Embrace Irrelevance

GC Chapel Address

February 10, 2012





I live three miles from Lucas Oil Stadium in Indianapolis.  And, of course, as many of you will know, this was the location of last Sunday’s Superbowl.  Our city had been preparing for this event for two years with fresh construction projects and attempts to clean up the streets (although thanks to the efforts of many, Indy did not push away the homeless as most host cities do around Superbowl time).  We were eager to put on our best face not only for football stars like Tom Brady and Eli Manning, but also for the other celebrities.  The local new stations reported on Madonna and Kim Kardashian sightings.  I joked with one of my female friends (who happens also to be single) that she needed to find Ryan Gosling.  She smiled sheepishly.  For a few days, the city of Indy drew the attention of the nation as we gathered around our TV sets to pay homage to the true god of our age.  And in the two plus years of our preparations as a city, we operated under the assumption (as all cities do) that bigger is always better.
·         As Americans, we are a people utterly addicted to the grandiose.  That which has sex appeal, that which sparkles and shines, that which is earth-shaking grabs our attention and is plastered in the headlines.  Unfortunately, the church in America has too often been infected by this mentality to its core.  Everyone, it seems, wants to be the next Willow Creek or Mars Hill Bible Church or Saddleback or whatever is in fad at the time.  But today, I want to encourage you to reject the impulse to seek that which is cool.  A fellow graduate of ATS, Rachel Held Evans, recently wrote a post on her blog called “Blessed are the Uncool.”  She wrote it so well that I’d like to read you a part of her entry:

·         People sometimes assume that because I’m a progressive 30-year-old who enjoys Mumford and Sons and has no children, I must want a super-hip church—you know, the kind that’s called “Thrive” or “Be” and which boasts “an awesome worship experience,” a  fair-trade coffee bar, its own iPhone app, and a pastor who looks like a Jonas Brother. While none of these features are inherently wrong, (and can of course be used by good people to do good things), these days I find myself longing for a church with a cool factor of about 0.  That’s right. I want a church that includes fussy kids, old liturgy, bad sound, weird congregants, and…brace yourself…painfully amateur “special music” now and then. Why?Well, for one thing, when the gospel story is accompanied by a fog machine and light show, I always get this creeped-out feeling like someone’s trying to sell me something. It’s as though we’re all compensating for the fact that Christianity’s not good enough to stand on its own so we’re adding snacks. But more importantly, I want to be part of an un-cool church because I want to be part of a community that shares the reputation of Jesus, and like it or not, Jesus’ favorite people in the world were not cool. They were mostly sinners, misfits, outcasts, weirdos, poor people, sick people, and crazy people.

·         Ministry among the urban poor has been infected in just the same way.  We who minister in the inner cities of America are attracted to the magnificent success stories such as the work of Geoffrey Canada in Harlem whose innovative school is transforming the community and lifting hundreds of children out of the cycle of poverty.  Of course, I rejoice in stories like this; they provide hope and inspiration.  But sometimes the question comes up, "But why am I not so successful?  What are they doing that we're not doing?  How can we do something truly great so that 60 Minutes will come and interview us?"

·         But God usually does not choose to work through the grandiose.  In fact, just the opposite.  God more often chooses to work through the slow, the small, the simple, and the subtle.  The kingdom, Jesus says, is like a mustard seed -- a seed which cannot be rushed in its growth.  The growth from seed to magnificent tree with spreading branches does not happen overnight no matter how much we might want it to and no matter how much Miracle Grow we might spray on it.

·         One of the projects we’ve undertaken in the last few years is to create an urban community garden.  I really shouldn’t say “we” because all of the work behind this has been done by my wife Courtney.  We see this simple plot of land which we call the Friendship Community Garden as a very small glimmer of hope, a peek at the kingdom of God in the midst of a world where Cheetos and Pepsi are considered part of the four basic food groups.  But for those of you who are gardeners, you know that there is no such thing as instant results.  You plant, you water, and you water, and you water, and you pull weeds and eventually after months and months you get to pick that ripe tomato or spinach, take it inside, wash it off, and make a salad.  This is a radically different experience than popping a TV dinner in the microwave.

