder, the Passover meal, the meal that we celebrate as the Lord’s Supper was always done in homes, in people’s houses.  But we have made it a “special building” thing and in doing so, we’ve lost so much of the original meaning – of connection with family, with intimacy in sharing that sacred meal of remembering.

As always, the good news is that conflict is an opportunity to change.  It is a gift if we use it as such.  It is an opportunity to be intentional as move forward, to be intentional about how we listen, how we respond when we don’t like or don’t want what we are hearing. All of these arguing people were only willing to look outward, to attack the other, to blame the other.  They covered their ears and did not want to hear what they did not want to hear.  None of them were willing to look at themselves, to look inward.  And none of them were also looking at the resurrection.  None of them were using the gift of imagination and vision that God gives to all of us to see where the new life was being born this time. 

But again, conflict is an opportunity for change.  Do you know why Latin is considered a dead language?  It’s not that it’s not used.  It is used.  We use it in music, we still use it in some religious liturgy.  We use it in scientific names.  The reason it’s considered dead is NOT that it is no longer used.  It’s dead because it isn’t CHANGING.  And in that is great wisdom.  Conflict is an invitation to imagine differently, to envision differently, to do things differently!

I’ve been reading a number of books recently.  One called Women Peacemakers by Barbe Chambliss, a friend of Ruth’s.  Another called Jan’s Story, that my father passed on to me.  A third called Love is the Way, by Bishop Michael Curry.  What is interesting is that in all of them there is at least one section that is talking about hope, and about the possibilities inherent in crisis.  They also, though, point out that the realization of those possibilities and that hope: that these are dependent on a choice to step forward into the new life that is being offered.  It is a choice.  Do we choose to get bogged down by the traumas and crises of our lives?  Or do we take the invitations inherent in each scenario, and do we use the gift of imagination that God has given us to us to see the possibilities inherent in the crisis, the trauma.  One of the women in the book Ruth lent to me, Connie Ning, gives microcredit, and microloans to women in Vietnam and Guatemala.  These loans are allowing women to begin many things: to start their own businesses, to finance their children’s education, to send girls back into their communities with new ideas, new visions, and new strength.  Connie Ning’s program is funding all of this.  But because it is empowering the girls and women to develop their own programs, it is exponential in its impact on not just individuals but communities as well.

I want to end by sharing with you a story that Lyle, once again passed on to me.  Apparently, there was at one point in Russia a professor who spent an hour lecturing his community on how religion was all ridiculous superstition.  He was very verbose, very articulate and at the end of his hour, his students were all nodding their heads and even applauded in agreement.  At the end of the hour he called up on old Russian Orthodox priest and told him he could give a ten minute rebuttal.  The old priest stood up and simply said, “Christos Anesti!” which means Christ has risen.  I’m certain you know what came next.  We’ll try it here in English.  When I say here loudly and with joy, “Christ has risen”  what happens here?  Well, let’s try it out.  “Christ has risen!”  yes.  He is risen indeed.  And even after this hour long lecture, when the priest stood up and said simply, “Christos anesti!”  The students all said with resounding shouts of joy, “Alithos anesti!”  He is Risen, INDEED.  No matter what our minds say, our hearts experience God, and our hearts remember the experience of God.  All the arguments, all the conflicts, all the debates, all the differences in the world cannot remove that experience of the risen Christ. 

Conflict, crisis, different view points, different visions, different understandings: these are invitations and opportunities to see God anew.  But we have a choice.  Do we take the launching points of crisis mixed with God’s gift of imagination to look, to see, to learn, to hear, to begin anew?  That is the invitation.  To see where Christ is risen.  To live the new possibilities God is given us. 

Christ is Risen! He is Risen, Indeed!

