Grace in SDA - But not Evangelism!

Okay, it should go without saying that I am somewhat different from the Seventh Day Adventists--in theology, in style, in politics, you name it. We understand things differently. But right now, I have a warm spot for this Saturday denomination.

 I spent Saturday morning in Atlanta. My sole purpose in being in Atlanta this time was to worship in a community known as Fusion. Don't get confused; there is an Atlanta Fusion Church that will show up on Google. Look further down for the one that meets in the DeFoor Centre on Saturdays.

The cafe opens at 10:45, the worship starts at 11:30. I'm not sure what it is about coffee and emerging, but there is definitely a link. Somebody please tell them all to start buying fair trade!

Sorry, that was an aside. The Arts Center (Note to emerging people. Arts centers like emerging apparently. Think of them when you need space.) where Fusion meets has a separate cafe' that you can grab a cup of coffee and a pastry in then wander into worship. Or, you can enter the doors to the building and find the Keurig system that the congregation I assume has set up for one shots. You will find this first. When I arrived, it was jammed and a group was attempting to solve the problem. How many emergents does it take to brew a cup of coffee...?

Okay, bad joke. Well, at least one of them, Keith(?) introduced himself to me. The rest, I assume thought I was always there. So, eventually I got a cup of Newman's Own coffee and wandered in the presumed direction of the worship. No signs anywhere. There were seats for about 75 people, though only about six or eight there.

On stage is a mike and guitar stand. About 4-5 are gathered in conversation. I walk past them, sit down and wait. Nothing happens. None of them group looks up and notices me. Other people wander in. No one says a word. Kids come in and wander somewhere else. 11:30 comes and goes.

Finally, I get up and wander in the direction where I see some other people headed. And that's when I fine the real cafe! You mean I could've had a cup of real coffee!? Not happy.

Eventually I head back to the worship space. More people come in. Finally, the service actually begins. By this time, there are about 30 adults and 15 kids present. Finally emerging church that remembers there are such things as children!

Hipster worship leader (black glasses, black t-shirt, skinny jeans, and untied high tops) says, "We're gonna start now" and begins singing "Blessed be your Name" and then another song I did not know. When he is almost done, Keith wanders right in front of him to grab a mike. At the end of the music, it is time for announcements. Kids are to leave after the next music segment, adults get to stay for the message, sermon, you know. Thank you Ricky, our worship leader. He tells us to stand up again for the music.

Time for another aside: What is this business of calling music leaders worship leaders? Or is the music the only time these folks think we are worshiping? Ricky was no more in charge of that event than I was. I think this has become a case of bolster their egos while continuing to pay them nothing.

Of course, the next two songs are slower and really don't make most of us want to stand. Some last through the first of the two, but by the second one, everyone is seated. Both songs are forgettable (At least, I forgot them.). The kids walk out. And out comes someone named Chris that we have not seen until now. Another hipster, this time with faux hawk, untucked in black shirt and baggy pants that are a little too long.

Chris give the message. Apparently, we have been doing something called the New Testament Challenge, the challenge being to read it. And we have been giving messages about it. Oh, I should mention that Chris brought out his own podium, complete with laptop notes and Bible. He places it right next to the center staircase which he climbs on frequently as he talks. So, we are at the end of the New Testament challenge which means what? Yes, I shuddered at the thought of a Revelation sermon. But no, Chris punts and says Revelation would require much more time, so he's going to talk about eternity instead.

Now I know I am in a strange land. An evangelical who doesn't want to talk about Revelation!!?

Here's what I learned about eternity. If you want to participate in this gift of grace, you must do three things: 1) Recognize that you are made for eternity. 2) Secure your place in eternity by the gospel of grace (I am coming back to that one in a moment). and 3) Invest your life in eternal pursuits.

 Chris has plenty of stories and that folksy style that makes it look like he did not really want to polish this up too much or it might begin to sound like an actual sermon. At one point, he thinks of a different passage of scripture than the one he has prepared and spends several minutes trying to find it, eventually giving up until a member of the congregation locates it via her smartphone. In the middle of the second point, Chris starts talking about how not everything you hear referred to as the gospel is really the gospel of grace that he is talking about. Then it get interesting.

He tells about going to a Georgia Tech game and seeing the folks with the "God hates f---" signs out there, and he uses the word I just skipped through. Not once, but three times. I'm looking for the way to make a quiet exit. There is none. Good thing too because even though I would never actually say that in a sermon--I don't use the word n----r either--his point is fascinating. Chris goes on to recall Jesus on the cross, lots of blood and tearing skin imagery, as some folks are wont to do, and says, "Now imagine that Jesus saying God hates anybody." I thought, "This guy's gonna get drummed out of the Seventh Day Adventists so fast"....

