I am currently working on a series of blog posts in the coming week or two using a framework often used in sports, but I am trying it with the life of the church. What is overrated? What is underrated? Sports people in radio and in the business attempt to stay away from overvalued athletes (unless you're the New York Yankees or Boston Red Sox) and maximize undervalued athletes. The church should probably stay away from looking at people and ministries as commodities, yet it is important to understand the dynamics of public discourse and what receives our attention.
What do you think? When it comes to the life of the church: what is overrated? What is underrated?
Here are the examples I am currently addressing in my thoughts that will turn into blog posts in the series:
Overrated: Office space. Mission statements.
Underrated: Grace. Accountability.
I would not pin this framework on Jesus' thought processes and ministry. However, Jesus is doing something to this effect during the "blessings and woes" teaching in Luke 6. It's overrated to be full and rich. It's underrated to be excluded and hated because of an association with Jesus. It's underrated to be hungry and weeping. What do these statements mean? What does it say about human aspiration? What does it say about who we value as people? The underrated/overrated framework is a discussion piece about where we put our attention in public and congregational discourse.
If you are interested in writing a guest blog post, let me know. Or, if you have some input on possible topics, let me know! What do you think?
Showing posts with label Christ. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christ. Show all posts
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Imagining small church mission
What does it mean to be part of a small church?
This week, I began service as the pastor of St. John's Lutheran Church in Lakewood, Washington. St. John's is a gathering of approximately 40 people in Sunday morning worship. By almost any definition, St. John's is a small church. My small church experience is a small portion of my life with congregations.
1. I served an interim ministry at New Life Lutheran Church in Sergeant Bluff, Iowa, a community at the time of about 40 people in worship.
2. I served an interim ministry at a three-point parish in Lyman County, South Dakota. One of the congregations was distinctly small in Kennebec, the congregations in Vivian and Presho could be large enough to classify differently.
From experience, observation and study, here are the small church thoughts in my mind. I am taking an inventory of small church experiences. It should also be noted that as an interim pastor, I never lived in a small church community. There was always an understanding that I had relational access to people's lives, yet remained an outsider.
Congregational size is not the only variable of consequence. Region, denomination, judicatory, education and other variables can enter the discussion, but the focus of this reflection involves what I have gathered about small churches.
1. Often the small church is described with a sense of "plight." The small church is depicted in church circles as suffering or in disarray. Both seem to be associated with suburban migration of the mid- to late- 20th century; a migration that dwindled the size of both urban and rural congregations. The plight is that resources to fund urban or rural congregations fades as people leave, much like other urban and rural social institutions. Small churches can still thrive, I believe, but it also depends on the shared definition of what thriving means.
2. Power in small congregations must flow through the matriarchs and/or patriarchs of the congregation. Several decades ago, Arlin Rothauge published a short book on congregational size dynamics and named the 0-50 worship attendance congregation as a "family" church. Rothauge's observations have been parsed in congregations and church leadership circles for the better part of three decades. In this size of congregation, the members are often highly invested and see pastors come and go for many different reasons (see #3).
3. Pastoral leadership in small congregations often exists in a state of flux. Small congregations often cannot afford a full-time pastor, or an experienced pastor, because the salary levels cannot support clergy with a family living at home, or a pastor carrying large amounts of student loan debt. With pastors coming and going quickly, congregations develop a pattern of behavior where they can "wait out" the pastor and all of that particular pastor's ideas for ministry if they don't care for them.
4. In a small congregation, everyone knows everyone else. So the proverb goes--but I think this is a bit of a myth or euphemism for an intimacy that cannot be assumed. There may be a higher degree of familiarity among members/worshiper in small congregations than large congregations, but that does not necessarily reflect a depth of relationship.
5. What a small church needs is to replicate what is done at a large congregation. Reading a favorite blog, Church Marketing Sucks (CMS), I was reminded of how easily the replication notion is perpetuated. Large churches have the resources to share their experience, wisdom and knowledge with others. They share that information with pastors and congregations, and the small congregations often end up feeling inferior about what God is doing among them. As someone who has served both small and large congregations, this is not intentional, but it still goes on. Frustration continues to mount about good leadership resources for small congregations. The blog post from CMS reminded me about small-large congregation leadership dynamic.
In the end, what seems to matter is that people in a congregation can imagine a unique sense of mission independent of the aforementioned factors. This does not mean God's mission is lived in a vacuum. On the contrary, I think the question related to the Parable of the Good Samaritan is operative, "And who is my neighbor?" We need to know something about our neighbor in order to share good news in Christ.
Who is God? What is God doing? Who is my neighbor? I still have much to learn about small churches and the small church I am serving, but I need to remember these questions, and I look forward to addressing these questions with people in the community.
This week, I began service as the pastor of St. John's Lutheran Church in Lakewood, Washington. St. John's is a gathering of approximately 40 people in Sunday morning worship. By almost any definition, St. John's is a small church. My small church experience is a small portion of my life with congregations.
1. I served an interim ministry at New Life Lutheran Church in Sergeant Bluff, Iowa, a community at the time of about 40 people in worship.
2. I served an interim ministry at a three-point parish in Lyman County, South Dakota. One of the congregations was distinctly small in Kennebec, the congregations in Vivian and Presho could be large enough to classify differently.
From experience, observation and study, here are the small church thoughts in my mind. I am taking an inventory of small church experiences. It should also be noted that as an interim pastor, I never lived in a small church community. There was always an understanding that I had relational access to people's lives, yet remained an outsider.
Congregational size is not the only variable of consequence. Region, denomination, judicatory, education and other variables can enter the discussion, but the focus of this reflection involves what I have gathered about small churches.
1. Often the small church is described with a sense of "plight." The small church is depicted in church circles as suffering or in disarray. Both seem to be associated with suburban migration of the mid- to late- 20th century; a migration that dwindled the size of both urban and rural congregations. The plight is that resources to fund urban or rural congregations fades as people leave, much like other urban and rural social institutions. Small churches can still thrive, I believe, but it also depends on the shared definition of what thriving means.
2. Power in small congregations must flow through the matriarchs and/or patriarchs of the congregation. Several decades ago, Arlin Rothauge published a short book on congregational size dynamics and named the 0-50 worship attendance congregation as a "family" church. Rothauge's observations have been parsed in congregations and church leadership circles for the better part of three decades. In this size of congregation, the members are often highly invested and see pastors come and go for many different reasons (see #3).
3. Pastoral leadership in small congregations often exists in a state of flux. Small congregations often cannot afford a full-time pastor, or an experienced pastor, because the salary levels cannot support clergy with a family living at home, or a pastor carrying large amounts of student loan debt. With pastors coming and going quickly, congregations develop a pattern of behavior where they can "wait out" the pastor and all of that particular pastor's ideas for ministry if they don't care for them.
4. In a small congregation, everyone knows everyone else. So the proverb goes--but I think this is a bit of a myth or euphemism for an intimacy that cannot be assumed. There may be a higher degree of familiarity among members/worshiper in small congregations than large congregations, but that does not necessarily reflect a depth of relationship.
5. What a small church needs is to replicate what is done at a large congregation. Reading a favorite blog, Church Marketing Sucks (CMS), I was reminded of how easily the replication notion is perpetuated. Large churches have the resources to share their experience, wisdom and knowledge with others. They share that information with pastors and congregations, and the small congregations often end up feeling inferior about what God is doing among them. As someone who has served both small and large congregations, this is not intentional, but it still goes on. Frustration continues to mount about good leadership resources for small congregations. The blog post from CMS reminded me about small-large congregation leadership dynamic.