·         I don’t believe it was an accident that when searching for a metaphor to describe the nature of God’s kingdom, Jesus turned to agriculture:  the farmer spreading seeds in different types of soil, weeds mixed in with wheat, and the mustard seed.  The growth of a tree takes incredibly long, especially when we contrast it with the fast pace and instant results our modern world offers to us.  As Gandhi once said, “There is more to life than increasing its speed.”  Our pragmatic, results-oriented culture must heed those prophetic words.

·         Now why am I talking about this when our theme for this semester is “crossing boundaries, overcoming barriers”?  Because the work of overcoming barriers – especially the barriers that divide us from one another, be it ethnicity, socio-economic status, gender, language, religion, sexual orientation, and so on – requires extreme patience.  It is slow going.  As an energetic graduate from seminary four years ago, I wish someone would have told me this:  “The work of crossing boundaries is slow going.  It is a long, gruelling march through deep mud.”

·         Our God wants his followers to learn to embrace the long, hard march that is discipleship.  We run in a marathon, not a sprint.

·         I admit that part of my sense of calling to pastor an inner city church came through moments of inspiration at seeing marvellous, almost cataclysmic inbreakings of the kingdom.  Seeing a movie like "Born into Brothels" which tells the story of how photography was used to rescue children from postitution in the slums of India brought tears to my eyes and made me want to stand up and scream, "Sign me up!  I want to dedicate my life to this work for social justice!"  But, of course, I didn't know that years later when we were starting our own photography class in the inner city at the LYN House the main problems would simply be driving the kids to the program, getting them out of bed in the middle of the afternoon so that they would come, and seeking grants so that we can get enough cameras.  And this is what 99.9% of urban ministry (and probably all ministry) is... it is mundane.  It is unsexy.  It goes unnoticed.  It rarely seems to produce fruit.  For every story of someone radically delivered from drug addiction, there are forty to fifty stories of people who we invest in (sometimes for years) who pick up and leave and decide they really do love Vicodin more than Jesus.  It's the family of five across the street that we spend a year investing in, building up in the faith, training for leadership... all to find out one day that they are moving without notice and barely even bother to say goodbye.  (This perpetual transience and utter lack of geographical stability is a rarely noted problem in urban America.)

·         Today in my final moments of speaking to you I stand here offering an invitation.  As college students, you have your lives ahead of you.  The possibilities for what you choose to do with your lives are limitless.  Sitting in chapel roughly ten years ago, my wife and I heard an elderly couple ask us to consider spending a year in China as English teachers.  Courtney and I were very moved and, as a result, we decided to move to China and live there for one year following Courtney’s graduation.  Today I’m here to plead with you to consider devoting your life (or part of your life) to seeking Jesus among those on the margins.  Now that could take many forms – it could be pastoring and living in the inner city like my family does, but it could also be working with refugees, fighting racist immigration laws like those passed recently in Alabama, volunteering to tutor a child once a week, going down to that prison on the south side of town and hanging out with the inmates, providing legal services to those who cannot afford it, speaking out against the mountain top removal taking place right now in Appalachia, or simply befriending someone who seems to have no friends.

·         Some of you are education majors.  Consider using your skills in under-resourced communities that are desperate to attract good teachers.  Some of you are studying business.  Good!  We need businessmen and women who will prioritize revitalizing poor communities by creating jobs and infusing capital into economic deserts.  I challenge you to think about how you could use business to not only generate a profit, but to provide stable employment for the least of these.  Others of you are becoming scientists, musicians, historians, writers, and doctors.  Will you use the jobs you find to provide yourself with comfort and ease?  Or will you take the risk of following Jesus to his beloved ones on the margins, using your skills to provide hope among those who have no hope?  Will you seek first the kingdom of God and his justice and trust that all of these other silly things like money and clothes and food will be provided to you by the Father who provides for the birds of the air and the flowers of the field?

