Death ignites a powder keg of emotion. Anger and mourning turns up the pressure for leaders to respond to the pain of others. David's arrogance led to the unjust death of a man named Uriah--leading to a plea for a new humility and a clean slate, symbolized with hyssop. In the face of death, Jesus agonized over his predicament, but was humble. What does it mean to live in humility in the face of death?
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Friday, March 30, 2012
Save Me, Save Us: Digging Behind Tepid Hosannas
Let me share with you some observed themes about the Sunday before Easter in congregational life.
1. Children process and shout "Hosanna!" We can get our kids to say almost anything, can't we? This procession says more about what we don't want to say than anything else. If you don't have many kids in your congregation, you will likely have a tepid shouting of Hosanna at your church for Palm Sunday.
2. Palm branches. There have to be palm branches. Why?
I don't see many debates about the True Meaning of Palm Sunday. I find the story behind Hosanna fascinating. The cry "save us" draws attention. These days, I look to skip the real palms, and save the Passion story for later during Holy Week.
The closest thing to a contemporary and widespread public hosanna is when a football team with high expectations finds themselves in a losing situation in the second half of a game. Down 2-3 touchdowns (a challenging gap, but not completely insurmountable), the starting quarterback has thrown at least 2 interceptions, but probably more. On interception number three, 70,000 people become restless and start shouting the name of the back up quarterback. Sometimes it's the new kid on the block (Tebow?).
Football history is filled with stories of an underdog situation coming into what seems to be an uncrossable crevasse of defeat, then someone comes off the bench as the crowd beseeches the coach to put in the budding star. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.
We'll also see large public hosanna in the presidential election year, but looking at approval ratings and general cynicism about government, it won't feel like a real hosanna directed at a candidate this time around.
For a culture that can walk into a purveyor of food, say a single number, and receive nourishment, a cry to "save us" feels overblown. Save me from hunger! Give me a number 7! It even feels overblown in the church talk of "have you been SAAAAAVED, brother?" It seems disingenuous to turn people into a commodity of the "saved."
If we can get beyond trying to talk about being saved apart from telling somebody else (particularly a pastor) what they want to hear, then how do we understand "saved?" What is it from which I desire to be saved?
The first thing that comes to mind: what absolutely takes the life out of me? Stuff. Literally. Things. Stuff comes into our home too fast, and I can't keep it out. Sometimes I bring it home. My kids insidiously bring stuff home in their backpacks from their travels. Stuff shows up in the mail, on our porch, at church, and I dish it out at Christmas, rationalizing it with Jesus' birthday.
Stuff is a metaphor for ourselves. I'm doubt Jesus is returning to get rid of the stuff I really don't need out of my garage. Even for someone or something that is good for me or for the collective, I can find a way to kill it. You probably can, too. We're even more skilled at killing when we do it together and get an institution to rationalize the behavior. If we know the savior we identify in our own lives will eventually let us down, why even bother putting hope in a savior in the first place?
The difference maker? Jesus doesn't respond like people placed in the position of savior do. He doesn't make an obvious display of power, nor does he run from the situation. He takes our worst, and dies in the wake of our destruction.
And then, Jesus lives.
1. Children process and shout "Hosanna!" We can get our kids to say almost anything, can't we? This procession says more about what we don't want to say than anything else. If you don't have many kids in your congregation, you will likely have a tepid shouting of Hosanna at your church for Palm Sunday.
2. Palm branches. There have to be palm branches. Why?
I don't see many debates about the True Meaning of Palm Sunday. I find the story behind Hosanna fascinating. The cry "save us" draws attention. These days, I look to skip the real palms, and save the Passion story for later during Holy Week.
The closest thing to a contemporary and widespread public hosanna is when a football team with high expectations finds themselves in a losing situation in the second half of a game. Down 2-3 touchdowns (a challenging gap, but not completely insurmountable), the starting quarterback has thrown at least 2 interceptions, but probably more. On interception number three, 70,000 people become restless and start shouting the name of the back up quarterback. Sometimes it's the new kid on the block (Tebow?).
Football history is filled with stories of an underdog situation coming into what seems to be an uncrossable crevasse of defeat, then someone comes off the bench as the crowd beseeches the coach to put in the budding star. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.
We'll also see large public hosanna in the presidential election year, but looking at approval ratings and general cynicism about government, it won't feel like a real hosanna directed at a candidate this time around.
For a culture that can walk into a purveyor of food, say a single number, and receive nourishment, a cry to "save us" feels overblown. Save me from hunger! Give me a number 7! It even feels overblown in the church talk of "have you been SAAAAAVED, brother?" It seems disingenuous to turn people into a commodity of the "saved."
If we can get beyond trying to talk about being saved apart from telling somebody else (particularly a pastor) what they want to hear, then how do we understand "saved?" What is it from which I desire to be saved?
