Words from Washington

A Loss of Purpose

2012-01-22T16:07:00.004-05:00

There is no way I can begin to comprehend the pain that fills the Paterno home today. If I were to imagine the pain, I imagine a series of "what ifs." What if we could do the last decade all over again? What if Dad would have never been fired? What if the cancer would have been found earlier? I can imagine that the pain is palpable - that it can be cut like a knife.

As I think about his death, a series of questions come to mind. How much did football allow Joe to put his disease on the back burner? How much did his love of the game allow him to get through significant pain? How much did his purpose push him forward? And what role did his loss of purpose play in the fight ending so soon?

What is your purpose? Some of us know exactly what our purpose is. We rise and shine, eager to greet the day because we love what we do. We know we are not only winning friends but influencing people. We are convinced that we are making a difference. We work not to live but we live to work. We have a purpose.

But what happens when this purpose goes away?

I have regularly been in contact with people who have recently retired and are struggling to find meaning in life. I have been told often of the adjustment that comes when one can no longer drive and do the things they once loved to do. Several people have shared with me how retirement is a gift but one that requires a constant searching of the soul.

Something significant happens when we have purpose. And something significant happens when we lose this purpose.

As people of faith, our task is to constantly be discerning God's call. God's call is not only for people who are set apart for professional ministry - for those with "reverend" in front of their name. God's call comes to everyone - at all seasons of life. God's call comes to us in the classroom when we first discover some of what we are good at doing. God's call comes to us on report cards when our areas of interest are sometimes affirmed based upon our performance. God's call comes to us in our workplace where we discover what we love and what we loathe. God's call is a powerful thing.

Too often we are led to believe that vocational discernment happens only when one is a young adult. I think we are cutting God and the people God loves short when we believe this way, however. A larger task awaits us. How do we help people discover their purpose - their call - their vocation at all stages of life - in their 20s, their 40s, their 60s, their 80s and even when they are 100?

David writes in Psalm 139, "O Lord, you have searched me and known me. You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from far away. You search out my path and my lying down, you are acquainted with all my ways."

What are we doing to allow people to hear God's searching and knowing? How are we kindling and rekindling purpose at all stages of life?

I buried one of the most amazing 96-year-old women I knew in December. Ruth's professional years ended decades ago but she still had a vocation. Her vocation was to be a cheerleader for younger people seeking to find their way in the world. She found joy and delight in her relationships with others. Cultivating these relationships was Ruth's purpose.

I shared time after worship today with a member of my church who goes above and beyond to keep one of our Sunday school classes going. This woman has an incredible capacity to get just about anyone to teach - especially people who are new to our church. The leadership of this class is part of her purpose.

Joe's true love was taken away from him. He was no longer able to teach players about life and coach players into becoming better on the field. He still had a purpose - to be a father, a grandfather, a neighbor, a friend, and a child of God.

How is it that we continue to cultivate this last purpose within all people at all times?

You have a purpose. I have a purpose. Thanks be to God.

The Faith of Tim Tebow

2012-01-09T16:52:00.003-05:00

I made a comment a couple of weeks ago on Facebook about how Tim Tebow makes prayer look so easy. I stated how I wished prayer were as simple as it appears to be in the life of Tim Tebow. It seems as though each time Tebow prayed, the Broncos won.

Despite what some might say, I don't believe God is a Broncos fan. And, while I am now reluctant to admit it, I found Tebow's public faith a little unsettling.

Sundays are not normally reserved for football in our home. But I was not home yesterday. Rather, I was sitting on a couch in Denver with my sister on one side of me and my sixteen-year-old niece on the other side. My sister had proudly worn her Bronco orange Crocs to school on Friday and was wearing a Broncos sweatshirt for the game. My niece had carefully placed black markings beneath her eyes for Sunday's playoff game. When I looked her in the eye, I saw "Phil. 4:13" staring back at me. There was no way I was going to miss yesterday's game. Watching the Broncos play the Steelers was not a choice in my sister's house.

And I cannot seem to get enough of Tim Tebow today. I loved watching him play in yesterday's game but I especially loved hearing him speak in the locker room following the game.

Tim Tebow gave praise to his Lord and Savior Jesus Christ before thanking his coaches. He then began to speak about the platform God has given to him before sharing how he was excited to spend time with a child after the game who had been through more than 70 surgeries. His discipleship was tangible. It poured from his lips onto center stage for all the world to see.

I believe that St. Francis had it right when he said we should preach the Gospel at all times but use words only when necessary. Our actions speak louder than our words. But Tebow's words got to me last night. They have soaked through my mind and my heart.

What is the platform God has given to you?

I doubt that no one reading this post is a professional athlete who can point to the sky following a victory, letting all the world know who is in control. But I bet my life that everyone reading this post has a platform - we all have a place where we can allow our light to shine.

Too often we are led to believe that our faith is reserved for Sundays. Following Jesus is something we do inside the walls of a church. God forbid Jesus come along with us to work. But what if your work - your vocation - your job is the very place God is eager to burst through?

What is the platform God has given to you?

I just dropped some clothes off at the dry cleaner. Sunny, one of the owners, knows me by name. She always asks about my job. She seems to get excited each time I drop off my clergy robe. The love of God shines through Sunny. The dry cleaner is her platform.

We went out to dinner on Friday night in Denver. The waiter took particular care of my niece when we shared we were celebrating her birthday. He made her the center of attention. His words and actions allowed her to feel intricately woven together - special. Maggiano's is his platform.

The man who answers the phone at the gym always makes my day. I can tell by the sound of his voice how much he loves life. He radiates joy through the phone. He greets each member by name. The gym is his platform.

What is the platform God has given to you?

We do not regularly give our Lord and Savior praise with our lips during the workday but we can praise him with our lives. We can allow our light to shine.

You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hid. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to God. Matthew 5:14-16

What is the platform God has given to you?

A Commitment for 2012

2012-01-03T12:57:00.006-05:00

In 2012, I will...

slow down
choose carefully
trust God
simplify my life

So that I might...

see clearly
listen carefully
think deeply
enjoy life fully
serve God effectively

These words came from the United Methodist Church of the Resurrection in Leawood, Kansas. They have been hanging on my desk since I received them at the church's annual Leadership Institute in September. I'm claiming them for 2012 and going to do whatever it takes to make them a reality.

Here's to making my life what God intends it to be!

Lessons in Living and Dying

2011-12-30T09:31:00.005-05:00

As a Methodist, I have been taught to believe that I am going on to perfection. I even told the bishop on the day of my ordination that I expect to be made perfect in this life since that is what candidates for ordination are supposed to say. But I am reminded daily of how far I need to travel before reaching perfection.

It's hard to believe in perfect people.

However, I said goodbye last week to the most perfect person I have ever known.

People often ask me about how Mount Vernon Place has turned around. How is it that we have transitioned from a congregation of 35 people with an average age of 82 to a growing congregation composed of countless young adults? I am still trying to put my finger on the exact recipe for the transformation but I know that Ruth DuLaney was a key ingredient.

She was not one of the young adults who joined the church in the last five years, taking a chance that change would come. Rather, she joined the church as a young adult in the late 1930s and was married at the church in 1940. She then spent the last 71 years encouraging other people to take chances - to let go of rigid ways and dream a new dream. And, she regularly told her peers that they needed to trust their new pastor - words that became my manna in the wilderness.

When I arrived at Mount Vernon Place in 2005, Ruth DuLaney was our lay leader. She was 90 years old according to her birth certificate but her energy level was on par with the average 40 year old. I met her prior to my arrival as a member of the Staff Parish Relations Committee. I next encountered her on the day my boxes were delivered to the church as she and her husband were out in the church yard pulling weeds and tending to the gardens. Her name appears on the list of those in attendance at every church meeting in my first four years. She was there when we voted to become a Reconciling Congregation and then went out to lunch with a group of young people to celebrate our church's decision to boldly welcome all people. She was there when we needed cookies baked or cards sent. She was there when we needed a location for a ladies luncheon. She was there when two young people needed a place to stay. She was there - always there. And her always being there has taught me a million lessons.

It was towards the end of the summer when a hospital bed arrived in Ruth's room. The bed was accompanied by several nurses who tended to her needs before transitioning to sitting with her round the clock. When the bed arrived, Ruth told people it was the most comfortable bed you could imagine. When the nurses started to bathe Ruth from the bed, Ruth told people it was a luxurious experience to be cared for so well. When people came to visit, Ruth lit up as she called you by name and made you feel as though you were the Queen of England knocking on her door. When cards came, Ruth shared a memory and then named a gift or talent bestowed upon each person who sent a card. In fact, reading greeting cards that arrived in the mail became one of my favorite things to do with Ruth because of the way she responded to each one.

Visiting the sick is part of my pastoral obligations. It is something I am expected to do. But I went to Ruth's not out of an obligation but because I knew Ruth would not let me leave without making more of me. She would not let me go without affirming my gifts, expressing her appreciation, telling me how excited she was about our church and then letting me know how she wished she could do more to support our church.

We knew Ruth's days were limited. I understood how each visit to her home could very easily be my last visit. And while I hope that decades of life await me, I want to embody Ruth's lessons in living and dying:

1) Serve God with all that you have and seek to really love each neighbor as you love yourself.

2) Take time to treasure the simple pleasures in life.

3) Express gratitude often.

4) Regularly name the gifts of the people around you.

5) Treat each day and each conversation as if it is your last.

The prophet Joel describes a time when old men shall dream dreams and young men shall see visions. Ruth dreamed many dreams. Thank you, Ruth DuLaney, for the ways your dreams enable me and so many others to see a beautiful vision for the way we are to live and to love.

Imagine If...

2011-12-02T08:27:00.002-05:00

A portion of Thanksgiving day was spent with church members. Following a feast of turkey and all the trimmings with the aroma of pumpkin pie all around us, we transitioned from eating to playing.

A game was selected from the shelf nearby, one that was new to me: iMAgiNiff. The rules are quick to learn. Each person selects a color to represent themselves on the board. Cards are then selected and read. The words on the cards read something like, "Imagine if _____ was an item in the office. What would she be?" On this particular card, there are then six possible answers which range from an inspirational poster to a to-do list. One player roles a dice to determine whose name will be inserted into the question. The card is read, and the other players pick the answer that best fits the person. The players who have selected the most popular answer get to move forward on the game board.

The game was delightful. I learned a lot about others but especially a lot about myself. The people at the table had a hard time discerning whether I was the inspirational poster in the office or the to-do list. On another question, some people actually picked Cinderella as the character that best fit me (crazy, right?). I cannot recall all the questions, but I know I left the evening delighted to discover more about the light in which people viewed me.

We all like to be told that we are good at something. We love to hear that we are beautiful. Someone pointing out our gifts for us can be a wonderful gift in and of itself. It is a blessing to be affirmed. The words of others have the capacity to make more of us.

But how often are we affirmed? How often do we hear positive words instead of negative words? And even if we are told positive things, do we allow our ears and our minds to hear the good over the bad? When we look into a mirror, do we see the parts of ourselves that we would love to change or the parts that we appreciate? What are the words we use to describe ourselves?

Imagine if you are beautiful. Imagine if you are smart. Imagine if you have tremendous gifts, unique one of a kind gifts that only belong to you. Imagine if you are the reason one's heart beats and sometimes skips a beat. Imagine if someone would stay up waiting for you no matter what time it was when you finally turned the key in the door. Imagine if you are spectacular, amazing, remarkable.

One of the gifts of faith is seeing ourselves through God's eyes. I imagine God like a mother who thinks her daughter is the most amazing thing since sliced bread on some days and then imagine that God is like a father who knows that her daughter has messed up but will still do anything to make it right on other days. I believe God sees our hearts before God sees the size of our hips or noses. I am convinced that God sees our true colors - and that God loves us because of all these remarkable hues.

Imagine if you are a masterpiece, rather remarkable - made in the image of God.

I Am Thankful

2011-11-24T09:28:00.002-05:00

Thankful. Heart overflowing. Gratitude. Thanksgiving.

I have so much for which to give thanks:

A partner in life who makes me laugh often and who regularly asks why we are in such a big hurry. Craig provides balance like nothing else in my life.

A call upon my life for which I am not worthy and the privilege of responding to this call by serving God as the pastor of a remarkable congregation.

A family that is only a phone call away and the joy of knowing that no matter what there will always be a family member willing to listen and to again say three words that mean the world to me, "I love you."

A place to call home and the blessing of having this home right outside of Washington. There is no other city I would rather call home at this point in my life. Seeing the skyline of Washington still has the capacity to take my breath away. It is a humbling privilege to serve in a place that offers so many contrasts and so much diversity.

A community of friends who have known me through thick and thin and who continue to journey with me through different stages and challenges of life.

The gift of being part of Mount Vernon Place. From presiding at the memorial service last week of one who spent his life serving our church to talking on the phone with our oldest member yesterday who sang to me at 103-years-old, I realize often what a gift it is to be a pastor. But it is a special gift to be the pastor of a place that is constantly seeking to discern what we are called to become. I'm grateful to be part of this place that is committed to making room for all people, this place that is constantly seeking to discern what it means to be faithful in our context, and this place that is willing to take courageous risks to see what God can do. At the same time, I praise God that my learning curve is as steep as ever and that each day provides a new opportunity for an experience of God and a challenge to go deeper.

I am thankful.

Just Words

2011-11-10T17:24:00.001-05:00

With visitors in town, I finally tracked over to the Tidal Basin to see the thirty foot stone statue of Martin Luther King, Jr. It was a crisp fall day in Washington with hues of red, yellow and orange leaves dancing across the sidewalks leading to the Mountain of Despair that has been broken apart in order to lead visitors to the Stone of Hope from which the imposing Dr. King emerges. It is an impressive work of art that has been created by a Chinese master sculptor – the kind or art that compels you to sit down and stare in amazement as you are overcome with wonder.