·         In order to persuade you, I could tell you grand, inspiring stories.  I could pull out from the last four years of my life examples of mountain-top experiences to convince you (at least on an emotional level) to sign-up for radical incarnational ministry among the poor.  But I refuse to do that today because it would be misleading.  Yes, there are mountaintops on occasion, but the valleys are far more familiar.  No, my call today is not for you to do something cool (as cool as liberal urban social justice hippies like Shane Claiborne can be), but a call to do something irrelevant, unattractive, unappealing, and usually unnoticed.  I am calling you to mop floors, to serve cheap meals to ungrateful kids, to scrub toilets, to hug people who haven’t bathed in weeks, to genuinely listen to people who are illiterate or mentally handicapped… get the picture?

·         Personal hero:  Henri Nouwen who gave up a career of teaching at Notre Dame, Yale, and Harvard in order to live among the mentally and physically handicapped in a community called L’Arche.  Once when wiping up vomit from the floor, Nouwen sensed God speak to him and say, “This is your finest hour in the ministry.”

·         If you do choose to use your abilities to build the kingdom among the marginalized, you are embarking on a long, slow, and oftentimes painful endeavour.  You will not always see the results of your work and, if you do, it will not be instant.  You will question if what you are doing is actually making any difference.  Nevertheless you will know that this work will serve in a miniscule way to further the work of God in the world.

·         Story of Lydah helping me to build a snowman.  “Here go, Daddy.”  That’s all we can offer God (at the most) – a few measly snowflakes in his giant project.  The kingdom of radical inclusion and shalom that God is building doesn’t belong to us; it belongs to him.  And it is coming.  Make no mistake.  You could even devote yourself to thwarting God’s kingdom, but it will come anyway.  The only question that remains is:  Do you want to work to build the kingdom of God as God’s co-laborer or not?

·         I’ve walked on the Great Wall of China.  There’s nothing quite like it.  It stretches 5,500 miles in all.  New York to Los Angeles is roughly 2,800 miles.  It was a project that began around 200 B. C. and construction continued off and on until the Ming Dynasty which ended in the 17th century.  Imagine being a construction worker building that wall and knowing that it was there before you were born, you will work on it our entire life, and it won’t be finished for generations to come.  There must have been a feeling that “I’m part of something much bigger than myself.”  The kingdom of God is the great construction project of human history.  It has been being built for millennia and may continue to be built for millennia to come.  Would you like to invest in the slow, simple, and subtle work of God?  Would you like to give yourself to something bigger than yourself?  There is no greater project on earth than to tear down those boundaries and walls that divide us so that God’s peaceable kingdom will reign on earth as it is in heaven.

What the Monks Taught Me

This weekend I had the honor to be the recipient of Benedictine hospitality.  For 48 hours I stayed in the guest house of the Abbey of Gethsemani in the rolling hills of Eastern Kentucky.  The monks have all taken a vow of silence and they ask their guests to do the same while present.  Even the communal meals are eaten in silence.  I came away from this experience with a deep appreciation for the rich varieties of the Christians faith and having drawn close to God in a new way.  While at the Abbey, I took the time to write down some of these insights and thought I would share them with you for your own edification.

Reflections from Gethsemani:

1.  Monks see their silent, prayerful work as missional.  This may strike some as rather odd since they are literally cloistered off from the rest of the world.  Indeed, I've heard many evangelicals criticize the monastic life because it seems too self-focused and neglects the duty of all Christians to "Go, therefore, into all the world..."  So it was quite eye-opening for me when I heard a monk claim that their work is not for themselves, but for the sake of the world.  How so?  Through prayer.  If we truly do believe that prayer changes the world and that God literally acts in the world in response to human prayer, then we must conclude that the prayerful life of this abbey is missional.  Thomas Merton, the most famous of the monks of Gethsemani, once compared the work of monks to trees.  Trees just stay put and remain silent, but they give oxygen to the world.  I see the work of monks this way now and it is spectacularly beautiful.

2.  Unsurprisingly, my time here has reminded me that I do not often quiet myself before God.  I am literally addicted to distractions.  The silence can be fearful for a distraction-addict.  Like a cigarette smoker trying to break his habit, I find myself reaching for my iPhone or a book or music or the TV or food in order to take my mind off of the deafening silence around me.  I thought that choosing to remain silent for one weekend would be a piece of cake for me, being the introvert that I am.  But it has been far harder than I expected.  Language can be one more form of distraction.  But when I truly am silent, I begin to hear things that oft go unnoticed:  the crunch of leaves under my feet, the flutter of birds in a bush, the ripple of water in a creek, the silence in which God makes His dwelling.  It is a bit frightening in its own way.  All things that are holy inspire a sense of dread, awe, or even fear.