Disagreements in Faith Communities

         When the PCUSA made the decision in 2013 to ordain LGBTQ+ people, there was a strong push back from many people in our churches.  Many people who had wanted this inclusion had hung in with the church for a very long time before the decision was made.  They had chosen to stay within a body even when things were different from what they believed to be right, to be moral.  They stayed, and worked for change.  However, when the decision was made to open up our ordination limitations, many people who disagreed with this new decision left their individual congregations and many congregations left the denomination.  Many people grieved that loss of those members, but more, I think they struggled to understand why they were expected to stay despite disagreements when other's had their way, but those same others would not in turn stay if they did not have things going their way.
       Regardless, the choice for those other churches to leave has, in many ways, made other decisions in the national church easier.  As a denomination we are more on the same page now, the great differences in our opinions and beliefs are hugely lessened in the wake of those who have left.  While the decision to leave made a big statement, it was a one-time statement that left no room for any weigh-in on any future decisions.  And that, then, is the cost of leaving.  Once you have left, your voice no longer carries the weight it had when you were willing to still be in conversation with those with whom you disagreed.  You can no longer impact decisions, you no longer have sway or persuasive authority.  Your last vote, your last voice, was cast when you left.  The denomination as a whole has swung, has moved, because the "center" is now in a very different place than it was before congregations and individuals left the church.
         One of the things I find interesting about this, though, is that while we have fewer disagreements within our denomination now, in some ways those disagreements are now more heated.  It seems that when the church mirrors yourself more fully, the disagreements are more painful.  There is more "buy-in" when the body is less diverse in opinion and looks more like you in terms of values.  And so when that body disagrees, that disagreement seems more painful.
         All of this is true on the smaller scale as well.  I remember reading somewhere that by year five of a pastorate, a congregation tends to look like its pastor.  I also remember thinking as I read the article that I didn't think this was actually accurate for most Presbyterian churches.  Certainly it has not been accurate for the churches I have served.  Presbyterian churches, for those who don't know, aren't run by their pastors.  They are run by sessions, or boards, that make the decisions for the congregations.  Pastors are "teaching elders" which means we teach, we preach; our power is persuasion and not ultimate authority.  In contrast, the elders who serve on our sessions are "ruling elders" - they make the decisions for the congregation.  I have yet to be part of a congregation in which every decision made by the session was something I agreed with.  And that remains true no matter how long I've been in a church.  I served one church for 8 1/2 years and at the time of my leaving there were still decisions made with which I disagreed.  That was also the case with the next congregation where I served 6 1/2 years.  And this is true of the church where I have been serving for the last five years as well.
            And what has been interesting to me is that, just as debates in the larger church seem more painful when the body tends to be more homogenous in terms of beliefs, decisions in the more homogenous congregations (theologically) tend to be impacted at a deeper level too.  My last congregation was extremely theologically and politically diverse.  When decisions were made that some people did not agree with, it was easier to shrug them off, to delight in the diversity of opinions and differences.  For myself, besides enjoying the different voices and remembering that the body of Christ contains all different parts, I would remember that as the pastor, I was a servant to the congregation, but that I was not a member of the congregation.  The church was the people who made up the membership of the congregation.  And I was there to pastor them, but it was, ultimately, not my church.  Pastors come and go, but the church remains the people. That distinction may feel strange, but it is and was a necessary distinction.  I was there to guide, to encourage, to give my insight from a theological perspective.  But I was not there to control, to insist or even to "lead" in the sense of taking charge and determining the future of the church.
           But I see that in my current congregation, which in many ways is more theologically homogenous, when disagreements do arise, the pain of difference, the pain of disagreement, seems so very much harder to take for everyone involved.  And again, I think that's a symptom of the homogeny that has been shared.  Is this a good thing?  There are definitely gifts in hearing voices of difference.  There are also definite gifts in being like-minded in terms of being able to make a difference and impact the world around us in a more definite way.
           I think the trick in all of this is to find balance, always.  And to learn some tolerance for different opinions.  We can't grow unless we hear other voices.  And we can't make a difference unless we are saying something in a different way or with a different voice than others have inside their own heads.  So the questions of who we want to be in the world, what kind of difference we choose to make, and how we want to be in relationship to one another are important.  Especially in this time of increased polarization, sitting around the table with different opinions and voices is necessary and invaluable.  When we leave the conversation, we can no longer contribute in that way.  Maybe your reason for staying in a church community should not be because that community serves you, supports your beliefs, and validates your thinking.  Perhaps your reason to stay should instead be because the church needs you, your voice, your opinions, and your vision.   Are we here to give or to receive?  Are we here to serve or to be served?  I understand that this does not always make our communities and conversations comfortable.  But is the goal really our comfort?  Jesus never called us to be comfortable.  Jesus called us to heal, to bring justice, and to be willing to lose our lives in order to gain them.  Therefore, these questions are the questions we must ask as people of faith.