In the end, what seems to matter is that people in a congregation can imagine a unique sense of mission independent of the aforementioned factors. This does not mean God's mission is lived in a vacuum. On the contrary, I think the question related to the Parable of the Good Samaritan is operative, "And who is my neighbor?" We need to know something about our neighbor in order to share good news in Christ.
Who is God? What is God doing? Who is my neighbor? I still have much to learn about small churches and the small church I am serving, but I need to remember these questions, and I look forward to addressing these questions with people in the community.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
My Experience with the Invisible Denominational Ladder
On several occasions over the last 10 years, congregational members would look at me and my growing young family on a Sunday morning and say "When are you going to get a real church?"
On a good day, I would use that question to talk about vocation and calling with the inquirer. I was called to interim ministry for 10 years. I believe I worked faithfully and skillfully. I attended interim ministry meetings and conferences as the often the youngest person in attendance by 25-40 years. It didn't matter that I was not a part of that ministry with my generational peers (though I sometimes longed for their companionship)--that's where my gifts were. I am a strong believer in the Parable of the Talents (Matthew 25: 14-30), therefore I attempt to faithfully use what I have been given. Even in the midst of questions from colleagues, peers, denominational representatives, and even members of the congregation I served.
"When are you going to get a real church?"
Several church denominational systems create an unintentional invisible ladder for the vocational development of clergy. Many seminary graduates have five-figure student loans to finance their theological education. Many congregations who take seminary graduates to serve their congregations cannot afford to pay a wage that will realistically pay off the debt so that pastors can save money for retirement or pay for the education of their own children. Therefore after a brief tenure, the pastor moves on to larger congregations and/or more specialized positions in large metro areas with thriving suburbs. The congregations in rural South Dakota even recognized this dynamic. They sometimes encouraged me to leave so that I may thrive in ministry in a "bigger and better" place. Many people lined up in my life to give thanks for the opportunity to serve together, but the same question always arose:
"When are you going to get a real church?"
After completing my most recent transitional ministry in Port Orchard, Melanie and I affirmed what we learned early on in that period of service; this 10 year season of interim ministry was over. It is too logistically challenging to be good pastors and good parents to our two daughters. Melanie and I considered many congregational opportunities, and some reflected a denominational ladder. I have experience as a lead pastor in larger congregations and supervising staff. I have experience in congregations with large budgets that give a lot of money to denominational ministry (both in Lutheran and Presbyterian congregations). Without saying so, the system's message is that I should be in a larger congregation--that's the message of the pervasive question about my status with a "real church."
After a meeting last night with a small urban/suburban congregation in significant decline, we studied our body language toward each other and wondered if God was present in this discussion. Even though it is likely I will be their called pastor, people will still ask me the question, "when are you going to get a real church?" I don't really want to address the real church question. We recognize the Invisible Denominational Ladder together, lose any fixation with that and behave in a manner that God may be doing something with us. We don't need to articulate a bromide to assure ourselves that we are the church regardless of the congregational size. We don't need to give ourselves a pep talk. Collectively we will give thanks to God for Jesus and the blessing of being a community. We will gather and ask the question, "how can we serve our neighbor?"
The Invisible Denominational Ladder is of our own creation in what we know as "Mainline Protestantism." Some ladders look a little different in each denomination. It's not something that someone else did. It's there and part of who we are, like the wind, or atoms, or molecules. Maybe the ladder needs to be torn down, and maybe someone is called to tear it down. Calling and faithful use of gifts carries the day--which is what ignites my memory and action.
On a good day, I would use that question to talk about vocation and calling with the inquirer. I was called to interim ministry for 10 years. I believe I worked faithfully and skillfully. I attended interim ministry meetings and conferences as the often the youngest person in attendance by 25-40 years. It didn't matter that I was not a part of that ministry with my generational peers (though I sometimes longed for their companionship)--that's where my gifts were. I am a strong believer in the Parable of the Talents (Matthew 25: 14-30), therefore I attempt to faithfully use what I have been given. Even in the midst of questions from colleagues, peers, denominational representatives, and even members of the congregation I served.
"When are you going to get a real church?"
Several church denominational systems create an unintentional invisible ladder for the vocational development of clergy. Many seminary graduates have five-figure student loans to finance their theological education. Many congregations who take seminary graduates to serve their congregations cannot afford to pay a wage that will realistically pay off the debt so that pastors can save money for retirement or pay for the education of their own children. Therefore after a brief tenure, the pastor moves on to larger congregations and/or more specialized positions in large metro areas with thriving suburbs. The congregations in rural South Dakota even recognized this dynamic. They sometimes encouraged me to leave so that I may thrive in ministry in a "bigger and better" place. Many people lined up in my life to give thanks for the opportunity to serve together, but the same question always arose:
"When are you going to get a real church?"
After completing my most recent transitional ministry in Port Orchard, Melanie and I affirmed what we learned early on in that period of service; this 10 year season of interim ministry was over. It is too logistically challenging to be good pastors and good parents to our two daughters. Melanie and I considered many congregational opportunities, and some reflected a denominational ladder. I have experience as a lead pastor in larger congregations and supervising staff. I have experience in congregations with large budgets that give a lot of money to denominational ministry (both in Lutheran and Presbyterian congregations). Without saying so, the system's message is that I should be in a larger congregation--that's the message of the pervasive question about my status with a "real church."
After a meeting last night with a small urban/suburban congregation in significant decline, we studied our body language toward each other and wondered if God was present in this discussion. Even though it is likely I will be their called pastor, people will still ask me the question, "when are you going to get a real church?" I don't really want to address the real church question. We recognize the Invisible Denominational Ladder together, lose any fixation with that and behave in a manner that God may be doing something with us. We don't need to articulate a bromide to assure ourselves that we are the church regardless of the congregational size. We don't need to give ourselves a pep talk. Collectively we will give thanks to God for Jesus and the blessing of being a community. We will gather and ask the question, "how can we serve our neighbor?"
The Invisible Denominational Ladder is of our own creation in what we know as "Mainline Protestantism." Some ladders look a little different in each denomination. It's not something that someone else did. It's there and part of who we are, like the wind, or atoms, or molecules. Maybe the ladder needs to be torn down, and maybe someone is called to tear it down. Calling and faithful use of gifts carries the day--which is what ignites my memory and action.
Friday, May 20, 2011
The Interpretive Challenge of Unconference11
Human life in this age places value on experience. Each experience elicits a degree of response. A television program can be watched with varied responses. The responses can be laid out on a continuum. Some responses offer a short shelf-life: "can you believe that American Idol vote last night?" Each episode will only be dissected for so long for some. For others, the episode may accumulate with others and inspire a vocal performance career.
Any experience offers an opportunity for interpretation. I have attended numerous continuing education events over the years. Each learning experience, though varied in content, offered a very similar structure. A speaker/teacher of great repute travels and meets traveling participants for a provision of information. It's like I back my empty informational truck into a dock for a load of information. Though the content may be complex, the transaction is simple. I pay money. I receive information. I receive a binder or folder full of notes and handouts I will not likely crack open again. I receive a Power Point file attached to an email that clogs a memory stick or sits on my hard drive. I may have more information, but the information nourishes my body as if I attempted nourishment by swallowing a palm full of vitamins without eating any food. The intake at a conference may hold nutritive qualities, but the information isn't sticky. The typical workshop/conference/symposium in church circles fails the stickiness test. My library is a testimony to this observation. I store many binders with hope of using the material again, yet I often don't. This failure doesn't speak to the quality of the information, but the context in which it was delivered. Every educational experience challenges the participant to interpret the information to their own context. Conference hosts over the years have recognized that more people from each context increases the stickiness of the information (Bring a group! Save money! Broaden the application!) but the methodology still lacks the stickiness necessary for integration.