Now, I will let you work on tying that back into securing your place in eternity. Chris's points were not always direct. And he stopped short of just saying, God does not hate gay people. Nevertheless, I had to give him credit 'cause he led all the horses to the water and practically shoved their snouts down to drink. If they did not make the final step, it was because they chose not to.

So, he sums up with what sounded to me like a benediction. By the time of the third point, Ricky was playing background music on guitar. Chris offers a prayer of Recognition of the sermon(?) and says that during the next song, the basket will be passed. Don't feel obligated, but.... Chris wanders to stage right and Ricky steps up to sing.

We get the song, Keith wanders up at the end again, more announcements. Chris talks extensively about a housing project where they built a playground and are looking to do more work, about how one woman there had reclaimed a crack house and put a church in it. Some stirrings of social action and social justice, not just personal piety! Even a dig about how the need is not all over seas. Keith gives some messages to visitors. And a final prayer ("Father we just thank you...") and goodbye.

The fascinating thing is that, in many ways I kind of liked it. Maybe you can't quickly tell, but I liked the effort, and I appreciated the fact that this was not the same old song repacked in contemporary Christian Music. They just need to get over their fear of just letting worship happen instead of feeling like they have to tell everyone exactly what is happening, thereby removing all formality--and mystery--from the experience.

But no one talks to me. Keith does, saying he never got my name--not true; he just went off to do something else immediately after saying hello. When I said I was from out of town, and all interest in me fades. And where exactly did Chris go, in case I might want to ask him about his sermon? Probably off to the cafe, which was the opposite direction from where the visitors were being sent. At least, I am assuming he went there.

Folks, if this is how we are going to reach out to the unchurched, it's a dismal failure. If we are reaching out to those who have left the church, it's not much better. I left there glad at what I heard, tired of songs that are more about me than about God, but mostly feeling that if I wanted a community, you were not doing any better at reaching out to me than the churches you left. Suddenly, I was missing Adam from the megachurch parking lot (see last blog).

As I write this, though, I have an even more interesting story about the Assemblies of God to tell from Christ the King, in Valdosta, Georgia. One you will like even more. Let's just say it is about jazz too.

Must. Resist. Temptation.

Okay, I announced on Facebook yesterday that a blog was soon to come about my trips to Via, an emerging community in Winston Salem on Palm Sunday, my Easter visit to the Episcopal cathedral in Asheville, and my time at Westover (a Rick Warren style mega-church in Greensboro) on the Sunday after Easter Day, otherwise known as low Sunday because attendance tends to drop off dramatically. And I gave a teaser about how I never realized one could preach on Matthew 25, the sheep and the goats, without in any way mentioning its call to serve those in need.

That comment, of course, was aimed directly at Westover. The senior pastor did just that as part of a sermon he called "Jesus, the Great Divider." Mostly, his text was Luke 12:49-53 ("I come not to bring peace but a sword."). In the course of the sermon, though, he managed to mine the New Testament of several texts designed to show that Jesus brought division. Along the way, he talked about the sheep and the goats, but left out the criteria for determining who was who, and instead substituted those who believe in Jesus (sheep) from those who do not (goats).

Forgive me, but isn't the biggest point of the sheep-goat comparison to move conversation away from an intellectual or emotional place to one in which our actions are considered to show what we really believe? You might wonder what good news there was in this message; at first I did too. Then I realized he was able to reinforce a traditional understanding of heaven and hell, establish to a congregation made up of largely, White middle to upper-middle class families that they were, in fact, a community under siege by the surrounding culture, and even slip in penal substitutionary atonement for good measure. Take that, Rob Bell.

Pastor Dan also made clear that Jesus was the only way to God, and that our modernist notions of all religions containing truth were against genuine Biblical teaching. Not actually mentioned but not-very-deeply hidden in the subtext was the notion that not all lifestyles were acceptable either. Make sure that certain people know that what they are doing is not acceptable--you know who you are. Maybe I should say that they know who they are because I doubt many of them were sitting in that audience! Oh, and by the way, vote for Amendment One. No, he didn't say that either, but in North Carolina these days, every sermon that touches on who or what is acceptable to God has the marriage amendment dead in its sights.

But this is where I have to stop going down that road, at least for this entry. It would be so easy to write a snarky critique of Westover from my lofty perch as a single African American Episcopal priest. And maybe I will end up doing that before this journey is over. I have barely restrained myself already. But not today. Let's leave the snarkiness for after a few more worshiping communities.