Disagreements and Conflicts

5/10/20

1 Corinthians 1:10-18

Mark 12:1-17

It is not easy being a person of faith in this time.  I would say this is the case in many different ways.  We hear about Christians being judgmental, we hear about Christians being really stupid.  We hear about Christians doing really dumb things, and personally, I find myself embarrassed by many of the other people of faith who call themselves Christians.  For example, you’ve probably all heard about the pastors in California who sued the governor for his “shelter in place” ruling because they feel this restricts their ability to worship together.  This kind of non-feeling, refusal to care for the people in their communities and the people around the world embarrasses me and makes me afraid to call myself a Christian in some places.  And this behavior is frankly just the least of the embarrassing things that people of faith have said, done, or proclaim in the name of a loving God that I find horrifying, unkind, and certainly unloving.

But the truth is that all of us, ALL of us who claim to follow Christ are in the process of becoming Christian.  What I mean is that none of us, not one, has perfectly learned yet to love God with all our hearts, soul and minds, let alone learned to love our neighbor as ourselves.  None of us has yet perfected healing one another with our listening, with our touch, with our love.  None of us remembers in every moment to thank God, and to be God’s completely faithful servant.  We are all learning to feed the hungry, love each other, see each other person as the brother or sister that they are, give beyond ourselves.  Becoming a Christian, having a relationship with God, going to church every week: no matter how far we are on our journey, none of these things makes us perfect - none of these things makes us as Christ-like as we strive to become, once and for all.  But they are all a start, a part of our journey as Christians.

We continue to strive and struggle to be loving, giving people.  As Jesus himself said, he did not come for those who are well, he came for those of us who are not yet there.  Church, faith, is not a haven for the righteous.  It is a place where people who know they are limited and that they have failings come together in mutual support, in love, in service to one another and to the greater community.  Throughout my life I have had many different people tell me that they don’t go to church because of the hypocrisy they find there.  When pushed on what that means, they tell me that the people they met in church were like everyone else.  They weren’t better than other people.  They made mistakes, did things wrong, did not always even see that they did things wrong.  Sometimes they were unkind, sometimes they were unloving.  As a result, people stopped attending church.  I have to admit, I find this responses very confusing.  Of course, we are not better than others, and you will find unkindness and lack of love everywhere.  We are here because we are on a journey, striving to love God and one another.  We will never reach that perfection, and, truthfully, neither will they.

This struggle to be whole, this struggle to be Christ-like, this struggle to love and be in relationship with one another is not anything new for Christians of any age.  The passage we read today from 1 Corinthians addresses that. While our struggle to become Christian takes many forms, in this passage Paul is talking about the challenges Christians had at the very beginning, and that we still have,  to be in loving relationships even within our Christian community.  We hear Paul admonishing a congregation for failing to get along with one another, for fighting with each other.  Paul’s solution is simply to tell them all to agree with one another. But we know that is not so easy. Even before Paul, we see in the gospel lessons for today people of faith who were struggling with Jesus.  And Jesus is telling us parables of conflict, of anger, among people who should have been loving to one another, should have seen their dependence and connection to one another, should have shared, and been kind and loving to those sent to collect for the master.  But they couldn’t.  They didn’t.  And the same remains true for us today.

I read an article this week by Karoline Lewis in which she wrote,

“We are no strangers to the kind of division in communities of which Paul speaks -- racial, denominational, and political. And our strategies for negotiating these divisions leave much to be desired. It often comes down to choosing sides, as if the spectrum between the two poles did not exist. It would be better if we only chose sides. Instead, we choose which side we are on and then, to make ourselves feel better or justified about our decision, we proceed to suspect, demonize, and tear down the other side. But as Elias Chacour (Father Chacour is the Archbishop Emeritus of the Melkite Catholic Church for Akko, Haifa, Nazareth, and all Galilee, an advocate for non-violence, working toward reconciliation between Arabs and Jews with whom our group had a chance to meet) says, “The one who is wrong is the one who says ‘I am right.’”

We are also no strangers to the kind of division that the gospel provokes. And sometimes we forget just how divisive the gospel can be. Choosing regard over rejection, respect over diminution, love over hate, peace over conflict is not as easy as we hope it could be, as we wish it would be. It seems like it should be easy -- and that’s the problem. Why is it that we find it so difficult to make what appears to be a rather obvious choice? A choice for love? What stands in our way? What is at stake for us that we are reluctant to admit or to say out loud?”

