She came into my office crying. She had been beaten by her boyfriend the night before and was scared to go back. After he threatened to kill her and set her friend’s house on fire, she ran away. Her two-year-old daughter is with him and she wants to get her back, but is afraid of confronting her boyfriend again. He has hit her before with a baseball bat and last night punched her in the face twice causing her to fall and cut her leg badly. Now she needs a shelter, but no shelter will take her because she has lice, she is supposed to be on bipolar medication and isn’t taking it (because she cannot afford it since she’s uninsured), and because she has a contagious cold. Also, she’s heavily addicted to crack. She’s afraid of reporting her boyfriend for physical abuse because he has custody of her daughter. If she reports him, he will go to jail for a long time (since he has a warrant out for him as a habitual felon) and the girl will be handed over to the state. It is after 8 p.m. and the only shelter that will possibly take her tonight is in Martinsville, IN but that is not for certain. She has no transportation and cannot drive due to a neck injury that happened 12 years ago. Tonight she stumbled into the church after relapsing with crack yesterday. She did have a “friend” who had taken her in, but he kept demanding sexual favors in exchange for rent. She’s tired of that and refuses to go back. She’s been turning tricks for a long time to fund her drug habit and has had enough. At 28 years old she has mothered four children currently spread all over the state of Indiana. She sits now in my office using my phone to talk to one homeless shelter after another while I sit and pray and type this. How long, Oh Lord?
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Monday, August 15, 2011
I've Mellowed
I'm entering my 4th year now as a pastor and have been reflecting on how my time in the ministry has changed me. I came out of seminary with lots of really strong opinions and impassioned ideals. I wasn't shy about expressing them. In fact, I saw it as a sort of prophetic duty to declare loudly what I really believed what was wrong with the world and how it ought to be fixed. But somewhere along the line I have mellowed.
And I think it is love and concern for others that has done it. I'm not saying that to pat myself on the back, but I found out very quickly that as a pastor if you want to try to maintain good relationships with a wide variety of very different people, then you simply have to be more mellow about some things. For example, I have the organizer for the Obama campaign on the near Eastside in my congregation. I also have folks who are lifelong Republicans and probably would situate themselves in the Tea Party. Now I have political opinions. Anyone who knows me knows that. But I have had to shelve those opinions quite often in order to build relationships with a very wide variety of incredibly different people.
In some ways this annoys me. I don't want to become a cookie-cutter pastor who always speaks in empty, inoffensive banalities like the words you find on the inside of a Hallmark card. Changing my speech patterns and modes of self-expression hasn't come easily. It often makes me feel like I've had to sacrifice a part of who I am. Before pastoring I'd always been rather extreme and idealistic -- anything but moderate. I was the one to ask the questions in class that got everyone's blood boiling and I enjoyed it immensely. (It kept me awake. There's nothing as terrifying as boredom.) But now I play a very different role. My role is that of the unifier, the bridge between radically different groups of people. I am the friend to them all although they are not always friends with one another.
All in all, I think it's probably good that I've mellowed a bit. I'm not the one to poke the fire and stir up the flames any longer (or at least not nearly as much as I once was). But I have come to love people. I have learned what it is to shepherd a flock. Educated and uneducated, black and white, rich and poor, friendly and mean, believers and unbelievers, straight and gay, the selfless and the selfish... I've learned to love them all and do my best not to judge them. And that has made me a better, more mellow person. Or maybe not better... just different.
There's a fine line between mellowed and jaded. Perhaps some days I am more jaded. My ideals have faded like a t-shirt that's been through the wash too many times. I've been confronted with the harsh realities of urban life and ministry. But this too is probably all part of the journey. Maybe someday I will once again be a loud-mouthed zealot who polarizes people. But for now I'm Greg the Compromiser. And I can live with that.
And I think it is love and concern for others that has done it. I'm not saying that to pat myself on the back, but I found out very quickly that as a pastor if you want to try to maintain good relationships with a wide variety of very different people, then you simply have to be more mellow about some things. For example, I have the organizer for the Obama campaign on the near Eastside in my congregation. I also have folks who are lifelong Republicans and probably would situate themselves in the Tea Party. Now I have political opinions. Anyone who knows me knows that. But I have had to shelve those opinions quite often in order to build relationships with a very wide variety of incredibly different people.
