How does where you live--culture, environment, physical surroundings and their corresponding relationships affect how you look at the world? How does it affect how you look at faith and congregational life?
My passion for these questions took a sabbatical over the past few years. After living for 20 years in the Midwest, I moved with my family to the Seattle metro, where I grew up before taking off for college and early adulthood. I am thankful for the relationships (where I met my wife), mentoring and opportunity in the Midwest (I lived and worked in rural and urban areas in KS, MN, WI, SD and IA). However, there was always some dissonance about my perceptions (particularly of faith and congregational life).
That dissonance runs both ways. I watched it last night at a grant planning meeting, where my Minnesota-native wife raised a particular point to the group. Someone responded, "is that a Midwest (church) thing?" No, Melanie responded, the congregational cultural attribute was part of her Las Vegas congregation, where she served her internship. She hears this kind of question/response loop in her work with congregations. In the particular expression of Lutheranism in the Pacific Northwest, it is common to hear about the church prowess of the Lutheran Holy Land of the Northern Great Plains (MN, ND, SD, IA), with the implication that the Pacific Northwest expression is somehow inferior. It appears from folk culture to church structure to leadership orientation.
One of my colleagues in South Dakota and I discussed this dissonance of place and perception on occasion. I had perceived that sometimes the Midwestern ethos is connected to a moral superiority. I had collected a series of op-ed pieces and letters to the editor that rejected the values of the West Coast and espoused the life in South Dakota. I was attempting to interpret what was behind that understanding. She responded that a Coastal ethos often depicts a cultural superiority. It was hard to disagree with either observation.
In congregational life the diversity of backgrounds is hard to ignore. For every perception of a degree of homogeneity, there are several divergent variables that affect perceptions and relationships. I remember seminary days with scholars and students who espoused some kind of pure faith and theology where culture didn't matter, and that somehow that pure theology could exist in a vacuum. To say there is a pure Christianity apart from culture reeks of gnosticism, where only insiders get to know and understand the "pure" theology.
Today's reflection was inspired by Kansas native Chris Suellentrop and his thoughts on the Kansas City sports landscape. Maybe you're interested in sports and place. If not, what caught my attention was one particular observation about the intersection of place and life, and one that didn't come from a Midwest outsider like me (if you don't want to read the entire article):
"Combine this romantic, backward-looking vision with the traditional Midwestern delusion that you are more American than the rest of the country, and you're left with a strikingly insular self-conception, a sense that you are in a place in righteous decline."--Chris Suellentrop, grantland.com, 7/7/11
That post re-awakened in me the importance of place as a variable to understanding our relationships with God and one another. It made me think about what it means to be a Lutheran Christian in the United States. Who once lived in the Midwest and married someone from the Midwest. Who loves everything about the geography of the Pacific Northwest (reacquainting myself with this love has distracted me from the deeper questions--they're now back). All of these things affect my relationship and vocation. The question is how? What does it mean?
Place matters. For a person of faith, place matters. The Bible features several stories and reflection about the land--think about the Promised Land. Even buildings receive special billing--the Bible features several stories about building programs. There is lament and hope intertwined with building destruction and reconstruction, and all that goes into the construction and recognition of place.
The question for me about the intersection between place and life is not that it exists, but how and why? What do you think?
Showing posts with label Midwest. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Midwest. Show all posts
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Mainline Recovery
I didn't learn the term Mainline Protestant until my seminary days. During seminary, I increased applied dexterity of its usage, as I observed professors and students analyzing, discussing and lamenting both perceived and documented denominational relationships, strengths, weaknesses, cultural influence, history, theologies and mission partnerships.
Calling the denominations of Mainline Protestantism "Mainline," is similar to identifying myself an athlete, even though I haven't been a competitive athlete since the 1990's. My ability level has changed ever since I needed reconstructive knee surgery in 2004. I was an athlete at one time, but I would be delusional to call myself an athlete now, even though I still participate in fitness. I still put together enough training to race or prepare my body for a physical test of some sort, but I am no athlete. The fact that I am no longer an athlete does not deny my humanity. I still need to practice faithful stewardship of the body God gave me--I have other endeavors in which to serve God that require energy, thought, discernment, articulation, concentration, and occasionally a need to run. My body still needs to be at its best. But I am not an athlete.
The nomenclature of "Mainline" remains stuck in both academic and ecclesiological parlance. This usage is also delusional much like any self-identification as an athlete. Just because the denominations of the Mainline have been in decline for the better half of a century does not take away that these denominations are still part of the body of Christ. They still have an opportunity for faithful service in the name of Christ. Like a professional athlete, it's challenging to give up the broad social influence it once had. Professional athletes retire over and over again, hoping to regain a sliver of influence they once had, because it feels good (ask Brett Favre and Michael Jordan). Mainline Protestant denominations still approach their contexts recognizing their denominations have been in decline for decades, but energy is focused on who or what is to blame. A sense of entitlement of broad social influence rings in writing and speeches of Mainline Protestant denominational leaders--this entitlement showed in worship wars and the living on the back end of the church growth movement, as well as today's battles over human sexuality. Denominations of Mainline Protestant traditions continue trying to catch lightning in a bottle, hoping to grow the church. We love to stack our delusions on top of each other.
I do think my Mainline Protestant colleagues are turning a corner. Maybe we're progressing through the stages of grief and embracing a spirit of faithfulness. Growing up in the Pacific Northwest, I never understood the culture of broad social influence of Mainline Protestantism. I saw remnants of this during my years in the Midwest, but like any individual or group in recovery, there's a desire to name the hurts of the past. I still think "Mainline" is delusional. I've tried to create my own terminology to identify the past. I tried "20th Century Brand Protestantism," which receives the occasional courtesy laugh, but doesn't enter into conversations. Mainline Protestants are in recovery, and in the midst of discovering how God desires us to participate in the body of Christ and follow through in faith, we'll occasionally need to talk about what was. As long as we recovering Mainline Protestants aren't delusional about our applications and place in society, we can call our collective traditions what we want, and I'll stop pulling out my hair. I can't afford to do that, anyway.
Calling the denominations of Mainline Protestantism "Mainline," is similar to identifying myself an athlete, even though I haven't been a competitive athlete since the 1990's. My ability level has changed ever since I needed reconstructive knee surgery in 2004. I was an athlete at one time, but I would be delusional to call myself an athlete now, even though I still participate in fitness. I still put together enough training to race or prepare my body for a physical test of some sort, but I am no athlete. The fact that I am no longer an athlete does not deny my humanity. I still need to practice faithful stewardship of the body God gave me--I have other endeavors in which to serve God that require energy, thought, discernment, articulation, concentration, and occasionally a need to run. My body still needs to be at its best. But I am not an athlete.