She went on to talk about a group that she is with of Palestinians and Israelis who’ve lost loved ones in the conflict and she said one of the fathers of those who had died said this: “No wall, not matter how high, can stop two kinds of people, one determined suicide bomber and the one determined peacemaker.”  http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=4249

Paul and Jesus are both calling us to be the peacemakers who cannot be stopped.  But we know from personal experience that getting along with one another is hard.

Truthfully, even hearing one another accurately is not easy.  Most of you, no doubt are familiar with the childhood game, which we called “operator” when I was a kid.  A group sits in a circle and one person whispers a message to the person on their right.  That person then passes that message on to the person on his or her right.  The message passes all around the circle until the last person finally repeats the message out loud.  It has usually become something very different from what it was originally.  As this simple child-hood game shows us, even hearing clearly the words of one another can be challenging. 

               Hearing the message within our words is even harder.  I have found myself reflecting during this time when there is more quiet for reflection, on a relationship I’ve had with someone I’ve known now for 30 years.  This is someone who simply never understands what I say to him.  I will think I am telling him the sky is beautiful and he will become offended thinking I am telling him that he is not beautiful.  I keep trying to have conversations with him, but he is always offended by what I say, and always insistent that I am being uncaring with my words.  I don’t know why my words affect him like this.  I will probably never know.  But I know that communication is just hard.  Today is mother’s day, and we know that even within our families, it can be so hard to hear and understand one another.  Communication is challenging.  We are all watching this service today because we believe in a marvelous, amazing, wonderful God who has called us to be here, whatever that looks like for you, to be on our spiritual journeys, to be in a state of prayer and praise together.  But that wonder, that gift, that awe does not mean that it suddenly becomes easy for us to really communicate, to understand one another, or to then choose to be in relationship with one another.  Our churches have struggled with understanding one another and with divisions between us from the beginning.  That continues as we move through time.

I’m also not convinced that all disagreements are bad things.  When we can be in the place of hearing the different opinions, hopes, dreams of one another, we can grow from the experience.  Without those challenges, growth is not as forthcoming.  Hearing only our own thoughts and feelings, we can fail to see the amazing places God would show us and move us.  But getting to that place where we can hear those differences and share them is not easy. 

I have to admit, even for pastors, though part of my job is to love the entire congregation and to be able to listen, hear, and support every person in a congregation who seeks that support, there have been times when this has not always been easy.  It has not always been easy for me to be in a community of very differently minded people.  And it can be especially hard when those differently minded people are very vocal about those opinions, and sometimes are unkind in the expression of those opinions, as some people in our churches tend to be.  For a year, many years ago, I served as an interim music minister in a congregation that was in a difficult place: many parishioners were elderly and dying, the congregation was very diverse in ways that brought both gifts and, in their case, much conflict into the fellowship, they were a redevelopment church that wasn’t quite ready to make the radical changes necessary to keep it alive, and they had gone through a series of challenging relationships with previous pastors and music directors.  Because of all they had been through, they did not trust others easily and were especially suspicious of people they didn’t know, especially if they had been hand-picked by outsiders to the congregation, and had been “assigned,” as I was, to serve in that particular church.  When I was hired on there was, predictably, a lot of hostility thrown my direction.  One example that might illustrate the point -  I came on board about a month and a half before Easter.  At our first choir rehearsal, I brought out Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus to see if it was an Easter possibility and to get a sense of the abilities of the choir.  We ran through the piece one time, after which I began to make suggestions, as choir directors are supposed to do, on ways we might improve our performance.  But just as I got the first sentence out of my mouth, one of the choir members demanded of me “How old are you?”  Stunned by the interruption, I answered that I was 30, which at the time, I was.  She responded, “Well we’ve been singing this longer than you’ve been alive so we don’t need you telling us how to do it!”  A fine start to our friendly Christian community relationship.  As I said there was a great deal of hostility and it came from several corners.  It was not long before I could identify my self-appointed “assistant choir directors” and could count on their “suggestions” and other comments as one might count on the structure of any organized group.  But I also began to try to befriend the especially hostile members of the choir.  And, also predictably, their hostility lessened in almost direct proportion to how much time I took to hear them, how accurately I listened, and how deeply they felt I understood.  Unfortunately, there remained a couple women that would not let me in.  In the end, their continued hostility probably formed part of my decision to leave at the end of that first year, though I was an interim music director and at the time I told myself I was leaving because the interim work was finished.   I look back on that experience with sadness.  It was hard to get close to these women.  It was hard to want to get close to them in light of their hostility.  But I wish I had tried a little harder.  As their personal stories were revealed to me by others in the church, I learned that they were in a lot of pain, pain it was not easy for anyone, within or without of the church, to break through.  But in that painful place, these parishioners needed others to hear them, they needed friendly caring faces to acknowledge them, they needed someone to say, “even when you hurt me, I still love you, accept you as my sister and will stand with you.”   Instead, I allowed their anger and hostility to drive me out, and in so doing, I added, I learned later, another layer to their feelings of abandonment and pain.