In some ways this annoys me. I don't want to become a cookie-cutter pastor who always speaks in empty, inoffensive banalities like the words you find on the inside of a Hallmark card. Changing my speech patterns and modes of self-expression hasn't come easily. It often makes me feel like I've had to sacrifice a part of who I am. Before pastoring I'd always been rather extreme and idealistic -- anything but moderate. I was the one to ask the questions in class that got everyone's blood boiling and I enjoyed it immensely. (It kept me awake. There's nothing as terrifying as boredom.) But now I play a very different role. My role is that of the unifier, the bridge between radically different groups of people. I am the friend to them all although they are not always friends with one another.
All in all, I think it's probably good that I've mellowed a bit. I'm not the one to poke the fire and stir up the flames any longer (or at least not nearly as much as I once was). But I have come to love people. I have learned what it is to shepherd a flock. Educated and uneducated, black and white, rich and poor, friendly and mean, believers and unbelievers, straight and gay, the selfless and the selfish... I've learned to love them all and do my best not to judge them. And that has made me a better, more mellow person. Or maybe not better... just different.
There's a fine line between mellowed and jaded. Perhaps some days I am more jaded. My ideals have faded like a t-shirt that's been through the wash too many times. I've been confronted with the harsh realities of urban life and ministry. But this too is probably all part of the journey. Maybe someday I will once again be a loud-mouthed zealot who polarizes people. But for now I'm Greg the Compromiser. And I can live with that.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Laughter Heals
Last night we sat down in a room together as different from one another as possible. True, we both speak English, but you can hardly call it the same language. We are about as different as two people can be in America. I a thirty year-old white male and she a sixty year-old black female. I grew up in a gentle, loving home with two parents. She grew up in a broken home where she was regularly beaten with an extension cord. I was taught to value hard work, study, self-discipline, and inherited the rigors of the Protestant work ethic. She was born into a culture of oppression which was forced to utilize lying, cheating, and stealing simply to survive. I prefer quiet, meditative conversations. She prefers loud, demonstrative ones. I use words she does not understand and she uses words that I do not understand.
When we first met years ago, we were in the "honeymoon" stage. We enjoyed each other's differences and laughed over them. We picked on each other in fun ways. She made fun of how white I am and I laughed at the same thing about myself. But as time went on and the relationship grew deeper, things got tough. We couldn't see eye to eye. She felt disrespected and so did I. She undoubtedly had memories of white male power from her past crop up to mind which made me take the shape of an enemy in her mind. My blood boiled at times as I couldn't understand her lack of respect for civility and "the way things are supposed to be." The honeymoon ended and gave way to tension, hurt, and mistrust.
So we sat down last night in the presence of witnesses to try to work things out. Much was said. She spoke loudly. I spoke softly (most of the time). Sometimes she deliberately diverted our attention to win the argument while I tried to bring it back into focus. But in the midst of it all we were able to laugh. We laughed about how different we are. We laughed about how silly some matters are that frustrate us. I laughed when I realized that only in a church -- and an oddball church at that -- would a woman like her and a guy like me sit down to try to forge some sort of peace agreement. We are night and day, she and I. We are yin and yang. But there is something truly beautiful in it too. Frustrating, yes. Sometimes so frustrating that I want to call it quits. But in moments of laughter I realize that we are winning a small battle in a very large war.
When we first met years ago, we were in the "honeymoon" stage. We enjoyed each other's differences and laughed over them. We picked on each other in fun ways. She made fun of how white I am and I laughed at the same thing about myself. But as time went on and the relationship grew deeper, things got tough. We couldn't see eye to eye. She felt disrespected and so did I. She undoubtedly had memories of white male power from her past crop up to mind which made me take the shape of an enemy in her mind. My blood boiled at times as I couldn't understand her lack of respect for civility and "the way things are supposed to be." The honeymoon ended and gave way to tension, hurt, and mistrust.
So we sat down last night in the presence of witnesses to try to work things out. Much was said. She spoke loudly. I spoke softly (most of the time). Sometimes she deliberately diverted our attention to win the argument while I tried to bring it back into focus. But in the midst of it all we were able to laugh. We laughed about how different we are. We laughed about how silly some matters are that frustrate us. I laughed when I realized that only in a church -- and an oddball church at that -- would a woman like her and a guy like me sit down to try to forge some sort of peace agreement. We are night and day, she and I. We are yin and yang. But there is something truly beautiful in it too. Frustrating, yes. Sometimes so frustrating that I want to call it quits. But in moments of laughter I realize that we are winning a small battle in a very large war.
Friday, June 3, 2011
A Prayer to the God of Ebb and Flow
My only real temptation is to doubt in your love, to think of myself as beyond the reach of your love, to remove myself from the healing radiance of your love. To do these things is to move into the darkness of despair.
