Saturday Sports Y.A.P.: The NBA, NHL, jilted fans, and church entitlement

I've been giving my relationship with professional basketball the silent treatment.

If anything about the National Basketball Association comes across my ears or eyes, I look past it. I read something else. I engage in another activity. I'll read Leviticus if I have to (no offense to Leviticus scholars).

I am a jilted Seattle SuperSonics fan. They were the first team to reward my sports love with a championship in 1979 when I was 9 years old (okay, maybe it wasn't just for me). I went outside and danced in the streets of my subdivision with my neighbors after the big win. The Sonics always had a special place in my heart. After the team departed for Oklahoma in 2008, after the spectacle of failed leadership, of disingenuous deals, greed and politics, I chose the silent treatment in my relationship with the NBA. I refuse to acknowledge their presence. Some folks in Seattle continue to be NBA fans with heavy hearts. Some chose to respond with anger. Others chose to respond with endless analysis of the systems and people involved that produced the departure of NBA basketball from Seattle. My lips are essentially sealed.

Some people I read, watch and listen to have mentioned that the NBA is in a labor negotiation. I don't know the details. I still don't really care. The parties involved couldn't possibly expect any sympathy from the fan base. Look at the activities of the Tea Party and Occupy Wall Street. Look at the unemployment that hasn't been this high in decades. Who wants to read stories about millionaires and billionaires arguing about a game, especially when the integrity meter is at swamp level? If millionaires and billionaires want to argue about something that will be truly beneficial for people, argue until you're blue in the face. Sure, the NBA provides jobs for many people besides the players and management, but they have no voice at all in the negotiations. My caring doesn't mean much in this equation. So be it.

I broke my media engagement with the NBA recently. If there was anyone who was going to do it, it wasn't going to be the local Seattle metro sports or news talking heads. It was going to be Bill Simmons. Simmons has been the one national media figure (I would argue that he acted like a good pastor in many ways) who has consistently delivered emotionally, skillfully, humorously and analytically writing about how Seattle was hosed regarding the Sonics. I found some solace in Simmons' words. He continues being a NBA fan (he's from Boston and lives in LA), but he became a de facto Seattle advocate in the NBA world. Simmons named my pain, listened and legitimized that pain. I was tricked into reading his recent article because I thought it was going to be more about hockey and the NHL, but Bill Simmons is juxtaposing hockey and hoops to illustrate the issues with the NBA as an organization. The NBA has wrongly assumed that their fans will stick by them if they can't move forward in the midst of their problems soon.

No organizational loyalist should expect relational harmony and bliss all the time. Especially in the church. While I look at the NBA, I can't help but think of the church (well, it's what I do). I expect the church to strive for justice and live in the midst of human struggle. I expect there to be a lot of unease, because in the church we deal with life and death (well, it's what we do). What bothers me about conflicts in the church in this day and age on multiple levels is the sense of entitlement leaders of the church have (and I am one of those entitled leaders). We talk about people as commodities--we track worship attendance, baptisms, and demographics of all kinds. In the midst of how we treat each other in the church, we often look at society and blame the masses for not wanting to be part of our cantankerous little club, and that our numbers don't match our bloated sense of entitlement. People find other things to do.

I think about how I haven't watched more than 3 seconds of an NBA game in almost 4 years. I have found other things to do. No one is entitled to my participation or anyone's participation in a community. In church or in sports. That giving of blood, sweat, tears and allegiance comes from a delicate balance of trust and risk. I think "NBA" and "church" can be interchangeable words the equation about trust, risk, and allegiance.

Maybe this trust/risk/allegiance/entitlement equation is one of the reasons I am called to serve the congregation that I do. St. John's Lutheran Church in Lakewood, Washington, had a near-death experience. They nearly had the votes to close in 2011. But they didn't. What I do see after 4 months of building relationships in the congregation is that the sense of entitlement I have seen in many communities of faith over the years is minimized (as far as I can tell). I think they've helped me get over my own sense of entitlement (to a degree). It's not a perfect congregation by any stretch of the imagination, nor do I think I am the perfect pastor to build a renewed congregation. But with a minimized sense of entitlement, we have some trust with which we can build.

Maybe God can still do something with us.

Place matters--how do your surroundings affect how you see the world?

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?