 Let's consider instead those three questions I mentioned in the last entry. And specifically, I want to focus on the third question, "What idols do we need to smash today?" I believe all three of these communities may have something to say about idols, but the messages are very different. For the people of Via, the idols first and foremost are all the perceived excesses we have built up around worship, including the formality of it, and any hint of pandering to people to get them to join. Let's meet in the downtown arts center. Grab a cup of coffee. Sit at a table. Wear whatever you want. No pulpit, we can do the sermon sitting down. Let's have a prayer conversation in the middle of worship. Yes, we'll have communion, but the person leading it does not need to be a minister--priesthood of all believers and all that. I'll teach you this new song as I am doing it in the middle of the service. Let's not do anything that smacks of theatricality.

 Now, in many ways, the cathedral represents everything that Via holds up as the idols to be smashed. Definitely modern (Rite II for you Episcopalians), but also definitely mainline Book of Common Prayer. The great thing about being an Episcopalian is that you can go to any Episcopal Church in the country and know exactly what is going on, even if the music is foreign to you. For members, we make it extremely easy to join in. Heck, most of us do not even need to open the Prayer Book for a typical Sunday morning because we have memorized the responses.

 If an idol is the thing we want to avoid allowing into our worship at all costs, the the cathedral's idol must be enthusiasm. Look, I love a nice intellectual exposition of the meaning of the empty tomb for Mary Magdalene as much as the next guy, but I can't help thinking that she was a bit more excited about it than our preacher was. Well organized, points carefully researched and made, and dull as dishwater. And on Easter no less. You want to know why they are not coming back the next week? It's cause they can sleep at home. You have the most amazing event in the history of the world and you bored us through it.

 At first glance, Westover defines idolatry much the way Via does, but a closer look reveals more. An idol for Westover would be anything that makes people not want to come to church. So similar rules apply. Keep it informal. Wear what you like. Nice, comfortable theater seats. Overheads--Jumbotrons practically--for those who cannot be close up (though watching a giant pastor take his shot of grape juice during communion was a bit weird!). No bulletins or pages to turn, except in your Bible, and, if you are the visitor who did not realize you were supposed to bring a Bible, worry not. The words will be on the screen.

Where they depart from both Via and the Cathedral is dramatic reconsideration of space use. Let's face it. Westover does not look like a church but more like a very well kept auditorium and arts center. If not for the giant cross hanging on the stage, you would never know the worship center had anything to to with Church. No stained glass (or windows at all), no altar, a lectern that disappears when not needed.

When you show up as a newcomer, you see signs pointing you to the newcomers' parking lot right next to the building. You get greeted within five seconds of getting out of the car and are walked into the building and shown where to go; Adam, you did your job well. And, lo, the choices, not just of seating in the orchestra or balcony, but whether to go to worship at all. There were six or eight other classes you could attend at the same time as worship, for singles, men, newcomers, you name it. This is church as supermarket or mall. One stop shopping.

You know what, though? All three of them have idols they do not see. And here are the few I observed:

 1. Stubbornness. Maintaining tradition or abandoning it for their own sake serves neither the worship life nor the health of a community. Neither is responsive to the needs of those outside of the community.

 2. On the same lines, attachment to numbers and size or refusal to consider numbers as in any way important can both be idolatrous. Both are focused more on ourselves than on others.

 3. Rock bands and traditional music can both be idols. Sorry folks, the baby boomers grew up on rock music; it's not just for the young anymore. The gray hairs at Westover love the rock band. Still, the band had the sense to jazz up a version of "On Christ the Solid Rock I Stand." It was the most popular thing they played.

4. Informality. Sorry, but talking about coming to the table when there is no table is silly, and, anyway, you're bringing me the communion on trays so I am not coming to the non existent table. Musicians who start talking about when and why they chose the hymn, or worse yet, just decide to interject another one (with long explanation of why) is not worship. It's a concert. Reading your New Testament notes is not a sermon. That's not informal, it's sloppy liturgy and it suggests to visitors you don't really care about what you are doing.

5. Musicians. If we are clapping after every song (hymn?), is it really worship? After all, if our first response is to praise the band, not God, what is that saying?

That's enough for now. Notice this only refers to worship, and the life of a Christian community can reflect idolatry in so many other places, so I will be coming back to this question in the future. For now, though, it's on to the South. See ya in Georgia and beyond.

A New Start

Okay, if you have looked, you can see that I have not been at this blog for almost a year. Why not? Very simple, unlike most people in cyberspace, I do not think I have an endless supply of interesting things to say here. Oh, and it got to be too much work, quite frankly.

But now I have started a sabbatical, so I cannot claim lack of time. And I have some great ideas for what I am going to do with it. I will be in and out of town, going to visit sites of new ministry. So, if you know a parish, worshiping community, new monastic community, or any other group who is doing worship and community life in a way that is relatively new (last decade or so), emerging, emergent, postmodern, successful with young adults, reaching SBNRs (Spiritual But Not Religious, for those who are not up on the hip lingo), or frankly just different from the norm, please tell me about them, especially east coast to midwest.