O Lord, sea of love and goodness, let me not fear too much the storms and winds of my daily life, and let me know that there is ebb and flow but that the sea remains the sea. Amen.
- Henri Houwen in "A Cry for Mercy"
Monday, May 2, 2011
On the Death of our Enemy
The blogs and social networks are all abuzz as every Tom, Dick, and Harry scrambles to voice their opinion about the famous death of Osama bin Laden last night. I am no different. I admit that what I first felt when hearing the news was relief. I thought perhaps this might bring a bit of closure to the wounds felt by the families of those lost on 9/11 as well as precipitate a quicker end to our war in Afghanistan. For nearly a decade now, the death of this one man has driven American foreign policy and so, if you're a fan of American foreign policy, then I suppose yesterday was a tremendous victory to be celebrated.
My next reaction came when seeing gritty images of bin Laden's face on the TV screen, for the first time realizing that he was now no longer able to do any harm. Amazingly, I noticed that, sure enough, he had two eyes, a nose, and a mouth just like mine. Heck... we even both have beards. I'd half expected his teeth to be pointy and horns to be coming out of his head, but it was not the case. I was reminded again that he, too, is human. And as such he bears the image of God. And instead of thinking about our vast differences, I began to contemplate our similarities. I have no doubt that Osama and I might find dinner conversation difficult. Aside from the language barrier, I'm guessing he might not be too interested in disc golf or the St. Louis Cardinals or great fiction. But he eats food. And so do I. And we could have done that together.
Is it good that Osama is now dead? I don't know. I don't think it really matters what my opinion is. Millions rejoice. I'm not quite confident enough to join in their gatherings. Instead, I see one more dead man, one more condemned sinner like myself. I really don't want to enter the grand debates over foreign policy. I just want to lament the death of one human being who was made in the image of God like myself -- even if this death was for the greater good (to use popular American utilitarian language).
Of all the words being spread across the internet this morning, the most radical that I've come across and the ones that have given me the most pause are from a document many thousands of years old. "Say to them, 'As surely as I live, declares the Sovereign LORD, I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather that they turn from their ways and live. Turn! Turn from your evil ways! Why will you die, O house of Israel?' (Ezekiel 33:11). Do we delight in the death of the wicked? Many are doing so today and maybe I'd be one of them if my own parent or spouse had been killed on 9/11. Nevertheless, I can't help but think that Jesus would even today instruct me to forgive, to let go of my hate, and to allow vengeance to rest in the hands of Almighty God rather than the hands of men in uniform. For God's justice is always perfect.
And so I sit at my computer with a mixture of feelings. Relief. Hope that we're entering a new and less militant chapter of human history. And also earnest prayer for the soul of one who is now at the bottom of the sea.
My next reaction came when seeing gritty images of bin Laden's face on the TV screen, for the first time realizing that he was now no longer able to do any harm. Amazingly, I noticed that, sure enough, he had two eyes, a nose, and a mouth just like mine. Heck... we even both have beards. I'd half expected his teeth to be pointy and horns to be coming out of his head, but it was not the case. I was reminded again that he, too, is human. And as such he bears the image of God. And instead of thinking about our vast differences, I began to contemplate our similarities. I have no doubt that Osama and I might find dinner conversation difficult. Aside from the language barrier, I'm guessing he might not be too interested in disc golf or the St. Louis Cardinals or great fiction. But he eats food. And so do I. And we could have done that together.
Is it good that Osama is now dead? I don't know. I don't think it really matters what my opinion is. Millions rejoice. I'm not quite confident enough to join in their gatherings. Instead, I see one more dead man, one more condemned sinner like myself. I really don't want to enter the grand debates over foreign policy. I just want to lament the death of one human being who was made in the image of God like myself -- even if this death was for the greater good (to use popular American utilitarian language).
Of all the words being spread across the internet this morning, the most radical that I've come across and the ones that have given me the most pause are from a document many thousands of years old. "Say to them, 'As surely as I live, declares the Sovereign LORD, I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather that they turn from their ways and live. Turn! Turn from your evil ways! Why will you die, O house of Israel?' (Ezekiel 33:11). Do we delight in the death of the wicked? Many are doing so today and maybe I'd be one of them if my own parent or spouse had been killed on 9/11. Nevertheless, I can't help but think that Jesus would even today instruct me to forgive, to let go of my hate, and to allow vengeance to rest in the hands of Almighty God rather than the hands of men in uniform. For God's justice is always perfect.