Overrated in Congregational Life: Politics, Relationships and Moving Forward with Church Office Space

Today's guest blogger, Dr. Kirk Jeffery is a church growth consultant. He works with all sizes of congregations. He spent fifteen years in local parish ministry as an Elder in The United Methodist Church. He did his doctoral work at Drew University in Madison, New Jersey in Postmodern Ecclesiology. He also roasts and sells coffee. www.kirkjeffery.com. Follow Kirk on Twitter @KirkJeffery.

Joe Smith, in a related blog post, suggested that there is too much infrastructure surrounding a pastor’s study, and that it really has little place in ministry in the twenty-first century. I completely agree.

The pastor’s study was envisioned for a time past, when people flocked to the church, when clergy were among the best educated in the community, when the pastor was required to tote around a vast library of books and those books contained the basis for the answers the congregation and the broader community were seeking.

Today the pastor’s study seems to be more a limiting feature of ministry than an empowering one. If I had my way, I would eliminate it from the church entirely, as an outmoded, non-useful space. It seems that it serves only to have a space where a small group of parishioners can keep a watchful eye on what the pastor is up to—for if our pastor is in his/her office, then we know that he/she is working. Ug. The thought that true ministry happens within the confines of the four walls of the pastor’s study makes me sick.

However, let me caution any would-be study-tossers, especially if you are in your first five years of ministry in your local context. Let me share some valuable first-hand insights on office space.

I once served a parish that had rented out the majority of the church to a daycare facility which used the space Monday-Friday from 6:30 a.m. to 6:30 p.m. When I first got there, there was a lot of consternation by folks that felt that they had lost their space. The women’s group couldn’t use the space for their monthly mid-day meeting. It was difficult to schedule weekly mid-day Bible studies. Committees couldn’t meet until 7:00 p.m. at the earliest. The daycare always left the space a mess.

I thought I had a great solution… We would turn the pastor’s study into a dedicated classroom and mid-day meeting space. The pastor’s study was not a great space for a pastor anyway (it had sexual safety issues—no windows). I would work from home and the local coffee shop. I would meet with folks in their homes, in the coffee bars, in the beer bars! With the advent of cell phones, free internet, and my laptop computer, I felt that ministry could, and should take place anywhere. And it did.

The problem that I encountered was that I had not been there long enough to build up trust. For the twelve people who regularly popped into the church and office to do their various business and mission, it was a huge issue that I wasn’t where they could see me. And if they couldn’t see me, I obviously wasn’t working.

The key to being able to move out of the pastor’s study is trust. As pastor, you will have to build enough trust within the congregation to let them let you move out of the pastor’s study and into the community. This process is not measured in months, but rather two to five years of hard, office, pencil pushing work. Once they know that you actually work, moving out of the office will not be such a big deal. But they have to trust you first.

If you decide that you really want to move out, I suggest that you take these steps:

1) Talk with the power brokers in the church, the ones who nod yes and it happens and who shake their head no and it doesn’t. Explain to them the vision, the reason, the hopes, the dreams…. Remind them (gently) that the church is not an end in itself, but a means to an end—to create new disciples. As pastor, you are most effective out in the community building relationships. No one outside the formed community is wandering into the church anymore, unless they are seeking gas or rent money.
2) Make the move slowly. Advertise that you will be at the coffee bar from 8:30-10:30 on Tuesday mornings. Make sure you are there! If it is received with good faith, then you can progress—slowly add time away from the office and in the communty. Turtle pace is key. Don’t do too much, too quickly. You spent a lot of time building the trust by keeping lots of office hours. It only takes a couple of missteps to lose it all.
3) Keep the gossipers and the key leaders informed. Talk to them about the conversations you are having. Tell them some stories. Even if these new folks aren’t coming to church, if you can tell the stories, then they will allow you even more freedom to be in a space other than your study.
4) Don’t move your library out of the pastor’s study until someone else lays clam to, “your” space. You have claimed it, the congregation has given it to you. If you only spend one hour in there, on Sunday mornings, still claim it—until it is needed for something else.
5) After some time, begin to work to develop another, “need” for your space. If you are not using it, someone else should. Who might use that space? What mission, what ministry, what other staff person needs that space more than you?

Working with established churches to change is difficult and time consuming work. But they are willing to change if you are willing to help them change slowly. No matter how big or how small your congregation, you have to think of your congregation as a aircraft carrier rather than a speedboat. The turns have to be planned months and years in advance, otherwise they will never happen.

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.

Unplanned sabbaticals

In interim ministry, I often look at the calendar in anticipation of the next pastor's arrival. I usually exhale, much like the congregation. Sometimes my exhale lasts a few months after I say my thank yous and good byes to my partners in ministry. This will be my last unplanned sabbatical.