Unconference11 was a powerful experience for me. Not only because it represented a spiritual milestone for me, but because there was something incarnational about it. Fleshy and sticky. There was not only information shared, but relationships were graciously hosted with God and others. Every participant was given the opportunity to contribute and be respected. This is not what usually comes out of a conference. The ethos of a typical conference resembles a rock concert. If only you can get close to the star, get a backstage pass, some of that star quality might rub off into your context.
Last night I ate dinner with good friends who, like me have attended numerous conferences and workshops. They know the routine. Talk about the greatness of the speaker, the cutting edge discovery or technique, the idea that will change our contexts. I realized last night that I couldn't explain the experience in the same way that I have explained other learning events covering about 20 years of my life.
The challenge of interpreting Unconference11 remains. What will matter in these weeks ahead? First of all, I gathered with a small group of folks passionate about subversive and new ministry developments. I hope to resource this group of people as I enter into a trajectory of ministry new to me. I am thankful for that opportunity. Most of all, the interpretive challenge of Unco11 will not be whether I can share what exactly I learned and experienced among friends. I was respected. I was valued. I was given the opportunity to contribute both truth and beauty. I was healed and loved. No "conference" I have ever attended has done that. My inclination is that though my work and life in the church looks a lot like the conferences I have attended for 20 years--a lot of vitamins, but no nourishment. The interpretive challenge is not that I can replicate Unco11 in my context, but whether in my context I can share in the work of healing, respect, love and creativity. This sounds a lot like Jesus to me.
Any experience offers an opportunity for interpretation. I have attended numerous continuing education events over the years. Each learning experience, though varied in content, offered a very similar structure. A speaker/teacher of great repute travels and meets traveling participants for a provision of information. It's like I back my empty informational truck into a dock for a load of information. Though the content may be complex, the transaction is simple. I pay money. I receive information. I receive a binder or folder full of notes and handouts I will not likely crack open again. I receive a Power Point file attached to an email that clogs a memory stick or sits on my hard drive. I may have more information, but the information nourishes my body as if I attempted nourishment by swallowing a palm full of vitamins without eating any food. The intake at a conference may hold nutritive qualities, but the information isn't sticky. The typical workshop/conference/symposium in church circles fails the stickiness test. My library is a testimony to this observation. I store many binders with hope of using the material again, yet I often don't. This failure doesn't speak to the quality of the information, but the context in which it was delivered. Every educational experience challenges the participant to interpret the information to their own context. Conference hosts over the years have recognized that more people from each context increases the stickiness of the information (Bring a group! Save money! Broaden the application!) but the methodology still lacks the stickiness necessary for integration.
Unconference11 was a powerful experience for me. Not only because it represented a spiritual milestone for me, but because there was something incarnational about it. Fleshy and sticky. There was not only information shared, but relationships were graciously hosted with God and others. Every participant was given the opportunity to contribute and be respected. This is not what usually comes out of a conference. The ethos of a typical conference resembles a rock concert. If only you can get close to the star, get a backstage pass, some of that star quality might rub off into your context.
Last night I ate dinner with good friends who, like me have attended numerous conferences and workshops. They know the routine. Talk about the greatness of the speaker, the cutting edge discovery or technique, the idea that will change our contexts. I realized last night that I couldn't explain the experience in the same way that I have explained other learning events covering about 20 years of my life.
The challenge of interpreting Unconference11 remains. What will matter in these weeks ahead? First of all, I gathered with a small group of folks passionate about subversive and new ministry developments. I hope to resource this group of people as I enter into a trajectory of ministry new to me. I am thankful for that opportunity. Most of all, the interpretive challenge of Unco11 will not be whether I can share what exactly I learned and experienced among friends. I was respected. I was valued. I was given the opportunity to contribute both truth and beauty. I was healed and loved. No "conference" I have ever attended has done that. My inclination is that though my work and life in the church looks a lot like the conferences I have attended for 20 years--a lot of vitamins, but no nourishment. The interpretive challenge is not that I can replicate Unco11 in my context, but whether in my context I can share in the work of healing, respect, love and creativity. This sounds a lot like Jesus to me.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Another untimely review: Conviction
What am I willing to sacrifice in order to pursue a life passion? Does a life passion take on a different scope if that passion is a family member?
At one point in the film Conviction, Betty Anne Waters (Hilary Swank) has been advocating and fighting for her brother (Sam Rockwell), convicted of murder for nearly two decades. She sacrificed her marriage (it ended in divorce) and nearly gave up her relationships with her children in order to prove her brother was wrongly convicted. Waters graduated from law school and passed the bar in order to serve as her brother's council for his murder case. She went through well over a decade without a friend, except for a fellow law student (Minnie Driver) who doggedly befriended Waters and endured Waters' tireless work and persistence in obtaining anything that could help her brother. In a conversation with her two teenage sons, one of the sons states that Betty had given up her live to save Uncle Kenny. Waters paused, looked at her son incredulously, as if the concept of sacrifice never crossed her mind.
The title of the film is a perfect play on words and a deep reflection on the nature of passion. Surely, it is a good story about the pitfalls of any justice system, but for me this was a film about the relationship between conviction and passion. Waters was depicted as someone who did not see herself as passionate or one who sacrificed. The other question that came up in conversation about the story with my wife was whether Waters' relationship with her brother was unhealthy. This was a sibling pair who could be analyzed in psychological parlance as "fused," rooted in growing up together in an abusive household. I wonder if Waters (as she is depicted) is a Christ-like figure. Christians for centuries have written, taught and preached to fellow Christians and the world that we should reflect and embody Christ's "sacrifice" for humanity. I am not a Christian proponent of a sacrificial Christology. The sacrificial nomenclature is hard to escape in the Bible and Christian theology, and I though I don't wholeheartedly reject it, I don't embrace it.
Looking into the character of Waters and her (loving? obsessing?) pursuit of securing the freedom of her brother, I can't help but think of Jesus. In my limited knowledge of the Bible and theology, I can't recall anyone who bothered to ask Jesus whether he believed that his death was a sacrifice to him (and I would be glad to learn from my readers where I could find further reading on this topic) or whether theology has bothered to ask the question about the nature of sacrifice as it relates to love. In addition, how is a sacrifice beneficial (or even loving) to a relationship if the person who made the sacrifice for the "sake of the relationship" has to constantly remind the other person that they made the sacrifice in the first place?
Over the years in my life of Christian faith, I've been asked to accept the idea of Christ's sacrifice at face value, that I had better appreciate it and think about it to the point of guilt and shame. Only then will I have faith. Until my work with my theological education teachers (mostly Pat Keifert and Walter Sundberg at Luther Seminary) I had not considered the multiple dimensions of sacrifice in the Christian faith and theological discourse. Conviction serves as a reminder of the multiple dimensions of understanding sacrifices and relationships. There's plenty of guilt and shame to go around in the world, and I am thankful for the love and grace I have received in the body of Christ. Many have lovingly given in more ways than I can count so that I may have a better life (did they always see it as a sacrifice?). Watching Conviction offered me some new questions and insights to the interplay of love, justice, sacrifice, guilt and relationships. It wasn't a sacrifice for me to give up four dollars and two hours to watch the film.