The nomenclature of "Mainline" remains stuck in both academic and ecclesiological parlance. This usage is also delusional much like any self-identification as an athlete. Just because the denominations of the Mainline have been in decline for the better half of a century does not take away that these denominations are still part of the body of Christ. They still have an opportunity for faithful service in the name of Christ. Like a professional athlete, it's challenging to give up the broad social influence it once had. Professional athletes retire over and over again, hoping to regain a sliver of influence they once had, because it feels good (ask Brett Favre and Michael Jordan). Mainline Protestant denominations still approach their contexts recognizing their denominations have been in decline for decades, but energy is focused on who or what is to blame. A sense of entitlement of broad social influence rings in writing and speeches of Mainline Protestant denominational leaders--this entitlement showed in worship wars and the living on the back end of the church growth movement, as well as today's battles over human sexuality. Denominations of Mainline Protestant traditions continue trying to catch lightning in a bottle, hoping to grow the church. We love to stack our delusions on top of each other.
I do think my Mainline Protestant colleagues are turning a corner. Maybe we're progressing through the stages of grief and embracing a spirit of faithfulness. Growing up in the Pacific Northwest, I never understood the culture of broad social influence of Mainline Protestantism. I saw remnants of this during my years in the Midwest, but like any individual or group in recovery, there's a desire to name the hurts of the past. I still think "Mainline" is delusional. I've tried to create my own terminology to identify the past. I tried "20th Century Brand Protestantism," which receives the occasional courtesy laugh, but doesn't enter into conversations. Mainline Protestants are in recovery, and in the midst of discovering how God desires us to participate in the body of Christ and follow through in faith, we'll occasionally need to talk about what was. As long as we recovering Mainline Protestants aren't delusional about our applications and place in society, we can call our collective traditions what we want, and I'll stop pulling out my hair. I can't afford to do that, anyway.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Living with a GPS in a world of assumptions
I am directionally challenged. In days of old when I received directions from another human being, it didn't matter whether I received a series of landmarks, turns, or a series of distances and points on a compass. Sooner or later, confusion sets in. Maybe the wiring in my brain resists directions. Pulling over to a gas station to ask for directions was a different kind of ego bruise for me than for many men who are the subject of scorn for resisting directional help.
I do not understand the directions I am given. I'm not sure whether the disconnect involves the person giving the directions or my ability to hear the directions, or a combination thereof. I loathe frustrating others with my incompetence. Occasionally I ask for clarification of directions, but usually I give up, try to remember some of what I was told, and hope for the best.
GPS technology changed my outlook in finding my destination. Granted, a GPS presents its own set of problems. They are not perfect computer devices. But I am completely responsible for my lack of understanding. Shame and frustration need not be transferred to another person. I embrace the concept of interdependence, but with directions, no thank you.
I got lost this morning going to a park off the beaten path. My GPS failed to reveal the destination; it wanted to send me either 90 miles to the east, or in someone's yard. I drove around for about an hour. I laughed about my folly and shared the foolishness with others after I finally found the place. Every person with whom I shared the odyssey proceeded to give me directions to a place I had already been, and I still didn't understand. This is why I do not ask people for directions.
I am reminded of how communities are guided by assumptions. About 8 years ago, I made the rounds to several Confirmation receptions linked to a congregation I was serving. In these days before GPS, I had to rely on directions from people. In the early years of Mapquest, that site failed to help: the houses almost never had numbers, and many times there were no street signs. One could often write down the name of the person (even the nickname) and the town on an envelope, and that person would receive that mailing. While receiving directions to get to the receptions, someone told me to "head north on the oil road and turn east at the house that used to be blue." It took me a few months to figure out what an oil road was, but the prospect of figuring out what house used to be blue was more than I could take.
Much of congregational life is governed by cultural idiosyncrasies and a set of local assumptions. These marks of uniqueness aren't necessarily bad, but they often have no theological underpinnings and can often create separation that is not intended, yet still present. Even in a GPS world and with people like me (are there?) who don't always understand direction, a little direction is needed, along with copious amounts of hospitality. I believe it's almost impossible to give either direction or gracious hospitality unless we are aware of our assumptions. What are your congregational assumptions? Are assumptions confused with theological truth? How can congregational assumptions be addressed in order to connect with our neighbors and people whom we encounter along the way? Jesus alerts his followers to consider the neighbor.
I do not understand the directions I am given. I'm not sure whether the disconnect involves the person giving the directions or my ability to hear the directions, or a combination thereof. I loathe frustrating others with my incompetence. Occasionally I ask for clarification of directions, but usually I give up, try to remember some of what I was told, and hope for the best.
GPS technology changed my outlook in finding my destination. Granted, a GPS presents its own set of problems. They are not perfect computer devices. But I am completely responsible for my lack of understanding. Shame and frustration need not be transferred to another person. I embrace the concept of interdependence, but with directions, no thank you.
I got lost this morning going to a park off the beaten path. My GPS failed to reveal the destination; it wanted to send me either 90 miles to the east, or in someone's yard. I drove around for about an hour. I laughed about my folly and shared the foolishness with others after I finally found the place. Every person with whom I shared the odyssey proceeded to give me directions to a place I had already been, and I still didn't understand. This is why I do not ask people for directions.
I am reminded of how communities are guided by assumptions. About 8 years ago, I made the rounds to several Confirmation receptions linked to a congregation I was serving. In these days before GPS, I had to rely on directions from people. In the early years of Mapquest, that site failed to help: the houses almost never had numbers, and many times there were no street signs. One could often write down the name of the person (even the nickname) and the town on an envelope, and that person would receive that mailing. While receiving directions to get to the receptions, someone told me to "head north on the oil road and turn east at the house that used to be blue." It took me a few months to figure out what an oil road was, but the prospect of figuring out what house used to be blue was more than I could take.
Much of congregational life is governed by cultural idiosyncrasies and a set of local assumptions. These marks of uniqueness aren't necessarily bad, but they often have no theological underpinnings and can often create separation that is not intended, yet still present. Even in a GPS world and with people like me (are there?) who don't always understand direction, a little direction is needed, along with copious amounts of hospitality. I believe it's almost impossible to give either direction or gracious hospitality unless we are aware of our assumptions. What are your congregational assumptions? Are assumptions confused with theological truth? How can congregational assumptions be addressed in order to connect with our neighbors and people whom we encounter along the way? Jesus alerts his followers to consider the neighbor.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
My Tenuous Time in the Sun
This week I am attending a writing workshop in Collegeville, Minnesota, home of St. John's University. SJU is host to the Collegeville Institute, an center devoted to ecumenical relationships and cultural pursuits. The Collegeville Institute offers hospitality, space and resources to writers, from those with little experience to great writers on spiritual subjects like Kathleen Norris and Parker Palmer. Here you can learn more about the work of the Collegeville Institute.