I am planning driving trips mostly (the sabbatical grant people chose not to fund my all expenses paid trip to the West Coast. The Southern route is first on the schedule so South Carolina, Georgia, Florida, Alabama, even Louisiana folks tell me where to go. How often am I going to make you an offer like that! The rest of you can also fill in now, but I have a little more time for you. Oh, and anyone who has a spare bed for me will be be treated to dinner somewhere in your fair city or town (or I will cook for you if you prefer!).

I will be reading stuff too. First up is Christianity After Religion by Diana Butler Bass. She is doing an on line book discussion with the Diocese of North Carolina on Wednesday evenings during Easter, so it seemed like a good place to begin. (If you want to join in, go to the diocesan web page for info).

I gave the folks at St. Mary's House three questions in my last three sermons to think about during this time. I will be thinking about them as well, and you may see the themes appear in my blogs. Here are the three questions for you to consider. First, what does it mean for Americans to take up their cross? Just when you thought you were about to escape from Lent!

Second, where and how do we meet Christ today? See if you can avoid the temptation to quickly talk about the poor or homeless and reflect on your everyday life a bit. Where else might Jesus be hanging out, and with whom?

Finally, what idols do we in the Church need to smash today? My sermon mentioned the Bible and John 3:16 for starters. I bet you can think of others, and hopefully I will while doing my traveling thing.

I almost forgot: While St. Mary's House will not be seeing me for the next few months, two 'projects' are ongoing. First, I am a deputy to General Convention, so I will probably comment on that once and awhile, like mentioning that no one is buying the absurd idea that we should gut the children, youth, college & young adults budgets because they are 'best done on a local level' while simultaneously adding to the administrative budgets for the PB and the president of the House of Deputies. I bet you the Program, Budget, and Finance Hearing gets an earful on that one!

Don't know how much blogging I will do during GC (early July) because I am on the Committee on Liturgy and Music. Yep, we're the ones getting the resolutions on same gender blessings, revising and finalizing Holy Women, Holy Men, and, apparently a revision of the Book of Occasional Services. And yes, North Carolinians, I will be pushing to include Pauli Murray and Manteo & Virginia Dare on the HWHM calendar.

The second thing on my plate is the Nominating Committee for the Bishop Suffragan in North Carolina. You will probably hear less about that other than basic updates, since I obviously cannot mention anything having to do with potential candidates. I will just say that the rest of the committee is great and working hard; if you have not filled out the survey, you can also find the the link for that on the diocesan page. You have only until April 9, so please go on line and fill it out. Just as important, watch the video of what Bishop Curry is looking for. This could be a very different kind of Suffragan!

So that's it for starters. By the way, there is no book in the works, no DMin. on tap. This blog (and probably a few sermons when I get back) is what you get. If I started thinking that way, this would become a little too much like work, and I much prefer the ability to ramble and not have my ideas well thought out while I do this.

And, in case you are wondering, this first week is going to involve relaxing in Asheville. I am giving up Holy Week for Lent and going pub crawling instead. However, I will want a good place to go for Easter day or vigil. Ideas, anyone?

Emmaeus and Osama

The image of journeying down a road has long been an important one in prose, poetry, music, and film. The meaning of the metaphor, of course changes over time and circumstance, but we seem to return to it, perhaps because it is such a common experience. Roads, in particular, are built with the express purpose of making it easier for us to get from one place to another. It is no wonder that the story of the Disciples meeting the resurrected Jesus on the Road to Emmaeus is such a powerful one for us.

One way we imagine roads is as a symbol of our attempt to discover something, particularly something about ourselves. Jack Kerouac's, On the Road comes to mind. Under this metaphor, the destination fades in importance and it is the trip itself that becomes most valuable.

Long before Kerouac came along, though, the Church had encouraged pilgrimages. While Christians have holy sites that we encourage people to go to, there is no one place that is required. Some go to Jerusalem or Rome, others head to Iona, the Taize community in France, or a hundred other places around the world. It is the idea of taking extended periods of time out of our lives to reflect and learn about ourselves and our relationship with God that becomes most important, not the destination.

When it became clear that many would not be able to make such a pilgrimage, we adopted the labyrinth as an alternative. In a labyrinth, unlike a maze, there is only one path that you follow to the center. There is no need for decision making, and there is no great city waiting at the end, so the pilgrim has nothing to focus upon other than making the journey, which becomes more of a journey into the soul than a physical event.

There is a second way in which the road is used, however, one that contrasts significantly with this one: it is the idea of the road as the place we go to get away from something. When someone says, "It's time to hit the road." they mean that they have stayed too long. The reference may be to a relationship that has come to an end, or to a life that has become complacent. We may hit the road when we are angry, frustrated, or feel trapped. When one takes to the road in this meaning, it quite often is a literal leaving town, but not always.