With our backs against the waters separating Dr. King from President Jefferson and our bodies resting upon other pieces of cold stone around the monument, we watched as dozens of grade school children ran through the Mountain of Despair before plopping down in front of the Stone of Hope for a group photograph with Dr. King. We then made our way through the words carved into smooth stone walls that stand on both sides of the memorial. The words form quotes that have been taken from Dr. King’s sermons and speeches. As we walked along, we noticed that many people stopped to read the quotes while others brushed on by in hopes of finding the perfect photo op with the leader of the civil rights movement.

Though I was reading most of the quotes, my friend stopped me and said, “We have walked by these words as if they are just words! But these words were the life and the light of so many people.”

Just words.
The life and the light of people.

I wonder how often we mount the pulpit with words that are just words versus seeking to offer words that can provide light and life to people who are sitting in darkness. I wonder how often we fail to remember the power of the words we proclaim. I wonder how often we use just words when we have been given the Word.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.[1]

Our words are needed – not words that are just words – but words that make sense of senseless situations where the emotions of anger, hatred, revenge and despair are tangible to the sight, sound and touch. Our words are needed in the hurt, pain and frustration of the world in which we find ourselves.

Less than a mile from where Dr. King stands sit dozens of people who sleep in tents at night and huddle under tarps in the day. The Occupy Wall Street movement is in its third month of capturing the hearts of imaginative and passionate people who are demanding hope and healing in a landscape of economic despair. Signs with angry words can be found in corners of America stretching from New York City’s Zuccotti Park to California’s Port of Oakland. Most of the protestors know what they are demanding: a fairer redistribution of wealth, a less powerful financial system, and more assistance for the poor and powerless in our nation. And still, words that bring light and life to people are missing from their vocabularies. The message is becoming lost in traffic jams caused by their marches and angry slogans painted across pieces of poster board because the message is just words instead of words that can be the life and light of people.

We have the words needed. The first song in Luke’s Gospel is sung by a teenage virgin who sings about how the Lord has done great things for her, looking with favor upon the lowliness of his servant while bringing down the powerful from their thrones. When Jesus teaches a group of disciples to pray, he invites them to ask for a daily provision of bread. When God rains bread from heaven, the Israelites are instructed to take a day’s provision on every day but the sixth day when they take enough for the sixth day and the Sabbath day because anything else will spoil.

The Bible has plenty to say about people who take too much and even more to say about what those who have too much are to do with their excess bounty. We have been given the words needed for this time just as Dr. King was given the words needed for his time. But these words have been treated as though they are just words. The words are absent from a movement in which they could become life and light for countless people around the world.

What are the words that regularly flow from your lips? Perhaps it’s time for us to brush up on our vocabulary. Maybe it’s time for us to enlarge our lexicon with words that can become the life and light of all people. After all, the Word has become flesh and dwells amongst us.
[1] John 1:1-5.

In Need of a Blessing

2011-10-25T07:15:00.004-04:00

I had met the woman only once. Each time I called asking if I could visit, I was politely told to not come. I continued to mail birthday cards each year, along with a Christmas card when I was organized enough. The woman's children have showed up a couple of times at church in the last six years. When I inquired why she did not come, I was told that she was an introvert who did not really enjoy being around people.

When this woman died, her children immediately called me to let me know that she had died. They wanted to have the funeral at the church. Plans were made, and I started to invite current church members to tell me about this woman's life in preparation for the celebration of her life. One member did not give me helpful information. She instead said, "That's hypocritcal. That woman has not wanted anything to do with the church for more than ten years. She got mad and left. Why would she be buried from our church?"

An email arrived today. It is from the granddaughter of two of our former church members who have entered life eternal. The granddaughter is engaged and looking for an officiant for her wedding. I loved her grandparents dearly and presided at both of their funerals. I have not seen the granddaughter since but she has turned to the pastor she knows for a blessing. I cried when I read the email and will do anything I can to be with her on her wedding day - to not only bless her marriage but to honor her grandparents who meant the world to me.

In both cases, there are some people who believe that the church's services are only available to those inside the church. Some clergy and laypeople cannot get past seeing people who return to church for a burial at the end of life or a blessing at the beginning of life whether it is a child or a marriage as nothing short of hypocritical.

And yet I wonder. I wonder if one of the greatest gifts entrusted to us is to offer blessings.

I was sitting in a pew this week at our annual meeting when a woman I have met once or twice before told me about her plans to publish a book of poems. She then reached inside her purse before shoving a journal in front of me - the delicate book where she has placed each piece of carefully crafted art was placed on my lap. "Will you bless it?" she asked. The next thing I knew I had my hands on the fabric covering the journal and was asking God to bless the work inside.

What exactly is a blessing?

When I am denied access to the Lord's Supper at my husband's church, I long for the priest to offer me a blessing. I do not belong in the Catholic Church. I am a stranger inside its walls, but something happens when the priest is willing to bless me. I become included in something larger than myself.

When I am denied access to the Lord's Supper while on my annual retreat at a local monastery, I make sure to sit on the edge of the pew for evening prayer each night. I want to be one of the first people to be sprinkled with the Abbot's holy water. I know it's just water - but it is water that has been blessed and water that I believe can bless me as I turn in for another night.

Both of these acts make all the difference to me in the way I see a church to which I do not belong. Both of these acts have a way of overwhelming me with God's love when a barrier of doctrine would keep me out.

There are enough barriers to the church all around us - physical, spiritual and theological. Why, then, would we deny a blessing at some of the most sacred moments of life - when a child has been born, when a vocation has emerged, when a couple is covenanting to spend the rest of life together, when a person has breathed their last breath?

God, help me to be a blessing by offering blessings to others.

My Life Depends On It!

2011-09-26T08:55:00.003-04:00

Our marriage began with a diet of moules and frites. Honeymooning in Quebec, we were motivated by our hotel to visit many French restaurants where we had our fill of mussels and french fries on a daily basis after eating chocolate-filled croissants in the morning. When the six days of consuming a diet rich in saturated fat were over, I said good-bye to Weight Watchers. Never mind the fact that I had just lost some thirty pounds and was wearing a wedding dress that was still too big on top because the seamstress could not keep up with my shrinking chest and waistline. I have no idea how many pounds we packed on during the honeymoon because I was afraid to step on the scales when the thank-you notes were all written.

A life of excess has continued during the last three years of blissful marriage. We have not paid a lot of attention to what has entered our bodies and have consumed countless bottles of our favorite $7.89 wine from Costco. But it is all catching up with us. My weight is now higher than it has ever been and Craig is borderline diabetic, two things we have always struggled with but two things that can no longer be hidden as we reach mid-life.

I emailed Craig last week on a very busy day at work to inquire what was for dinner. Exhausted and worn out from countless crazy demands at the church, I suggested that we order Chinese for delivery, go to a nearby pub for 50-cent wing night or stop by Harris Teeter for the scallops that were on sale. I was leaning towards the first two options out of their pure ease. Craig, however, wrote back with words that were alarming.

I have to eat healthy. My life is depending on it.

We had sauteed scallops for dinner that night with a plentiful side of steamed vegetables, but the chapter is not over. Craig's words are still haunting me. The decisions I make regarding what to buy at the store and what to prepare for dinner have a huge impact on Craig. The decisions I make can lead to us both being healthier and enjoying a full, long life or they can lead to us suffering from sickness and having our lives cut short.

We so often live life as if we are in control. We can do whatever we want to do. We can eat whatever we want to eat. We can enjoy whatever we want to enjoy. It's my life, we repeat over and over again. But what is our life dependent on? Are the choices we make only about us?

What is your life dependent on? What is my life dependent on?

A song kept entering my mind as this question rattled throughout my spirit last week. I don't know the title or the full words but I do know several phrases. "You are in the air I breathe" and "I'm desperate for you."

I was grounded again last week, brought down from my ego that believes I really am capable of doing anything and that I can cross each item off my to-do list without even calling upon God. I was brought down on my knees again last week. With a rush of responsibilities upon me, a body running on empty, and a spirit that is weak, I realized again that there is no way I could even leave the house without realizing that my day was completely dependent upon God. I was chained to the table with a Bible open and eyes that were ready to be filled with tears of defeat when God gently picked me up again and promised to work within me.

The decisions I make impact countless people, especially the people I am closest to. The same is true of you. What we do matters in big and small ways. It's rather alarming to ponder how much power we have.

My body and spirit are more tired this morning than they were last week. I am exhausted. This will be another week when it will be easier to grab junk than to drink deeply from the wells that never run dry. But, my life depends on those wells. My life depends upon the bread that satisfies until I want no more.

Here we go again, God, into another demanding and overflowing week. I'm depending upon you to guide me, to strengthen me, to increase my faith and to work within me and in spite of me. Please stand by my side this week. Please help me to see you and to acknowledge you at all times. I need you, Lord. My life depends upon you. Help me to be focused. Help me to be more disciplined. Help me, Lord. Amen.

Playing Favorites: A Sermon for 9/11

2011-09-11T15:51:00.002-04:00

Playing Favorites
Exodus 14:19-31 and Matthew 18:21-35
September 11, 2011
Donna Claycomb Sokol
Mount Vernon Place UMC, Washington

Sides are sometimes drawn in tangible ways and other times drawn in virtual ways. There are times when we can see a person taking a side and other times when we can only feel the power of a person taking a side.

A dozen or so blocks from where we are now, Democrats sit on the left side of a sometimes tangible and other times imaginary aisle while Republicans sit on the right side of the aisle. These Members of Congress are lobbied by some 12,000 people who spend over three billion dollars each year in an effort to lure them over to the side of whatever issue they represent. Phone calls and appointments are made. Cocktails and crab cakes are consumed, all in an effort to get people to make a decision, to choose a side. Whether it is the environment or taxes, gun rights or how to create jobs, we can all choose a side.

But sides are not limited to Congressional politics. When talking with a colleague this week, I reminded her of the importance of completing an online survey designed to evaluate our bishop. I shared with my colleague how the “other side” was organized and ready, referring to those people who are working hard to get rid of our current bishop. I told my colleague how important it was for those of us on our side to complete the questionnaire – to stand against the other side. As I reflected on the conversation driving back to the church, I realized how easy it is to create divisions with our words and our actions. We are good at taking sides.

I learned the pain of taking sides when my parents were divorcing. When Dad moved out I watched as friends, neighbors, church members and grandparents all took a side – some choosing to stand with my mother and others choosing to stand with my father. Some people who were once close to both of my parents were no longer visible in our lives. I also learned how easy it is for a parent to lobby his or her children into taking a side – that even children are sometimes unfairly swayed to take a side in complex parental disputes.

When have you taken a side? How many times have you aligned yourself with someone or something? How many times have you responded to the question, “Whose side are you on?”

We all take sides both consciously and unconsciously.

But what about God?

Does God take sides?

Does God play favorites?

We are in the second week of our sermon series, Exiting Egypt: Examining Exodus. We started last week by looking at the Passover. We heard the specific instructions God gives to Moses concerning God’s plans to kill the firstborn in each Egyptian home while passing over the Israelites. Since last week, the Egyptians have awakened to the horror of devastating loss while the Israelites are vowing to always remember what God has done for them by roasting the right-sized lamb with the right herbs and the right unleavened bread. The Israelites have seen the strong hand of God while Pharaoh’s heart is still hardened with an unwillingness to let the Israelites go.

It’s time for the journey to continue. God knows that the Israelites are still a little tenuous when it comes to leaving Egypt. The Israelites are still more comfortable with what they know, even though what they know is bondage, than they are with letting go and trusting God to lead them into freedom. As a result, God is doing everything God can to make sure they continue towards the Promised Land.

While a more direct route exists between the current location of the Israelites and the Promised Land, God knows that if the Israelites see an Egyptian army pursuing them that they will immediately turn back so God comes up with an alternate plan.

Going ahead of them as a pillar of fire by night and a cloud by day, God leads the Israelites to the side of the sea. But the mass of more than 600,000 people plus children and animals is not able to move without catching the attention of the Egyptians. Pharaoh learns that he is seemingly losing all of servants and quickly gets ready for battle. 600 picked chariots along with every other chariot in Egypt are readied to push in on the Israelites. The Egyptian army is fully prepared for battle. The Israelites are running out of room with the army on one side and the sea on the other. But God has not forgotten them.

As we just read, God instructs Moses to lift his hand over the sea. Moses follows the instructions, the sea parts forming walls of water on both sides, and the Israelites walk through the sea on dry ground. When every Israelite has safely crossed to the other side with the Egyptians in hot pursuit, the walls of water disappear covering the ground that was once dry, and every Egyptian drowns. Not one person in Pharaoh’s army survived while all of the Israelites safely crossed over the sea.

Does God take sides?

Does God play favorites?

Like most of you here today, I can tell you exactly where I was when I heard the news of airplanes crashing into the twin towers in New York City. I remember the Dean of Duke Divinity School opening the door of our student services staff meeting to let us know that something terrible had happened in New York City. I remember gathering around a television set to watch the replays of planes being used as weapons. And I remember gathering in the Divinity School chapel to pray after we learned that four planes had crashed in three different cities.

I remember the first time I met a 9/11 widow who forced me to imagine what it was like to have a toddler at home and to be pregnant with your second child. She illuminated my mind with the story of waiting for confirmation of her husband’s death, telling me how the only piece of her husband that remained was a bone from a finger that a policeman brought to her door months after 9/11.

I remember reading an email from a dear friend who told me about losing his best friend on United Airlines flight 77, a flight number we will never forget even though the number will never be used again.

I remember the sight of sanctuaries being filled to capacity as people who never went to church before packed into pews, yearning for a word of hope on the Sunday following 9/11.

I remember seeing more bumper stickers with the words, “God Bless America” printed on them than I had ever seen before.

I remember relearning how easy it is to take sides and how easy it is to assume that God is always on our side. Some of us were so angry that day because things like this do not happen to the United States. We have been taught to believe that we are always God’s favored nation.