At one point in the film Conviction, Betty Anne Waters (Hilary Swank) has been advocating and fighting for her brother (Sam Rockwell), convicted of murder for nearly two decades. She sacrificed her marriage (it ended in divorce) and nearly gave up her relationships with her children in order to prove her brother was wrongly convicted. Waters graduated from law school and passed the bar in order to serve as her brother's council for his murder case. She went through well over a decade without a friend, except for a fellow law student (Minnie Driver) who doggedly befriended Waters and endured Waters' tireless work and persistence in obtaining anything that could help her brother. In a conversation with her two teenage sons, one of the sons states that Betty had given up her live to save Uncle Kenny. Waters paused, looked at her son incredulously, as if the concept of sacrifice never crossed her mind.
The title of the film is a perfect play on words and a deep reflection on the nature of passion. Surely, it is a good story about the pitfalls of any justice system, but for me this was a film about the relationship between conviction and passion. Waters was depicted as someone who did not see herself as passionate or one who sacrificed. The other question that came up in conversation about the story with my wife was whether Waters' relationship with her brother was unhealthy. This was a sibling pair who could be analyzed in psychological parlance as "fused," rooted in growing up together in an abusive household. I wonder if Waters (as she is depicted) is a Christ-like figure. Christians for centuries have written, taught and preached to fellow Christians and the world that we should reflect and embody Christ's "sacrifice" for humanity. I am not a Christian proponent of a sacrificial Christology. The sacrificial nomenclature is hard to escape in the Bible and Christian theology, and I though I don't wholeheartedly reject it, I don't embrace it.
Looking into the character of Waters and her (loving? obsessing?) pursuit of securing the freedom of her brother, I can't help but think of Jesus. In my limited knowledge of the Bible and theology, I can't recall anyone who bothered to ask Jesus whether he believed that his death was a sacrifice to him (and I would be glad to learn from my readers where I could find further reading on this topic) or whether theology has bothered to ask the question about the nature of sacrifice as it relates to love. In addition, how is a sacrifice beneficial (or even loving) to a relationship if the person who made the sacrifice for the "sake of the relationship" has to constantly remind the other person that they made the sacrifice in the first place?
Over the years in my life of Christian faith, I've been asked to accept the idea of Christ's sacrifice at face value, that I had better appreciate it and think about it to the point of guilt and shame. Only then will I have faith. Until my work with my theological education teachers (mostly Pat Keifert and Walter Sundberg at Luther Seminary) I had not considered the multiple dimensions of sacrifice in the Christian faith and theological discourse. Conviction serves as a reminder of the multiple dimensions of understanding sacrifices and relationships. There's plenty of guilt and shame to go around in the world, and I am thankful for the love and grace I have received in the body of Christ. Many have lovingly given in more ways than I can count so that I may have a better life (did they always see it as a sacrifice?). Watching Conviction offered me some new questions and insights to the interplay of love, justice, sacrifice, guilt and relationships. It wasn't a sacrifice for me to give up four dollars and two hours to watch the film.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
After the Vigil: Imagining Ministry Location
One of the last places I ever thought I would "do" ministry was at Wal-Mart. Over the years I've heard other ministry stretches. Laundromats, baseball games, red light districts, and state fairs (to name a few) are places colleagues have gone in the name of outreach, and ministry "beyond the building."
I'm not against any of the aforementioned places as venues for spiritual connection. Sometimes my imagination limits me in what kind of connection can be made with God and others. Limits on ministry sites have more to do with my lack of imagination than appropriateness of locale. I ascribe to the observation that we don't have many stories of Jesus in the worship space or the education wing of the local synagogue in the Gospels--therefore I try to imagine places outside the church building for connection with God and others. That is the example we have from Jesus. Sometimes it takes a prompt from the Spirit to recognize the opportunity.
When my colleague, Sarah Roemer, from Spirit of Life Lutheran Church (Port Orchard/Olalla) and I talked about response to the shooting in Port Orchard about 1 month ago, we considered hosting a vigil at a church (Or maybe only I really did. Which one?). The church building then seemed like the wrong place to be. Sarah moved us toward meeting at the Wal-Mart parking lot, at the site of the shooting. Pastor Sarah met with the Wal-Mart management for permission, I started getting the word out. Monday night, Wal-Mart parking lot, candlelight vigil. None of the things that made worship comfortable for me were present, and my blood pressure raised. Before long, a few tweets marked by the hashtag #POShooting gave us phone calls from local news outlets, and big portion of the vigil promotion was handled by television.
I had an interesting conversation with a reporter about the frequency of vigils in television news coverage. If you're in this line of work (television journalism)you end up covering a lot of vigils, especially the night shift, he told me. I turned that statement over in my mind all Monday afternoon. One might think that with all the vigils in response to violence, that violence would subside, or that people might question the importance of vigils.
Why do a vigil?
The section in the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew with the beatitudes seemed appropriate for the vigil: blessed are those who mourn...
That part was easy, but I continued reading. "You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven (Matthew 5: 14-16 NRSV)."
Light in Jesus' statement is a given for his followers. We ARE the light of the world. The vigil was an opportunity to share light. In gathering together at the sight of the violence, people had an opportunity to overcome their fear and reclaim the space for peaceful gathering and living. Even at a Wal-Mart parking lot. Even when appearances say that vigils don't matter. I know that vigils do matter. My imagination was tweaked that chilly, rainy Monday evening. The time was not comfortable, the place was not comfortable, but it was a common, public space where fear abated and the light of Christ was shared.
I'm not against any of the aforementioned places as venues for spiritual connection. Sometimes my imagination limits me in what kind of connection can be made with God and others. Limits on ministry sites have more to do with my lack of imagination than appropriateness of locale. I ascribe to the observation that we don't have many stories of Jesus in the worship space or the education wing of the local synagogue in the Gospels--therefore I try to imagine places outside the church building for connection with God and others. That is the example we have from Jesus. Sometimes it takes a prompt from the Spirit to recognize the opportunity.
When my colleague, Sarah Roemer, from Spirit of Life Lutheran Church (Port Orchard/Olalla) and I talked about response to the shooting in Port Orchard about 1 month ago, we considered hosting a vigil at a church (Or maybe only I really did. Which one?). The church building then seemed like the wrong place to be. Sarah moved us toward meeting at the Wal-Mart parking lot, at the site of the shooting. Pastor Sarah met with the Wal-Mart management for permission, I started getting the word out. Monday night, Wal-Mart parking lot, candlelight vigil. None of the things that made worship comfortable for me were present, and my blood pressure raised. Before long, a few tweets marked by the hashtag #POShooting gave us phone calls from local news outlets, and big portion of the vigil promotion was handled by television.
I had an interesting conversation with a reporter about the frequency of vigils in television news coverage. If you're in this line of work (television journalism)you end up covering a lot of vigils, especially the night shift, he told me. I turned that statement over in my mind all Monday afternoon. One might think that with all the vigils in response to violence, that violence would subside, or that people might question the importance of vigils.
Why do a vigil?
The section in the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew with the beatitudes seemed appropriate for the vigil: blessed are those who mourn...
That part was easy, but I continued reading. "You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven (Matthew 5: 14-16 NRSV)."