It is this second image of the road that seems to be behind the story of the Emmaeus road. After the empty tomb is found in Luke, the women meet angels who tell them that Jesus is alive. They run to the apostles and repeat the story. However, the apostles have trouble believing their tale.

Thus, we find two disciples on the road. Suddenly Jesus appears to them, though not in a way they recognize. When he appears to not know what has happened in Jerusalem, they make clear that they believe the body has been stolen. They also tell their walking companion that they had thought Jesus would restore Israel--i.e., lead a rebellion to overthrow the Romans. With his death, though, comes despair. And so, they apparently abandon this failed venture and hit the road.

However, Jesus takes this journey and redirects it from 'hitting the road' to a 'journey of discovery.' He teaches them about himself and reveals himself in the bread. In the end, they never make it to Emmaeus, but return to Jerusalem to tell the story of their encounter.

At this point, it is probably important to mention that archeologists have never positively identified the location of Emmaeus. Luke tells us it was about seven miles from Jerusalem, but does not say which direction. Today, there are several sites that have been identified as possibly being Emmaeus, but not definitively. In a certain sense then, the trip's destination really is not the point.

There is one more road metaphor worth mentioning here, that of coming to the end of a road. We use that image when we want to talk about something running out of energy or steam. People talk about a romance coming to the end of the road, but this metaphor is just as easily used to talk about a failing business venture such as a restaurant or a plan that has failed to produce the desired results.

For almost ten years, the United States has hunted Osama bin Laden. It was part of the strategy had led us into two wars, increased our security budgets exponentially, and brought many attempts to curb freedoms in America in the name of security. This kill, however, was long seen as an important step towards making the U.S. safe from terrorists.

Did it? Do you feel safer now?

The reality is that little changed last week when we raided that compound. Don't get me wrong. I wanted to see justice done for 9/11. I'm not sure that is what we got exactly, but I did not think bin Laden should go unpunished, just that a trial would have been better. That was not to be, apparently.

But I maintain that little changed. We are still in two wars--and no, we cannot just go home now after tearing up two countries for all these years--and al Qaeda is still out there too. And declaring plans to retaliate. No one is safer.

The fact is, we are at the end of the road. We have pursued this policy of righteous indignation since 2001, and there is no sign of it working yet. And why is that?

For one thing, it is because we have chosen to hide behind labels of evil and insane to justify any action we take towards the perpetrators without regard for the reasons they might have had for what they did. We never stopped to ask why they hated us so much because we assumed our complete innocence.

Don't get me wrong. The 9/11 acts were never justified. They were wrong pure and simple. But when people organize and spend millions to plot acts of terror like the ones of that day, there is clearly some sense of desperation involved. And for every extremist willing to blow him or her self up, there are a hundred or a thousand other people just as angry, but more restrained, feeling the same anger. And so far, we have not explored why.

We never mention the economic poverty, the propped up dictators, the exploitation of their natural resources. We never mention the way they see us benefiting from their cheap labor or our failure to respond to human rights violations by their governments. We never mention being the ones who buy the drugs that are grown instead of food plants.

At some point we have to stop and ask ourselves why they hate us so much. And we never have asked it in part because we have some pretty good ideas about what the answers would be. So now we find ourselves down this road which is ending right before us. It should never have been this long.

For Christians at least, this does not have to be a dead end. The other road has always been there for us to take should we choose to do so. It is a lot less traveled, and will require more work on our part to traverse. But it is not a road of death. It is the road that Jesus walks and calls us to walk as well, the road of discovery we so desperately need to walk if we ever wish to find reconciliation and life.

Which way are you going? Which road will you be on?

Young People in Church?

This moment is being given to one Tamie Fields Harkins a blogger at owlrainfeathers.blogspot.com. In a posting last November, she had this to say. i can't say it better.


When I was an Episcopal chaplain--for four years--all the time people in the church would ask me, "Why don't young people come to church?" or "How do we get young people to come to church?" I have some suggestions now, so listen up.


Here is a step-by-step plan for how to get more young people into the church:

1. Be genuine. Do not under any circumstances try to be trendy or hip, if you are not already intrinsically trendy or hip. If you are a 90-year-old woman who enjoys crocheting and listens to Beethoven, by God be proud of it.

2. Stop pretending you have a rock band.

3. Stop arguing about whether gay people are okay, fully human, or whatever else. Seriously. Stop it.

4. Stop arguing about whether women are okay, fully human, or are capable of being in a position of leadership.

5. Stop looking for the "objective truth" in Scripture.

6. Start looking for the beautiful truth in Scripture.

7. Actually read the Scriptures. If you are Episcopalian, go buy a Bible and read it. Start in Genesis, it's pretty cool. You can skip some of the other boring parts in the Bible. Remember though that almost every book of the Bible has some really funky stuff in it. Remember to keep #5 and #6 in mind though. If you are evangelical, you may need to stop reading the Bible for about 10 years. Don't worry: during those ten years you can work on putting these other steps into practice.