The first thing that comes to mind: what absolutely takes the life out of me? Stuff. Literally. Things. Stuff comes into our home too fast, and I can't keep it out. Sometimes I bring it home. My kids insidiously bring stuff home in their backpacks from their travels. Stuff shows up in the mail, on our porch, at church, and I dish it out at Christmas, rationalizing it with Jesus' birthday.
Stuff is a metaphor for ourselves. I'm doubt Jesus is returning to get rid of the stuff I really don't need out of my garage. Even for someone or something that is good for me or for the collective, I can find a way to kill it. You probably can, too. We're even more skilled at killing when we do it together and get an institution to rationalize the behavior. If we know the savior we identify in our own lives will eventually let us down, why even bother putting hope in a savior in the first place?
The difference maker? Jesus doesn't respond like people placed in the position of savior do. He doesn't make an obvious display of power, nor does he run from the situation. He takes our worst, and dies in the wake of our destruction.
And then, Jesus lives.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
The Most Astounding Fact (John 3: 14-21)
From guest preacher Tracy Fitzgerald:
What is the most astounding fact that human beings can know about the universe? We all look up and see the same stars. One person feels big and connected, another feels small and alone. One person is awed by life's wonders, another is terrified of life's heartaches. One person believes, another believes not. One person does evil, another does good. One finds eternal life, another finds condemnation. Same universe, same facts - diverse experiences, different results. In such a cosmos, what is the most astounding fact that we who follow Christ can know about the universe?
What is the most astounding fact that human beings can know about the universe? We all look up and see the same stars. One person feels big and connected, another feels small and alone. One person is awed by life's wonders, another is terrified of life's heartaches. One person believes, another believes not. One person does evil, another does good. One finds eternal life, another finds condemnation. Same universe, same facts - diverse experiences, different results. In such a cosmos, what is the most astounding fact that we who follow Christ can know about the universe?
The Cost of Commuting: Finally an Upgrade
Once I believed commuting was cool. There was my work life. There was my home life. There was the open road in between. I loved them all.
I still love all of these things, but the cost of maintaining them all with their distance apart cost sleep, health, and relationships (there's money in there, I'm sure). After the better part of 10 years commuting long distances for work and education, my family is together in one county. We moved for the third time in 3 years to make it happen, and there's a substantial chance we can stay here for many years. We aren't fooled about a false sense of security, we know life can change quickly. But we've never been in a position to stay in a particular place for work and life for a long period of time.
The magnitude of altered thinking hit me as Kendall and I rode our bicycles to her new school the other day. An evolution of thinking spans years (a good thing to keep in mind in ministry). I believe this renewal is inspired by a text like Romans 12: 1-2. What is part of the ongoing renewal of my mind?
1. Raising two children with my wife. All gifts from God.
2. Bowling Alone. Robert Putnam's examination of social capital forced me to consider a congregation's connection with its community, and changed how I did ministry. In ten years of interim ministry, my driving question was "why has God placed this community of faith in this particular place at this particular time?" What developed for me was a local consideration of ministry, when the model that was lifted on the conference circuit was regional and niche oriented. What would a new neighborhood church look like?
3. The Flying Fish is a Seattle restaurant that specializes in local seafood and ingredients for its unique menu items. Chef Christine Keff was profiled on NPR about 10 years ago, and her relationships with local growers and merchants inspired me to think "fresh and local" for ministry as well as food (the restaurant is amazing, highly recommended).
4. Richard Florida, The Great Reset. This more recent publication sold me on the challenges presented by our industrial past for our societal future. Florida covers big picture items such as world migration, to day to day issues such as the costs of commuting for personal health. What I realized after reading Florida is that I don't want to spend the rest of my life in a car, detached from my neighbors.
It's easy to blame our detached and isolated lives on things like social media, television and computers. What is often ignored is commuting. Time spent in traffic or traveling long distances to work comes at a great cost to relationships. Though I am thankful for the experience in the past season of life and ministry, I have commuted long distances for 10 years. People go where the jobs are. However, the time came for me when I could make a choice to invest my family's life into a community. Sometimes it scares me, the newness of it all. I also know that ministry doesn't thrive in isolation. I may have learned a lot over the years from books, seminars and classes. Without relationships, they mean nothing. I pray that I am up to the challenges of being in the presences of sharing lives with God and neighbor.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
How Will Things Be Different This Time? (Exodus 20:1-17)
A key point in living a redeemed life is being able to articulate how God has brought you to a new place. In delivering Israel from enslavement to freedom, God lays out a different way of living, contrary to the economy of Pharaoh. How has God delivered you? How is life going to be different this time?
A New Lenten Discipline Found In Your Garage
Maybe I'm not the first person to create this Lenten practice. If I have unknowingly taken your idea, put the best spin on it and be flattered.