And so I sit at my computer with a mixture of feelings. Relief. Hope that we're entering a new and less militant chapter of human history. And also earnest prayer for the soul of one who is now at the bottom of the sea.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
The Day In Between
What am I supposed to do now? I was sure he was the One. My life is ruined. I had invested everything in Jesus -- I left my family, my job, by community, EVERYTHING in order to follow him. And for three years I was certain as I saw him perform miracles and heard his amazing, authoritative teaching that this was finally the one to bring us liberation from our oppressors. I admit I didn't understand everything he said. When he talked about suffering and dying, I dismissed it. It just didn't make any sense to me. I thought maybe he was speaking another one of his really confusing parables or metaphors. I was still sure that he'd lead the crowds in an uprising and overthrow Herod and Pilate and even Rome itself. But now they've all killed him. And now I'm all alone. I don't even know where the other followers are. That night we all just kind of scattered. It happened so fast. I couldn't even think. My deep-down instincts for self-preservation led me to get out of there as fast as I could. I've got to admit I admire Peter for trying to defend Jesus despite the odds. That at least showed more courage than I had. But then Jesus scolded Peter and told him something about putting away the sword. I just seriously don't get it. How are we supposed to overthrow our oppressors without the sword? Frankly (and I hate to admit this)... sometimes I think Jesus was just too idealistic and not practical enough. He always had his head in the clouds. He wasn't willing to recognize the dirtiness and seriousness of our enemies. Instead, he just kept telling us to pray for them and love them. That's all real nice, but how does that overthrow Caesar? You're not going to liberate Israel with a bunch of love and prayers. But what do I know? I guess it all boils down to nothing now. He's dead. There's no changing that. Maybe I made a huge mistake in believing things could actually change. As I woke up this morning, my first thought was that maybe yesterday was all a bad dream. But it wasn't. It was real. And now all is darkness. No hope. I guess I should just go back to fishing and try to move on...
There is great wisdom in the ancient Christian tradition that reminds us to live through Saturday before getting to Sunday. Today is "the day in between." It is often overlooked. We fail to pause and soak up the total despair of this moment -- our hero has been defeated, the enemy has won. We cry out with Job on this day, "As waters fail from a lake, and a river wastes away and dries up, so mortals lie down and do not rise again." Death seems the victor. And although today we know the Story, we know what's coming tomorrow morning, we know that soon we will be dressed in white surrounded by springtime and Easter lilies and shouts of praise, nevertheless today we wear black. We veil our faces with Mary and Thomas and John and the rest. Today we stare into the face of Sheol and ponder the words of Ecclesiates, "Meaningless, meaningless, everything is meaningless." The dark existentialist takes a strange comfort in this black Saturday because this, too, is part of the Christian year, part of our Scriptures, and part of life. Without experiencing the pain and shock of Friday followed by the emptiness and despair of Saturday, we'll never fully appreciate Sunday. So let's not rush there... although we might want to. Instead, let's live out this black Saturday as the first disciples did. Maybe then we will appreciate what happens very early in the morning tomorrow...
There is great wisdom in the ancient Christian tradition that reminds us to live through Saturday before getting to Sunday. Today is "the day in between." It is often overlooked. We fail to pause and soak up the total despair of this moment -- our hero has been defeated, the enemy has won. We cry out with Job on this day, "As waters fail from a lake, and a river wastes away and dries up, so mortals lie down and do not rise again." Death seems the victor. And although today we know the Story, we know what's coming tomorrow morning, we know that soon we will be dressed in white surrounded by springtime and Easter lilies and shouts of praise, nevertheless today we wear black. We veil our faces with Mary and Thomas and John and the rest. Today we stare into the face of Sheol and ponder the words of Ecclesiates, "Meaningless, meaningless, everything is meaningless." The dark existentialist takes a strange comfort in this black Saturday because this, too, is part of the Christian year, part of our Scriptures, and part of life. Without experiencing the pain and shock of Friday followed by the emptiness and despair of Saturday, we'll never fully appreciate Sunday. So let's not rush there... although we might want to. Instead, let's live out this black Saturday as the first disciples did. Maybe then we will appreciate what happens very early in the morning tomorrow...
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Book Review: Chuck Gutenson's "Christians and the Common Good"
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Bishops Forum
Recently First Church was honored to host the first ever Bishop's Townhall Meeting in preparation for General Conference this summer. I was very excited about the message that the leadership of our church communicated. Below are some of the things I appreciated followed by a few of my concerns.