But does God take sides?

Does God play favorites?

The Exodus journey begins with God appearing to Moses in a burning bush. The Lord says to Moses, “I have observed the misery of my people who are in Egypt; I have heard their cry on account of their taskmasters. Indeed, I know their sufferings, and I have come down to deliver them from the Egyptians…”[1] God continues, “I have also seen how the Egyptians oppress the Israelites.”

God calls Moses to help God deliver the people. God does something but only after God has seen the pain of the people. God responds when God sees suffering. God shows up when God sees oppression. Like all of us, God is sensitive to pain. God sides with people who are in pain, people who are in misery and people who are being oppressed.

Many people have asked where God was on Tuesday, September 11. It is a difficult question to answer when we have been taught to believe that God is all powerful and all knowing. While we are all grateful for the gift of free will, there are times when we would give anything for God to not give us so many choices, especially choices that can lead to so much harm. What if God would have tied the arms of terrorists instead of allowing them to execute their plans? What if God would have used the terrorists to strike another nation so that we might continue to live with unnecessary goggles that only allow us to see a favored nation status?

God does not take away our ability to make decisions – no matter what. We are not puppets on a string with everything already figured out and God holding the handles.

But if God is Emmanuel, God with us, then God is fully present in all places and at all times. If the steadfast love of God is established forever then this love seeps in to all places and perhaps especially the broken cracks around us.

There is no doubt in my mind that God was with all 2753 persons who died in New York City – that God knew each one by name, each family member they left behind, each award they had won, each dream they had dreamed. And I believe that the same is true for every single one of the 189 people who died at the Pentagon and the 44 people who died in Pennsylvania. Each person was a beloved child of God, intricately woven by God in the depths of their mother’s womb. God was present in every memorial service, funeral and burial. And, God has seen the pain and misery that has been magnified in the last ten years.

God wept on this day and if we could hear the sound of God weeping, perhaps it would be just as loud as the sounds coming from Egyptian houses on the day after the Passover. God wept with each person on the planes. God wept with each person who lost a loved one. And God’s weeping was not only for the victims. God’s weeping was not reserved for our side.

The Haggadah is a Jewish text that was created around the 10th Century to be read at each Passover Seder table. The Haggadah is the text from which people read the story that helps Jews remember how they have been passed over. But the Haggadah does not allow people to travel far into believing that God is only on their side. Rather, part of the tradition of the Haggadah is that the salt water of the sea represents both the sweat of Israelites slaves’ brows and the tears of the Egyptians who are mourning their great loss. While many people want to cheer when the Israelites obtain victory on the other side of the sea, the midrash pictures God telling the people to please quiet their cheers. God is not celebrating when the Israelites are safely on dry ground. Rather, God is weeping. God is weeping because the Egyptians who have died are also God’s children.

If this teaching is true then God wept at the actions and deaths of the 19 al-Qaeda terrorists who hijacked the four passenger planes just as God wept at the deaths of their 2,966 victims who expected Tuesday, September 11, 2001 to be just another day.

I purchased a new devotional book this week. The book provides a pattern for daily prayer that goes like this: becoming aware of God’s presence, inviting God’s intervention, listening for God’s voice, reflection time, making our requests known, offering of self to God, and blessing. I used the book for the first time on Friday morning. With the rain still falling and a cup of coffee in my hand, I allowed the book to guide me through my devotional time only to find myself being completely arrested when I got to the guidelines for making my requests known.

I was invited to make my requests known to God by offering specific prayers: prayers for our world, its people and leaders, prayers for the church and its leaders, prayers for those in our circle of responsibility, and prayers for myself. I was doing fine until I got to the prayers for those in my circle of responsibility. My first reaction was to think, “Well, that’s easy. I only have to pray for Craig.” But God would not let me stop with my husband. Rather, different people kept entering my mind. My imagination was soon expanded to include many people in my circle of responsibility: my mother and father, my sister and brother, my nieces and cousins, my neighbors and friends, and every single one of you. I soon discovered that my circle of responsibility is very large, and that I am not allowed to pray only for the one person with whom I most closely and intimately share life.

I then thought about God interceding on behalf of God’s circle of responsibility. While we like to think that we are always at the top of the list or that God is always far more eager to bless America than God is ready to bless another nation, a song kept coming to mind. It is a song many of us were taught as children when we sang, “He’s got the whole world in his hands. He’s got the whole world in his hands. He’s got the whole world in his hands. He’s got the whole world in his hands.”

God’s circle of responsibility includes every single living thing: every bird in the air, every animal that walks the earth, every creature in the sea, and every single person – terrorist and victim, Christian and Muslim, believer and doubter, innocent and guilty, you and me. And just when we are convinced that we are finally recipients of most favored nation or most favored person status, God shows us how big God’s hands are before letting us know that God’s heart is even larger.

It is not our responsibility to figure out which side God is on. It is our responsibility, however, to rest with confidence that God’s hands are upon us. We can believe without a shadow of doubt that God has seen and continues to see our pain, that God feels our pain, and that God is with us in our pain. We can face this day and all of our days to come with the full assurance that God is with us and that God will never leave us nor forsake us. And when we have done everything we can to place ourselves on the other side of God, we discover that God does not turn God’s back on us like we are so prone to do to others around us. Rather, we are promised that we can come back to God no matter what because the thing about God is that God’s side and God’s favorites seem to constantly be changing.

[1] Exodus 3:7-8.

Defriended

2011-09-04T13:52:00.009-04:00

I love Facebook. Facebook is a place where I have reconnected with friends from as early as elementary school. It is a place where I can glean creative ideas from pastors who are doing great stuff in their churches. It is a place where I can communicate with friends and church members. It is a place that enables me to feel connected.

While Facebook does not offer a full glimpse into our lives, Facebook does provide many details.

Earlier this week I got a text from my niece asking me if my mother (her grandmother) had my Facebook password. Rather than saying, "No," and leaving it at that, I decided to pass on my exact thoughts about pictures that had recently been posted on her profile. I shared with my niece hurtful words and let her know that I was horrified by how she appeared in some of the pictures. It was five minutes later when I realized that my niece had defriended me on Facebook.

While I have chosen to defriend other people, I don't like the feeling of being defriended. I don't like the feeling of being cut off from someone's life. Her choice of defriending me has caused me a lot of pain and also caused me to do a lot of reflection this week.

My niece chose to defriend me rather than take the risk that I might allow other people to see the pictures that were posted on Facebook. She chose to remove not only my access to her profile but the access of other family members, as well.

I wonder if her response is the exact way we interact with God sometimes.

We pretend that God cannot see everything. We pretend that there are places of our minds, our hearts, and our lives that God cannot reach. We pretend that what we do in the dark stays in the dark or that "what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas." We like to pretend that there are some parts of our lives that God will never see.

But the Psalmist describes a very different God. In Psalm 139 we are told that there is not a single place where we can go and not encounter God.

Where can I go from your spirit?
Or where can I flee from your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, you are there;
if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.
If I take the wings of the morning
and settle at the farthest limits of the sea,
even there your hand shall lead me,
and your right hand shall hold me fast.

No matter where we are, God is with us.

God sees everything and loves us in spite of it all.

We cannot hide from God.

We cannot limit God's access to our lives.

We can turn our backs, but God still comes to us.

What would it mean for us to live our lives as though God was watching everything? What would we do differently if we really believed that God could always see us?

I regularly joke that there are some days that I would prefer Jesus to return on compared to other days. There are definitely moments when I have my discipleship on - like having my makeup on - and definitely days when I do not have my discipleship on. There are parts of my life that I want God to see and other parts of my life that I don't want God to see. While I am striving for perfection like a good Methodist, I have a long way to go before I reach perfection.

Why do I think I can hide the less than glowing parts of my life from God? Do I really believe it is possible to limit God's access to each pocket of my life?

The Psalmist ends Psalm 139 with these words:

Search me, O God, and know my heart;
test me and know my thoughts.
See if there is any wicked way in my,
and lead me in the way everlasting.

Amen, and amen.

Stopped!

2011-08-17T16:48:00.002-04:00

I have an addiction or two. I am addicted to Facebook and email. It does not matter what day of the week it is, I regularly read status updates from 1000 "friends," log on to my Hotmail account to make sure I am not missing the latest travel sale or coupon deal for another bag to put in my closet and carry on occasion, and then log on to my church email account. I have a strong desire to always know what is happening in my life, in the lives of those around me, and at church. I cannot seem to get away from it - even on my seventh day - the day I have been invited to set aside for rest and renewal.

I'm also rather addicted to work. As a pastor, it seems that our work is never over. There is always another person to visit, always another hour we could spend perfecting or learning the sermon manuscript, always another conversation to share, and always another blog entry to write. There is so much to do that I rarely feel on top of it all. And while the majority of my members tell me that they are striving to work a 40 hour work week, I find the weeks of five, eight-hour days to be the exception and not the norm. I can regularly push myself to the point of exhaustion and even if I am not in the office, I'm daily (and sometimes hourly!) reading, writing or responding to email.

But things stopped yesterday.

Friday was switched with Tuesday as the appointed Sabbath day this week. With a wedding rehearsal on Friday and the ceremony on Saturday, I knew I needed to make sure that there was one day on which I would not be "on" - one day on which I could seek rest and renewal. I cancelled my one appointment with a church member and made a hair appointment instead. The hair appointment was followed by lunch at Chipotle and then an afternoon matinee of "The Help." It was 4:00 when I returned to the house which gave me plenty of time to check and respond to email except....except the Internet was not working. I tried fifty times and kept coming up with a blank screen. Nothing was working. I went to the couch and opened a book. An hour later I opened my laptop and tried again. Still nothing. The Internet did not start working again until about 8:30 last night.

Coincidence? Probably so as I don't believe God is involved in Verizon's Internet service. Yet, I still saw God show up. God was revealed in powerful ways.

I could have easily worked on my sermon yesterday. I instead went to the movie where I got a wonderful sermon illustration. I could have easily written something. It's been over two weeks since I have blogged, after all. I instead read the work of a colleague whose article had nothing to do with what I am preaching on Sunday morning and yet, I got additional insights for Sunday's sermon. I stopped working and did things that renew my soul. But God showed me how God was still working. I rested while God continued to labor. I relaxed while God showed me that it would be okay.

Remember the Sabbath and keep it holy. Remember that the Lord who brought you out of the Land of Egypt worked for six days but on the seventh day, the Lord rested.

Why do we have such a hard time keeping this commandment?

In Step with the Music

2011-07-23T11:10:00.003-04:00

The tiny instructor is a master dancer. I often walk away from class trying to figure out how she remembers each step of every routine. She never misses a beat as she leads people of all shapes and sizes to mimic her moves as the heat in the mirror-walled room rises each Saturday morning at 10 o'clock.

But she could not remember the next step this morning. She was teaching us the moves to a new song, and she stumbled as she sought to remember which foot to move where. Not allowing herself to get frustrated, she explained that she would be able to teach us as soon as the music started. She knew the moves well but needed the music in order to know how to move her feet and hips. And sure enough, the instructor did everything right on cue as soon as her iPod started to play the appointed song.

I know exactly what to do as long as the music is playing.

I need the music in order to move.

So do you and I.

There is a melody that accompanies my life. It is a tune I learned to whistle as a child when people repeatedly told me that I was beloved. As I grew older, I detected that the melody was not as simplistic as the pretty pictures in the children's books at church made it out to be. Rather, I discovered that the melody required many people playing many parts and that I, too, had a part to play. I learned to let go of some of what I thought belonged to me, realizing that I was only a steward of my time, talent and money - that it all belonged to God anyway - and that the music became more beautiful when I and others were willing to consistently play our parts.

There are times when the music is so loud that I cannot help but to sing and dance and move along. I discover that my life is in step with the long line of ordinary saints and faithful witnesses who have come before me, those who have demonstrated firsthand what Jesus said when he told the disciples that those who lose their life for his sake will discover a fuller life than they ever imagined while those who seek to cling to their life will lose it.

There are other times when I have a hard time hearing the music, times when I surround myself with other melodies both knowingly and unknowingly. In my teens and twenties, I chose to make these music-less chapters of life last a few years before discerning that I missed the music. By the grace of God, I soon encountered people who were willing to help me hear the music again, showing me how to stay in step with the melody one move at a time.

I know well how easy it is to forget the next steps. Not a day goes by when I am not seduced into believing that I can dance through life on my own and that I can teach others how to dance without turning on the music. I then quickly find myself stumbling and falling, realizing that I need the music in order to lead others. But I also need the music in order to live the life I have been invited to live.

I need the music in order to move.

I need to be surrounded by people who are singing praise to God. I need to be in the company of individuals who show me how to love God with all that I have while also loving my neighbor as myself. I need to be with a sister who joyfully tells me what a precious privilege it is to give what we have away - that it is only then that we comprehend how much has been given to us. I need partners who can introduce me to new songs - pushing me to play more difficult pieces that require more of me. I need the church - a church where each person is willing to play their part so that others might hear the music.

I need the music in order to move.

Get Out of Jail Free Card

2011-07-20T11:13:00.003-04:00

What if God loves us so much that we are set free from all of our failures and sins no matter what?

What if there really are no boundaries to God's love - that God is with us even when we make our bed in Sheol?

Are there any limits to God's forgiveness?

What if all of us, no matter what, have been given a "get out of jail free" card that is redeemable every time we seek forgiveness?

Radical Hospitality

2011-07-15T07:36:00.004-04:00

We have grown to expect someone wearing a blue vest to say "hello" to us when we walk through the doors of Wal-Mart. We believe our water glasses should remain full when we journey through the doors of a sit-down restaurant. But one does not always expect everyone to say "hello" when visiting a college campus.

I've spent a lot of time on college campuses. I love university life. The energy of the quad could latch on me like a band aid when walking across Duke's campus at the end of a workday. But there is something remarkable - something rather tangible - about the hospitality of the place where I have spent this past week.