The benefits of Lenten discipline abound. Prayer stirs and calms the soul, fasting sharpens spiritual muscles, soup dinners craft a distinct simplicity, and worship redirects the heart.
For my disciplinary investment, no Lenten practice compares to hosting a garage sale or moving residences.
Nothing depicts personal failures or bad investments of resources quite like a garage sale or a move. True, a move or a garage sale provides a pruning of possessions, but as a Lenten discipline, these series of tasks go much deeper. It's not the same as a trip to the Goodwill. This kind of possession pruning is stealthily executed with a scant feeling of giving to the public good. As if the public is better off with the redistribution of my junk.
A garage sale or a move that involves groveling to friends for assistance is a wondrous conglomeration, a picture window revealing vanity, shame, interdependence, avarice, but also the hope of a clean slate. I gathered some friends this past weekend to help my family move, and there it was for all to see, much like a garage sale.
Come see my failed fitness program!
Come see what I haven't read, or couldn't fit on my body in my more optimistic days!
Come see my half-hearted attempt at a hobby!
Come see my fizzled-out work toward a collection!
Get any of it at a low, low, humiliatingly low price...in fact, I'm willing to give it to you if you would only help me rid my life of this...this...thing.
I may even PAY YOU to get this thing off of my hands!
Don't waste your time with the other Lenten disciplines. If you want a clearer view into your sinful nature, take on a garage sale or move. It will take you a good 40 days to get it all ready, you will see some of the darker side of your humanity, but on the other end, you'll see the clean slate that God had already made for you in Christ.
The benefits of Lenten discipline abound. Prayer stirs and calms the soul, fasting sharpens spiritual muscles, soup dinners craft a distinct simplicity, and worship redirects the heart.
For my disciplinary investment, no Lenten practice compares to hosting a garage sale or moving residences.
Nothing depicts personal failures or bad investments of resources quite like a garage sale or a move. True, a move or a garage sale provides a pruning of possessions, but as a Lenten discipline, these series of tasks go much deeper. It's not the same as a trip to the Goodwill. This kind of possession pruning is stealthily executed with a scant feeling of giving to the public good. As if the public is better off with the redistribution of my junk.
A garage sale or a move that involves groveling to friends for assistance is a wondrous conglomeration, a picture window revealing vanity, shame, interdependence, avarice, but also the hope of a clean slate. I gathered some friends this past weekend to help my family move, and there it was for all to see, much like a garage sale.
Come see my failed fitness program!
Come see what I haven't read, or couldn't fit on my body in my more optimistic days!
Come see my half-hearted attempt at a hobby!
Come see my fizzled-out work toward a collection!
Get any of it at a low, low, humiliatingly low price...in fact, I'm willing to give it to you if you would only help me rid my life of this...this...thing.
I may even PAY YOU to get this thing off of my hands!
Don't waste your time with the other Lenten disciplines. If you want a clearer view into your sinful nature, take on a garage sale or move. It will take you a good 40 days to get it all ready, you will see some of the darker side of your humanity, but on the other end, you'll see the clean slate that God had already made for you in Christ.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Looking Death in the Face (Mark 8: 31-38)
How do you feel about death? Are you afraid? Are you curious? By telling his followers to take up their cross, Jesus is forcing them to look at death in the face. When it comes to death, most of the time we want nothing to do with it.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
The Innovation of Laundry Baskets
As a pastor traveling in several different directions, carting kids to their activities, while facilitating and participating in church gatherings, it's challenging to get all of the materials together necessary to execute the day.
Bibles, prayer books, chicken tortilla soup, snacks for the kids, candles for worship, extra spices...how does one carry it all in a convenient, accessible place? Recently I realized that my large white laundry basket stuck out among my colleagues, friends and congregation members.
You mean not everyone is using a laundry basket to tote around their stuff?
Sterling plastic is not chic, nor does it elevate my status like a briefcase of fine Corinthian leather. But the basket is functional with its sturdy handles and (mostly) convenient size, fitting well in almost any vehicle. The multi-purpose laundry basket is the ingenuity of my mother-in-law. She didn't remember where she got the idea, but it's easy to tell where she is and where she's been if there's a laundry basket with anything that doesn't fit easily into her shoulder bag.
Now in the Seattle-Tacoma area, the presence of my household is marked by the presence of a laundry basket. We're ready to have fun, get to work, or connect with our friends. When we get home, we can pull out a load of whites and get folding.
I still have a hard time keeping the soup from spilling. Quite a mess on the ride home.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Journey to a Product Without Nutrition
Consider this a reflection on what is bugging me about calling Lent, or anything else spirituality related as "a journey."