Light in Jesus' statement is a given for his followers. We ARE the light of the world. The vigil was an opportunity to share light. In gathering together at the sight of the violence, people had an opportunity to overcome their fear and reclaim the space for peaceful gathering and living. Even at a Wal-Mart parking lot. Even when appearances say that vigils don't matter. I know that vigils do matter. My imagination was tweaked that chilly, rainy Monday evening. The time was not comfortable, the place was not comfortable, but it was a common, public space where fear abated and the light of Christ was shared.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Music as pastoral care and building the community of faith
The battle over worship in this congregation started in 1967 when _________________ played a guitar in worship. The war has gone on ever since.
That was a statement of an elder member of a congregation I served as an interim when I asked about the stories related to conflict over worship. One might call it the Thirty Years' War. The "Worship Wars" don't have the acrimony they once did even five years ago. I never understood the approach of the Worship Wars in "Mainline" Protestantism. Arguing over preferences produces no clarity, no mission, no deeper connection with the Divine.
I am not a worship scholar. I wouldn't even call myself gifted in worship methodology or theology. But I ponder the effects of music on my soul and my longing for God, desiring healing and wholeness, and where I see Christ. I have to provide the musical connection with God for myself, because the church for 30 years has been more interested in arguing about style preferences than offering to build my relationship with God and others in their spiritual growth. Recently I've been thinking less about my musical preferences and HOW I am connected to God and others by a particular song.
1. The role of testimony. Preachers and other deliverers of the Gospel can appropriately share their personal stories about the activity of God in their lives. I find meaning in that connection--why can't it be done with music? Case in point--a pastoral care song for me is from Melody Gardot's Who Will Comfort Me. The song is good in and of itself, but it means even more in light of Melody's own path of healing. Gardot faced brutal injuries and the healing setbacks and triumphs in her life come out in this particular song. Testimony brings out a tradition of the Psalms. Sometimes lament, sometimes victory. Sometimes confidence in God's presence, sometimes longing questions and frustration. Who will comfort me?
2. Songs of confession and songs of intercession. Years ago I had numerous opportunities to preach for the St. Dysmas prison congregation in the South Dakota State Penitentiary. I had some great conversations with the worship band. Though they loved playing worship music and praise songs, the jam sessions revealed more about their walk with God. What saddened me was that they thought their jams had no place in the worship service. One band member and I had a discussion around Molly Hatchet's "Flirtin' With Disaster." The song provided an entry point for this young man's story, his crimes and sins, his incarceration, and his relationship with God. I always thought it was a good song, though not a favorite. The song is now a favorite because it is an opportunity for me to pray for this young man--for healing, for forgiveness, for a newness of life each day, and a new start when he gets out of prison.
Unfortunately, my work with the Worship Wars of the past 30 or so years has been more about addressing conflict and congregational dynamics. In this season of my life, I hope for articulation of music as pastoral care and faith community building.
Excuse me--while I commute home tonight and listen to tunes from my iPhone, I will be in a place of worship. Through Christ, creation (music) and relationship--God heals.
That was a statement of an elder member of a congregation I served as an interim when I asked about the stories related to conflict over worship. One might call it the Thirty Years' War. The "Worship Wars" don't have the acrimony they once did even five years ago. I never understood the approach of the Worship Wars in "Mainline" Protestantism. Arguing over preferences produces no clarity, no mission, no deeper connection with the Divine.
I am not a worship scholar. I wouldn't even call myself gifted in worship methodology or theology. But I ponder the effects of music on my soul and my longing for God, desiring healing and wholeness, and where I see Christ. I have to provide the musical connection with God for myself, because the church for 30 years has been more interested in arguing about style preferences than offering to build my relationship with God and others in their spiritual growth. Recently I've been thinking less about my musical preferences and HOW I am connected to God and others by a particular song.
1. The role of testimony. Preachers and other deliverers of the Gospel can appropriately share their personal stories about the activity of God in their lives. I find meaning in that connection--why can't it be done with music? Case in point--a pastoral care song for me is from Melody Gardot's Who Will Comfort Me. The song is good in and of itself, but it means even more in light of Melody's own path of healing. Gardot faced brutal injuries and the healing setbacks and triumphs in her life come out in this particular song. Testimony brings out a tradition of the Psalms. Sometimes lament, sometimes victory. Sometimes confidence in God's presence, sometimes longing questions and frustration. Who will comfort me?
2. Songs of confession and songs of intercession. Years ago I had numerous opportunities to preach for the St. Dysmas prison congregation in the South Dakota State Penitentiary. I had some great conversations with the worship band. Though they loved playing worship music and praise songs, the jam sessions revealed more about their walk with God. What saddened me was that they thought their jams had no place in the worship service. One band member and I had a discussion around Molly Hatchet's "Flirtin' With Disaster." The song provided an entry point for this young man's story, his crimes and sins, his incarceration, and his relationship with God. I always thought it was a good song, though not a favorite. The song is now a favorite because it is an opportunity for me to pray for this young man--for healing, for forgiveness, for a newness of life each day, and a new start when he gets out of prison.
Unfortunately, my work with the Worship Wars of the past 30 or so years has been more about addressing conflict and congregational dynamics. In this season of my life, I hope for articulation of music as pastoral care and faith community building.
Excuse me--while I commute home tonight and listen to tunes from my iPhone, I will be in a place of worship. Through Christ, creation (music) and relationship--God heals.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Getting my vision checked helps me participate in revelation
I picked up my new glasses the other day. I like to hear responses about new things.
"I didn't know you wore glasses!"
"You always had such good vision when you were younger."
True. I remember some eye tests from my teenage years. My 20/10 vision was a badge of honor, especially as a baseball player who took pride in an ability to take a pitch and hit about anything in the strike zone or near it. If I was fooled into swinging I could at least foul it off. I wasn't much for power, but I hit a lot of singles and doubles, and could take a walk. I linked a lot of my success to my gift of vision. I worked hard and cared for that gift. I took a lot of batting practice. I ate a lot of carrots to give nutrients to my eyes. Eventually, I conquered some fears and developed an ability to reach base by getting hit by pitches--visualizing where the ball was going to hit my body gave me the judgment about whether being hit would hurt me. Just get on base, baby. Some of my most admired hitters were rumored to have better than 20/20 vision--Rod Carew and George Brett. Their vision gift allowed them to play the game of baseball at a high level.
After receiving my first pair of glasses last year, I've learned a few lessons about vision. Some of these reflections may apply to the Christian life, or to life in general. I tend to look at these kinds of things in light of Christian spirituality, but if you want to use the imagery for vocation or relationships, be my guest.
1. My ability to see has probably been deteriorating for years. Once the eye stops growing in teenage-early adult years (as I've been studying my eye condition, presbyopia) the lens loses elasticity, and the eye begins to lose its ability to focus. The brain is quick to pick up on this change, and the loss of focus may not be noticed for years. This development in my life makes me think of my own vocation and congregational vocation. I remember when I first started recognizing my focus problems, I said to myself, "But I have better than normal vision! I have 20/10 vision! Maybe I haven't been getting enough sleep, or I need to be more attentive to nutrition. But I have 20/10 vision. This isn't really happening to me. I'm special." If I continued to cling to that old identity, I could eventually put myself in danger, or maybe my family or someone else. I could miss out on seeing something important, or lose my zest for learning and living because reading became more challenging. Congregations often take on the identity of their youthful experience, when they were filled with boundless energy and their creativity flowed. Friendships were growing. Ministry programs teemed with both resources and insight. Lives changed. People were cared for. The building couldn't contain the excitement. Then the ability to see the world around them changes, and they maintain they still have better than average vision. "This isn't really happening to us." The congregation loses its elasticity, unable to make adjustments to the world around them. They become rigid and start making statement familiar to many involved in the church, "we've never done it that way before."