 Even in Christian community there will be times when we cannot work through differences and find we have to worship and love God in separate places.  But we are called to love and to work at wholeness in all our relationships, no matter how they end, with everything we have. Perhaps if I had worked harder, if we had worked harder, even with my leaving, there might have been healing that happened for myself, these women and the community.  Perhaps, had we worked harder, we might have seen God’s action in this situation, God’s movement in each other, God’s face in one another. 

I don’t think that we are required to always agree with one another.  Sometimes being in relationship with each other looks like agreeing to disagree after we have heard and loved one another.  Sometimes being in Christian fellowship will mean we have to work, searching even harder for solutions that are acceptable to everyone involved, despite our differences.  But God is in the challenging people of this world and in their work, as much as God might be present in our own work.  God loves those we do not understand as much as God loves us.  And God calls us to love and to be in community with all of our neighbors, even those who make us see red, those who hurt us, those whom we feel we cannot agree with. Maybe God presents God-self most firmly in people we struggle to hear and know.  For in that struggle we grow in our patience, we grow in our ability to see God as bigger than we knew God to be before, we grow in our ability to love and therefore we grow in our process of becoming Christian.  It is part of our Christian call to sit in those uncomfortable places with those people who anger us and look for where God’s face and God’s words are even in their words, even in their messages. 

Brian Peterson said, “True love is not measured by how good it makes us feel: it would be better to say that the measure of love is its capacity for tension and disagreement without division.”

Psalm 27 ends with the words, “‘Seek God’s face!’  Your face, O God, I will seek.”  In the end this is our call.  When we seek God’s face in each other, even in those we struggle to love and understand, our struggles with one another will be different.  For in listening to each other, we open the space for God’s words to come in, for God’s face to shine, for God’s help in our journey to become Christian.  Amen.

Sometimes what starts as a mistake, ends as a gift.