8. Start worrying about extreme poverty, violence against women, racism, consumerism, and the rate at which children are dying worldwide of preventable, treatable diseases. Put all the energy you formerly spent worrying about the legit-ness of gay people into figuring out ways to do some good in these areas.

9. Do not shy away from lighting candles, silence, incense, laughter, really good food, and extraordinary music. By "extraordinary music" I mean genuine music. Soulful music. Well-written, well-composed music. Original music. Four-part harmony music. Funky retro organ music. Hymns. Taize chants. Bluegrass. Steel guitar. Humming. Gospel. We are the church; we have a uber-rich history of amazing music. Remember this.

10. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

11. Learn how to sit with people who are dying.

12. Feast as much as possible. Cardboard communion wafers are a feast in symbol only. Humans can not live on symbols alone. Remember this.

13. Notice visitors, smile genuinely at them, include them in conversations, but do not overwhelm them.

14. Be vulnerable.

15. Stop worrying about getting young people into the church. Stop worrying about marketing strategies. Take a deep breath. If there is a God, that God isn't going to die even if there are no more Christians at all.

16. Figure out who is suffering in your community. Go be with them.

17. Remind yourself that you don't have to take God to anyone. God is already with everyone. So, rather than taking the approach that you need to take the truth out to people who need it, adopt the approach that you need to go find the truth that others have and you are missing. Go be evangelized.

18. Put some time and care and energy into creating a beautiful space for worship and being-together. But shy away from building campaigns, parking lot expansions, and what-have-you.

19. Make some part of the church building accessible for people to pray in 24/7. Put some blankets there too, in case someone has nowhere else to go for the night.

20. Listen to God (to Wisdom, to Love) more than you speak your opinions.



This is a fool-proof plan. If you do it, I guarantee that you will attract young people to your church. And lots of other kinds of people too. The end.

Does Sarcasm Become Jesus?

Being as I am wholly associated with a denomination that can be incredibly unforgiving of rudeness (or of choosing the wrong fork at dinner), the title question seems to be a no-brainer. Surely Jesus would never want to condone a form of humor that calls attention to the foibles of its audience. Why even ask the question? Except....

Like many preachers, I began last week's sermon by reading the lessons. For those of you in non-lectionary churches, you need to know that we have assigned sets of lessons for each week, last week being the Sixth Sunday after Epiphany. The value of this is that we do not get to pass over those biblical passages that are difficult for us. Sooner or later, they come around, and we are forced to wrestle with the difficult areas of our own understanding.

Last week was one of those weeks. The passage was Matthew 5:21-37. Besides including the stuff about looking at women with lust in our hearts, there is that piece, smack in the middle of the reading, about cutting out your eye or cutting off your hand if it causes you to sin.

Now, conservative evangelicals love this passage. It actually uses the words lust, adultery, sin, and hell. What could be better? Just take out that floppy Bible to wave around and go to town! Today is the day for that altar call you wanted to have to make sure everyone gets saved from the depravity of lust leading them to hell. Never mind the fact that the passage has nothing to do with being saved, and the hell reference is for not being reconciled with your brother or sister.

Liberals do everything in their power to say that Jesus' words were not to be take literally. Of course Jesus does not want you to cut off your hand. No, Jesus is merely trying to point out how important this is. And, by the way, in this version, the whole passage is really about how obedience to God is impossible without God's unearned grace, which, we receive in baptism.

Did you notice how both sides just ended up at essentially the same place? Whether it is an altar call or a declaration of the saving effects of baptism, they have diverted from Jesus' point, which was about a faithful life.

Just prior to this passage, Jesus was talking about how he came not to abolish the law but to fulfill it. What we have here is his take on a few of the laws and what they were intended to do. It's not enough to not commit murder; you need to treat your brother and sister well and repair any enmity between you when it occurs. It is not enough to tell the truth; you should keep any vows you make (including wedding vows), and you should be so trustworthy that you do not need to swear oaths because people will know that you will do what you say you will do.

And in between those two is the one about not lusting in your heart, followed by the cutting of body parts. Here's the thing. Most of the time, people who refer to the eye and hand passage remove it from the lust passage (Let's face it; either one of those gives you plenty to work with, right?). But they really should be looked at together. Why would Jesus (or at least Matthew) put them back to back?