3.  The monks pray corporately seven times each day (or eight if you count the mass).  Each gathering for prayer lasts almost exactly 30 minutes.  This means that they spend three and a half hours of every single day in communal prayer -- most of it praying the Psalms.  They take no breaks for the weekend, no holidays, no vacations -- ever.  365 days a year the monks join to pray at 3:15 a.m. (Vigil), 5:45 a.m. (Lauds), 7:30 a.m. (Terce), 12:15 p.m. (Sext), 2:15 p.m. (None), 5:30 p.m. (Vespers), and 7:30 p.m. (Compline).  This means that a monk will never get more than six hours of uninterrupted sleep.  They awaken in the middle of the night to pray for the world as it sleeps.  Last night I woke myself up to join them and was deeply moved by their humble prayers uttered in the middle of the deep darkness.  They are praying for me.  They are praying for you.  They are praying for the lost, the orphans, the widows, the sick, the elderly, and the poor.  And they simply do not stop this prayer.  I feel as though I have been given the greatest gift I could be given to have forty men pray for me at in the middle of the night when I cannot sleep and am filled with anxiety, as I rise in the morning to face a new day, as I care for the poor in our food pantry, as I study for my sermon in the middle of the afternoon, as I return home to eat dinner with my family, and as I lead challenging board meetings at First Church in the evening.  Through it all, these forty men dressed in white gather and pray for me and for the world.  Who knows where I would be without their prayers?  Who knows where the world would be?  The two Cistercian monks who came to this part of Kentucky in 1848 arrived on one day and began prayers the very next day.  Every day since 1848 without exception the monks have prayed for the world seven times.  These prayers will continue, according to one monk, "until the end."  They will not cease. 

4.  Protestants don't do a good job of using their bodies in worship.  A simple practice that I have found very helpful during my time here is to regularly bow at different intervals during worship.  This act of bowing felt odd to me at first.  It reminded me of the time I visited a mosque and watched as hundreds of Muslims packed into a small room bowed in unison.  But, not wanting to stand out in the midst of these devout Catholics, I chose to bow with them and I am so glad that I did!  Now it is my favorite act during Vespers, Compline, Vigil, and so on.  It is a way that we all physically communicate that we are not lords, but servants of the One True Lord.  We face the front of the sanctuary and bow because we have a King and this King demands our full allegiance, obedience, and submission.  The monks have taught me that what I do with my body does matter -- it shapes the way I think, what I believe, and the way I behave.  May I never stop bowing regularly to my Master.

5.  For an evangelical like myself, the monastic form of worship strikes me as very formal, rigid, and structured.  I cannot picture a brother or sister in Christ running up and down the aisles here after "getting blessed" or even raising their hands and shouting "Hallelujah!"  And yet there is here a genuine aura of worship albeit rather reserved (critics might say "repressed").  I have found the structure of the liturgy, the formality of dress, the cold stone architecture, and the monotone chants to awaken me to a fresh appreciation of the transcendence of God.  Christianity has always held in tension the transcendence (otherness) and immanence (nearness) of God.  And although I do believe that if I had to choose one over the other I would choose to focus on the mystery of God's immanence, this can easily become unbalanced.  The Roman Catholics have reminded me that God is beyond me, above me, and mysterious -- He transcends me.  I needed this balance.  Too often evangelicals treat God like He is their buddy or pal.  They speak to God like they would a friend down the street.  But when I see God on His throne, I'm not going to say, "What's up, man!?!  Gimme some skin."  Rather, my utterance will echo that of Isaiah: "Woe is me!  I am undone!"  I once had a friend in college who playfully (and perhaps sacrilegiously) changed the words of the popular worship chorus "I Want to Know You."  He would sing, "I want to know you; I want to kiss you; I want to make out with you."  Being college guys we all laughed, but I understood the point he was making:  in our enthusiasm to focus on God's nearness to us, we have lost a sense of awe, reverence, respect, and, yes, fear when we enter God's presence.  The Trappist monks have reminded me of God's transcendence and I am deeply grateful for it.