            Those of you who came to my wedding saw this... I forgot my bouquet (which a dear friend had made for me), so after going half way down the aisle in a non-traditional "processional" group of clergy, myself, David and the kids, I turned around and ran back out of the sanctuary to grab the flowers.  David ran after me; and we both came back in together, arm in arm, laughing, as those attending the service joined us in laughter, cheering and celebrating.  That began the wedding. And that "mistake" set the stage for a ceremony with a lot more laughter, joy, a mess of "real" as we moved around and tried to figure out what we were doing, where we were going, when we were to sit and stand, etc.  People have said to me it was the "funnest" wedding they've ever been to... probably because there was very little solemnity in it.  Of course our vows were serious... we both cried (and laughed) and told stories that were meaningful to us in terms of defining who we are together, how we came together, what it means for two extremely different people from different backgrounds and different value systems to partner in this way.  But it wasn't a "traditional" wedding.  For one thing, we refused to take ourselves very seriously.  And the result was, at least for the two of us, better than we had hoped for.
            I think about this in terms of the bigger picture as well.  Again, using our relationship as an example: our meeting was odd, was rough.  David invited me into conversation and I hesitated.  What I knew about him (very little) already showed us to be so different from one another that I wasn't sure I wanted to even talk with him.  But, due to a set of circumstances that basically meant I had nothing else to do in that moment, I joined him in conversation.  And by the end of an hour, an HOUR, we were "involved".  Again, a lot of that had to do with laughter... laughing at ourselves, laughing at our "mistakes" (I spilled mocha all over myself and David says that's when he knew I was the one for him), just being real in a culture that often values the superficial and appearances over what is inside.  Our mistakes, our flaws (I'm perpetually a bit clumsy with drinks), and even our differences set the stage for something deep, valuable, wonderful.
            It didn't stop there.  The first time we had a serious value conflict was only about a week after we'd met.  The subject of that conflict is immaterial.  What matters is that it was a big enough and important enough difference that for me, at least, I figured that was the end of it.  Why bother to invest more when some basic core values seemed to be in such conflict?  But it was actually because of the way David handled that conflict that we didn't end the short beginning but continued to stay engaged with one another.  David was unfailingly kind, even when confronted with such a radical difference of understanding.  He never became righteous, never insisted that his view was better or right, never became mean or sarcastic or catty.  He never attacked, just listened and asked me what I wanted to do in terms of moving forward.  He expressed care, and sadness about the conflict, but never in a blaming way.  He was respectful, understanding, and only wanted to know what I needed in that situation.  My response was one of "well, this person is really good friend quality at least.  So we can start there and see..."  Our conflict, or issue, or even "mistake" in having that conversation so early on actually led to a deeper respect on my part for the person that David is.
           When I facilitate couples counseling for those who come to me wanting to be married, one of the most important questions I always ask is how the couple navigates conflict.  And the only couple I ever chose not to marry was the one who told me they'd never had conflict.  If you don't know how your partner will deal with problems when they arise, you are missing really key information that you need to know before you step into a full blown commitment to them.  Also, the only way a couple can completely avoid conflict is by staying at such a shallow level with their partner that differences are never seen.  That's not a basis for a long term relationship.  Conflict is a gift that can deepen relationships if handled well, that helps us to see under values and beliefs and world views and into who the other really is at their core.  Mistakes, or errors that we make in our lives or in our relationships: these are opportunities to grow, learn and understand each other more fully.  If we can laugh at ourselves, if we can learn from mistakes, if we can let go of defensiveness and instead embrace the fullness of our humanity when we make mistakes, those mistakes can be launching places into depth, honesty and integrity.
          There is a story about a pastor who forgot to turn off his lapel mic when he went to the bathroom.  While his "business" was being broadcast to the entire congregation, he also cursed under his breath about the "damn women's guild".  When he discovered the mistake, he righteously and in a huff quit his job.  But the story ends with the wisdom that if he had been able to laugh at his own mistake with the congregation, admit his own frustration and need to just vent a little under his breath, if he'd been able to make a joke out of the fact that even pastors have to use the facilities once in a while and it isn't any more glamorous for them than for the rest of us, the relationship he had with his congregation might have deepened as they recognized his humanity, even as he pastored them, and as he claimed a bit of humility.  But because he was not able to get past his own humiliation, relationships were torn in a way that made healing for all parties very difficult.
         Today I am deeply grateful for the "mess" that we are, and for the opportunities to grow, learn and deepen from our mistakes.  Thank you all for being witnesses to my mess and loving me through it anyway.  I offer you the same gift.  Be real, and let us love you through it all!