Have you ever really thought about what it means to say "If your eye causes you to sin..." Really? Your eye causes you to sin. Your eye or your hand is some independent agent committing atrocities apart from the rest of you? I don't think so!
Don't try telling the judge "My hand stole the money, not me." Does Jesus suddenly sound a bit sarcastic? You betcha!

Surely at least part of Jesus' point was to remind us that we have agency over what our various body parts do (apart from an occasional unplanned belch, or...well, you get the idea!). Your hand does not cause you to sin. If anything, you cause your hand to sin. The eye does not commit lust in your heart. It sees the object of lust, and you take it from there.

In other words, take some responsibility for what you do, and begin to take steps to change your life. Now, the liberal theologians can come in and remind us of Paul's understanding of sin and grace. And the conservatives can remind us that what we do has real consequences (I'll leave the bumpy road to a theology of hell for another day.). In the meantime, I'll take Jesus' words to remind me that the letter of the law is not even hardly the point.

Note: All of you trying to get the 10 commandments placed on the courtroom walls, please stop it. You are reinforcing the opposite of what Jesus tried to teach. And the fact that you don't even realize it should tell you to rethink this one.

And me? Well, I have reconciled with an old friend already this week, so I am trying my best to live Jesus' words. But mostly, I am laughing at Jesus' joke. Now, if my mouth would just stop eating fattening foods....

Tucson, Ourselves, and Violence

Yes, I have been away a long time. Just have not much felt like writing. That is coming to an end, and I will return soon with much more.

In the meantime, here is something that I penned in response to a challenge from Diana Butler Bass, adapted from my sermon yesterday. I have included her words because they provide the context.


With remarkable clarity, Dianna Butler Bass, Church historian and frequent Internet writer summed up the situation surrounding the violence in Tucson on Saturday. Within hours, she posted this note:

“The Sunday after Martin Luther King was assassinated in 1968, my husband's family attended their Presbyterian church. They went with heavy hearts, expecting the pastor to help make sense of the tragedy. The minister rose to preach. The congregation held its breath. But he said nothing of the events in Memphis. He preached as if nothing had happened.

“My husband's family left church that day disappointed; eventually, they left that church altogether.

“This Sunday, many Americans will go to church. A sizeable number of those people may be hoping to hear something that helps them make sense of the shooting of Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords and the others who had gathered at her sidewalk townhall in Tucson. Some pastors may note the event in prayer and some may say something during announcements or add a sentence to their sermons. But others might say nothing, sticking instead to prepared texts and liturgies. Many will eschew speaking of politics.

“That would be a mistake.

“Much of American public commentary takes place on television, via the Internet, and through social networks. We already know what form the analysis of the assassination attempt will be. Everyone will say what a tragedy it is. Then commentators will take sides. Those on the left will blame the Tea Party's violent rhetoric and "Second Amendment solutions." Those on the right will blame irresponsible individuals and Socialism. Progressives will call for more gun control; conservatives will say more people should carry guns. Everyone will have some sort of spin that benefits their party, their platform, and their policies.

“But who will speak of the soul?

“Since President Obama has taken office, many ministers have told me that they have feared addressing public issues from the pulpit lest "someone get hurt." Well, someone is hurt--and people have died--most likely because bitterly partisan lies have filled the air and most certainly because some unhinged individual killed people.

“At their best, American pulpits are not about taking sides and blaming. Those pulpits should be places to reflect on theology and life, on the Word and our words. I hope that sermons tomorrow will go beyond expressions of sympathy or calls for civility and niceness. Right now, we need some sustained spiritual reflection on how badly we have behaved in recent years as Americans--how much we've allowed fear to motivate our politics, how cruel we've allowed our discourse to become, how little we've listened, how much we've dehumanized public servants, how much we hate.

“Sunday January 9 is the day on which many Christians celebrate the Baptism of Jesus: "When Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. And a voice from heaven said, 'This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.'" Jesus' baptism in water symbolizes life, the newness that comes of cleansing. But there is a darker symbol of baptism in American history: that of blood. In 1862, Episcopal bishop Stephen Elliot of Georgia said, "All nations which come into existence . . . must be born amid the storm of revolution and must win their way to a place in history through the baptism of blood." Baptism as water? Baptism as blood? Baptism accompanied by a dove or baptism accompanied by the storm of revolution?

“American Christianity is deeply conflicted, caught between two powerful symbols of baptism, symbols that haunt our political sub-consciousness. To which baptism are we called? Which baptism does the world most need today? Which baptism truly heals? Do we need the water of God, or the blood of a nine-year old laying on a street in Tucson? The answer is profoundly and simply obvious. We need redemption gushing from the rivers of God's love, not that of blood-soaked sidewalks.
“If we don't speak for the soul, our silence will surely aid evil.”