I applied for this workshop, funded by the Lilly Endowment to improve my writing. Blogging has reaquainted with me with my love for writing. Now that I am in the habit, investing time and money into my writing is more worthwhile. I want to improve my work. I've been blessed to have a few articles published over the years. Writing is growing as an opportunity for ministry, especially with blogs and other easier avenues to publish writing and connect a message with people. Below is a piece I wrote to address an assignment to work with metaphor. It's not my typical writing, but I'm glad to be stretched in the craft. Your comments are appreciated.
I laugh at weather forecasters, not because of their tenuous relationship with preciseness, but because of their blatant persecution of cloudiness. The only way clouds are depicted positively is when children lie on their backs and see animal shapes in clouds; when farmers pray on their knees and ask for moisture on crops; when mayors hope in their hearts for a break in the heat wave to stave off death.
Clouds are my companion: sometimes they sit with me, sometimes they move with me, sometimes they share moods with me. Clouds are my frame: they provide a landscape for sunshine, an inkling for stormtracks, a shield for brilliance. Clouds are my comfort, surrounding me, covering me, resting me. If the clouds go away for a time, I gravitate toward my basement to find my center—a dark place, a cool place, a shielded place. It is in that darker place where the light is limited that I can ponder the wonders of the cosmos, find my place in the universe and eventually meet my path back to see the radiance of the sun, if but only for a few moments, yet never fully.
I see value in the sun, I appreciate the sun, I love the sun, but I cannot stand in the full glory of the sun; too much sun hurts my eyes, hurts my head, points to death. In the attic of my memory my mother once walked on the path to death with melanoma. She lived. I am thankful, yet careful. I look toward the sun with wonder; I do not look toward the sun with contempt.
When considering my return to Minnesota, fearful of the brilliant sun that bordered on oppression that I once knew, I wondered as much about the weather as I did the writing. Will the clouds elude me? Will the rain nourish me? Will the sun insult me? I found peace and retreat looking at the lakeshore this morning, thankful for the gift that the full brilliance of the sun was accompanied with the grace and companionship of the clouds.
I applied for this workshop, funded by the Lilly Endowment to improve my writing. Blogging has reaquainted with me with my love for writing. Now that I am in the habit, investing time and money into my writing is more worthwhile. I want to improve my work. I've been blessed to have a few articles published over the years. Writing is growing as an opportunity for ministry, especially with blogs and other easier avenues to publish writing and connect a message with people. Below is a piece I wrote to address an assignment to work with metaphor. It's not my typical writing, but I'm glad to be stretched in the craft. Your comments are appreciated.
I laugh at weather forecasters, not because of their tenuous relationship with preciseness, but because of their blatant persecution of cloudiness. The only way clouds are depicted positively is when children lie on their backs and see animal shapes in clouds; when farmers pray on their knees and ask for moisture on crops; when mayors hope in their hearts for a break in the heat wave to stave off death.
Clouds are my companion: sometimes they sit with me, sometimes they move with me, sometimes they share moods with me. Clouds are my frame: they provide a landscape for sunshine, an inkling for stormtracks, a shield for brilliance. Clouds are my comfort, surrounding me, covering me, resting me. If the clouds go away for a time, I gravitate toward my basement to find my center—a dark place, a cool place, a shielded place. It is in that darker place where the light is limited that I can ponder the wonders of the cosmos, find my place in the universe and eventually meet my path back to see the radiance of the sun, if but only for a few moments, yet never fully.
I see value in the sun, I appreciate the sun, I love the sun, but I cannot stand in the full glory of the sun; too much sun hurts my eyes, hurts my head, points to death. In the attic of my memory my mother once walked on the path to death with melanoma. She lived. I am thankful, yet careful. I look toward the sun with wonder; I do not look toward the sun with contempt.
When considering my return to Minnesota, fearful of the brilliant sun that bordered on oppression that I once knew, I wondered as much about the weather as I did the writing. Will the clouds elude me? Will the rain nourish me? Will the sun insult me? I found peace and retreat looking at the lakeshore this morning, thankful for the gift that the full brilliance of the sun was accompanied with the grace and companionship of the clouds.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Ten Commandments Mnemonic Used During Kid Sermon
Last Sunday, I had the highest adult participation during a kid sermon in my experience. People commenting to me wished they had a good memory device for the Ten Commandments back in Confirmation--and I gave them such a device. Their enthusiasm simultaneously reflected jubilation, relief and angst.
I can't take credit for the creation of the study help, only the delivery. I received the device in 1999 from my colleague in South Dakota, Nate Hanson, who served (still serving?) Moe Parish near Hudson, SD. I've used the device ever since. Maybe its origins are deeper, but I have no knowledge of its use outside of South Dakota. Since sharing the memory device, I've received several requests for a typed copy. A You Tube video seems most appropriate, but until I put that together, a blog post will have to suffice.
A Ten Commandments Mnemonic:
1. Hold up one finger. Point to your eye. "First Commandment: I am the Lord your God. You shall have no other gods."
2. Hold up two fingers. Reach the two fingers to touch the VEINS on your wrist. "Second Commandment: you shall not take the Lord's name in vain."
3. Hold up three fingers. Emphasize the HOLE made when holding up three fingers. Look through the hole. "Third Commandment: remember the Sabbath day. Keep it Hole-y."
4. Hold up four fingers. Hold the four fingers in preparation to salute. "Fourth Commandment: honor your father and mother." Salute.
5. Hold up five fingers. Point the thumb downward as to indicate a medieval death sentence. "You shall not kill."
6. Hold up six fingers (five fingers on one hand and the thumb on the other). Take the single thumb and stab yourself in the heart to depict the pain of adultery. "Sixth Commandment: you shall not commit adultery."
7. Hold up seven fingers (five fingers on one hand and the thumb and index finger on the other, as if pointing a gun and committing a robbery). "Seventh Commandment: you shall not steal."
8. Hold up eight fingers (four fingers on each hand, thumbs folded in). Make a downward scratching motion in the air in front of you. "Eighth Commandment: you shall not BEAR false witness against your neighbor."