Over 100 monks have made St. John's Monastery their home. While you expect to see men in black in the chapel where they gather to pray three times a day, you also see these men in black getting something to drink in the refectory or walking across campus. The men in black are a fixture of the campus of St. John's University. And there is something about their way of life that has penetrated every aspect of this campus.

The rule of St. Benedict reads, "All guests who present themselves are to be welcomed as Christ, for him himself will say: I was a stranger and you welcomed me." Another rule reads that the maxim for hospitality itself is from 1 Peter 2:17, "you must honor everyone."

These words are found in different places across campus. They sneak up and surprise you as you are walking along a paved path. But what is more striking is the ways in which these words are being lived.

Everyone speaks to you on campus.

Students hold doors open for you when you are walking into different buildings.

When I say "thank you," for something, a person asks if there is anything else they can get me.

When I open the refrigerator where our sessions are held to get something cold to drink, I see not only Coke and Diet Coke but some seventeen different varieties of soda and three flavors of sparkling water. There are five different kinds of milk for my cereal or coffee. Another refrigerator holds orange, apple and cranberry juice. We had fajitas last night for dinner - accompanied by six different kinds of Mexican beer. On the first day we were here, we were invited to let them know if there was anything else we might need during our stay that was not already here. I put "low calorie Gatorade for electrolyte imbalance" on the list and came home to find four flavors of exactly what I asked for in my apartment's refrigerator.

Small details. Some would say wasteful. Others would say extravagant or over the top.

But there is something about the Benedictine way of life that is not reserved for only the men in black. Each person has had a taste of this hospitality and understands the impact it can make upon a person. All here seem to understand the power of not only being noticed but abundantly welcomed into this space and place. Each one, whether fully aware or not, is doing their part to practice the ancient practice upon which the place is built.

We believe coffee hour at church is something we do because we have always done it. But perhaps coffee hour is the time in which we can most expect to greet Christ as we go out of our way to offer a cup of coffee or hot tea to the stranger whose name we do not yet know. Perhaps coffee hour should be given as much effort as the worship hour when it comes to the energy expended on a Sunday morning.

We often find it easier to pass the peace with the people we know. But if we were to expect to greet Christ then we would go out of our way to make sure the person we do not yet know is welcomed first.

We eat dinner together at the church on Wednesday evenings, always preparing food for the one who has not RSVPd. I sometimes get annoyed when extras come who have not taken the time to call or email me with their intentions to eat, but perhaps this extra person is Christ - Christ who says, "you were a stranger and you welcomed me."

There is something about the fabric of this place. The love and welcome of Christ is woven throughout it. It's a powerful thing to experience.

Christ, help me to see you today and welcome you. Christ, help us to expect you each Sunday morning when we gather as we go out of our way to welcome the stranger. Christ, help us to soak up your love and grace until all that we do is patterned after you. May we abundantly welcome others as you have welcomed us. Amen.

Why I Write

2011-07-13T09:57:00.002-04:00

As many of you know, I am spending this week in Collegeville, Minnesota with Martin Copenhaver, Lillian Daniel, a writing tutor and eleven other remarkable pastors. We are pastors who love to write, and we are seeking to learn more about our vocation as writers. What follows is my response to the question of why I write.

When I was first experiencing my call to ministry, I asked my pastor to point me towards women pastors with whom I could talk and learn. I wanted to have coffee or lunch with pastors who were “like me.” My pastor referred me to many different women but none of them had been able to balance the demands of the church with being a wife and a mom. None of them wore red lipstick or had perfectly manicured fingernails with toenails to match. It was not until seminary when I discovered that there were plenty of women like me – people who loved to have a cocktail on Friday night before getting their nails done on Saturday morning, individuals who loved to get dressed up just for the heck of it and dreamed of having it all – a growing church, a loving husband, and a couple of well-behaved kids.

I now realize that I have searched the last six years for stories with which I could resonate. I yearned for someone to journey with me through the wilderness of congregational decline where the signposts that read “closure” were much more identifiable than the ones that read “pathway to new life.” I would have paid for advice and assurance from pastors who had stood with good church folks who could initially see only six inches in front of them and yet seemingly lead these same people to the place where they had the capacity to see far into the future – a future filled with hope and new life instead of chained-link fences around a condemned property. To use language from St. John’s University – I wanted people like Donald Jackson who bought the entire supply of ink needed for the St. John’s Bible at pennies a stick decades before he was hired to create the project, or individuals like the potter on campus who asked for 300 years worth of clay found in a source that would soon dry up because he believed that the people at St. John’s would be creating pottery for three centuries to come. I longed for visionary mentors, pastors, and advisors who could help me lead my people to becoming more visionary. What I found was something different.

I found a seminary president who told me that I was a Hospice chaplain to a group of committed 80 and 90-year-olds who had given their life to the church. This seminary president told me that all I needed to do was to hold their hands while I waited for them to die while starting a new church at the same time.

I found a myriad of authors who made church growth seem as easy as following a recipe for homemade chicken potpie.

I found colleagues who were in the same boat with me – people who believed with their whole hearts that God was not finished with the church but had no idea where to begin in order to transform a congregation from a place of decline to a place of vitality.

I then found a congregation who was willing to do something new. They did not like the changes at first but they showed me that if I demonstrated love and commitment to them that they would try anything. I learned that bringing balloons to the home of a 94-year-old chairperson of the Finance Committee who had little positive to say about me at first could change everything – that the balloons would still be in her apartment, deflated and under the table, long after the budget she fought me tooth and nail on had passed.

I believe there are people yearning to be in conversation with someone like me – an under-forty woman who loves getting my nails done and then finding the perfect shade of red lipstick, one who knows the joys and discomfort of online dating before meeting a partner who has promised to stand with me for life, one who is still discerning whether to add ‘mother’ to the list of titles found in my biography, and one who absolutely loves being a pastor – one who has, in fact, discovered that W.E. Sangster was right when he said that being a pastor is a joy for which none of us are truly worthy.

I believe there are pockets of enormous potential across my denomination as well as the universal church – pockets that seem to gravitate towards darkness instead of allowing the glorious light of the resurrection to shine. I believe there are countless other people who have responded to God’s call on their life and then found themselves in the middle of a committee meeting where every participant wants to damper their pastor’s excitement instead of respond to their leadership and try something new. And, I believe there are many churches just like the one I serve – churches who say they don’t want to change only to later thank their pastor for bringing about so much change because the change has assured them that their church is not going to die – at least not anytime soon. I long to reach into my heart – into a vessel filled with pain, doubt, hurt, disappointment and immense joy and then strike a chord in the hearts of others who are experiencing these very same emotions as result of the church and the office of pastor. I don’t know how it will turn out – but I am willing to put myself out there and see what happens.

I’m a pastor at the core of my identity. Being a pastor is my vocation. But I am also a writer – someone who longs to take words and shape them, praying that God will use them to provide light, hope, and anticipation in the lives of others.

Will you be in conversation with me?

Drenched in Words

2011-07-11T15:34:00.004-04:00

I'm spending the week in Minnesota as a guest of the Collegeville Institute. As one of twelve incredibly lucky pastors selected to participate in a program called, "The Working Pastor, The Writing Pastor," I am surrounded by words.

We have each brought a project with us that is made from words. We are reading these words and then offering other words in hopes of helping each other to become better writers. We are thinking about words. We are benefitting from a tutor who is helping us with our words. And two other incredibly gifted pastors, Martin Copenhaver and Lillian Daniel, are telling us even more about what to do with our words - how we can use better words.

When we started last night, the director of the institute prayed a prayer in which he asked God to drench us in words.

What a powerful image.

Imagine someone covering you with words. Think about words being on your head and on your chest, on your ankle and on your knee, on your wrist and on your nose. What words would you want to be covered with? Imagine you covering someone else with words. What words would you choose?

Words can be used to build up and words can be used to tear down.

Words can be used to praise and words can be used to criticize.

Words can hurt and words can help.

Words are subtle and words are strong.

Words are powerful things.

If words were covering your body right now, what would they say?

What would others be able to read if you were drenched in words?

We believe Jesus is the Word made flesh who came to dwell amongst us. I am reminded that my words enable others to learn about Jesus - that what I say on Sunday mornings allows someone to better comprehend who Jesus is (or grow more confused!). But perhaps it is the words I use outside of Sunday worship that are most telling - the ones that creep up in my thoughts and pop forth from my mouth when I am stuck in traffic or when someone is annoying me or when my patience is running thin.

Words are powerful things.

God, come and drench me in words. Enable my words to be helpful - not just here and not just on Sunday mornings - but in all times and in all places. Cover me with your words and especially with your Word who dwells with us. Amen.

The 7th Inning Stretch

2011-07-01T06:22:00.004-04:00

Today begins my seventh year as the pastor of Mount Vernon Place United Methodist Church. The last six years have included some of the most difficult moments of my life, including many days when I was convinced that I was being called to do anything but pastor this congregation. The last six years have also included countless moments when all I could do was ponder how I cannot believe that I get paid to be a pastor because many days are paved with more blessings than I can count.

I have had five offices in the last six years including three in the historic building, one in a single-wide trailer on the front lawn, and one in a trophy office building.

I have said good-bye to many beautiful people who made great sacrifices to make sure that Mount Vernon Place would be poised to welcome new people long after they were gone. Mabel, Louie, Dorine, Gilbert, and many others come to mind on this day. I continue to believe that leading one to their final resting place is a privilege that none of us are worthy of.

I have had my heart broken when the life of a peer ended tragically and much too soon. Tracy, your story will always shape and form my ministry and our congregation.

I have had the joy of baptizing babies and adults while also leading more than 60 people in the new member vows. Welcoming people into the community of faith is one of the best parts of my job.

I have gained extensive expertise in the real estate development world that could likely never be gained from any other appointment. I know what I would have done again and what changes I would make if we were to do it over again. I also learned and passionately believe that a church does not need a building to be the body of Christ. There was great freedom that came when we only had a trailer during the week and borrowed space for Sunday worship. And still, I cannot see our building without seeing it as a huge gift from God. We could not have sold our property at a better time, and I am reminded of this timing daily.

We have watched some ministries be pruned, others die, and others emerge from the ground. I am a strong advocate for pruning. Churches cannot continue to have ministries that are leading to decay instead of life, all the while zapping valuable resources.

I have started some days by praying Psalm 56, "Be gracious to me, O God, for people trample on me; all day long foes oppress me." Other mornings have commenced with Psalm 116, "I love the Lord, because God has heart my voice and my supplications."

I have gained a voice that speaks often for those who are not yet fully included in our denomination. I am grateful to pastor a congregation that is part of the Reconciling Ministries Network and pray that God will never allow me to shy away from working for justice for our LGBT brothers and sisters. I long for the day when I can marry all members of my congregation and when I can faithfully cultivate calls to ministry within all gifted members without fear of one having to stand in the closet if they are to be ordained in our denomination.

I have learned that being a pastor is very hard work and that change is rarely easy. I have heard countless words of painful criticism aimed at me and also have enough notes in a file folder labeled, "Happy" to sustain an entire day of reading.

I have learned that everyone needs holy friends in ministry - people who are not afraid to name the gifts you have failed to claim while also naming the sins you have grown to love. Two Baptist colleagues, Amy and Jim, held my hand through my first year and kept me going when I wanted to quit. People at the Fund for Theological Education often gave me a place to share my story which reminded me that God was doing something even when I could not see it. Classmates and teachers at Wesley Theological Seminary gave me a greater place to reflect as I finished my Doctor of Ministry degree. The people of my first appointment have constantly encouraged me and reminded me that I am a pastor even when the folks at MVP did not want me to be their pastor. Our bishop has showed up often at just the right time and was always there especially during the first couple of years which were filled with more tears than laughs.

It's time to stretch. It's time to sing. It's time to be filled with joy. It's time to get a box of Cracker Jacks. We're winning! We're ahead! We have had a few home runs. But, the game is not over.

It's also time to get back to work - to buckle down, to pray, to work tirelessly until countless others know the gift of this congregation - this place at the corner of 9th and Mass. and the wondrous blessing of One who is Emmanuel - God with us at all times and in all places. We serve a God who is constantly transforming us - leading us from places of darkness and into the light, from places close to death to places filled with possibility.

Thank you, Mount Vernon Place, for six wondrous years. I cannot wait to see what the future holds with you!

A Few of My Favorite Things

2011-06-28T18:48:00.003-04:00

Today is my 39th birthday and our 3rd wedding anniversary. It's one of my favorite days as I get to celebrate both my life and my life with Craig. I have worked hard to incorporate many of my favorite things into this day. Here they are in chronological order:

1) Pushing the snooze button. The day started with pushing the button not once but three times so I could stay in bed and snuggle with Craig.

2) Pampering myself at a day spa. My appointments started at 9:00 and included a massage during which I learned just how stressed I am as she kneaded the knots in my upper back, a facial where I learned that the oily skin I complain about is actually making my skin look younger, and a haircut where I spotted Newt Gingrich getting a shampoo before having him in the chair next to mine while we both got haircuts. It took all that I had to refrain from telling him that his brilliant Contract with America is the reason I lost my job in 1994.

3) Breaking bread with my husband. I then met Craig at an amazing restaurant in Old Town where we over indulged on an exquisite meal made possible by a very generous gift certificate from my in-laws. The staff went out of their way to make us feel special. We held hands. We gave thanks. We laughed. It was wonderful. I really am married to someone who is unlike anyone I have ever met before. Craig is the kindest person I have ever met - someone who constantly makes me a better person while also making more of me. Here's to the start of our 4th year together, love of my life.