6.  Structure is our friend.  Living in the inner city, I see a community which is in utter chaos.  There are no routines.  People stay awake all night and sleep all day.  They eat whenever they feel like it and rarely take time to sit down together to share a common meal.  Toddlers fall asleep in front of a TV at 2 am with a bottle of kool-aid in their mouths.  Is it any wonder why people surrender to ghetto nihilism?  I must confess that such chaos has infected my own life at times on the days that I am conformed to my world rather than transformed by the renewing of my mind.  But the monks show me that structure and routine is my friend.  The bell rings as I type this to call the people to prayer once again, just as it has six times before on this day.  This repetition of order is a reflection of creation.  God made the world to operate in cycles -- the sun and the moon alternate places, the moon waxes and wanes, the seasons switch from summer to winter and back again, the breath in my lungs moves in and out, and the monks keep eating at precisely 7:00 a.m., 12:30 p.m., and 6:00 p.m. -- no variance, no exceptions, no snacking!  Just as the ancient Hebrew people recited the liturgy of Genesis 1 in their worship, so the Trappists cycle through the Scriptures -- the whole Bible in three year cycles and the 150 Psalms every two weeks.  Repetitive?  Yes.  But so is the cosmos.  Perhaps we would do ourselves a tremendous favor to embrace these structured cycles in our own lives.

7.  Father Damien invited us to join the monks for prayer during the 3:15 a.m. vigil.  He said, "You may come, but you don't have to.  That is our struggle and our vocation, not yours."  He said it with a genuine smile and with not an ounce of resentment or judgment in his heart.  If only I would bear my own vocational crosses with such grace and humility!  If only I could learn to be awakened at night by the knocks on my door of people asking for food or money with as much grace as Father Damien awakens each night to pray for me!  If only I could be interrupted during my studies with such patience!  If only I could accept verbal abuse and insults without complaint or bitterness!  Thank you, Fr. Damien, for modelling for me a joyful attitude in the midst of vocational struggles.  I am simultaneously convicted and inspired.

The Situation as it Currently Stands...

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?

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.

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.

A Prayer to the God of Ebb and Flow

Dear Lord, today I thought of the words of Vincent van Gogh: “It is true there is an ebb and flow, but the sea remains the sea.” You are the sea. Although I experience many ups and downs in my emotions and often feel great shifts and changes in my inner life, you remain the same. Your sameness is not the sameness of a rock, but the sameness of a faithful lover. Out of your love I came to life; by your love I am sustained; and to your love I am always called back. There are days of sadness and days of joy; there are feelings of guilt and feelings of gratitude; there are moments of failure and moments of success; but all of them are embraced by your unwavering love.

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"

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.

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...

Book Review: Chuck Gutenson's "Christians and the Common Good"

How ought the Christian faith to inform political dialog and interaction?  Dr. Chuck Gutenson refuses to bow to the popular view that the gospel of Jesus Christ and modern political discussions have little or nothing to do with one another.  The gospel is inherently political in that a proper understanding of salvation will include more than a personal pass out of hell and instead embrace the redemption of all of human society.  Gutenson's method is rooted first and foremost in the Bible:  What values emerge from the biblical narrative which ought to drive our own priorities in engaging the political realities of 21st century America?  By helpfully deconstructing some of the most commonly proof-texted passages of the Bible, Gutenson frees us to engage the whole of Scripture instead of participating in the all-too-familiar games of "Bible verse ping-pong."  Fans of Walter Brueggemann, Brian McLaren, Walter Wink, Jim Wallis, Tony Campolo, and Ron Sider will be pleased with this concise, accessible introduction to God's heart for matters of social justice as revealed in Scripture.  Hopefully, Christians from both sides of the political spectrum will find in Gutenson's commitment to solid exegesis and application of Scripture a call for civil dialog and repentance from our tendency to too narrowly define God's purposes according to our own biases.  All thoughtful Christians who want to reflect biblically on a justly ordered society will do well to read this book carefully.

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