9. Hold up nine fingers. Then hold out the nine fingers in front of you, palms up. Show the ring finger, a remembrance of marriage. "Ninth Commandment: you shall not covet your neighbor's wife."
10. Hold up ten fingers. Next, put the tips of fingers up to form a triangle above your head--to look like you are putting a roof over your head. "Tenth Commandment: you shall not cover your neighbor's HOUSE." Lay out one hand to one side and say, "man servant." Lay the other hand out to the other side and say, "maid servant." Take your two index fingers and put them on the side of your head to look like horns and say, "cattle." Lay both palms out and say, "or ANYTHING else that is your neighbor's."
With this mnemonic device, you have Ten Commandments spelled out. Obviously the commandments are not explained, but the device can be used as a base for teaching. In my experience, the commandment itself is memorized after only a few times through--and subsequent quick reviews help. The device works at Confirmation retreats or lessons, serves a quick review for adults, youth group, and keeps kids moving and thinking during a kid sermon or preschool chapel time. If you try it, let me know how it works for you. I can also take questions and would love to help any way I can.
I can't take credit for the creation of the study help, only the delivery. I received the device in 1999 from my colleague in South Dakota, Nate Hanson, who served (still serving?) Moe Parish near Hudson, SD. I've used the device ever since. Maybe its origins are deeper, but I have no knowledge of its use outside of South Dakota. Since sharing the memory device, I've received several requests for a typed copy. A You Tube video seems most appropriate, but until I put that together, a blog post will have to suffice.
A Ten Commandments Mnemonic:
1. Hold up one finger. Point to your eye. "First Commandment: I am the Lord your God. You shall have no other gods."
2. Hold up two fingers. Reach the two fingers to touch the VEINS on your wrist. "Second Commandment: you shall not take the Lord's name in vain."
3. Hold up three fingers. Emphasize the HOLE made when holding up three fingers. Look through the hole. "Third Commandment: remember the Sabbath day. Keep it Hole-y."
4. Hold up four fingers. Hold the four fingers in preparation to salute. "Fourth Commandment: honor your father and mother." Salute.
5. Hold up five fingers. Point the thumb downward as to indicate a medieval death sentence. "You shall not kill."
6. Hold up six fingers (five fingers on one hand and the thumb on the other). Take the single thumb and stab yourself in the heart to depict the pain of adultery. "Sixth Commandment: you shall not commit adultery."
7. Hold up seven fingers (five fingers on one hand and the thumb and index finger on the other, as if pointing a gun and committing a robbery). "Seventh Commandment: you shall not steal."
8. Hold up eight fingers (four fingers on each hand, thumbs folded in). Make a downward scratching motion in the air in front of you. "Eighth Commandment: you shall not BEAR false witness against your neighbor."
9. Hold up nine fingers. Then hold out the nine fingers in front of you, palms up. Show the ring finger, a remembrance of marriage. "Ninth Commandment: you shall not covet your neighbor's wife."
10. Hold up ten fingers. Next, put the tips of fingers up to form a triangle above your head--to look like you are putting a roof over your head. "Tenth Commandment: you shall not cover your neighbor's HOUSE." Lay out one hand to one side and say, "man servant." Lay the other hand out to the other side and say, "maid servant." Take your two index fingers and put them on the side of your head to look like horns and say, "cattle." Lay both palms out and say, "or ANYTHING else that is your neighbor's."
With this mnemonic device, you have Ten Commandments spelled out. Obviously the commandments are not explained, but the device can be used as a base for teaching. In my experience, the commandment itself is memorized after only a few times through--and subsequent quick reviews help. The device works at Confirmation retreats or lessons, serves a quick review for adults, youth group, and keeps kids moving and thinking during a kid sermon or preschool chapel time. If you try it, let me know how it works for you. I can also take questions and would love to help any way I can.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
40 day Journey with Martin Luther (Augsburg Books) Day 12: Won't you be my neighbor? The 7th Commandment and Merciful Leadership
Nowhere do I remember reading in this book that I was supposed to spend forty consecutive days with Martin Luther. Did Jesus spend 40 consecutive days in the wilderness? Did it rain for 40 consecutive days and nights for Noah and the Zoo on the Ark? Maybe the consecutive is implied in the original biblical languages--but I am going to keep working on this book, even though my Lenten discipline has been discombobulated.
"...we are commanded to promote and further our neighbors' interests, and when they suffer any want, we are to help, share, and lend to both friends and foes." --Martin Luther
I deeply appreciate how Martin Luther uses the word neighbor. Though some words can be put away because their lack of usage, loss in meaning, or that a word's meaning is altered, some words are worth exploring. Neighbor is one of those words. In some ways, neighbor is a value-neutral term, because in his writing on the Seventh Commandment, Christians are called to look out for the welfare of both friend and foe, not merely not take their stuff. Though Luther's application of this commandment has far reaching economic implications, I find this point particularly interesting for Lutheran Christians, considering that some Lutherans want to do as much damage as possible to the welfare of other Lutherans. I admire the work of my colleagues who have taken on reconciliation work in their fractured congregations over issues related to homosexuality and clergy. I have seen good leaders who are not merely trying to make peace in their congregations by saying "can't we just get along?" Or ignoring the situation. I am not that patient. I know that looking out for our neighbor's welfare means keeping in contact and listening to the neighbor--looking out for their interests. I believe this kind of action is modeling "further" our neighbor's interest. Another important component of examining this commandment is reflecting on Jesus' definition of "neighbor" in the parable of the Good Samaritan: a good neighbor shows mercy, regardless of being friend or foe. I immediately thought of a colleague (whom I do not know personally) Pastor Eric Lemonholm in Minnesota. I find some merciful and courageous leadership in that congregation. I'm sure the leadership or the congregation is not perfect, but it is merciful.