I always have a few projects and goals. Envelop myself as a house husband for a few months. Clip more coupons, find where I can buy the cheapest fresh spinach, work toward a deeper sense of household feng shui. Write more. Exercise more. Read more Bible. Facilitate more peace for wife and daughters through order, sleep better, and purge the stuff that creeps into the house, multiplying like termites. Too much plastic, too much paper, too many unused tools. They all sounded good at first glance, but they all clog my life as my pores clogged as a teenager. Sabbatical is more than rest. Sabbatical works like astringent.

I have a project that continues to provoke my soul, and it feels like make or break time. I don't need money. I only need time. I haven't given up on the dream of another degree. The formal path does not work for my family and me. If I am truly passionate about religion in the Salish Sea region, the research and information gathering beckons. It matters not whether others find it interesting, because it is the story of my life to be learned and told. My sabbatical is one month away. Intentional rest, intentional work. Outside of visiting my brother in Edmonton, I will avoid driving, for that has been my part-time job during my current interim ministry. Commuting alone (or with my daughters) by car kills me.

During my longer tenure as a house husband, I embodied a few lessons taught to me by monks in the District of Columbia and my spiritual director in Sioux Falls.

1. Raising young children is similar to a monastic life.
2. Manual labor is a form of prayer.

Though networking will be on my sabbatical agenda (the next ministry awaits on the other side). I hope the wisdom of God and my prayers and the prayers of those who love me will shape my next season of life and ministry. God saw that the creation was good in sabbatical, and I am visualizing the most fulfilling unplanned sabbatical yet. I know it won't completely go in the rudimentary plans I formulate today, but I know the Holy Spirit will move in those days.

Shoring up the "family" in pastoral transition

As congregations emerge from a pastoral transition, the leadership begins discussion about what to do with those who have "strayed." People who further solidify their commitment to a congregation during a pastoral transition tend to believe that the public will be excited about their new pastor, as well as those who have lowered their commitment over the past few years. This part of transition is dangerous territory, mostly because this part of the path is thick with deeply rooted assumptions.

People who have increased their commitment to a congregation during a transition tend to assume the strayed members think like them and share their enthusiasm for a new pastor. If the perspective was shared, they would have been participating in the transition process in the first place. Those who have different commitment levels to the congregation do not warrant judgment, and if judgment is present, membership efforts will suffer. The public will probably be even less enthusiastic about a new pastorate. They may be curious about a new member of the community, but the public won't come rushing in just because a congregation welcomes a new pastor. To think otherwise overestimates the public presence of a congregation, especially in an age where congregations on the whole (especially in the Pacific Northwest) have eroded in their influence over the years. Even for a congregation deeply connected to public life, the social capital of a new pastor takes months and years of relationship building, both in trust and partnerships. This doesn't mean that the congregation should curb their enthusiasm about their new pastor or cut short their efforts to make public connections. Rather, congregations should be open minded about their expectations of the community.

Another assumption related to people whose commitment to a congregation wavers is linked to the desire to bring people back into the "family." I have strong suspicions (theologically and organizationally) of calling a congregation a family. However, the desire to bring back people who have lowered their commitment level feels as strong as the pull to bring back someone to a family fold who is/was estranged. That feeling is exacerbated in the midst of decline. The desire to reconnect with those who have separated from congregational life is not necessarily bad, but the methodology and responsibility must be clarified. In every interim ministry I served, a congregation assumes shoring up the "family" is the responsibility of the pastor. I tend to disagree with the idea of putting a lot of energy into shoring up the family, because this work tends to be done out of a position of anxiety rather than strength. If congregational leaders look at contacting people who have left the family as a means to get their numbers and budgets to better levels, the congregation is traveling a path that will lead to more anxiety and their work to connect will lack authenticity. If the methodology is rooted in a relational connection and an opportunity to learn about relational and ministry dynamics in the congregation, then the foundation for ministry will be stronger. I also struggle with the notion of "shoring up the family" because it is nearly impossible to have a conversation with someone who is walking away.

Regardless of the philosophy and theology of congregational membership, what I believe is of paramount importance is that a new pastor and congregational leadership have an understanding about methodology and responsibility related to membership. I have observed that this variable is the source of partnership breakdown in the both the previous pastorate and the new pastorate as well, and this variable is magnified in congregations that have experienced recent decline.