4) Being a pastor. The day continued with a stop at the hospital where one of my favorite church members has been for the last month. Howard will turn 103 next Friday. For the last six years, I have seen Howard twice a week on most weeks as he rarely missed being in church on Sunday and was also a regular participant in our weekly Bible study at the home where he lives. Howard is someone who has affirmed my gifts often. He is someone who has regularly taught me that it is far better to give than it is to receive. He is someone who was reluctant to see change at the church and voted against the sale of the church property only to become one of the members who regularly gets excited by all the new people at church. Howard is now in that thin space where heaven and earth collide. His body and his spirit are exhausted. He refuses to eat. And while he sang, "He Lives," to me almost every day last week, he now cannot seem to muster the strength to sing so I sang to him today, repeating those familiar words about our risen Savior who is in the world today. I prayed the entire time I was with him that I could hold back my tears until I got into my car only to discover tears streaming down my face as I sat next to his bed with my hand on his shoulder, poking him until he would open his eyes so I could tell him once more how much he means to me. I know that I'll soon say good-bye to this wondrous gift in my life - one who has reminded me often of how being a pastor is a privilege that none of us are worthy of. It was a blessing to be reminded of this gift on my birthday.

5) Being loved by friends and family. I've concluded today that everyone should be a Facebook user on their birthday. If one does not use it any other day of the year, one should sign onto Facebook on the day of their birthday and see what an amazing gift it is to receive birthday greetings from 200 people from every stage of life - birth to now, elementary school to college, people I see often and people I have not seen in 20 years.

I'm thankful. I'm thankful to be alive. I'm thankful to be married to Craig. I'm thankful to live in Washington. I'm thankful to be a pastor. I'm thankful for the gift of another year. And I am thankful to know that my Savior lives and promises me that all will be well no matter what tomorrow or any day in the future holds.

Here's to my final year of being in my 30s!

I See You

2011-06-21T08:53:00.002-04:00

My mother is one of the most gifted people I know. Her career has included time as a college professor, a college dean, the mayor of a small town in Colorado, and a small business owner. She is wonderful with people and a great public speaker. These gifts have been affirmed many times throughout her life as doors have opened.

However, the last couple of years have not been easy. She became a widow after the loss of her husband. She decided to give up city politics, opting to not run for a third term, and she sold her house so she could move closer to my sister. For the first time in a long time, she has found herself in an unfamiliar city with a very small community of people who know her. She has been working at a high-end outlet to pass the time and earn some spending money, and she has learned how long days can be when one is standing behind the cash register ringing up clothing sales.

But something has happened recently. Customers have started to come in and ask for her by name. People have repeatedly told her how helpful she is. More clothing is being sold when she is on the sales floor. Her gifts are being identified, and a manager has started to take note. The more people ask for her, the more the district manager has come to see that she does not belong behind a cash register but instead could be doing so much more for the company. She has a series of interviews this week in order to discern what might be possible in the future.

At the same time, Mom sounds happier than she has sounded in a long time. She seems to be discovering her place in the world again - a place where she is noticed and where her gifts are utilized. She's excited about what tomorrow might hold and considering opportunities that she would have never considered before - all because people took time to identify her gifts and then make space for these gifts.

The same thing happens in the church regularly. I listened to a story last week of a colleague who is near 40 telling of what happened when he was growing up in a large church. An older woman in the congregation took him aside and said repeatedly, "Boy, you have gifts that God can use in the church. God is going to do great things with you." My colleague has not forgot the first time his gifts were noticed and named by this woman. Her voice continues to echo in his ears as he takes his next faithful step in church leadership.

There are gifted people all around us. Our churches are filled with remarkable people at all ages and stages of life. Many churches are filled with what one colleague would call, "an embarrassment of riches." At the same time, the church is in great need of committed, passionate, and creative leaders - lay and ordained. There are many around us with the capacity to awaken what some consider to be a sleeping giant.

How much time are we spending seeking to notice the gifts in people around us? How are we naming the wondrous talents and commitment of people in our pews? What are we doing to help people hear and respond to the call or claim God has placed on their life?

It takes only one voice to awaken the possibilities and potential found deep within the well of one's soul. It takes only one comment to ignite a lifetime of dreaming.

I see you, and I think you are remarkable. God's hand is upon your life. God has great things in store for you.

Pentecost and Pride

2011-06-20T07:21:00.007-04:00

Pentecost is one of my favorite celebrations in the church. I have been singing the words "Holy Spirit Rain Down" in my head over and over again during the last seven days. I have pondered the gift of being present when people started speaking in many different languages with a central message understood by those who did not know the language. I have imagined the incredible diversity present in Jerusalem on that day. And, I have given thanks for seeing this diversity following our Pentecost worship last Sunday.

It was a typical June day. A bit of steam was rising from the sidewalks. Vendors selling water were stationed on each street corner. The sun was beating down upon Pennsylvania Avenue as people filled every corner of the popular street.

I walked down the city block in search of familiar faces and soon found the table from which members of our church were telling others about our unique community of faith. Armed with a fresh dose of the Spirit and a powerful reading of the scripture passages in which diversity is central and the Spirit falls upon all people, I could not wait to tell others about our church.

If I heard it once I heard it 50 times, "Are you really a gay friendly church?" or "Are you sure that I am welcome in your church?" A one word response, "Yes," was not enough to satisfy some of the visitors stopping for a rainbow cross or cold bottle of water. We had more convincing to do as a group representing Mount Vernon Place United Methodist Church.

As I read the story of Pentecost found in Acts, I see a community in which everyone is a candidate for a fresh anointing of God's Spirit - the Advocate whom Jesus promised to be with us. I notice how God did not anoint only one type of person or only one group of people from a particular place. Instead, I see God's Spirit powerfully falling upon all who are present in real, tangible and transformational ways.

How has the church come to believe that it has the authority to discern who can receive the Spirit and who cannot? How has the church come to believe that diversity is something we should keep in our schools or other institutions but not a key mark towards which every Christian community should passionately work? How has our church come to pride itself on keeping some people in while keeping other people out?

As I stood on the street with the sun scorching my feet, I prayed for our church. I prayed for our church to look more like the crowd I saw at Pride - old people and young people, people with a lot of clothing and people with not very much clothing, people filled with confidence and people clearly afraid of being seen, people with dark skin and people with light skin, gay people and straight people, people aware of God's presence in their lives and people who have sought to lock God in the closet because the only God they have ever been told about is a God of judgment, people who were alive and well last Sunday afternoon because they were in a community in which they were fully accepted and valued - just as they are.

Holy Spirit rain down!

Inconvenienced

2011-05-17T07:39:00.004-04:00

It was a Pilgrimage of Pain and Hope in South Africa that led me to my current appointment at Mount Vernon Place. While in South Africa with Peter and Elizabeth Storey in 2004, I began to pray a prayer: "God, please take me out of my place of comfort and success. God, please give me a heart for hurting and broken people. God, please make me more prophetic." I returned home and told the dean at Duke Divinity School that I would be resigning my position at the end of that academic year, explaining that as much as I loved being the Director of Admissions that my heart was in the local church. I then did everything I needed to do to be in contact with my bishop and other folks. God eventually led me back to Washington where my heart has been broken and my burden becomes heavier instead of lighter.

Sunday was one of those days. It was one of those days when my eyes could not keep from seeing the pain of this city.

It started at 6:50 a.m., just as I was approaching the intersection of 13th and L Streets in downtown Washington. I saw one woman first. Her clothing (or lack of clothing) gave her away. Her tiny bag and high-heeled shoes had gone to places that night that I cannot imagine going. I passed her in my car and then saw four other victims. In addition to these five girls, I saw three different men working their cell phones while adorned in large gold jewelry. My heart started to break open as I saw each person. My eyes started to tear as I pondered the pain of their night. I said a few prayers. I gave thanks for places like Courtney's House that are doing a remarkable job of getting girls off the streets, out of the hands of pimps and into a better life. I then wondered what more we could do - how God was calling us to respond.

God captured my attention once more following worship. The quiet woman who comes in and sits towards the back was there once more. She is filled with humility and gentleness. She lingered after worship in coffee hour until almost everyone else had gone. I then learned again that she had no place else to go. Her eyes welled up with tears as she explained to me that she was living with a friend but had to roam the streets during the day. "I just want a place to call home," she shared. She then continued, "It is so hard to be on the streets all day and have no where to go." She explained how she was back on the wait list of a local shelter where our church serves and where we met her but that nothing had yet opened. She shared how she was looking for work and was a really good housekeeper but how nothing had yet opened. I wanted desperately to wrap her into my arms. I wished more than anything that we had a bed at the church where she could stay for the night - that we had put a little apartment in the space where our chapel is for people to rest. I had just preached about a Good Shepherd who makes us to lie down in green pastures. I had just preached how God wants all of us to rest on lush grass instead of concrete sidewalks, and here was this woman telling me how she had no place to go - no place to go during the day and only a temporary place to go at night.

These women - the women who were still on the street corner as I drove to church and the woman who shared her struggle to find work and housing - will not let me go. They have caused my heart to be heavy and my spirit to be dampened. They have also caused me to pray - to not just pray for them but to ask God what role God is asking us to play. How are we to work for the end of sex-trafficking and the end of homelessness?

I then came across the above cartoon. We can see all of ourselves in this picture. We are so quick to line up for a reassuring life instead of an inconvenient truth. We want a reassuring life as individuals, as families and as a church. So much of the focus of the church seems to be about saving individuals and saving the church as an institution. We often invite Jesus into our hearts and then fail to invite Jesus' friends into our hearts. We have gotten so caught up in these things that we sometimes cannot see the inconvenient truths all around us.

Retired UMC Bishop Ken Carder was recently interviewed at Duke Divinity School on the UMC's Call to Action. He shared in that conversation how "God's preoccupation isn't with how many members are in the United Methodist Church but with the salvation of the cosmos." He then continued to say, "God's vision isn't difficult to discern. It's just inconvenient to follow."

I believe what I preached on Sunday is true. I believe that our Good Shepherd longs for every child on this earth to have a place to call home and a cup that is overflowing. I believe this Shepherd longs to anoint all of our heads with oil and to provide us with complete care. And, I believe that our churches are God's only hope for making these things happen. Jesus says in the 14th Chapter of John that we who believe in Jesus will not only do the works that he has done but do far greater works. When Jesus ascended to heaven, he left us to care for the needs around us - to heal, to restore, to release, to provide, to forgive.

I have no idea how to end sex-trafficking. I have no idea how to end homelessness. Truth be told, I find it easier to throw my hands in the air and say, "There will always be homeless people" and then stand in the line for "A Reassuring Life." And then God catches my attention once more. God does not allow me to let go of the pain around me. God pushes me to see how God has answered my prayer - by causing my heart to ache. I then seek to move one step closer to faithfulness - one step closer to where God is calling us to be, overwhelmed the entire time because the task is so big.

God, help us to be the people you have called us to be. Please show us what we can do to be part of the transformation of this city. Let us not shy away from large tasks but instead faithfully trust in you to show us the way because you are the way, and the truth and the life, and you long for all of your children to have abundant life on this earth as it is in heaven. Please help the church be more like you each and every day. Amen.

The Last Week

2011-05-13T14:51:00.002-04:00

I live in a city that is a haven for people with news to share. Whether it is the protestors who stand outside the Convention Center across the street from the church or the people who line the fence outside the White House, my eyes regularly see people proclaiming a message.

For several weeks now, if I drive into the city at just the right time, my eyes see many trucks parked along the National Mall. Someone has spent a lot of money painting the trucks. The purpose of the trucks is to warn all who pass by that judgment day is coming. In fact, according to the trucks, judgment day is scheduled for next Saturday, May 21.

Now I believe that we live in the between times - that Jesus has come and is coming again. Yet, I also believe we should heed Jesus' words found in Matthew 24:36 where we are told that no one knows the time nor the hour when Jesus will return - not even the angels of heaven. I do not believe that Jesus is coming next Saturday to end the world and judge each one of us. I am quite sure that Jesus would tell us to spend our money feeding the poor and housing the homeless instead of buying big trucks that tell others how he is coming. Still, I have found myself wondering what I would do if this week were my last week. What is it that I would do if I had only one week to live?

Here is my list:

1) I'd spend time with my family. I'd visit my mother, my father, my sister, my niece, my grandparents, my extended family and all of my in-laws. I'd make sure each person knew how much I love them and treasure them.

2) I'd write checks. I would give away every single penny I have to organizations and ministries that are making a difference in this city and around the world.

3) I'd call someone who I had a disagreement with and apologize one more time for screwing up.

4) I'd hold Craig's hand all day and all night - never letting it go.

5) I'd spend time with the oldest adults in our church. I'd let them know how much they mean to me and how I cannot spend an hour with them without being reminded of what a gift it is to be a pastor.

6) I'd preach my heart out. I would say everything I have ever wanted to say from the pulpit on Sunday morning with the central message being, "God loves you. God loves you no matter what. God loves you and there is nothing you can do to keep God from loving you."

7) I'd go to the homeless shelters and spend time with the poor because I don't think we have to wait for Jesus to come back in order to see him today. I believe he is regularly found in the fringes - amongst the people who are most likely to be forgotten by we who have much.

8) I'd get a manicure, a pedicure and a massage.

9) I'd send as many thank-you notes and cards as I could simply to tell others that I care and am thankful for them.

10) I'd climb a mountain and put my feet into an ocean.

11) I'd confess my sins and praise God with my whole being because no matter what, even when this life comes to an end, I believe that my redeemer lives and because of Jesus' life, that I, too, will live eternally.

12) I'd buy a lot of tulips and place them in my home and on my desk.

What about you? What would you do if this were your last week?

Called to Action

2011-05-09T08:15:00.006-04:00

I serve a church in a denomination that is declining. The loss in numbers has not happened over the course of the last few years. Rather, we have been losing members for decades. We are now at a place where nearly half of our churches have not taken in a single new member in the last year. We are closing many churches. We have buildings that are in need of great repair. And, while the alarm has been sounding for years, we are finally being called to action. We are being led to take note of what is happening and do something different.