"...we are commanded to promote and further our neighbors' interests, and when they suffer any want, we are to help, share, and lend to both friends and foes." --Martin Luther
I deeply appreciate how Martin Luther uses the word neighbor. Though some words can be put away because their lack of usage, loss in meaning, or that a word's meaning is altered, some words are worth exploring. Neighbor is one of those words. In some ways, neighbor is a value-neutral term, because in his writing on the Seventh Commandment, Christians are called to look out for the welfare of both friend and foe, not merely not take their stuff. Though Luther's application of this commandment has far reaching economic implications, I find this point particularly interesting for Lutheran Christians, considering that some Lutherans want to do as much damage as possible to the welfare of other Lutherans. I admire the work of my colleagues who have taken on reconciliation work in their fractured congregations over issues related to homosexuality and clergy. I have seen good leaders who are not merely trying to make peace in their congregations by saying "can't we just get along?" Or ignoring the situation. I am not that patient. I know that looking out for our neighbor's welfare means keeping in contact and listening to the neighbor--looking out for their interests. I believe this kind of action is modeling "further" our neighbor's interest. Another important component of examining this commandment is reflecting on Jesus' definition of "neighbor" in the parable of the Good Samaritan: a good neighbor shows mercy, regardless of being friend or foe. I immediately thought of a colleague (whom I do not know personally) Pastor Eric Lemonholm in Minnesota. I find some merciful and courageous leadership in that congregation. I'm sure the leadership or the congregation is not perfect, but it is merciful.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Bishop coming for a visit: remembering connections
I do not have a deep ministry pedigree. Sometimes when I attend Lutheran events, I see pastors who are from families of long lines of pastors. That pastor could be 3rd, 4th or 5th generation clergy. The pastors that they know have similar backgrounds--and they are connected through historic Christian institutions--colleges, seminaries, congregations, synods can sometimes see long lines of relatives and friends. This is pedigree. It seems to be destiny as much as call that ministry is continued and celebrated.
I do not have this ministry pedigree. I know it doesn't matter to God that I am not from a long line of pastors. I am confident in my calling, even though I'm not necessarily sure where God wants me to be or what God wants me to do. I generally trust that I am doing what I am supposed to be doing during any period of time, and that God will provoke my own spirit when the time comes to search. Not having a ministry pedigree, however, makes me wonder about my place sometimes. How does God work in the midst of bureaucracy and pedigree? I do not know, only that I trust that God can work in any situation.
Next Sunday, Bishop Rob Hofstad from the Southwestern Washington Synod will come and preach at First Lutheran Community Church. Bishop Hofstad is one of the few people in ministry where I can make the statement "we go way back." Pedigree allows this kind of statement on a regular basis. Bishop Hofstad was my pastor during the four years I lived in Olympia, Washington (at Lutheran Church of the Good Shepherd), before I went off to college in the Midwest. We've kept some communication over the years as I moved toward and established my work in ordained ministry in the ELCA all over the Midwest. Bishop Hofstad is a gentle, balanced and wise soul. He is joyful, but not gregarious. He holds a deep faith and holds the faith of others in high esteem and care. I invited him to come preach at FLCC for a couple of reasons--one is selfish, the other is idealistic and helpful. The selfish reason is that after 20 years in the Midwest, I have returned to my land of origin. Bishop Hofstad shared the Gospel in a way that had an impact on me and in some way helped prepared me for what I am doing now, and he has offered encouragement on the way. To share worship with him in a congregation I serve feels like a milestone, or even coming full circle to a degree. It will be my extra pleasure to be in worship next Sunday.
The idealistic and helpful reason for Bishop Hofstad to join us is that it is deeply important that First Lutheran Community Church remember its connections with our Lutheran Christian sisters and brothers across the Southwestern Washington Synod and the rest of the ELCA and world. I am reminded of the importance of recognizing our connections as Bishop Hofstad is returning to Washington after nearly three weeks in Europe on an ecumenical delegation, meeting with various world Christian leaders, including Pope Benedict in Vatican City. Bishop Hofstad is not any more important than any one else in our portion of the Body of Christ, he only serves a particular calling. To me, Bishop Hofstad serves as a reminder of the meaning of our sisters and brothers in Christ--that we are called to encourage one another, offer our ideas and resources to one another, and build one another up. Bishop Hofstad doesn't have the all the answers to make those connections, yet he serves as a reminder of our particular callings from God in the world and that we are in this service to God and neighbor together.
I do not have this ministry pedigree. I know it doesn't matter to God that I am not from a long line of pastors. I am confident in my calling, even though I'm not necessarily sure where God wants me to be or what God wants me to do. I generally trust that I am doing what I am supposed to be doing during any period of time, and that God will provoke my own spirit when the time comes to search. Not having a ministry pedigree, however, makes me wonder about my place sometimes. How does God work in the midst of bureaucracy and pedigree? I do not know, only that I trust that God can work in any situation.
Next Sunday, Bishop Rob Hofstad from the Southwestern Washington Synod will come and preach at First Lutheran Community Church. Bishop Hofstad is one of the few people in ministry where I can make the statement "we go way back." Pedigree allows this kind of statement on a regular basis. Bishop Hofstad was my pastor during the four years I lived in Olympia, Washington (at Lutheran Church of the Good Shepherd), before I went off to college in the Midwest. We've kept some communication over the years as I moved toward and established my work in ordained ministry in the ELCA all over the Midwest. Bishop Hofstad is a gentle, balanced and wise soul. He is joyful, but not gregarious. He holds a deep faith and holds the faith of others in high esteem and care. I invited him to come preach at FLCC for a couple of reasons--one is selfish, the other is idealistic and helpful. The selfish reason is that after 20 years in the Midwest, I have returned to my land of origin. Bishop Hofstad shared the Gospel in a way that had an impact on me and in some way helped prepared me for what I am doing now, and he has offered encouragement on the way. To share worship with him in a congregation I serve feels like a milestone, or even coming full circle to a degree. It will be my extra pleasure to be in worship next Sunday.
The idealistic and helpful reason for Bishop Hofstad to join us is that it is deeply important that First Lutheran Community Church remember its connections with our Lutheran Christian sisters and brothers across the Southwestern Washington Synod and the rest of the ELCA and world. I am reminded of the importance of recognizing our connections as Bishop Hofstad is returning to Washington after nearly three weeks in Europe on an ecumenical delegation, meeting with various world Christian leaders, including Pope Benedict in Vatican City. Bishop Hofstad is not any more important than any one else in our portion of the Body of Christ, he only serves a particular calling. To me, Bishop Hofstad serves as a reminder of the meaning of our sisters and brothers in Christ--that we are called to encourage one another, offer our ideas and resources to one another, and build one another up. Bishop Hofstad doesn't have the all the answers to make those connections, yet he serves as a reminder of our particular callings from God in the world and that we are in this service to God and neighbor together.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Exercises in understanding Lutheran identity: the Pacific Northwest, Lutheran CORE, Garrison Keillor and the ELCA
Articulating the meaning and identity of Lutheran Christianity, like many branding activities, involves understanding public discourse and "buzz." Many wise people have written and spoken about the perils of establishing and affirming identity based on what you don't want to be or critiquing another group. Lutheran CORE and other similar groups of Lutherans are getting a lot of mileage and energy involving themselves in activities and discourse that sets them apart from the ELCA--strategy meetings with press releases, declarations of redirecting funds, etc. Some folks from the ELCA are responding similarly to messages publicized by Lutheran CORE. The reasons for this kind of identity building vary depending on the conversation--authority of Scripture, justice, and faithfulness to Lutheran teachings to name a few.