2. If I didn't embrace a new way to see the world around me, I would miss out on some of the things that God is revealing. My first pair of glasses last year were a disaster. I went to an optical dealer (who shall remain nameless) who set me up with a pair of glasses that not only did not fit, but a prescription that continued to give me headaches. I was told by both the professionals and by friends that I would get over the headaches, just hang in there. The technology was there to help me, but I also had to take some ownership of the change, find another path and professional and say, "this isn't working. I need to try something else." Now I have a pair of glasses that not only fits my head, but hasn't given me a headache in three days (along with a really big plus--my wife says they look good on me--that I look "distinguished," giving me that look that I'm looking good). Embracing what God is revealing in the world is linked to a personal and congregational fear of failure. Once personal or congregational life deteriorates over a period of time, then a fear of failure to see and try new things can be the next obstacle, exacerbating the deterioration. Once I embraced the idea of wearing glasses, then went through the hassle of getting them, and then they didn't work, I considered giving up. I didn't want to deal with the headaches. But I was driven to see better, beyond the pain, and I tried the experience again. I am pleased with the results and ready to move forward.
For a more amusing version for movie lovers, consider Uncle Rico from Napoleon Dynamite--he spends most of the movie wondering what could have been and ruminating on the past, rather than looking toward the future. Rico is rigid about his understanding of the past, which inhibits his future.
I continue to return to the Baptism of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark and how the voice of God and the identity of Jesus is continually expanding its revelation--to Jesus himself, his followers, and the world. Being stuck in a previous identity and fearing the work of the future inhibits participation in the ongoing and expanding revelation of the power of God. I know I don't see perfectly, but I know that God is revealing anew all the time. I want to see it, and I have to be flexible with my vision in order to participate in the revelation of God.
"I didn't know you wore glasses!"
"You always had such good vision when you were younger."
True. I remember some eye tests from my teenage years. My 20/10 vision was a badge of honor, especially as a baseball player who took pride in an ability to take a pitch and hit about anything in the strike zone or near it. If I was fooled into swinging I could at least foul it off. I wasn't much for power, but I hit a lot of singles and doubles, and could take a walk. I linked a lot of my success to my gift of vision. I worked hard and cared for that gift. I took a lot of batting practice. I ate a lot of carrots to give nutrients to my eyes. Eventually, I conquered some fears and developed an ability to reach base by getting hit by pitches--visualizing where the ball was going to hit my body gave me the judgment about whether being hit would hurt me. Just get on base, baby. Some of my most admired hitters were rumored to have better than 20/20 vision--Rod Carew and George Brett. Their vision gift allowed them to play the game of baseball at a high level.
After receiving my first pair of glasses last year, I've learned a few lessons about vision. Some of these reflections may apply to the Christian life, or to life in general. I tend to look at these kinds of things in light of Christian spirituality, but if you want to use the imagery for vocation or relationships, be my guest.
1. My ability to see has probably been deteriorating for years. Once the eye stops growing in teenage-early adult years (as I've been studying my eye condition, presbyopia) the lens loses elasticity, and the eye begins to lose its ability to focus. The brain is quick to pick up on this change, and the loss of focus may not be noticed for years. This development in my life makes me think of my own vocation and congregational vocation. I remember when I first started recognizing my focus problems, I said to myself, "But I have better than normal vision! I have 20/10 vision! Maybe I haven't been getting enough sleep, or I need to be more attentive to nutrition. But I have 20/10 vision. This isn't really happening to me. I'm special." If I continued to cling to that old identity, I could eventually put myself in danger, or maybe my family or someone else. I could miss out on seeing something important, or lose my zest for learning and living because reading became more challenging. Congregations often take on the identity of their youthful experience, when they were filled with boundless energy and their creativity flowed. Friendships were growing. Ministry programs teemed with both resources and insight. Lives changed. People were cared for. The building couldn't contain the excitement. Then the ability to see the world around them changes, and they maintain they still have better than average vision. "This isn't really happening to us." The congregation loses its elasticity, unable to make adjustments to the world around them. They become rigid and start making statement familiar to many involved in the church, "we've never done it that way before."
2. If I didn't embrace a new way to see the world around me, I would miss out on some of the things that God is revealing. My first pair of glasses last year were a disaster. I went to an optical dealer (who shall remain nameless) who set me up with a pair of glasses that not only did not fit, but a prescription that continued to give me headaches. I was told by both the professionals and by friends that I would get over the headaches, just hang in there. The technology was there to help me, but I also had to take some ownership of the change, find another path and professional and say, "this isn't working. I need to try something else." Now I have a pair of glasses that not only fits my head, but hasn't given me a headache in three days (along with a really big plus--my wife says they look good on me--that I look "distinguished," giving me that look that I'm looking good). Embracing what God is revealing in the world is linked to a personal and congregational fear of failure. Once personal or congregational life deteriorates over a period of time, then a fear of failure to see and try new things can be the next obstacle, exacerbating the deterioration. Once I embraced the idea of wearing glasses, then went through the hassle of getting them, and then they didn't work, I considered giving up. I didn't want to deal with the headaches. But I was driven to see better, beyond the pain, and I tried the experience again. I am pleased with the results and ready to move forward.
For a more amusing version for movie lovers, consider Uncle Rico from Napoleon Dynamite--he spends most of the movie wondering what could have been and ruminating on the past, rather than looking toward the future. Rico is rigid about his understanding of the past, which inhibits his future.
I continue to return to the Baptism of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark and how the voice of God and the identity of Jesus is continually expanding its revelation--to Jesus himself, his followers, and the world. Being stuck in a previous identity and fearing the work of the future inhibits participation in the ongoing and expanding revelation of the power of God. I know I don't see perfectly, but I know that God is revealing anew all the time. I want to see it, and I have to be flexible with my vision in order to participate in the revelation of God.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Why I joined Facebook (finally)
I was never going to join Facebook because my friends said I should. I find it challenging enough to strengthen my primary relationships. I don't need Facebook telling me every time I log on about connections I need to be making. This introvert is overwhelmed by those thoughts.
I think an introvert, non-Digital Native makes reflective choices about how they are going to be present in public through social media, and I took a long time reflecting on what it meant for me to participate on Facebook.
What drove me to make the move? I think it's been over two years since I began receiving invitations. I don't expect my joining Facebook is a big deal to anyone else, but it had to make sense to me.
1. As a pastor, I am a communicator. That is my job. Jesus went to the people, and I am attempting to follow that example. Communication is also part of what makes me who I am. As a steward and student of communication, I can make choices about how I communicate (how frequently, the kinds of things I choose to post, etc.). However, I was persuaded that I could no longer afford to make the choice not to communicate in some ways at all.
2. The Social Network film inspired the sociology and communication student in me.
Seth Godin gave me a Facebook caveat reminding me to be a good communication steward, which my brother stated much more succinctly, "Facebook is a time suck." I don't need to contribute to the noise in the world, but make my communication count. Godin doesn't spend time on Twitter or Facebook. He puts out the only blog in which I read every entry.
I'll still enjoy seeing my friends on Facebook. It was fun to shock some of them by joining.
I think an introvert, non-Digital Native makes reflective choices about how they are going to be present in public through social media, and I took a long time reflecting on what it meant for me to participate on Facebook.
What drove me to make the move? I think it's been over two years since I began receiving invitations. I don't expect my joining Facebook is a big deal to anyone else, but it had to make sense to me.