Assigned by the Council of Bishops, a working group in our church has created a new document based upon extensive research. Bishops are now introducing the document in Annual Conferences, encouraging each church to respond and make plans to incorporate 16 ministries/strategies that were found in 5,000 vital congregations across the connection by setting SMART goals and taking note of current trends and statistics. We are all to respond to a call to act - to do something different.

I have participated in two conversations with my bishop on the Call to Action. One conversation was with a large gathering of pastors and laypeople in my region. The other gathering was a phone call with about five pastors and the bishop. We have talked through the document together. I have left each conversation being both inspired and completely frustrated. I cannot get past the first page of the document without feeling my heart rate escalate.

The first page of the document reads, "Disciple making and world transformation occurs through vital congregations." It then says, "Vital congregations are Spirit-filled, forward-leaning communities of believers that welcome all people." The document then refers to Galatians 3:28 in which Paul says all are one in Christ Jesus.

While the church I serve, Mount Vernon Place UMC, abundantly welcomes all people, the denomination of which I am a part is not a forward-leaning community that welcomes all people. Rather, we are still a denomination that discriminates. While we have moved past the days of discriminating based on color, we are still discriminating based on sexual orientation. We are still saying that some are welcome but others are not because their sexual orientation is incompatible with Christian teaching.

While the Call to Action report is calling me to action as I have already started to work with our Congregational Council on the 16 points in the document, the issue of inclusiveness is the real issue that is calling me to action. A lunchtime conversation two weeks ago has heightened my awareness on the need for change.

The woman started coming to our church in the fall having recently moved to Washington from the South. She knew she wanted to attend a Reconciling Congregation but had not yet found the right fit. Someone from the Reconciling Ministries Network had recently spoken at our church, and he suggested she give us a try. He then took time to tell me what a blessing this woman would be to any congregation. She came, and she continued to come. She was there almost every Sunday, attending a few mid-week gatherings, and was back for our Christmas Eve worship.

January came, and I did not see her much. I reached out to her and learned that she had been traveling. February came, and I did not see her much. I reached out again. This pattern continued until we were finally able to meet for lunch two weeks ago.

Over the course of lunch I learned that she had started dating someone. Her weekends were taking her to another place where this woman lived. In addition, the gift of a blossoming relationship built on the common interests of the church, music, family and other aspects of life was causing her to reevaluate her relationship with the United Methodist Church.

She shared with me how she had been part of a congregation that fought hard for change in our denomination. She told me stories of the 2008 General Conference in Fort Worth, Texas. She shared the pain that had come from these battles in addition to offering glimpses of hope. She then continued to talk with me.

I'm not someone who is only going to come on Sunday mornings, Pastor Donna. I am the kind of church member who gives it my all - the kind of church member who always shows up.

I love the United Methodist Church. The United Methodist Church has been my life. But I cannot continue to be part of a structure that does not honor the fullness of who God has created me to be.

With marriage equality a reality in the District of Columbia, I want to be part of a church that will not only accept my membership and all my gifts but one that will allow me to be married - to honor my desire to share the rest of my life with someone I love.

I then asked her where she was going to church when she was in Washington on the weekends. She told me she was going to another church of another denomination right up the street from us. When I asked her what she liked about the church she responded by saying, "The website tells me that I can be married in their church."

When are we as a denomination going to start being the church Jesus has called us to be? We allow rich people to be pastors. We allow divorced people to be pastors. We allow adulterers to be pastors. We allow people to be pastors who fit in a category that Jesus actually had something to say about but we do not allow people to be pastors who are gay or lesbian - no matter the fullness of their gifts.

I have the authority to marry couples who have only known each other for three months. I can marry people who have already been married seven times. I can marry people who have major issues that should keep them apart instead of joined together as one. Yet, I cannot marry people whose lives are a perfect complement to one another - people who deeply and passionate love one another and seek to glorify God through their marriage.

The church I serve still holds a mark of its sin-filled past. One cannot enter our historic sanctuary building without walking beneath the words, "Methodist Episcopal Church South." The grand church was created as a monument to slavery - a testament to a white man's ability to make a black man his slave. Thankfully, different voices started to fill our pulpit at the beginning of the last century. These voices called for an inclusive church. The most prominent voice - the voice that led the church to a place of having over 4000 members, even said on his last Sunday in 1950 that "The problem with the church today is that we have to get past our deep-seated prejudices if we are ever going to be the Body of Christ." I have no idea if he was being called to action by a group of bishops who were concerned about the church. What I do know is that he planted seeds of inclusiveness on that day - seeds that have led to a beautiful congregation that is black and white and many colors in between, housed and unhoused, believers and people struggling to believe, gay and straight, liberal and conservative. He stood for something different - for a new reality - for a congregation aligned with the ways of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

Church - my dear brothers and sisters in Christ - it's time for us to wake up. It's time for us to get past our deep-seated prejudices and be the Body of Christ. Hundreds of people are all around us longing for an opportunity to come in. Countless individuals are in need of being told of God's love and experiencing this love through us - the Body of Christ around the world.

I've been called to action. What about you?

Beautiful Feet

2011-04-22T07:45:00.003-04:00

We washed feet at Mount Vernon Place last night. Foot washing is not a practice I have been drawn to. While I love to have my own feet washed while sitting in a vibrating chair at a nail salon, I have never gotten down on my knees and washed the feet of my congregation. In an effort to establish new traditions and introduce new practices at our church, my colleague and I decided that last night's service would have two acts of response and remembering: the Eucharist and foot washing.

Instructions were given following the Great Thanksgiving. The intimate congregation was invited to come forward to the table or to the basin - it did not matter which place people arrived first. Each person was invited to come barefoot, leaving their shoes in the pew. We prepared for many people to come to the basin, unsure of exactly how many people would accept our invitation. I got down on my knees and waited for people to come. I soon discovered my eyes filling with tears as different emotions filled my heart and mind. And, I also found myself praying.

I gave thanks for feet that now live in China where they walk to schools to teach English. I gave thanks for the person these feet belong to - a beautiful individual who I wish would leave China and move back home because I miss her dearly.

I gave thanks for feet that lead our Serve ministries - feet that belong to someone who is willing to hold me accountable - feet that push us to embrace more people - feet that demonstrate foot washing to me often.

I gave thanks for feet that come to worship early to make sure the sanctuary is set up and feet that remain after to put each hymnal and songbook back in its place. These feet are servant's feet that show up often - feet that make my tired feet not so tired on a weekly basis.

I gave thanks for feet that not long ago stood in a garden with her fiance for marriage - feet that I got to journey with in pre-marital counseling and then celebrate with on the day I pronounced her married. These feet have blessed me so often as I see the love of God in the person to whom these feet belong.

I gave thanks for feet that have just started coming to church. These feet are hearing the story again after being away for a while. These feet are beautiful feet that are embracing the gift of community. They are loving feet that I get to watch interact with a transforming Gospel.

I also gave thanks for feet that belong to a father. This father's feet never miss a Sunday. I watch these feet care for his children and his wife. I see these feet becoming more involved in our community. I see feet that want to serve.

I'm still thinking about these feet this morning. These are feet filled with blessings. These are feet that have served countless people. These are feet that make more of me each week as they allow me to be a pastor and embody for me what it means to love others. Washing these feet has renewed me in a profound way.

"How beautiful are the feet of those who bring good news."

Willing to March?

2011-04-18T06:37:00.003-04:00

I watched with interest a discussion taking place on Facebook last week. The mayor of Washington DC had been arrested in a protest in downtown DC, and many people were offended that someone in office would be arrested. Many people took the position that a city leader should tow the line and never cross it.

As I watched the discussion taking place, I immediately thought of the pastors I know who have been arrested along with those whose names are written in history who have been arrested or jailed because they stood or marched for a different reality. I thought about the dreams of biblical proportion that have been given to numerous colleagues and the ways in which colleagues have been willing to do whatever it takes to work towards making these dreams a reality.

When is it appropriate for us to march for something new? How have we been led to believe that Christians should always tow the line and conform to society's ways instead of standing for something new?

I shared with the congregation yesterday morning how Jesus' triumphal march into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday was just as much a political demonstration as it was a religious demonstration. The temple and the state were ruled by the same people. Animals were being sold for sacrifice placing a tremendous burden on the poor who had to buy doves for the forgiveness of their sins. Economic exploitation was widespread, and a system was set up to make people believe that God was the engineer of the system, and not the wealthy elite ruling on behalf of Rome. Everything needed to change. Jesus came, and the whole city was in turmoil when he entered Jerusalem. Much stood in need of redemption, and the redeemer was on the scene.

I asked our congregation yesterday what keeps them up at night. What realities exist today that stand in stark contrast to the ways God has designed them to be? Where is there oppression? Where are people being told that they are less than who God has designed them to be? What is in need of redemption? What are we willing to march for?

A member of our church makes regular visits to Capitol Hill. He has used his time and talent to work arduously for the appeal of "don't ask, don't tell" in the military. He's marching for a different reality.

Another person in our congregation works with immigrants in our city who are looking for jobs. She passionately seeks to secure the documentation they need in order to put food on their tables and a shelter over their heads. She's seen injustice firsthand and is working for a different reality.

Other individuals are working for affordable housing. They know firsthand how expensive it is to live in the city and how some people have to work three jobs in order to pay the rent.

Some people in our church are working with a reentry program for people who have recently been incarcerated. They know that many people are not willing to offer second chances to people who are getting their lives back in order, and so they stand alongside of these individuals while they put pieces back together and seek employment and housing.

Still other people in our church are marching for an end to sex-trafficking. They know that the victims are the ones who are often prosecuted while the pimp selling the young girls is allowed to do his own thing. They are working for a different reality.

Many people in our church are working for a transformed United Methodist Church. We long for the day when all people are treated equally in our denomination - when our Book of Discipline does not call LGBT people "incompatible with Christian teaching."

What are we willing to march for? When are we willing to say, "I've had enough, Lord. I know that the way things are is not the way you designed them to be. Give me the courage to work for the needed change. Grant me the capacity to see your dream and then passionately live into your dream. I need you, Lord. The world needs you. Help us, God, to be the people you have called us to be."

Essential or Non-essential?

2011-04-08T08:46:00.003-04:00

My husband and I have been watching this week's budget standoff with interest. Craig is a government employee, and all week he has been reminding me that he might not be paid during a shutdown. He has cautioned me often to think about what we are spending, going a bit overboard with worry in my mind. We have watched the news stories. We have ached in sympathy with the thousands of tourists who have traveled to Washington for the ending of the Cherry Blossom Festival, a parade that is likely not to pass by. We have prayed for a solution and for the people who will be impacted the hardest by a shutdown. I have also thought a lot about the terms "essential" and "non-essential."

Who is it that is deemed essential on every other day but non-essential during a shutdown? How are these decisions made? How does one feel when they are told to stay home because they are non-essential?

As I have thought about our federal workers, I have also thought about how these views are used in the church. When it comes to a congregation, who is essential and who is non-essential?

Too often people are led to believe that the pastor is essential, the organist or pianist is essential, and the person who unlocks the doors is essential. We forget or fail to realize often how everyone is essential in the body of Christ.

Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 12, "For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ...Indeed, the body does not consist of one member but of many. If the foot would say, 'Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body,' that would not make it any less a part of the body. And if the ear would say, 'Because I am not an eye, I did not belong to the body,' that would not make it any less a part of the body...But as it is, God arranged the members of the body, each one of them as God chose." Paul then says, "Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it."

I am reminded every Sunday how each person in our congregation is essential. If a visitor arrives and one or two people are at the door ready to greet them, show them their way to the sanctuary, and give them a bulletin, then that person is more likely to come back. If someone sits down in the pews and the people next to them in the pews or behind them or in front of them say "hello" or show them where the right songbook is or invite them to coffee hour following worship, then that person is likely to come back. If someone makes coffee or volunteers to bring food for fellowship time, then a stronger sense of community will be evident. If someone volunteers to serve in the nursery, caring for our many children, then our children's ministry is likely to grow stronger and other families might be led to come. If a lot of people choose to take the Sunday off for whatever reason and there are a lot of gaps in the sanctuary, then one person may be led to believe that the church is not so vibrant after all - the absence of one family in a small congregation makes a huge difference. If we pray for someone who is sick on Sunday and then continue to pray for that person throughout the week, letting the person know they are being carried in prayer, then our prayers could make all the difference.

Everyone is essential outside of worship, too. When our committees met on Wednesday night, one person made all the difference in whether or not one group had a quorum. When it comes to our shower ministry, one person can be the decisive factor in whether or not a dozen people get to shower. When it comes to church life, it is the little things that can make a huge difference whether it is our prayers, presence, gifts, service or witness.

We are the body of Christ. Some of us are feet. Some of us are hands. Some of us are mouths. Some of us are ears. Some of us are eyes. Some of us are noses. Every part of the body is essential.

Thanks for being part of the body. See you on Sunday!

How Can I Keep from Singing?

2011-04-04T08:30:00.009-04:00

I sang on my way to work this morning. The sun was rising over Washington, and my car radio was tuned to the local Contemporary Christian station. With the music playing in the background and cherry blossoms in view around the Tidal Basin, I could not keep from singing. I wanted nothing more than to keep on singing my praises to God for the dawn of a new day and the anticipation of another week. How could I keep from singing?

Most of us sing when we are happy. We sing in response to the joy in our lives. But I learned again last night the power of singing at all times - not just when we are filled with joy - but especially when we have no words to fill the pain of life - when only a song will do.

"60 Minutes" Lesley Stahl took me to Harlem last night where we were introduced to Vy Higgensen's Gospel for Teens program. Vy has been teaching teenagers in Harlem how to sing their lives for many years now. She uses the power of gospel music to reach individual hearts and transform spirits. The program's theme song includes the words, "How can anyone ever tell you that you're less than beautiful? How can anyone ever tell you that you're less than whole?" She pushes young people who have been told all their lives that they are far from beautiful and less than whole to belt out these words - to sing them until they own them. She also informs the teenagers that the one thing slaves always had was song - the ability to sing. "Song is our story" she tells them. "'The storm is passing over' is music born out of slavery," she continues.