I remember early in my theological/vocational discernment (around 1993-94) that Luther Seminary was a cauldron of anxiety because the first "sexuality document" was published by the ELCA. Gerhard Forde and Arland Hultgren publicly debated sexuality and Scripture. Forde talked about the authority of Scripture, Hultgren talked about how contemporary understandings of sexuality were not what was being addressed in Scripture. The more I heard and read these kind of debates, the more I was confused as to what it means to be a Lutheran Christian. The more I learned about my Christian tradition at Luther Seminary and in the Upper Midwest in general, the more dissonance I experienced. I was originally drawn to remain a Lutheran Christian because I believed in the principle, "justification by grace, through faith (in Jesus Christ)." My faith in Jesus Christ was not threatened or encouraged by these debates. I was more puzzled than anything.
One of the many things that drew me to my wife, Melanie, is how she lived out her Lutheran Christian faith as she was studying and training to be an ordained minister of Word and Sacrament. She is driven and focused on serving her neighbor in the name of Christ, and she is passionate about encouraging others to do the same, using the gifts that God has given them. Even though our cultural backgrounds were different, we were drawn together because of this shared value. We met and were married at Luther Seminary and went out into the world to live out our shared values with a call to preach the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Whereas I have received encouragement from Melanie to live out my call through preaching and serving my neighbor, the message articulated by ELCA as a whole and in pockets is different and often puzzling. When I looked to the ELCA, the energy was directed toward the debate over sexuality, ministry and Scripture. When I looked around to the congregations and areas I served (I have served many as a minister of Word and Sacrament, in interim ministry, in consulting and teaching) I saw a congregations that confuse and intertwine "Lutheranism" with an ethnicity (mostly either a Scandinavian variety or German). I have written and preached about this confusion on multiple occasions. However, I'm not sure I have articulated the dissonance I have experienced and highlighted to my fellow Lutherans as well as my Lutheran clergy colleague (though we do not know each other) Nadia Bolz-Weber, Pastor of House for All Sinners and Saints in Denver, Colorado.
Bolz-Weber articulates the dissonance between ethnicity, faith and religion in her review of Garrison Keillor's latest book "Life Among Lutherans," appearing in The Christian Century: "But [Keillor's] generalizations about religion are troubling; the book has absolutely nothing to do with my religious tradition. Lutheran is not an ethnicity. Keillor's conflation of Scandinavian-American Midwestern small-town ethnicity with Lutheranism makes me want to become a Methodist..." I've been addressing this dissonance using different books, though the books I've been reading are more geeky than Keillor, and I might do well to discuss with my fellow Lutheran Christians about what it means to be Lutheran using Keillor's book than my choices (Wellman and Killen/Silk). I agree with Bolz-Weber, Keillor is a story teller par excellence, but I think more than multiple people (both Lutheran and non-Lutheran) have mistaken what it means to be Lutheran in a similar fashion to Keillor's stories. Lutheran is not an ethnicity.
Out here in the Pacific Northwest, though we recognize the struggles of our Lutheran sisters and brothers in other parts of the country, there is not as much energy dedicated to the conflation of ethnicity, faith and religion, or large scale debates about sexuality and ministry (it happens, just not frequently). We have our own issues out here, namely that we as Lutherans in the PNW tend to complain and spew negativity that the culture doesn't accommodate us, rather than see the "open religious market (see the aforementioned books)" as a unique opportunity to share the Gospel of Jesus Christ and serve our neighbor. I believe that Lutheran identity (as I was taught) can articulate the Gospel in a powerful way in this place. Pardon me if I don't want to direct my energy toward the buzz of current public discourse surrounding Lutherans. My colleague Nadia Bolz-Weber reminded me of my calling as a pastor at First Community Lutheran Church of Port Orchard, Washington, better than I have reminded myself lately.
I remember early in my theological/vocational discernment (around 1993-94) that Luther Seminary was a cauldron of anxiety because the first "sexuality document" was published by the ELCA. Gerhard Forde and Arland Hultgren publicly debated sexuality and Scripture. Forde talked about the authority of Scripture, Hultgren talked about how contemporary understandings of sexuality were not what was being addressed in Scripture. The more I heard and read these kind of debates, the more I was confused as to what it means to be a Lutheran Christian. The more I learned about my Christian tradition at Luther Seminary and in the Upper Midwest in general, the more dissonance I experienced. I was originally drawn to remain a Lutheran Christian because I believed in the principle, "justification by grace, through faith (in Jesus Christ)." My faith in Jesus Christ was not threatened or encouraged by these debates. I was more puzzled than anything.
One of the many things that drew me to my wife, Melanie, is how she lived out her Lutheran Christian faith as she was studying and training to be an ordained minister of Word and Sacrament. She is driven and focused on serving her neighbor in the name of Christ, and she is passionate about encouraging others to do the same, using the gifts that God has given them. Even though our cultural backgrounds were different, we were drawn together because of this shared value. We met and were married at Luther Seminary and went out into the world to live out our shared values with a call to preach the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Whereas I have received encouragement from Melanie to live out my call through preaching and serving my neighbor, the message articulated by ELCA as a whole and in pockets is different and often puzzling. When I looked to the ELCA, the energy was directed toward the debate over sexuality, ministry and Scripture. When I looked around to the congregations and areas I served (I have served many as a minister of Word and Sacrament, in interim ministry, in consulting and teaching) I saw a congregations that confuse and intertwine "Lutheranism" with an ethnicity (mostly either a Scandinavian variety or German). I have written and preached about this confusion on multiple occasions. However, I'm not sure I have articulated the dissonance I have experienced and highlighted to my fellow Lutherans as well as my Lutheran clergy colleague (though we do not know each other) Nadia Bolz-Weber, Pastor of House for All Sinners and Saints in Denver, Colorado.