Remembering Dave Niehaus

This post is not meant to imply that I can't distinguish the difference between baseball and faith. I would never preach a sermon series on Dave Niehaus (though I have a sneaking suspicion some of this reflection will appear in my Sunday sermon). However, the death of Dave Niehaus and recognizing his impact on my life and thousands of people across the Pacific Northwest and baseball lovers across the country stirs reflection on similarities between what Dave Niehaus embodied and what I imagine the pastoral life to be.

For 34 seasons in games that spanned 6 months of the year, from spring training to the painfully infrequent, yet jubilant playoff appearances, Dave Niehaus shared with his listeners what I seek in myself as a pastor. Dave's signature voice was both the backdrop and forefront of my family's life since I was 6 years old. It is not a token statement to say that Dave radio depictions of a simple game taught me hope, joy, belief, wisdom, encouragement, storytelling, camaraderie, teamwork and passion.

I began to hear Dave's voice sitting in front of the console radio at my Grandparent's house in Renton. My parents attended the opening game, my father thrilled that baseball had returned to Seattle. He told me stories about the Seattle Rainiers and Seattle Pilots--his stories and memories of heroes, woven with stories of his own father, a man I never met. Beginning with my evenings in front of the console radio, I began to hear stories of my Gram, who listened to Portland Beavers baseball games with her father at their home in Camas, Washington, along the Columbia River. I was attached to Dave's voice almost instantly, developing my own heroes through his story telling. They weren't great players in those early years, but they were still my heroes: Ruppert Jones, Bob Stinson, Bill Stein, Diego Segui, Craig Reynolds, Enrique Romo, Rick Honeycutt. I wanted them to do well, just as Dave did. Dave even made food sound better with his distinctive voice--Darigold dairy products, and Langendorf Old Fashioned White Bread. Dave's voice was everywhere in our lives: as we participated in life's daily activities, travel, yard work, play, family gatherings of all kinds, and the frequent visits to my Grandparent's house. Dave's words became the words of my brothers John and Jimmy as we played wiffle ball wherever we could.

When I left the Pacific Northwest to pursue my own vocation and baseball life in the Midwest, I didn't realize how much I missed Dave Niehaus until I listened to broadcasts in other cities. The other cities had their signature broadcasters and calls, and were endearing to their fans--Herb Carneal and John Gordon in Minnesota, Bob Uecker in Milwaukee, Denny Matthews in Kansas City, no one I heard outside of Vin Scully in Los Angeles and Ernie Harwell of Detroit was in the league of baseball story tellers extraordinaire like Dave Niehaus. I appreciated the broadcasting craft, but the stories and telling of the game inspired in me a love for baseball and a passion for engaging life. Dave's words became a way that my family and friends brought some poetry and passion to our conversations. My friend Bret and I sometimes greeted each other with Dave-isms. I was thankful to have Dave's voice ring through my house in South Dakota once I could lounge on a summer day, with my wife Melanie joining my daughter in the backyard with a Mariners game streaming on my laptop from mlb.com. I was ecstatic to return to the Pacific Northwest in 2009 and reacquaint myself with more regular Niehaus contact. After hearing that the Mariners had traded for Cliff Lee during the 2009-10 off-season, I started to spout off Dave-isms in the car with my daughters on our daily commute.

"Ninety-eight mile an hour, high octane, GAS!"
"Swung on and belted!"
"Get out the rye bread and the mustard, Grandma, it's GRAND SALAMI time!"
"Diabolical. That stank!"
"Loooooowwwwwwwwwww, ball 3"
"Fly, fly, away!"
"My, oh, my!"

My 4-year old daughter sometimes echoed my exclamations, but sometimes she had to tell me to stop.

My family and friends imagined what it would be like if the Mariners ever won a World Series. I stated Dave Niehaus would spontaneously combust or die joyfully on the spot. Even if the Mariners staged a dramatic win 34 games out of first place, Dave shook the broadcast booth with his jubilation. He might not be able to contain himself.

In 1995, I thought the Mariners might get to that point of collective ecstasy. I was serving a congregation in Copenhagen on my pastoral internship. In the age before widely available Internet, I had to scour any piece of news to get my hands on the daily work of the surging Seattle Mariners. I lamented that I couldn't connect with Niehaus' words, but well over a decade of listening to Niehaus produced imagined descriptions in my mind's eye. My mentor and friend Steve Bain invited me to his home to spend the night so we could watch the playoff broadcasts in the wee hours of the morning, trying to contain ourselves just enough so that we wouldn't stir his sleeping family. We watched the national/international broadcast, all the time wishing or imagining we could hear Dave. Bleary eyed, yet joyful, I went to my work after watching the games, having slept maybe 2 hours. Good thing I was young at the time.