Vy has a way of telling the teenagers that their storms are still passing over - that they can keep on singing through the darkness until they can again see the light. She shows the power of this abiding belief in their power of song when she invites a young person who has just watched a 15-year-old relative be slain to get up and sing - to get up and sing about the darkness going away - being replaced by God's presence and light. In Vy's world, song is filled with hope and possibility - singing allows us to see a different alternative.

The story of Gospel for Teens had me in tears last night. I listened to the power of God's call on this woman's life - how she has taken the gifts God has given to her and used them to bring out the God-given gifts in others. I watched as young people started to uncover the brightness of their light. I witnessed the power of music - the power of song - completely transforming dozens of lives.

Singing plays a central role in scripture. In the book of Acts, we are told that Paul and Silas are in prison. It is about midnight when they are praying and singing hymns to God. We are then told how there was suddenly an earthquake that shook even the foundations of the prison, "and immediately all the doors were opened and everyone's chains were unfastened." Music brought about release from captivity. It loosened the ties of bondage. We are told that the disciples sing a hymn immediately after the Last Supper in Mark's Gospel and just before Jesus tells of Peter's denial (Mark 14:26). Certainly the Psalmists are singing people. People sing for all kinds of reasons in the Psalms.

What about you? When do you sing? When sadness robs every ounce of your joy, do you turn inward and refuse to acknowledge God let alone sing? When darkness starts to evade the light of life, do you ever turn to singing? When prayers seemingly go unanswered do you give up on God or do you keep singing?

Vy's right. We have so much to learn from the genre of Gospel. We have so much to give thanks for when we sing the songs of people who knew the pain of darkness and bondage all too well but still kept on singing their faith in God. Their songs are a testament to God's power. Their songs are a testimony of a deep, abiding faith in a God who promises to never leave us nor forsake us.

What would it mean for you to hold your arms out and shake them fast and furiously, just as Vy instructs her students? What would you think about when you were instructed to shake away whatever is weighing you down, whatever is causing you pain, whatever is keeping you up at night? And once you have done a little shaking, how about starting to sing songs about how the storm is passing over, about how no one can ever tell you that you are anything but beautiful and whole, about God turning your darkness into light?

God, make our church a singing people. God, make me a singing disciple. How can we keep from singing?

A Pocket of Prayer

2011-03-31T07:46:00.003-04:00

"I have these moments of deep peace in the midst of my anxiety," he told me. "It's almost like I am walking through a pocket of prayer," he continued. "It's made me see and realize that people really are praying for me."

A member of our church shared these words with me yesterday in response to my question about his current health situation. This church member is waiting for additional questions to be answered concerning something that has been found in his body that should not be there. It is a time of waiting and uncertainty - moments in which one's thoughts about all that could be wrong can easily overcome the realization of all that can be right. He is experiencing the natural emotions of concern and worry, along with many who love him. He is also being prayed for - often.

A pocket of prayer.

Imagine the gift each of us can offer someone going through a difficult time. Imagine the peace that God can make manifest through our prayers. Imagine the power of prayer. Through our words spoken to God, someone can feel a difference. Someone can literally walk through a pocket of prayer. One can find themselves in the midst of an unexpected peace in the middle of a field of deep anxiety. What a gift we can offer to one another in the church and beyond.

"If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it. Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it." 1 Corinthians 12:26-27

We Miss You

2011-03-30T09:35:00.004-04:00

I used to go to the restaurant at least once a month as it is a few blocks from the church and quite affordable. The manager of the store closest to the church is also one who provides care for one of our members with special needs. She has even emailed me when she noticed that this person has not been taking his medications, winning my respect for more than the burritos she makes.

While I have not been there in a while, I love getting emails from this local burrito chain. Their marketing manager is filled with spunk, and I can hardly wait to see what she has to say each week. But yesterday's email made me realize just how good this restaurant is at reaching their customers. They want my business and are willing to do what it takes to get it.

The email read:

Dear Donna,

Where the heck have you been? To show you how much we miss you, we got you a little something--but we can't give it to you unless you come in. So here's the scoop: we've just put a FREE TACO on your Burrito Elito card. All you have to do is visit any Cal Tort, with your card, within 2 weeks of this email to get it. After 2 weeks it goes away--so hurry!

We're holding our breath until you get here. 1, 2, 3...

Yours Truly,
Pam
Queen of Burritos

The Queen of Burritos does more than make me laugh - she also reaches out to me to let me know that I have not been to the restaurant in a while. She misses me. And, if I take her up on her offer, I'll likely go in for more than a free taco for what is a taco without chips and salsa!

I wonder what our church can learn from her. How is it that we reach out to people who we have not seen in a while? What do we do to let people know that there is something waiting for them when they return - a loving community, a timely message, authentic worship, people who care? What do we do to make sure that no one falls through the cracks by recognizing absences?

"We miss you" are three rather powerful words.

The State of the District

2011-03-25T09:15:00.003-04:00

I received two calls from the District of Columbia Mayor's office yesterday. Two individuals called in an effort to find a pastor who could offer the invocation at the Mayor's State of the District Address scheduled for Monday night. My colleague at a nearby church could not do it, and she graciously suggested they call me. I cannot do it either as I am scheduled to be meeting at another church. But I cannot help but think about what I would pray if I could be there. What is the state of the city I love - a city where I serve - a city our church is seeking to transform with God's help?

I'll start by saying that Washington is breathtakingly beautiful this time of the year. The grass on the National Mall is turning green again. The cherry blossoms are opening into extraordinary beauty in order to dazzle thousands of people who will flock to the Tidal Basin this weekend. The monuments stand tall and proud. We can gain the appreciation of many a tourist who comes to our city if we keep them in certain areas of our city. We can awe people with our Metro and amaze people with our food choices. We can impress people, and we do often. But my eyes have seen a different side of the city, and my ears hear stories that demand attention, correction and leadership.

When I first moved to Washington in 1994, I selected a small apartment that was as close to work as I could find. My commute from my door to my desk in the Hart Senate Office Building was exactly four minutes. Living on the Hill, I was not allowed to see many of our city's problems. Homeless people are not allowed to linger on the Hill but are rather sent off to other parts of the city. Hungry people do not go through trash cans just outside the Capitol building. The sadness of the city is often blocked from the view of Members of Congress and their constituents who visit.

When I came back to the city in 2001, I was led to live in Columbia Heights. I quickly saw a different part of the city that my eyes had not seen before. I was awakened to the reality of gangs, violence, and killings. I noticed children lining up for their annual vaccinations at a local health clinic. I saw the very rich and the very poor all living on the same block. I learned to pray for peace not in places like the Middle East but for my own block.

At the same time, I was adjusting to being a pastor in the center of the city. When I arrived at the church I was greeted by huge metal gates that had been installed to keep people from sleeping on the porches. I fought hard to get the gates removed and was successful in the process. I now anguish over how to get people off the porches because we cannot keep up with hosing urine off the steps and clearing cardboard boxes. I have learned that the one thing our city has an abundance of is grey metal blankets that are given to people on the streets. I would be perfectly content to never see one of these grey blankets again.

Today, I open the pages of the Washington Post and read how 15.8 percent of the people living in Washington do not know where their next meal will come from. 93,000 people living in our city struggle to find their next meal - more than one in ten people! The radio informed me earlier in the week how the gap between those who have and those who have not is wider in the District than any other city. At the same time, I read stories of a Council Chairperson who chose to lease a luxury vehicle, demanding every feature he could find, at an expense of $2,000 a month to the city. I'm also perplexed by stories of what happened during the campaign - of who was promised what job and at what expense. I wonder who is telling the truth and who is not. I wonder what it will take to improve our city's school system - how if there will ever be another President or Member of Congress who will send her children to city schools instead of private, elite schools.

What would I pray if I could be there on Monday night?

O God, our help in ages past, you who have guided us through the wilderness and protected us in the storms, you who broke down barriers and welcomed all people, you who turned the tables upside down and sent money changers away, you who said the first shall be last and the last shall be first, you who call us to do justice and to love kindness and to walk humbly with you, we turn to you once more on this night. We gather as ordinary citizens and leaders who have been vested with extraordinary power. We gather as people who love this city and individuals who want the best for this city. We gather, and we pray for our city. We pray for our Mayor who will speak on this night. May he speak a word of truth and a word of vision. We pray for the members of our City Council who gather in the front rows. May they lead by example and show us how they are seeking the best interests for our city and not for themselves. We pray for every citizen of this city. Show us how to provide food for those who are hungry. Tell us how to provide a quality education for all who are eager to learn. Equip us with what we need to remove the violence that pervades too many neighborhoods and city corners. Help us, Lord, to care for each citizen of this city and especially those who are not here on this night. Grant us the capacity to seek your forgiveness in areas where we have gone astray. Help us to always tell the truth. Make us people who are willing to do whatever it takes to make us one - one city where all are valued and no one is tossed aside. Make your presence known in this place as we gather with hope and anticipation. Amen.

Too Busy

2011-03-23T11:24:00.004-04:00

It happened to me again. Someone treated me in such a way that I knew they were busy. I just phoned a restaurant to change a reservation. The hostess answered. I knew she was busy by the way she rushed through the name of the restaurant and her own name when answering. I shared with her the reason for my call, and she interrupted me mid-sentence. "I need to change my reservation for Sunday from four people to five people." "No problem," she said. She hung up. I'm still holding on - hoping she got my name right, hoping she made the change, hoping she is eager to greet us when we arrive for Sunday brunch.

The same thing happened when I went to pick up my car after getting it serviced on Monday. I walked into the cashier's area and felt as though I was interrupting a deep conversation. I was prepared to hand over another few hundred dollars in exchange for my car and more business down the road. She took my credit card, continued her conversation, and handed over my key. She was busy, and I was frustrated - frustrated enough to even mention what appeared to be a lack of service when the email arrived asking me about my experiences with the dealership.

So many people around me are busy - too busy to do the work they are being paid to do - providing me service. And, I am one of them. I'm often too busy. I come across as someone who is trying to juggle a million things at once. I have people call or email and say, "I know you are really busy, but..." When asked how I am, I often say, "I'm really busy."

But part of my Lenten discipline is to no longer use these words - these two words that often tell others that we may not have time for them. Rather than telling people how busy I am, I am acknowledging the fullness of life.

The fullness of life.

I realize often that most of the time I am busy because I have taken more than I can chew. When we started Wednesday night dinners at Mount Vernon Place, I volunteered to cook each Wednesday. When invitations arrive to preside at a wedding for someone I have never met or preach for a special event or serve on another Conference committee, I often say "yes" and then consider the impact it will have on the rest of my schedule. I often chose to be all things to all people, and I am realizing that I cannot keep this pace without always telling others, "I'm busy." I'm tired of being busy and long to focus on the fullness of life. I'm seeking to focus on that which makes more of me instead of that which robs my joy along with the joy of others who I am called to be with and journey with.

My life is so full - full of really amazing gifts and blessings. I am convinced that I am married to the absolute best partner that God could find for me - someone who is far more patient and kind in one day than I am in an entire month. I am convinced that I have a really great extended family. From my birth family to my in-laws, I am surrounded by people who love me and who make more of me. I am convinced that I am in the appointment that is the very best match for me. There is no other place I would rather be working and no other congregation I would rather be serving right now than Mount Vernon Place. And, I am convinced that I have great friends - longtime friends and newer friends - friends who constantly make me laugh often, think deeply, and see more of God's hand around me. These things add to the fullness of life - these things make up the very best life.

I'm asking myself often what it means to be filled with these things. What does it mean for me to focus on these things: to seek to be the very best wife, the very best family member, the very best pastor and the very best friend? If I am seeking to do these things, then I know there are many other things I can and should let go of - things that are not nearly as important as my first priorities - things that are causing me to be too busy and thereby emptying my spirit instead of adding to the fullness of life.

God, help me to see what is really important. Grant me the capacity to live a more disciplined life. Show me how best to use the time, resources and gifts you have given to me. Help me to stay focused on each person you send into my midst. Enable me to not be busy with unnecessary things but to instead be filled with the joy of knowing that I am right where you have called me to be. Amen.

Choose Life

2011-03-09T15:48:00.002-05:00

I worshipped with my clergy colleagues earlier today at a Board of Ordained Ministry meeting. The liturgy was geared towards us - towards our call to be spiritual leaders and our need to let go of ourselves. We were reminded that it does not matter what role we play, what appointment we are in, or how many people are in our congregations. We are all dust and to dust we shall return.

These are the words of Ash Wednesday. Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return. I felt the grit on my forehead. I looked at the smudged cross in the mirror of the restaurant bathroom. I thought about dust. I have since thought a lot about life.

If we journey through this season well, I believe we find life and not death. Sure we all have to journey through the cross of Good Friday but we are all on our way to the resurrection celebrated on Easter morning. We are journeying through a season that ends with resurrection and the life offered through this magnificent gift.

What does it mean for us to choose life? As I have wrestled with this question I have found my heart being called back to its center - back to the place where I believe Christ calls me to be.

When I choose life, I realize again that my body is a temple and my health is a precious gift from God. Choosing life means being more aware of what I put into my body and how I treat my body. Choosing life means making physical activity a priority instead of something done on my day off. It means making salads and staying away from drive-through windows. It means limiting my caffeine intake and watching my empty calories. It means embodying the discipline needed to get weight off that has crept on since our wedding. Choose life.

When I choose life, I realize that life is best spent in community. My heart is most fully alive when I am with others. I love the community that gathers on Sunday mornings in the church I serve. I love the community of my friends and family. I need to spend more time with these precious people. I need to make community a priority. Choose life.