Rage, injustice, change - a rant

      There is so much rage right now in our communities.  And very few of us are immune to it.  It seems to almost drip from the trees: the anger, the fury.  We know that anger is a secondary emotion. That means that anger usually is hiding another feeling, or is the expression of a deeper feeling. Often that feeling is grief, sorrow, hurt.  But currently I think much of the anger we are seeing and experiencing is fear.  
             People are scared and while some of it is not justified (as a wonderful ad I saw recently pointed out, life is not a pie: equal rights for others does not mean fewer rights for you!) much of the fear is very justified: when people are being threatened and in some cases are losing their lives because of their skin color or their religious beliefs or where they were born; when others are trying to control whom they can love; when people are being relegated to "other" and treated as if, by their very presence they are criminals - then anger is justified.  As hatred, prejudice, racism, other "isms" have become acceptable to express once again, they are rearing their ugly heads in more and more overt and scary ways.  As many have pointed out, it is probably not that these feelings have necessarily increased - they were always there.  But there is a growing culture of acceptance and even a condoning of such awful hateful behavior that is allowing it to run in rampant and unexpected ways. The anger is absolutely justified.  When a person's life is threatened, when the lives and well-beings of people we love are threatened, anger is not only righteous but a necessary and correct response.
           That being said, we have to find ways to deal with our anger that do not further escalate the problem.  And therein lies the trick.  Psychological studies show that when we are angry, the judgment parts of our brains actually disengage.  This is a big part of why I cannot see how it will ever be safe for people who tend towards anger to have weapons lying within easy access and reach. If you have that anger within and your brain shuts off in those moments, bad decisions, or decisions stemming solely from the anger rather than from rational thinking, will be made.  We are seeing the reality of this again and again as people in rages go on killing sprees.  
          But even from a place of simple communication and how we choose to talk to one another, allowing our anger to control us is a huge problem.  I want to tell a "lesser" story - it is not about the big confrontations we have seen in our communities and around the country, but I am hoping that it will illustrate my point in a way that maybe will be easier to relate to.  
         As some of you know, I've had problems with my son starting school this fall.  He comes with a series of issues which make life around him challenging for us all.  This beginning of school year was no exception.  He was finally approved for an IEP in January (for those who don't know this lingo, that's an Individual Education Plan - that means the school, the district, the country recognize that he has special needs that greatly affect his ability to do well in school.  As a result, he is assigned some special supports to help him succeed).  But because this was the 4th time I had requested that he be evaluated for an IEP, when he was finally evaluated by an outside group that works with the school, and when the determination was finally made that he did qualify for this designation and the assistance that accompanies it, it meant there were some extra steps and things that have been in place that are not the "norm" for most folk with an IEP.  However, this has caused problems because not everyone has recognized his IEP or has been on the same page with his IEP team about what classes he is supposed to be taking at school.  So he began school with one schedule, which was not right and which, (unfortunately AFTER his orientation, so after he'd already walked around with the first schedule to try to have a grasp on what he would be doing) was challenged and redone. That was before school started, though too close to school for him to really get a handle on where the new schedule put him and at what time. Tuesday, then, was the actual first day of school.  I was very anxious about it because this is his first year in High School, he is going to a different High School from all of his friends, part of his challenges include an inability to handle change (any change) well, and I felt all these changes in themselves were a lot for him to be dealing with. My anxiety was not lessened when I picked up my crying, shaking boy, who was struggling hard to hold it together in front of the other students, and who refused to tell me what was wrong while his sister (whom I had picked up down the street at her school minutes before) was still in the car.  Okay...  
      When we arrived home and I could talk to him on his own he informed me that in the last period of the day the teacher had grilled him unkindly, insisting that he was in the wrong class, demanding to know who had set up this schedule for him, and then promptly sitting at the computer and rearranging his entire schedule.  I asked him to see the new schedule. He told me he did not have a copy of it, but that the teacher had told him he could find it on-line. 
           "Find it how? Find it where on-line?" I asked.  
           "I have no idea!  She just said it would be on-line!"  
           "Well, this isn't going to be a publicly published thing.  Do you have a username, password, website for this kind of thing?"
           "No!!"
            "So I'm not understanding how I'm supposed to get this for you."  Anger rising from both of us.
        I called the school.  "Oh, you can come get it first thing in the morning!" I was told.  
        "Can I know what the new schedule is now?"
        "Oh, no.  No one who could help you is in the office now."
         "Can I talk to his school counselor?"
          "She's gone for the day."
         "Can I talk to the special needs teacher?"
         "Also gone for the day."
         "Is there anyone there at all who can help me with this?"
          "No one is at the office now.  You will have to come back in the morning!"
        I called his case manager at the district office.  He, too, was gone for the day.  At this point I became frantic.  My son was having a melt down, was beyond himself.  He did not want to go to school the next day because he didn't know what his schedule would be, he was concerned about them changing it yet a third time, he didn't like being yelled at by a teacher (one who specializes in special needs kids!) whom he didn't know, about a class schedule that he had no part in creating, and he was done with all of this.  Again, for a normal kid, this situation might be challenging. For my son who struggles with small changes - dinner time being slightly later or a day of vacation that most kids would look forward to - this endless confusion around where he was supposed to be and the long list of changes in a life that already cannot handle change was simply too much.  Mother-bear exploded in me, which is not a pretty thing to see.
        I became angry.  Enraged even.  The underlying emotion?  Fear for my son.  Anxiety about his life this year.  A sense of loss for the good teachers and helpers he's had in the past who have aided us and cared for him.  But none of that was at the forefront.  Instead was just blind rage.  Whipping out my computer, I sent a couple of pointed emails.  Well, okay, to be fair to myself, what I actually sent was the following:
          I understand from my son that:

1.  There is a miscommunication about what classes he is supposed to have - in particular whether or not he is supposed to be in Academic Success

and

2.  As a result his schedule has been completely altered although he does not have a copy of the new schedule and has no idea how to get it.