For the years 1995-2003, the Mariners often shaped the discussion of baseball excellence. They were the only example of "glory years" for the franchise, and even then, only about half of those years they were playoff teams. But Dave had a special lilt and enthusiasm in his voice during those years, and in some ways, I was most happy for him, because Dave was always present for the public and the Mariners, I felt he deserved some actual joy instead of hopeful joy (if those can be distinguished).

It was the other years of baseball that I learned more from Dave Niehaus. The Mariners have often been a bad baseball team. But my family has always been willing to listen, because Dave was always willing to lead the team and share the stories in his signature way. Listening to Dave in spring training and throughout the year, he always told a story of hope. He lived a life that said passion matters. Learning the facts matters. Encouraging the team matters. Seeing the best in people matters. Celebrating victories matters. He anticipated something good happening in every pitch or swing of the bat. It didn't matter that Dave's judgment of a batted ball was sometimes completely off, believing a lazy fly ball had home run potential. His hope and belief in what was possible for the Seattle Mariners was often endearing, yet on the whole, inspiring.

In some way, Dave Niehaus gave me a sense of interim ministry through all of those losing seasons. Dave gave me insight on how to go into a place and tell stories of hope in the midst of what appears bleak. That is part of my job in interim ministry, things that Dave did as a baseball broadcaster. To celebrate the daily joys of life. To offer wisdom and encouragements to teammates. To report on the context and goals of the organization. To live a life of thankfulness when many are tempted to dwell on the negative aspects of collective life. Jesus is my ultimate example of this kind of life. I do not know Dave Niehaus' faith, but he reminded me and highlighted to me some of what I am called to do in life.

Today I need to visit my 87-year old Gram and tell her that Dave Niehaus died. For 34 years his voice filled their house. That voice was second only to my Granddad. I remember during a baseball pilgrimage with my friend Cameron in 1991, we visited Tiger Stadium in Detroit. I knew my grandparents were listening, so I sent a message to the press box for Dave to greet June and Jerry Zubrod in Renton listening to the game. I knew he was glad to do it and my grandparents were thrilled to hear their names said by Dave. My mother saw Dave just a few weeks ago and shook his hand. He was gracious and hospitable, full of smiles and looking well. I'm glad she was able to show him some level of appreciation for his place in our family's life.  It seems fitting that connection was made.

Thanks to Dave Niehaus and his family for sharing his gifts with the Pacific Northwest for 34 years. My life has been inspired and made better because of his gifts. I am sad, but I am thankful. This has been said many times over the past 18 hours, but fly, fly away, Dave. Thank God and thank you for the memories.

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.

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.

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.

The Church and Livable Cities

How does a congregation or the church contribute to a livable city? Is a livable city a good goal for the church to strive? Safety, creativity, cultural activities, quality outdoor spaces, conglomerations of talents contribute to what distinguishes a livable city.

The research, writings and questions of Richard Florida have interested me for years, but my personal investment in community escalated in the past year. I am more attentive to the kind of community where my children will grow. I live in a place where the culture is familiar to me. My wife is connecting with communities all over Western Washington learning about their needs as she works with local congregations to plant new congregations. The video shown above inspired my thinking of the church and livable cities.

I believe the church contributes to a livable city or town. Deeply embedded in Lutheran theology is proclaiming Christ while loving and serving our neighbor. The question that regularly passes through my mind is, "who is my neighbor (Luke 10:29)?" People looking to dwell and work in a livable city, whether it already is a livable city or people work to create one from a broken urban or rural setting--implicitly ask the question, "who is my neighbor?" We want to at least know that our neighbors do not pose a physical threat to us. We are at our best we seek to serve our neighbor, learn more about their gifts and seek to partner with them for the betterment of the community. The church in proclaiming Christ and serving our neighbor contributes to a livable city. The church might see the contributing to a livable city as an opportunity to share the Gospel, but I wonder if creating a livable city is made an obligation through the Parable of the Good Samaritan.

Congregational Bromides: "We are a generous church."