Things to celebrate:
1) A renewed emphasis on being missional. The church doesn't have a mission; the mission of God has a church. I think our bishops understand that. They want us to be increasingly outward-focused rather than maintaining our tradition of being a "holy huddle."
2) A call to embrace ethnic diversity in our ministries. My favorite moment of the evening was when Lead Bishop David Kendall stated very matter-of-factly, "We are a white church. We are homogeneous. And we need to change that." Such honesty is refreshing from our leadership.
3) An emphasis on networking and reaching today's youth culture.
4) An emphasis on the need for the church to return to its roots: raising the standard of holiness and preaching the good news to the poor. I see the divide between social justice and personal piety being bridged and I am thrilled to witness it.
5) A refusal to get in bed with the religious right. This is really big. For so long Free Methodism has been part of the Republican Party. I no longer hear that coming from our leadership (although it remains strong among many laity and clergy). I truly believe the bishops want to allow for a diversity of opinions on this matter and refuse to play partisan politics any longer.
Concerns:
1) We still seem to be immersed in the Pastor-as-CEO model (or Bishop). This didn't come out in the forum, but you can see that more and more decisions in the church are being made by fewer and fewer people. The fact that the General Conference delegations will only have ONE DAY to discuss business matters reveals the fact that more decisions are being made behind closed doors.
2) We are still dominated by pragmatism. Whatever works is seen as best. I find this contrary to Scripture.
3) We're not going far enough in embracing God's preferential option for the poor. We are on our way, but it still remains an "add-on" in our theology rather than central to it.
I would love to hear your feedback. You can read an article about the event here: Townhall Meeting or view the actual event here: Video of the event
Things to celebrate:
1) A renewed emphasis on being missional. The church doesn't have a mission; the mission of God has a church. I think our bishops understand that. They want us to be increasingly outward-focused rather than maintaining our tradition of being a "holy huddle."
2) A call to embrace ethnic diversity in our ministries. My favorite moment of the evening was when Lead Bishop David Kendall stated very matter-of-factly, "We are a white church. We are homogeneous. And we need to change that." Such honesty is refreshing from our leadership.
3) An emphasis on networking and reaching today's youth culture.
4) An emphasis on the need for the church to return to its roots: raising the standard of holiness and preaching the good news to the poor. I see the divide between social justice and personal piety being bridged and I am thrilled to witness it.
5) A refusal to get in bed with the religious right. This is really big. For so long Free Methodism has been part of the Republican Party. I no longer hear that coming from our leadership (although it remains strong among many laity and clergy). I truly believe the bishops want to allow for a diversity of opinions on this matter and refuse to play partisan politics any longer.
Concerns:
1) We still seem to be immersed in the Pastor-as-CEO model (or Bishop). This didn't come out in the forum, but you can see that more and more decisions in the church are being made by fewer and fewer people. The fact that the General Conference delegations will only have ONE DAY to discuss business matters reveals the fact that more decisions are being made behind closed doors.
2) We are still dominated by pragmatism. Whatever works is seen as best. I find this contrary to Scripture.
3) We're not going far enough in embracing God's preferential option for the poor. We are on our way, but it still remains an "add-on" in our theology rather than central to it.
I would love to hear your feedback. You can read an article about the event here: Townhall Meeting or view the actual event here: Video of the event
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Taking a break...
For the foreseeable future, I will be taking a break from this blog to devote myself to a new blog with my friend, Oscar Clavel, as we discuss our theological differences and similarities. Please follow along at <twopastors.blogspot.com>.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Exhausting Goodness
"For most of my adult life, what I have wanted most to win is nearness
to God. This led me to choose a vocation that marked me as God's
person both in my eyes and in the eyes of others. I gave myself to
the work the best way I knew how, which sometimes exhausted my
parishioners as much as it exhausted me. I thought that being
faithful meant always trying harder to live a holier life and calling
them to do the same. I thought that it meant knowing everything I
could about Scripture and theology, showing up every time the church
doors were open, and never saying no to anyone in need. I thought
that it meant ignoring my own needs and those of my family until they
went away altogether, leaving me free to serve God without any selfish
desires to drag me down.
I thought that being faithful was about becoming someone other than
who I was, in other words, and it was not until this project failed
that I began to wonder if my human wholeness might be more useful to
God than my exhausting goodness."
- Barbara Brown Taylor in "Leaving Church"
I'm not to the place where I feel like I can give up on the striving and effort, but I wish I was. I think there is a deep spiritual truth in these words from someone far more experienced and wise than myself.
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