Bolz-Weber articulates the dissonance between ethnicity, faith and religion in her review of Garrison Keillor's latest book "Life Among Lutherans," appearing in The Christian Century: "But [Keillor's] generalizations about religion are troubling; the book has absolutely nothing to do with my religious tradition. Lutheran is not an ethnicity. Keillor's conflation of Scandinavian-American Midwestern small-town ethnicity with Lutheranism makes me want to become a Methodist..." I've been addressing this dissonance using different books, though the books I've been reading are more geeky than Keillor, and I might do well to discuss with my fellow Lutheran Christians about what it means to be Lutheran using Keillor's book than my choices (Wellman and Killen/Silk). I agree with Bolz-Weber, Keillor is a story teller par excellence, but I think more than multiple people (both Lutheran and non-Lutheran) have mistaken what it means to be Lutheran in a similar fashion to Keillor's stories. Lutheran is not an ethnicity.
Out here in the Pacific Northwest, though we recognize the struggles of our Lutheran sisters and brothers in other parts of the country, there is not as much energy dedicated to the conflation of ethnicity, faith and religion, or large scale debates about sexuality and ministry (it happens, just not frequently). We have our own issues out here, namely that we as Lutherans in the PNW tend to complain and spew negativity that the culture doesn't accommodate us, rather than see the "open religious market (see the aforementioned books)" as a unique opportunity to share the Gospel of Jesus Christ and serve our neighbor. I believe that Lutheran identity (as I was taught) can articulate the Gospel in a powerful way in this place. Pardon me if I don't want to direct my energy toward the buzz of current public discourse surrounding Lutherans. My colleague Nadia Bolz-Weber reminded me of my calling as a pastor at First Community Lutheran Church of Port Orchard, Washington, better than I have reminded myself lately.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Anecdotal lassitude in my new/old synod
I'm starting to meet more people around my new/old synod in Southwestern Washington. It's new synod because my wife began serving here in May after 8 1/2 years in South Dakota, and I officially began here with a call in September. This is the third synod I've served in 11 years, and the hospitality is cordial. It's challenging to maneuver in new collegial circles, because colleague fellowship looks different in each place. I always find smart, gifted and faithful people. I'm not sure if I'm finding joyful people (outside of my ministry partner at First Lutheran Community Church--he could find joy in the most dire of circumstances).
The Southwestern Washington Synod is an old synod for me because it was my home base synod when I came home from college and seminary for breaks, and it sponsored my candidacy. The SW WA Synod didn't explicitly mean anything to me until I needed it for the candidacy process, and they were willing supporters and advocates. Once I made it through the candidacy process, Lutheran Church of the Good Shepherd in Olympia gave me a great send off in congratulating me and praying for me and my wife in ordination. We were off to the Greater Milwaukee Synod for our first calls--that synod was new to both Melanie and me and a great place to start our ministry. Regardless of where we have served, I could always find some level of joy in my colleagues. Sure, they complained sometimes like I did on our tired days. We were weighed down by committee responsibilities and anxious church councils, conflicts and stewardship. We grieved with our communities about deaths and changes that we didn't understand. But we were generally hopeful people together. It didn't matter if I was in an urban, suburban or rural setting communicating with local pastors, we also often talked about what God could be doing in our communities.
Since my return to the SW Washington Synod, I have seen the economy and the fallout from the Churchwide Assembly decisions weigh heavily on my colleagues. I have yet to meet a pastor whose congregation wasn't affected by either the economy, the decisions, or even the general downward trend in the denomination of attendance, membership and giving. Certainly, there have been bright spots regarding ministries. However, I'm missing out on joyful anticipation of God's action in my colleagues. The body language and level of conversation point a deflated sense of being. I hope God is breathing life into my colleagues. I think I can help and relay some hope--I have some things at First Lutheran Community Church for which I am hopeful. I have a group with whom I'm meeting on Sunday to discuss a new evangelism/outreach project. I have a Transition Team that will begin meeting in the next week or two--their enthusiasm is contagious. I also have a faithful and efficient staff with whom I work. But it's hard not to feel the effects of a negative trend. The people of God's lassitude from the downturn is palpable. Their slouch is noticeable. Am I imagining things? Is this lassitude I see anecdotal? Or are there pockets of hopefulness in God's mission that can be see beyond pain and together embrace an active and faithful God? Rather than trying to cut a church into prosperity, we can talk about taking risks, harnessing the power of the Holy Spirit, and ushering the creativity that God shared with us in the first place?
Maybe I'm not looking hard enough, or my observational scope is limited. Maybe I'm overly optimistic to see opportunity in what appears to be a greater challenge than mere pastors and congregations can bear. I hope my observations are merely anecdotal, and that in the next few days and weeks, I will hear joyful stories of anticipation in what God is doing with my sisters and brothers at their mission outposts in Southwestern Washington.
The Southwestern Washington Synod is an old synod for me because it was my home base synod when I came home from college and seminary for breaks, and it sponsored my candidacy. The SW WA Synod didn't explicitly mean anything to me until I needed it for the candidacy process, and they were willing supporters and advocates. Once I made it through the candidacy process, Lutheran Church of the Good Shepherd in Olympia gave me a great send off in congratulating me and praying for me and my wife in ordination. We were off to the Greater Milwaukee Synod for our first calls--that synod was new to both Melanie and me and a great place to start our ministry. Regardless of where we have served, I could always find some level of joy in my colleagues. Sure, they complained sometimes like I did on our tired days. We were weighed down by committee responsibilities and anxious church councils, conflicts and stewardship. We grieved with our communities about deaths and changes that we didn't understand. But we were generally hopeful people together. It didn't matter if I was in an urban, suburban or rural setting communicating with local pastors, we also often talked about what God could be doing in our communities.
Since my return to the SW Washington Synod, I have seen the economy and the fallout from the Churchwide Assembly decisions weigh heavily on my colleagues. I have yet to meet a pastor whose congregation wasn't affected by either the economy, the decisions, or even the general downward trend in the denomination of attendance, membership and giving. Certainly, there have been bright spots regarding ministries. However, I'm missing out on joyful anticipation of God's action in my colleagues. The body language and level of conversation point a deflated sense of being. I hope God is breathing life into my colleagues. I think I can help and relay some hope--I have some things at First Lutheran Community Church for which I am hopeful. I have a group with whom I'm meeting on Sunday to discuss a new evangelism/outreach project. I have a Transition Team that will begin meeting in the next week or two--their enthusiasm is contagious. I also have a faithful and efficient staff with whom I work. But it's hard not to feel the effects of a negative trend. The people of God's lassitude from the downturn is palpable. Their slouch is noticeable. Am I imagining things? Is this lassitude I see anecdotal? Or are there pockets of hopefulness in God's mission that can be see beyond pain and together embrace an active and faithful God? Rather than trying to cut a church into prosperity, we can talk about taking risks, harnessing the power of the Holy Spirit, and ushering the creativity that God shared with us in the first place?