Congregations, like people, are skittish related to money conversations. The tension has heightened for households and congregations in the ELCA. Some people and congregations chose to withhold offerings from congregations and synods related to Churchwide Assembly 2009 decisions concerning same sex relationships and clergy. The climate for stewardship was already challenging. In the midst of the tension related to money, congregations often make statements about the generous culture of the church, the generosity of their members, or the generosity of the leadership. What is the standard for generosity?

Public discourse often falls into the trap of emphasis on who gives the most. The person or organization that makes the big gift is lauded for their contribution. Large gifts are important for any non-profit type of organization, but a church has a calling to teach people about giving. Giving is one of the most referenced concepts in the entire Bible, more than love, prayer, and forgiveness combined. Before elaborating on generosity standards, consider these points:

1. Giving to religious organizations in the United States on average represents approximately 1-2% of annual household income. This figure is frequently referenced by church leaders and teachers, and this academic research confirms that publicly affirmed figure.

2. Related to point #1, in an anecdotal observation of giving in the Southwestern Washington Synod of the ELCA using (self-reported) congregational trend report statistics, the average giving amount per person in average worship attendance mostly falls in a range of $1000-$1500 annually to the congregation. This means that if your congregation has an average worship attendance of 100, your congregation's average offering income is $100K-150K per year. I'm investigating how that corresponds to how congregations give to their synods/ELCA. Once I gather that information, I'll post an update.

3. I think congregational leaders like to use the word "generous" referencing member giving because of the sense of relief they feel when a budget is met, a major project is completed, or a disaster strikes (Katrina, Haiti, North Dakota flooding, etc.) People indeed make an extra effort to meet certain needs in congregational life. People do give, but is it generous?

Many questions arise after the establishment of a simple giving standard. The biblical standard for giving is 10 percent of income--off the top (aka "first fruits giving). Does the 10 percent have to go to a local congregation first? Can a portion of the 10 percent giving go to other charitable organizations? Is the percentage of giving tabulated before or after taxes? These are interesting questions.

I have yet to reach a conclusion about the nature and scope about generosity, but I look for things that communicate generosity. Some points of generosity can be measured, others can't.

1. Sacrificial giving--do people or organizations actually give up something in order to help others? Or do they go deeper into debt while giving to others?
2. Growth in giving--if a giving standard of 10 percent is not met, then is the congregation growing in its giving, like half a percent growth in giving per year over a multiple year period?
3. Does a congregation extend its giving beyond 10 percent? I remember a challenge years ago when I served in the Greater Milwaukee Synod, when Bishop Peter Rogness invited us to consider becoming 50/50 congregations, sending out 50 percent of what we take in. I always aspired to serve that kind of congregation, but I have yet to experience first hand that kind of giving. Getting to 10 percent is challenging enough, and occasionally I experience something slightly over 10 percent.
4. I believe that true generosity reflects grace. Arguing and bickering about percentages misses the mark for grace. If giving leaves people feeling sour, the the giving and generous spirit is buried. One of the great congregational leaders with whom I worked, Otis Timm, told me instead of giving until it hurts, to give until it feels good. In his honor I called my stewardship newsletter, "Feel Good Giving."

What I find interesting is that congregational leadership wants people in their congregation to tithe, yet they struggle to tithe themselves. I learned holding an expectation rings hollow when leaders are not willing to do it themselves.Before I drift too far on a negative path, I must share that giving is not what makes people right with God. Giving is our response to God's love for us. But I do believe generosity can change the world. A self-giving, generous God in Jesus Christ gave to the point of a brutal death. In this example, generosity reflects going beyond expectations with giving and grace. My hope is that congregations reflect upon their usage of generosity and their proclamations of generosity in congregational life.

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.

Dreams for a new ELCA congregation in Kingston, Washington

Dreaming has a way of pulling people out of dwelling on what appears to be the dead ends of their lives. Mission and vision plugs the people of God into what is possible with God. Dreaming and vision is a way of filling up our eyes with light (Matthew 5:22-23).

Today I met with some ELCA congregational leaders in Kitsap County to talk about the possibility of a new congregation in Kingston, Washington. We are putting together a "Dream Team" of ELCA Lutherans from around Kitsap County to pray, discern and put together a mission profile in preparation for a mission developer to serve with others to proclaim the Good News of Jesus Christ in Kingston. First Lutheran Community Church may not have financial resources to give at this time to a new congregation, but we have many leadership resources available. One of the things I have learned in my four months here is that FLCC has had some interest in offering its mission ideas and leadership resources to other congregations, but those resources have not been shared for one reason or another. Maybe the platform was not right. A new congregation is a great opportunity for the leadership and mission resources of FLCC to be shared in a meaningful and concrete way. The end result is a new congregation.