1. As a pastor, I am a communicator. That is my job. Jesus went to the people, and I am attempting to follow that example. Communication is also part of what makes me who I am. As a steward and student of communication, I can make choices about how I communicate (how frequently, the kinds of things I choose to post, etc.). However, I was persuaded that I could no longer afford to make the choice not to communicate in some ways at all.
2. The Social Network film inspired the sociology and communication student in me.
Seth Godin gave me a Facebook caveat reminding me to be a good communication steward, which my brother stated much more succinctly, "Facebook is a time suck." I don't need to contribute to the noise in the world, but make my communication count. Godin doesn't spend time on Twitter or Facebook. He puts out the only blog in which I read every entry.
I'll still enjoy seeing my friends on Facebook. It was fun to shock some of them by joining.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Zaccheus and the Faith-Work Connection
Zaccheus (Luke 19) reflects something the church appears to desire from a giver. "I will give half of my possessions to the poor." If Christians are looking for a non-deity example of a giver, Zaccheus makes a top ten list.
Is half of anyone's possessions truly desired? Even by the poor? A good friend of mine was serving in a congregation in Baton Rouge, Louisiana during the time of Hurricane Katrina. What blew his mind was how many people used Hurricane Katrina as an opportunity to unload the accumulated junk from their basements, garages and storage units. He was apoplectic at the lack of discretion in donation: "Stop sending us your s***! People devastated by Katrina don't need any of it." He told me that it took volunteers months before they could sort through everything, and a majority of the items were unfit on many levels: caked with mold, coated with cobwebs, rendered useless with cracks. A few months after Katrina, I saw it myself, churches and other service agencies with spray-painted plywood signs: "No Donations." "No Clothing Donations." "Please, no more donations." My friend told me that for weeks, used (not gently) items were left piled high by the church entrance each morning. His congregation eventually put up a sign turning away donations. There's more to giving to the poor than making the poor one's own personal dump.
Does Zaccheus have a lot of stuff, or merely money? Which half of his possessions would he give to the poor: the stuff he doesn't want, the best stuff, or somewhere in between? Luke 19 doesn't give the answers to these questions, so I'm not exactly certain this story is about Zaccheus' ability as a giver. What I came to notice was the response in observance of Jesus squatting at Zaccheus' house. Typical to the Synoptic Gospels, Jesus draws critique for hanging out with tax collectors and other kinds of sinners. Zaccheus appears to be an honest tax collector and takes pride in his work. If this is not the case, then Zaccheus will drive himself to poverty if he has to follow through with his proclamation: if he has been a fraudulent tax collector, then he will return the money and quadruple it. Zaccheus is either grandstanding or setting an ethical standard. I'm going with the latter.
Zaccheus reflects an opportunity that all human beings have through their work--to reflect grace given in Jesus Christ. Zaccheus receives grace in that Jesus breaks through a social stigma to show grace to Zaccheus, one who is reviled in the culture. I'm not certain that Zaccheus is generous (though it's possible). I am certain that Zaccheus' work is valued as an opportunity to bear the grace of God and that he sees his work as vocation--a calling. We don't know from the text about whom Jesus speaks in reference to the "lost (v.10)." Jesus doesn't ask Zaccheus to quit his job, but Jesus' grace has inspired Zaccheus to embrace his vocation by giving to the poor and striving for a higher level of vocational ethics. Maybe the "lost" in this story are the grumblers about Jesus' association with tax collectors--people who have a narrow view about what kind of work is holy. There have always been fraudulent tax collectors, but that does not mean that tax collection is inherently evil. An important teaching of the Jesus/Zaccheus story is that all work presents an opportunity for followers of Jesus to live out their faith through what they spend most of their waking hours doing.
Is half of anyone's possessions truly desired? Even by the poor? A good friend of mine was serving in a congregation in Baton Rouge, Louisiana during the time of Hurricane Katrina. What blew his mind was how many people used Hurricane Katrina as an opportunity to unload the accumulated junk from their basements, garages and storage units. He was apoplectic at the lack of discretion in donation: "Stop sending us your s***! People devastated by Katrina don't need any of it." He told me that it took volunteers months before they could sort through everything, and a majority of the items were unfit on many levels: caked with mold, coated with cobwebs, rendered useless with cracks. A few months after Katrina, I saw it myself, churches and other service agencies with spray-painted plywood signs: "No Donations." "No Clothing Donations." "Please, no more donations." My friend told me that for weeks, used (not gently) items were left piled high by the church entrance each morning. His congregation eventually put up a sign turning away donations. There's more to giving to the poor than making the poor one's own personal dump.
Does Zaccheus have a lot of stuff, or merely money? Which half of his possessions would he give to the poor: the stuff he doesn't want, the best stuff, or somewhere in between? Luke 19 doesn't give the answers to these questions, so I'm not exactly certain this story is about Zaccheus' ability as a giver. What I came to notice was the response in observance of Jesus squatting at Zaccheus' house. Typical to the Synoptic Gospels, Jesus draws critique for hanging out with tax collectors and other kinds of sinners. Zaccheus appears to be an honest tax collector and takes pride in his work. If this is not the case, then Zaccheus will drive himself to poverty if he has to follow through with his proclamation: if he has been a fraudulent tax collector, then he will return the money and quadruple it. Zaccheus is either grandstanding or setting an ethical standard. I'm going with the latter.
Zaccheus reflects an opportunity that all human beings have through their work--to reflect grace given in Jesus Christ. Zaccheus receives grace in that Jesus breaks through a social stigma to show grace to Zaccheus, one who is reviled in the culture. I'm not certain that Zaccheus is generous (though it's possible). I am certain that Zaccheus' work is valued as an opportunity to bear the grace of God and that he sees his work as vocation--a calling. We don't know from the text about whom Jesus speaks in reference to the "lost (v.10)." Jesus doesn't ask Zaccheus to quit his job, but Jesus' grace has inspired Zaccheus to embrace his vocation by giving to the poor and striving for a higher level of vocational ethics. Maybe the "lost" in this story are the grumblers about Jesus' association with tax collectors--people who have a narrow view about what kind of work is holy. There have always been fraudulent tax collectors, but that does not mean that tax collection is inherently evil. An important teaching of the Jesus/Zaccheus story is that all work presents an opportunity for followers of Jesus to live out their faith through what they spend most of their waking hours doing.
Friday, July 30, 2010
The Cautionary Tale of the Whitman Mission
While I lived in South Dakota, I read about anything I could about the Pacific Northwest. I missed the connections to the familiar, comforting, yet mystifying land. I missed the mist on my skin that dampened me, yet didn't get me wet. I missed the salty air that reminded me of the bountiful sea and all its creatures, both familiar and alien. I missed the evergreens that served as green sentries that guided my paths. Though I could only visit my beloved Washington about once or twice per year, through the research and story telling of others, my own stories, memories and observations were fertilized for a time when I would not be part of the Pacific Northwest diaspora, but a participant observer replanted in my land of origin.
Years passed before I made a connection between God and the land. I knew that God created the heavens and the Earth, but I was directed in my thoughts toward an understanding that God cared more about humans than the land itself. As I studied the Old Testament in seminary, I realized the land is a much more powerful character and player in biblical story and that place matters throughout scripture--though the land and place are not widely researched in theological circles, I have come to appreciate the distinctive nature of place sociologically and theologically. John Inge (a bishop in the Church of England) and Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann address theological questions of place and land.