My journalist grandfather instilled in me linguistic vigilance at a young age as we critiqued newspapers, broadcasts, and my own writing. After my familial linguistic training, my tutelage was affirmed by the Managing Editor at The Olympian, who passed on memos giving us overused phrases to be taken out of our professional lexicon. Over time I developed an eye and ear for words in my vocation that were overused to the point that their meaning was in question. About two years ago, the word "journey" made it on to my list.
Church folk are addicted to this word (spiritual journey, Lenten journey, prayer journey--the sky is the limit) so I removed it from use whenever possible, lest I fall to addiction. I asked others to join me on this journey, to curb journey usage. To no avail. So I tried lampooning journey's use. I called on my muse in the mighty Steve Perry, who led the band Journey when it was truly great in the 70s and 80s, to help me. Whenever I experienced a journey reference, I'd sing a Journey lyric in my head or out loud. Some of my favorites:
I noticed the problem with usage of journey on two fronts. First, I was inspired during a conversation with some colleagues/friends (thanks Sophia Agtarap and Jonathan Assink) about a presentation by Timothy Beal in Seattle several weeks ago. Second, looking at the faces of people St. John's Lutheran Church and talking with them about prayer.
Beal spent some of his time during a recent talk offering thoughts on Bible illiteracy among Christians, despite the fact that at any given outlet of Bibles, hundreds of different versions are available. The Bible, like almost anything else, has become a product. What a curious legacy considering the desire of Martin Luther and others to get Bible into the hands and language of the people. The big difference is that Martin Luther wanted to convey that the word of God is gift. It is perilously tempting for congregations to put together a series of faith "products" in order to maintain their bottom line (whether it be in revenue or attendance) or survival.
During the recent Lenten study on prayer at St. John's, I have looked at the faces of people attending and their earnest desire to connect with God. I think about my preparation and the tools I have used, and wondered if I am offering them but another faith product. I do not believe many faith community leaders intentionally commodify the faith in order to gain their own preferred result. However, it is in the pervasive use of journey that I see faith being packaged as a product. A "Lenten Journey" becomes a product to bundle for people in the congregation. It is a fine line between strategically planning opportunities to feed faith using creative imagery, and assembling a product that is void of any nutrition for the soul, for the sake of a faith community's bottom line. Herein lies the problem. If faith is packaged to improve the bottom line, faith fails to be a gift.
My journalist grandfather instilled in me linguistic vigilance at a young age as we critiqued newspapers, broadcasts, and my own writing. After my familial linguistic training, my tutelage was affirmed by the Managing Editor at The Olympian, who passed on memos giving us overused phrases to be taken out of our professional lexicon. Over time I developed an eye and ear for words in my vocation that were overused to the point that their meaning was in question. About two years ago, the word "journey" made it on to my list.
Church folk are addicted to this word (spiritual journey, Lenten journey, prayer journey--the sky is the limit) so I removed it from use whenever possible, lest I fall to addiction. I asked others to join me on this journey, to curb journey usage. To no avail. So I tried lampooning journey's use. I called on my muse in the mighty Steve Perry, who led the band Journey when it was truly great in the 70s and 80s, to help me. Whenever I experienced a journey reference, I'd sing a Journey lyric in my head or out loud. Some of my favorites:
- Someday, love will find you. Break those chains that bind you.
- When you feel love's unfair, you just ask the lonely.
- Anyway you want it, that's the way you need it.
- The wheel in the sky keeps on turnin'. Don't know where I'll be tomorrow.
I noticed the problem with usage of journey on two fronts. First, I was inspired during a conversation with some colleagues/friends (thanks Sophia Agtarap and Jonathan Assink) about a presentation by Timothy Beal in Seattle several weeks ago. Second, looking at the faces of people St. John's Lutheran Church and talking with them about prayer.
Beal spent some of his time during a recent talk offering thoughts on Bible illiteracy among Christians, despite the fact that at any given outlet of Bibles, hundreds of different versions are available. The Bible, like almost anything else, has become a product. What a curious legacy considering the desire of Martin Luther and others to get Bible into the hands and language of the people. The big difference is that Martin Luther wanted to convey that the word of God is gift. It is perilously tempting for congregations to put together a series of faith "products" in order to maintain their bottom line (whether it be in revenue or attendance) or survival.
During the recent Lenten study on prayer at St. John's, I have looked at the faces of people attending and their earnest desire to connect with God. I think about my preparation and the tools I have used, and wondered if I am offering them but another faith product. I do not believe many faith community leaders intentionally commodify the faith in order to gain their own preferred result. However, it is in the pervasive use of journey that I see faith being packaged as a product. A "Lenten Journey" becomes a product to bundle for people in the congregation. It is a fine line between strategically planning opportunities to feed faith using creative imagery, and assembling a product that is void of any nutrition for the soul, for the sake of a faith community's bottom line. Herein lies the problem. If faith is packaged to improve the bottom line, faith fails to be a gift.
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