(http://blog.beliefnet.com/christianityfortherestofus/2011/01/congresswoman-gabrielle-giffords-speaking-for-the-soul.html)

So let’s speak for the soul today. Let’s be reminded that Jesus’ life and ministry were all about not doing things the normal way. Let’s remember that, when the people were looking for a powerful military hero as the Messiah, one who would bring that baptism of blood, John and Jesus held to a different way of change, one that started within and spread out. Let’s remember that violence—even the violence of hate-filled speech—has never been the way of the Christ.

In just a few minutes, we will recite the words of our Baptismal covenant. Now, the Baptismal Covenant in the 1979 Book of Common Prayer was unique in the Anglican Communion when it came out. Back in the 1970s, the Episcopal Church was still referred to by many as the Republican Party at prayer. We had more members in Congress than any other religious group at the time, and, despite being 3% of the population then, we had produced more presidents. We had the highest level of education and income in the land.

What made our Baptismal Covenant suddenly unique from those of the rest of the Church—and not just the rest of Anglicanism, by the way—was our addition of five questions in the end that were not about what we believed but about how we intended to live out the Christian faith.

People outside of faith communities often think that liturgy is just the repetition of words for some kind of comfort that has little or no meaning. Nothing could be further from the truth. Liturgy done well shapes meaning and understanding in our lives, gives context and purpose to our behavior.

Bishop Curry of the Episcopal Diocese of North Carolina believes, and, upon reflection, I have come to agree with him, that those five questions about our behavior have been transformative, not only for individuals in the Episcopal Church, but for our Church as a whole. Preachers quote them all the time. “Will you continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers?” “Will you persevere in resisting evil, and, whenever you fall into sin, repent and return to the Lord?” “Will you proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ?” “Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?” “Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?” And we as people respond, “I will, with God’s help.”

If Bishop Curry is right, the repetition of those vows, the teaching of them, and preaching about them have changed us. And those questions are largely behind what has put us at odds with much of the rest of Anglicanism. Those words have pushed us from merely thinking about what we believe to attempting to live what we believe.
When I tell students—even students who have been raised in the Episcopal Church—the line about us being the Republican Party at prayer, they are shocked. That Church is not the Church they know. Even those who have been raised in fairly conservative Episcopal churches wonder how that appellation could have ever been applied to what is now seen as the left wing of Anglicanism and of American Christianity. It’s not that conservative thought has disappeared by any means. But we have become a much broader church, open to exploring a lot of new ideas of what it means to live our faith.

So what are we to do now? We celebrate and remember our baptism. In January, the first month of the year, we also frequently on who we are and what changes we wish to make.

Now, Church critics are right if that Covenant ever becomes merely comfortable words for us. If we are not the Republican Party at prayer, then we are not the Democratic Party at prayer either. Or the conservatives or progressives or the Tea Party or the birthers. We are the body of Christ, empowered by the Holy Spirit to bring a different way of living into the world.

And, in the wake of yesterday’s tragedy, that means refusing to accept a place in business as usual, upholding one set of talking head commentators as it blasts another set for what is exactly the same behavior. It means turning off the 24 hour news media, that—have you noticed—almost never broadcasts news shows anymore.
Most of all, it means seeing one another, including those we have come to see as our enemies, as human beings, even when they cannot see us in the same way. Jesus never said do unto others as they do unto you. He said do unto others as you would have them do unto you. It means refusing to accept soundbite theology as being any way for Christians to think or express ourselves. And it means the renunciation of violence as a destructive rather than constructive force for change—and I mean the language of violence in which we destroy our opponents with our arguments.
We Americans are amazing in our desire to see the Israelis and the Palestinians sit down and talk through a settlement rather than go to war. We said the same thing in South Africa, in Northern Ireland, in other global hotspots. Yet our language towards one another is death and destruction. And, occasionally, it erupts in actual violence.

The Unibomber. The Oklahoma City massacre. The recent Post Office bombings in Maryland. And now, the death of a nine-year-old girl and five others, along with a Congresswoman fighting for her life. That language eats at our souls. Is that who we Christian Americans really want to be?

Notice the order I place those words. Christian Americans, not the other way around. In so doing, I remind us of the proper order of those two commitments. Peter reminds us in the tenth chapter of the book of Acts that God shows no partiality based on nationality or class, and calls us to do the same. Let us vow to make the language of our mouths reflect the language of our Savior.

So we begin again today. With the words of the Baptismal Covenant. With the commitment to changed lives. With not just the denunciation of violence but the renunciation of it. With our vow to live differently, according to the will of God.
And then, slowly, surely, we might begin to reclaim our souls. Then we can truly transform this country from hatred. Then we can see the Shalom that God calls us to as we live out the Kingdom of God. Then we will understand, finally, the meaning of death and resurrection that is our baptism. Let us begin.