What does this new church opportunity mean for readers of this blog and First Lutheran Community Church? What can you do?

1. Pray. Pray for the people in Kitsap County and the Southwestern Washington Synod who are involved in discernment and planning for this project in Kingston.

2. Discern. Is there a way you can be an asset or resource for this project? If you are in Kitsap County, do you have:

+ Ideas
+ Abilties--do you have task-oriented gifts, or are you gifted for visionary thinking?
+ Access to a building or land
+ Knowledgeable about or connection with the Kingston community
+ Passion for evangelism

If you live outside of the area as a reader of this blog can you share experience regarding planting churches? Your prayers for a new congregation are also appreciated.

3. Pray more.

4. Volunteer. I am looking for 1-2 people to work with other church folks in Kitsap County to put together a "Dream Team" for prayer, discernment and planning for a new ELCA congregation in Kingston. Please let me know if you are interested (leave a comment on this blog or call the office at 360-876-3901. We are targeting a group to get together toward the middle/end of February, to meet 1-2 times per month, with the end result being calling a mission developer.

The ELCA no longer uses a strategy of parachuting in a church planter to a particular area. The ELCA now relies on the gifts and resources of the surrounding congregations to help build up a new community, while also empowering people in congregations to grow in evangelism. Financial support still comes from the ELCA, but new congregations represent a broader community effort.

I am thankful to offer my gifts and passions toward this project of starting a new Christian community. This is my second opportunity to support this kind of venture. It's an exciting blessing to see an empowered people of God. Thank you for your prayers.

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.

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.

It's good to laugh at myself

I don't think too many people in the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America are actually laughing much these days. I think most ELCA Lutherans are indifferent, angry, agitated, or at least fearful. Therefore I am thankful that one ELCA person actually decided to look at our current place in the world with some humor. I think this piece has a lot of humor, but this humor is somewhat muted because it's full of insider talk and jokes. I believe it's hilarious. To each their own.

When it comes to the life of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, it's really the only church I have ever known. I don't have a tie to the old predecessor bodies like the Lutheran Church in America (LCA) or the American Lutheran Church (ALC). Though I am an ordained pastor, trained in the Lutheran Confessions, I tend to balk at claims made by people who say they represent some sort of true Lutheranism. I see these claims as woven with culture as much as they are about theology.

My cultural awareness and understanding is not rooted in my Lutheran Christian faith. My family attended ALC congregations during a small portion of my youth, but I only started being aware of the Lutheran spectrum of traditions and fellowships after the merger in the late 1980's. I truly became a Lutheran Christian not on the day of my Affirmation of Baptism, but when I attended college and was exposed to the marketplace of ideas, religion and faith. It was then I embraced justification by grace through faith in my active thinking, not merely as something taught. ELCA people have embraced me, taught me about faith in Christ, provided community and investment my family and in my vocation, and believed in my gifts. I am abundantly thankful. But I don't believe my culture has been torn apart because of certain decisions the ELCA has made. I know others look at it differently.

The video highlighted has been timely to me because it makes me laugh at some of the language we commonly use in the ELCA and how silly it must sound to the rest of the world at times (assuming they're paying attention) and how we tie in culture to our claims about the faith with little critical reflection. I have been reminded not to take myself too seriously and be aware of the proclamations I make. Some especially poignantly satirical points for me:

1. I LOVE the "Book of Faith Prius." This is brilliant humor, even for such a narrow audience.
2. We are a "name dropping people." Guilty. I think my recent blogpost regarding stewardship contained four name drops in one sentence. There's a fine line between giving credit for ideas and name dropping. I like to dance on that line frequently, and sometimes I regret doing it.
3. The commentary juxtaposing Lutheran theology and jello represents what I have been thinking for years, but haven't articulated well. This point by the producer shows why The Simpsons has remained the best accessible political commentary into its third decade. I wouldn't be surprised if this producer was influenced by The Simpsons in some way. The Book of Faith Prius pulls this off as well.

I am not interested for the people ELCA to "just get along." In the wake of the decisions of the 2009 Churchwide Assembly and this video, what I see is that I and my fellow ELCA Lutherans have failed to look at (my) ourselves critically. I'm at least hoping to see a new posture. I don't know if that is possible. At least I got a laugh while I realized how foolish I can be. Lord, have mercy.