While reading a Pacific Northwest history by Carlos Schwantes, I encountered a new story to me, the story of a massacre at the Whitman mission in southeast Washington state, near Walla Walla. On November 29, 1847, 13 people were killed at the mission site by peoples of the Cayuse and Umatilla tribes. Numerous interpretations of the events surrounding the massacre exist, but the story represents many tensions for me as a local theologian, pastor, student, and native of the Pacific Northwest. The Whitmans came to the region prepared to deliver their way of life to the Cayuse and Umatilla peoples--a way of life that included Jesus Christ, their own culture and agriculture. My impression of the Whitmans is that they saw their work as operating in a single direction. They were the givers and the aboriginal peoples were the receivers. I don't perceive much listening going on, only telling. Naturally, the Cayuse and Umatilla resisted ways contrary to their own way of life, especially so since they did not adapt to row crop cultivation well. It was challenging to learn about Jesus when row crops were seen as a path to Jesus. The Whitmans and their coworkers were carriers for a measles epidemic that wiped out half of the local tribe population. The tribes responded to these developments with violence, and the missionary endeavors in the area were ended for well over a generation.
I still have a lot to learn about the Whitman mission story. It may become a topic for deeper study in my future. On my recent family trip, my family and I visited the Whitman Mission National Historical Site (part of the National Park system). I hope to return when I have more research time and search some of the archives at nearby Whitman College. I learned much from this story and my own understanding of Christian ministry and mission. Some factors remain in my ongoing consideration:
1. The local religious landscape in the Pacific Northwest has always struggled to support Christian ministry and cultural endeavors related to Christian ministry for centuries. Though it is no longer at the bottom of the of the list of percentage of religious adherents (Maine is now at the bottom), it takes significantly more work for Christians to gain influence in the region than in other places where I have lived and worked.
2. Is there an appropriate balance between Christian ministry as proclamation and listening? In my early studies of the Whitman massacre, it appears that the actions of the Whitmans moved more toward proclamation than listening and understanding the Umatilla and Cayuse peoples. The Whitman story provides a cautionary tale for me on many levels. I believe in God's redemptive work through the Church, but am I the appropriate proclaimer? I find myself much more interested and driven to understand than to proclaim. Understanding is a relative term--it seems sometimes that the more I learn, the less I understand--but understanding is more about posture than accomplishment. Interim ministry for me has been a ministry of understanding congregations (again, understanding is relative), and using that understanding for the people of God in a particular place to follow their calling in God's preferred future for them.
3. Though it takes great courage and energy to make a proclamation (Marcus Whitman made several round trips from the mission to the East Coast to garner support for the mission in a time where such distance travel was tiring, dangerous and often deadly), sometimes I think it is much harder to listen, learn and understand--because the other cannot be controlled. The Whitmans did not have an opportunity to learn this lesson; they were killed before any change took place. This is part of the conflicting understanding about mission--I make quite a presumption when I think I know what is best for a group of people I serve, whereas we can take the opportunity to build relationship and name that God is already in that place, and together look at the Bible and look the culture and prayerfully see where God is together in hopes of imagining and living God's preferred future for that particular community.
I sometimes wonder whether these thoughts, experiences and learnings make me the right kind of pastor in this day and age, or whether I should find a different path to ministry. A colleague and friend once posed to me the key differences between proclamation and understanding and their relationship to vocation. I believe the distinction between proclamation and understanding is important, but the relationship to vocation is not so cut and dried. I may never feel comfortable in my vocation. I am provoked to proclamation, yet driven to understand. Through the Whitmans I read a cautionary tale, and I am alerted to the consequences on either end of the continuum of proclamation and understanding.
Years passed before I made a connection between God and the land. I knew that God created the heavens and the Earth, but I was directed in my thoughts toward an understanding that God cared more about humans than the land itself. As I studied the Old Testament in seminary, I realized the land is a much more powerful character and player in biblical story and that place matters throughout scripture--though the land and place are not widely researched in theological circles, I have come to appreciate the distinctive nature of place sociologically and theologically. John Inge (a bishop in the Church of England) and Old Testament scholar Walter Brueggemann address theological questions of place and land.
While reading a Pacific Northwest history by Carlos Schwantes, I encountered a new story to me, the story of a massacre at the Whitman mission in southeast Washington state, near Walla Walla. On November 29, 1847, 13 people were killed at the mission site by peoples of the Cayuse and Umatilla tribes. Numerous interpretations of the events surrounding the massacre exist, but the story represents many tensions for me as a local theologian, pastor, student, and native of the Pacific Northwest. The Whitmans came to the region prepared to deliver their way of life to the Cayuse and Umatilla peoples--a way of life that included Jesus Christ, their own culture and agriculture. My impression of the Whitmans is that they saw their work as operating in a single direction. They were the givers and the aboriginal peoples were the receivers. I don't perceive much listening going on, only telling. Naturally, the Cayuse and Umatilla resisted ways contrary to their own way of life, especially so since they did not adapt to row crop cultivation well. It was challenging to learn about Jesus when row crops were seen as a path to Jesus. The Whitmans and their coworkers were carriers for a measles epidemic that wiped out half of the local tribe population. The tribes responded to these developments with violence, and the missionary endeavors in the area were ended for well over a generation.
I still have a lot to learn about the Whitman mission story. It may become a topic for deeper study in my future. On my recent family trip, my family and I visited the Whitman Mission National Historical Site (part of the National Park system). I hope to return when I have more research time and search some of the archives at nearby Whitman College. I learned much from this story and my own understanding of Christian ministry and mission. Some factors remain in my ongoing consideration:
1. The local religious landscape in the Pacific Northwest has always struggled to support Christian ministry and cultural endeavors related to Christian ministry for centuries. Though it is no longer at the bottom of the of the list of percentage of religious adherents (Maine is now at the bottom), it takes significantly more work for Christians to gain influence in the region than in other places where I have lived and worked.
2. Is there an appropriate balance between Christian ministry as proclamation and listening? In my early studies of the Whitman massacre, it appears that the actions of the Whitmans moved more toward proclamation than listening and understanding the Umatilla and Cayuse peoples. The Whitman story provides a cautionary tale for me on many levels. I believe in God's redemptive work through the Church, but am I the appropriate proclaimer? I find myself much more interested and driven to understand than to proclaim. Understanding is a relative term--it seems sometimes that the more I learn, the less I understand--but understanding is more about posture than accomplishment. Interim ministry for me has been a ministry of understanding congregations (again, understanding is relative), and using that understanding for the people of God in a particular place to follow their calling in God's preferred future for them.
3. Though it takes great courage and energy to make a proclamation (Marcus Whitman made several round trips from the mission to the East Coast to garner support for the mission in a time where such distance travel was tiring, dangerous and often deadly), sometimes I think it is much harder to listen, learn and understand--because the other cannot be controlled. The Whitmans did not have an opportunity to learn this lesson; they were killed before any change took place. This is part of the conflicting understanding about mission--I make quite a presumption when I think I know what is best for a group of people I serve, whereas we can take the opportunity to build relationship and name that God is already in that place, and together look at the Bible and look the culture and prayerfully see where God is together in hopes of imagining and living God's preferred future for that particular community.
I sometimes wonder whether these thoughts, experiences and learnings make me the right kind of pastor in this day and age, or whether I should find a different path to ministry. A colleague and friend once posed to me the key differences between proclamation and understanding and their relationship to vocation. I believe the distinction between proclamation and understanding is important, but the relationship to vocation is not so cut and dried. I may never feel comfortable in my vocation. I am provoked to proclamation, yet driven to understand. Through the Whitmans I read a cautionary tale, and I am alerted to the consequences on either end of the continuum of proclamation and understanding.
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