First, (my son) is supposed to be in  Academic Success according to his IEP.  His IEP was given to him in January through a settlement with the school district and as a result his "case manager" is ___ at the district office.

Second, (my son) is freaking out (which you will not see because he has learned how to control his behavior at school) and is not planning to come to school tomorrow because he does not know his schedule.  Can you please help with this?  My understanding from my son is that his schedule was changed while he was in your class, so I am concerned and confused by this.

Thank you for your time and attention.

         

             I followed up on all of this the next morning by stationing myself at the school office where I was finally able to get hold of his schedule at least.  Counselor and other helpful people were still not available and apparently wouldn't be before the time when I had to get my daughter to her school, so I made a nuisance of myself leaving more messages for everyone to call me.  The one person who finally did return my call was the vice principal. Yes, it went all the way up the line.  She was not someone I had left messages for, but I think everyone else saw the mother bear and chose to pass the buck to someone with more authority.  The conversation?

         She was defensive. 

         She was cold.  

         She was... well, not unkind.  She explained the situation, but it is clear that we are not on the same page.

         The point?  It is crucial that for my son's sake, his teachers, his counselor, his IEP team, and perhaps especially the vice principle and I are on the same page.  If I want him to succeed at this school, we need to be able to talk, to work through what his challenges are in a reasonable way.  

        But I was angry.  Rightfully so?  Well, it depends on your perspective, I guess.  As far as the school goes, they were simply trying to fix a class situation that wasn't right in the quickest possible way.  From my perspective, a little information given to my son and to myself in a timely way (such as giving him his new schedule as soon as it was made and explaining to both of us why the changes were necessary), especially given my son's special challenges, seems like a reasonable thing to ask for.

      Still, if I had been able to act from a place of calm insistence rather than anger; if I had been able to step back and focus on putting my son at ease rather than trying to get the bureaucracy of school to behave in a humane way; if I had put into practice what I preach and worked harder to be peace in a sea of confusion and pain, then all involved might still be on the same page.  We are not.  It will take work to change those relationships from hostile to collegial.  It will take time for me to no longer be seen as the "problem, difficult parent".  We have started on a bad foot.  And while I will not claim all the blame for that, I do claim my piece of it.  I failed to put into practice what I believe to be important.  I came at this from a combative place.  My son is the one who will suffer most from that choice.  And that is not an acceptable outcome for me.

       To back up, then, from this particular example: we do not help ourselves by choosing to take on our problems from that place of anger.  I need to put the caveat here that I do see major differences between my little problem and the huge issues we are facing. For one thing, supposedly the school and I both have the kid's best interests at heart.  I am aware that in our political situations too many people do not have the best interests of the other in their minds at all. We do not start on the same page, when others are not even seen as human, as deserving of the same rights and privileges that we have, when we forget that we are all one, all interconnected and that what hurts anyone else, hurts me as well.  Many people cannot understand that.  I see this.  I also see that the justified anger is over much bigger issues than just a child's school schedule but is about lives, in some cases whether they will live or die.  I see that.  And I think that anger must be there to motivate us with its energy towards action, towards change.  
        But I also believe deeply that in the larger scheme of things, we escalate conflicts, we divide countries and we plunge ourselves into wars more often because we respond to the injustice and violence with violence in our own actions and our own words. There are so many other choices in how we stand up for injustice. And when we start by failing to listen, when we approach one another with rage and violence, when we let go of our faith mandate to love even our enemies, we escalate rather than confront the problems. I am not saying that we will be able to change everyone.  I also believe there are people who are so steeped in their own evil hating that they cannot be touched.  And I will say it again: there are legitimate, real and important reasons for the anger.  But if we learned to talk to one another, to act and stand up and protest and speak to the injustice in non-violent ways, to strive to cross bridges and to create understanding rather than escalating the polarization, anger, rage and hate; if we learned truly to step into another's shoes and to try, even when we are upset, to approach one another with openness and care, we would surely create a much more beautiful, less conflictive, less violent and less angry world for all of us.  Those are goals we must aim for.  We must.  For the sake of our children...