Maybe I'm not looking hard enough, or my observational scope is limited. Maybe I'm overly optimistic to see opportunity in what appears to be a greater challenge than mere pastors and congregations can bear. I hope my observations are merely anecdotal, and that in the next few days and weeks, I will hear joyful stories of anticipation in what God is doing with my sisters and brothers at their mission outposts in Southwestern Washington.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Friendships are not low maintenance enterprises: learning on the open road
Writing is a lot like physical exercise--it doesn't take long for writing muscles to atrophy (figuratively). I haven't written anything longer than two sentences in over a week (at least tweets give me that), and I'm struggling to put ideas toward a future in type. Writing is not a low maintenance enterprise. If I don't do it at least three times per week, it becomes more difficult and much easier to descend on my priority list until it becomes a memory of something good. I notice the similarities in other disciplines--prayer, Bible reading and reading for leisure easily slip into the background. These activities represent my best self. Why would I dare let them slip?
My family recently returned from a trip to Sioux Falls. We made wonderful connections. Melanie and I reflected upon relationships that were 8-14 years in the making for me, for Melanie they are close to 20 years. These friendships didn't come easily--they've taken a lot of work. Sometimes the work is futile. Sometimes the only explanation we still have some friends is pure grace. We spent about half the time of our nearly 50 hours in the car talking about these relationships--stories, observations, laments and joys. I'm not sure we came to any conclusions, only that in the amount of time we talked--we affirmed their value and necessity. I saw three people who were my best friends in Sioux Falls, and I was able to see them all. I'm glad we had the time to meet--we knew about our families, our vocational paths, and some of life's simple pleasures. I haven't quite built that type of friendship here in the Puget Sound area beyond my family. I would say one has redeveloped--we already get together occasionally on a Saturday morning. It's strange coming back to the area of my younger days. I don't know what to make of friendships--they're fragile, yet they take a lot of work. They're also a source of grace and perspective. These friendships are a great companion to family.
During our return to the Puget Sound region, Melanie and I were reminded of what we left behind when we moved almost six months ago. We knew it would be different. We knew it would be difficult at times. I walked into our former home and was overcome with how I hadn't processed our departure--it was so frenzied and lacked reflection. I was a bit weepy walking into room after room, flooded with memories of bathing my girls, waking up in the middle of the night to care for our babies in their bedroom, watching Melanie work on her doctorate in our home office, places in the house where Melanie and I talked into the early morning hours, the birthdays and holidays celebrated, the neighbors we enjoyed. I used to work outside while the girls would play in the yard. We would stop to talk with the neighbors and spontaneously plan an evening together for some grilled shrimp, a beer and a fire in the backyard. We had a home.
I just realized that my time in South Dakota was the longest time I had ever lived in one place in my entire life. I lived in that house nearly 8 years. I lived in various spots in Renton, Bellevue and Olympia growing up. I then began my varied exile across the Midwest after I graduated from high school in 1988 (The Allman Brothers "Ramblin' Man" comes to mind). I have returned with my wife and two daughters to a place that is very familiar to me, yet I don't have the cadre of friendships to go with the family and vocation.
On this trip I gained new insights and empathy for what a congregation endures when it's facing a new season of congregational life. A life that does not include the same worship, pastor, small groups or friendships. It's really hard, and I can see how profoundly emotional and disorienting transition can be. One thing Melanie and I both articulated in all of our discussions is that our relationship with God and the power of God's call amazingly trumps everything that we hold dear that bears God's love. Our relationships and work over the past eight years were only possible because we followed our callings. The call came--and now we are here--in the Puget Sound region. This is a place for God to bear new blessings as we continue to discover how we can also be a blessing to the our family and the place to which God calls us anew.
My family recently returned from a trip to Sioux Falls. We made wonderful connections. Melanie and I reflected upon relationships that were 8-14 years in the making for me, for Melanie they are close to 20 years. These friendships didn't come easily--they've taken a lot of work. Sometimes the work is futile. Sometimes the only explanation we still have some friends is pure grace. We spent about half the time of our nearly 50 hours in the car talking about these relationships--stories, observations, laments and joys. I'm not sure we came to any conclusions, only that in the amount of time we talked--we affirmed their value and necessity. I saw three people who were my best friends in Sioux Falls, and I was able to see them all. I'm glad we had the time to meet--we knew about our families, our vocational paths, and some of life's simple pleasures. I haven't quite built that type of friendship here in the Puget Sound area beyond my family. I would say one has redeveloped--we already get together occasionally on a Saturday morning. It's strange coming back to the area of my younger days. I don't know what to make of friendships--they're fragile, yet they take a lot of work. They're also a source of grace and perspective. These friendships are a great companion to family.
During our return to the Puget Sound region, Melanie and I were reminded of what we left behind when we moved almost six months ago. We knew it would be different. We knew it would be difficult at times. I walked into our former home and was overcome with how I hadn't processed our departure--it was so frenzied and lacked reflection. I was a bit weepy walking into room after room, flooded with memories of bathing my girls, waking up in the middle of the night to care for our babies in their bedroom, watching Melanie work on her doctorate in our home office, places in the house where Melanie and I talked into the early morning hours, the birthdays and holidays celebrated, the neighbors we enjoyed. I used to work outside while the girls would play in the yard. We would stop to talk with the neighbors and spontaneously plan an evening together for some grilled shrimp, a beer and a fire in the backyard. We had a home.
I just realized that my time in South Dakota was the longest time I had ever lived in one place in my entire life. I lived in that house nearly 8 years. I lived in various spots in Renton, Bellevue and Olympia growing up. I then began my varied exile across the Midwest after I graduated from high school in 1988 (The Allman Brothers "Ramblin' Man" comes to mind). I have returned with my wife and two daughters to a place that is very familiar to me, yet I don't have the cadre of friendships to go with the family and vocation.
On this trip I gained new insights and empathy for what a congregation endures when it's facing a new season of congregational life. A life that does not include the same worship, pastor, small groups or friendships. It's really hard, and I can see how profoundly emotional and disorienting transition can be. One thing Melanie and I both articulated in all of our discussions is that our relationship with God and the power of God's call amazingly trumps everything that we hold dear that bears God's love. Our relationships and work over the past eight years were only possible because we followed our callings. The call came--and now we are here--in the Puget Sound region. This is a place for God to bear new blessings as we continue to discover how we can also be a blessing to the our family and the place to which God calls us anew.
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