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.

Networking hiatus (aka "vacation") and Sabbath

I can't say that I've earned a vacation after only six weeks of work, but the event for which I am traveling is several years in the making. My dear wife, Melanie and I will be traveling with our brood (geriatric doggy included) to Melanie's 15th college class reunion at Augustana College in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. One of the best ways I can support Melanie is help provide space and honor to her cherished friendships and vocational development history at her alma mater. It doesn't hurt that I enjoy long road trips with the bonus fall colors on the horizon. So off we go.

Some have given me puzzled looks about driving 1500 miles each way with two children--it's really six of one and half-dozen of the other in terms of transport. Will it be the intense and immediate pain of flying or the drawn out water torture of driving? Driving seems to work better at this point in our lives--we can control more of the variables, which is a key point in any adventure with children. We won't have to worry about car rentals or flying or security--too many uncontrolled variables with flying.

Some days it feels like we just left Sioux Falls. Some days it feels like we've been in Washington for years. I suppose I have the benefit of familiarity. It's all pretty new for Melanie, and she's still adjusting to the sudden detachment from day-to-day congregational life now that she serves in the SW Washington Synod office. But the drive will offer that blessed time of extended reflection that flying can almost never deliver (at least in my experience).

A big question for me is whether I continue to tweet or post on this blog. I now have a phone with connectivity capabilities that would allow me uninterrupted connection (though I'm not really sure about the passage through Montana). I'm leaning toward no posting--so if you see this post as the only post for a week, the decision was made to take a networking hiatus. I have always struggled maintaining a consistent flow of writing, so I have a fear of stopping and not being able to start again. I have been blogging consistently for almost a year--and I don't want to lose that momentum. The bigger specter of my writing life is that I become shrouded in self-importance that the world can't go on without my perspective (Twitter and Blogger are thus sinfully alluring at times). The deception of self-importance (not to be confused with destructive self-flagellation) can be healed through Sabbath--a time away--a time not to (mistakenly seen) as a time to go to church, but a time that my favorite OT scholar Walter Brueggemann says is intended (commanded!) to "STOP WORKING."

So, I shall stop working, enjoy may family and friends, reflect, and come back ready for a vacation after my vacation...

Tweets will continue through today. I will be glad to write again, and will return either Tuesday the 20th or Wednesday the 21st.

May the good Sabbath be yours as well, whenever that may be.

On being the Church in the None Zone

I received a great question in the comment section yesterday, and I thought it deserved a wider audience, so I didn't want to bury it in the comment section:

So what do you see as the strength of being a congregation located in the infamous "None Zone?"

It's interesting to be able to answer this question and actually be living here. For over 5 years I have talked about "The None Zone (the specific terminology)" from afar, even though I am a native Washingtonian. I have thought about the differences I noticed between the Church I observed in the Midwest through the lens of my experience in the Pacific Northwest, beginning with my college experience at (then) Mankato State University in 1991.

From the literature I have read (any value judgments put aside), I see that in the Pacific Northwest, we live in an "open religious market (this term is taken from the None Zone book) ." In short, in this open relgious market, no religious perspective, brand, faith tradition, etc., has a significant hold on the culture in the Pacific Northwest. Is religion important to people in the Pacific Northwest? It can be. But one can't say that a particular tradition holds sway on public discourse or culture, like Baptists in the South or Roman Catholics in the Northeast, or Lutherans in the Northern Great Plains.

In my sermon when I was preaching at FLCC in June, I talked about response to the open religious market. Lutherans and other Mainline Protestant traditions (Methodist, Presbyterian, Episcopalian, etc.) tend to look at this situation with complaints or judgment (from a study by James Wellman at the University of Washington). I can understand the perspective, especially since Lutherans raised in the Midwest have had the wider culture supporting their religious efforts.

I think being the Church in the Pacific Northwest is a great opportunity. Though we don't have the social supports as in other places, we can also try new things. FLCC has already been a leader in trying new methods of sharing the Gospel. We don't have the opportunity to take the message of God's grace in Jesus for granted as in other places. We have to be intentional about what the community of faith does in the world. I think it's also a great advantage that people ask questions and refuse to be spoon fed congregational life and culture without coming to know the life of faith. I don't believe that faith and culture should be so easily intertwined as I have experienced in the Midwest.

This is probably enough to chew on for today. In short (again), I believe we live as Christians in the midst of a great opportunity in the Pacific Northwest open religious market.