When I choose life, I realize that I can never be fully human if another is not allowed to be fully human - my humanity is wrapped up in your humanity. Choosing life means working for equality for all people. It means seeking to make a difference in the world. It means acknowledging the hurt and pain of others. Choose life.

When I choose life, I realize how little things make a big difference. I imagine the joy of writing personal notes that let someone know I am thinking of them. I think about the reward that comes from selecting cards at the Hallmark Store that are sent for no reason other than to say, "I think you are wonderful" or "I'm thinking of you today," or "Thanks for being you," or "I'm praying for you." Choose life.

When I choose life, I realize that Jesus is the most important thing in my life. Because he lives I really can face tomorrow - in all my shortcomings. Because he lives, I know how to care for others - how to love others, how to be with others. Because he lives, there is nothing I should be afraid of. Because he lives, every Sunday really is a little Easter - a celebration of his resurrection and life that demands the best from me. I need to spend more time with Jesus - reading the scriptures, praying to him, seeking to follow him, serving like him, forgiving like him, living like him. Choose life.

My Lenten discipline is to choose life - to repent of my sin but to then accept the freedom God gives me to live - to really live. Thanks be to God. Amen!

Why I Need the Church

2011-03-04T07:36:00.002-05:00

Conversations this week have pushed me to think a lot about the church. What is the purpose of the church? Why do I go to church? I wrestled with these questions most of the night and woke up giving thanks once again for this imperfect body and my imperfect role within the body. There are many reasons why I need the church.

I need to be in the presence of people who are seeking to follow Jesus and willing to hold me accountable to the same. The biblical accounts are filled with stories of people seeking to do their own thing, seeking to protect their own interests. Eve disobeys God in the garden. The Israelites are constantly doubting God. The people who Jesus encounters are not much different. Neither am I. I can easily be focused on everything I need to get done and everything I want. I can easily believe that life is about me. But the Gospel will not allow this thinking. Jesus is constantly calling me to let go - to let go of my time, to let go of my talents and to let go of my resources. I need to be in community with others who are seeking to do the same thing. I need to be in the presence of people who will push me to be more faithful - who will dare to ask the question, "How is it with your soul? or When is the last time you freely offered your gifts? or How much time are you spending in prayer each day?"

I need to be in the presence of God. Sure I have experienced the Holy Spirit at this same dining room table where I write today. I have also experienced God in hospital rooms and in the midst of a conversation at Starbucks. But there is something about Sunday mornings in the sanctuary that enable me to sense God's presence more clearly. I love gazing at the brilliance of the stained glass and looking at the ways in which the light of God comes through these different colors. I love singing songs and repeating choruses written 200 years ago and ones written 20 months ago - melodies of praise that cause my heart to swell up over 'alleluia.' I love reading the words of the liturgy that call me to praise, to confess, to pray. I also love what happens when it is time for the word to be preached - how God shows up during that time in ways more powerful than I can imagine.

I need to be with people who are caring for one another. My mom has been in a tough situation recently of being in a new city where she knows only a handful of people. She has needed rides for medical procedures and even needed a ride home from the hospital this week. I suggested she call the church she has been attending. At its best, the church longs to be a place of comfort and spiritual growth but we also long to be a body that is caring for one another. I want to know if someone is planning to go to the hospital by herself or is already in the hospital. I want to know if someone is spending time trying to figure out how to get to a doctor's appointment. I want to know when someone is sick and in need of our prayers. I want to know when pain is seeping into previously joy-filled places. I want to be with each other - in times of joy and in times of pain, in times of celebration and in times of sorrow. The church has the capacity to be present like no other body - and sometimes even better than our birth families.

I need Jesus. I need to be told of his stories over and over again. I need to be reminded of his grace - how his grace was infused in me long before I ever sought to respond and how this grace is offered to me every single day. I need to be told of his life, death and resurrection - how he died for me so that I might experience the newness of life that comes when I confess my sins but also so that I might live eternally. I need to be reminded often of the call to go the extra mile, to turn the cheek, to forgive at all costs. I need to be pushed to care for the people around me who are struggling to secure the basic needs of life. I need to be transformed in ways that nothing and no one other than Jesus can transform. I do not believe Jesus is confined to churches. In fact I think he rather prefers the streets of our city but there is something about being in church that allows me to see and sense Jesus.

The church is far from perfect. I as a pastor am far from perfect. But there is something about this body that calls me to offer my best and reflect when I have fallen short. There is much about Jesus that calls me to be more.

I cannot wait to see what happens this Sunday. See you in church.

Practicing Hospitality

2011-02-28T17:40:00.002-05:00

I sent the weekly email to our congregation a few minutes ago. We are fortunate to have a lot of visitors each week, and we are always working on how to be more hospitable. I included some tips on practicing hospitality at the end of this week's email. Here they are for your review.

1) Choose a seat in the middle instead of the aisle. When I am flying on an airplane, I love the aisle. I never know when I might need to get up and go to the bathroom or get something in the overhead bin. My legs are long, and I also like to stretch them. However, church is not a flight and the sanctuary is not an airplane. Why do most people gravitate towards the aisle? We’re not really going anywhere! Rather than coming in and taking an aisle seat, how about moving to the middle and making room for others who might come later and need to sit on the aisle?

2) Immediately introduce yourself. It happens to me often – I introduce myself only to hear, “I’ve been here before.” It’s a little awkward, for sure, and I try hard to remember someone’s name. However, it is better to err on the side of safety and say, “I’m not sure I have met you before,” than to not say anything at all.

3) Invite someone to coffee hour with you and show them how to get to the Fellowship Hall. I am a huge extrovert. I love people. However, I am often completely intimidated by large gatherings where I do not know people. The same is true for coffee hour. It is so hard to walk into that space alone. It is easier to make a bee-line for the door. Our goal is to make sure no one bee-lines for the door but instead that everyone is asked and then personally accompanied to coffee hour.

4) Arrive on time – or a little early! Most of our first-time visitors arrive early – in order to find a place to park and then figure out how to get to the sanctuary. They often walk into a sanctuary that is almost empty. The service then starts with around 25 people in the pews and then somehow, by the end of the service we have 85 people in the pews. Help us make the right first impression – the impression of a vital church with a beautiful, diverse congregation – by being on time!

5) Reverse Greet – we are great at providing greeters for people who come into the church but we sometimes miss some of the bee-liners because we have so many different doors. Would you be willing to help us by going to one of these doors following the service and letting folks know how glad you are that they chose to come to your church?

6) Sign in – all the way in. Have you heard the statement, “monkey see, monkey do?” The same thing happens with our visitors. When you only write your name in the red book, they only write their name in the book. However, when you write your name, address, email and phone number, they will do the same. This information is so important to us! Your signing the book is also important to us as we are seeking to do a better job of keeping track of who has missed worship. I know it takes a little longer – but would you be willing to sign in as if it is your first time even if you have been here 500 times – letting us know all your information so that the person sitting next to you will do the same?

What about you? What makes you feel welcome when you are visiting a church for the first time? What are your tips?

The Red Carpet

2011-02-27T20:16:00.002-05:00

Our television is tuned to the Oscars. We have just over twelve minutes to go before the show begins. But we don't have to wait for the show to start to get a glimpse of the action. Television cameras are set up along the red carpet, and we are already being entertained by different television personalities who are stopping stars on their way to the show. The question being asked is not, "How are you?" or "What excites you about being here tonight?" Rather, each star is being asked, "Who are you wearing?"

Who are you wearing? The responses have ranged from Valentino to Oscar de la Renta to Marchesa and countless designers in between - some of whom I have never heard before. Some of the dresses are couture - a word that seems to bring about an even more impressive response.

Who are you wearing? The question is asked repeatedly as if the average viewer can afford a dress by the same designer.

Who are you wearing?

For the last five weeks we have been examining the Sermon on the Mount. The Sermon, as recorded in Matthew, is perhaps the greatest sermon ever to be preached. Jesus uses the sermon to form an alternative community. He uses the sermon to teach the crowds about what it means to follow him. The sermon describes the transformed life offered to all who follow Jesus. Jesus has the power to change people, and a changed life is expected of all who follow him. Disciples of Jesus are to be like light in the night. They are to turn the other cheek if someone strikes them. If one asks for a coat, disciples are beckoned to give their cloak as well. Disciples are blessed - but not in the way we expect people to be blessed. Disciples, followers of Christ, are different. They wear Christ by not worrying, by treating everyone around them with an abundance of grace, by salting the world around them.

The dresses on the red carpet illicit many oohs and ahhs. Many people will go and purchase a dress by a designer simply because of hearing the designer named tonight. The dresses have an effect on people watching.

Our discipleship is to have a similar effect. Others are to be able to see who we are wearing - who we follow - who is in control of our lives.

Who are you wearing?

Seeing Evil

2011-02-21T11:20:00.003-05:00

I have spent time with the Board of Ordained Ministry twice in recent weeks as we interview candidates for ordained ministry. I relish in the opportunity to have theological discussions, to learn new things, to be reinvigorated about the future of our church, and to spend time with precious colleagues. Without fail, I always return home wrestling with some of the same topics with which we have wrestled with the candidates. What is grace? What is the Wesleyan Quadrilateral and how do you apply it to an ethical issue? How would you respond to this issue if it were to happen in your church? What is evil? How does evil work in our world?

After wrestling with evil last week I saw evil firsthand with my own eyes on Saturday. Taking advantage of a recent Groupon that offered half-price admission, Craig and I journeyed to the Newseum on Saturday afternoon. Our visit started with our eyes being overwhelmed by light as we marveled at the glass structure and its magnificent views of Washington. But it did not take long for the darkness to become more powerful than the light.

Our eyes gazed upon several pieces of the Berlin Wall as we imagined what it must have been like to wake up one day separated from the rest of the city. It did not take long to start thinking about other walls that have been created - barriers created with wire and concrete and barriers created with minds and hearts.

We marveled at a twisted piece of a tower that used to stand tall upon the World Trade Center and looked at how newspapers reported the events of 9/11. We saw bodies falling and people running. We saw with our eyes the power of a decision that involves a few people - how a person's actions can impact thousands and thousands of people.

We also heard the cries of the people of New Orleans in the days following Hurricane Katrina, watching and listening to desperate mothers and the children shouting for food and drink. We heard their cries and then listened to the story of how so many of these voices were not really heard at the time - how we all turned our backs at first.

We saw evil. I saw evil lurking around every corner. I saw what happens when goodness is overcome with evil, when an ordinary Tuesday becomes a nightmare, when a storm exposes the sin of our nation.

I could not sleep on Saturday night.

I woke up feeling heavy on Sunday morning.

I then heard a different voice harkening from the darkness.

The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has never overcome the light.

I have come that you might have life and life abundant.

Consider the lilies of the field...and imagine how much more God cares for you.

Have no anxiety about anything.

We have a savior. We have a savior who came into the world and promises that no matter how harsh this world might be, this harshness does not have the final world. We have a savior who tells us stories about arms open wide ready to welcome home prodigal children no matter what. We have a savior who lived a life that showed us how to live and then died a most violent death so that we might all live again. We have a savior, and this savior and not the evil one, has the final word. Thanks be to God.

What the United Methodist Church Can Learn From Glee

2011-02-12T14:45:00.004-05:00

I'm a fan of the television show Glee. I love the music. I love the cast. I love the message and the ways in which this show has the capacity to tell people young and old alike about what it means to be nothing less than who you are.

The episode that aired following the Superbowl has me thinking. Titled, "The Sue Sylvester Shuffle," the episode has a lot to teach the denomination of which I am a part.

The students at William McKinley High School are divided. They have an opportunity to win the Conference Championship in football but the team is stuck on their differences instead of their similarities. Half of the members of the team are in the Glee Club. Half of the members of the team despise the Glee Club, believing it is nothing short of a group of singing sissies. The team is filled with talent but cannot win because of the ways in which they allow their differences to enter the game.

Upon losing another game, Football Coach Bieste and Glee Club Sponsor Mr. Shue come up with a plan. Asking if Coach Bieste trusts him, he proceeds to tell her how he knows a way to get her team united again. We then watch as the team comes together not on the field but in the Glee Club's practice room - in the place that represents their disagreement.

Mr. Shue gathers the team with the words, "Bullying is born out of ignorance." He then tells the team that it is time to come together. It is time to find some common ground. "We have to find a way to come together or we are going to get our asses kicked."

Coach Bieste and Mr. Shue know that the actions of the team impact not only the players on the team but the entire community. The divisions of one group have a ripple effect on the entire school.

Their efforts succeed initially, and the entire team starts to sing. Mr. Shue notices the talent of the player who is most known for his bullying and says to Dave, "If you took the energy you used bullying people and put it into this you'd be the most talented guy in the school."

The episode continues and we watch as the cheerleaders have to sacrifice being cheerleaders - the very thing they believe makes them popular - and the football players have to sacrifice their egos and sing. In the end, the entire group sings Michael Jackson's "Thriller" to the delight of everyone in the stands and the football team wins the Championship game.

Everyone wins.

Everyone wins when people focus on what is really important.

Everyone wins when they let go of their pride and see what's best for the wider community.

I don't know about you, but I think the United Methodist Church is getting its rear kicked in many ways. We are a declining denomination. Read these words from a report on new church development:

Congregation Size

The United Methodist Church has lost members every year since the merger of 1968.

Congregation Age

The average age of worshippers are on the rise throughout the nation, however, the United Methodist Church is “already gray.” The congregational life survey,” “Who Attends United Methodist Churches?,” conducted by the Office of Research and Planning makes the following observations:

For every young adult under twenty-five years old, there are six senior citizens. In fact, there are almost twice as many senior citizens occupying United Methodist pews than there are adults aged twenty-five to forty-four. In typical congregations, those aged forty-five to sixty-four make up the largest group.18

The survey concludes, “If a denomination’s future rests upon the shoulder’s of the young, then The United Methodist Church must intensify its efforts to attract and involve young adults who currently make up the smallest portion of its population.”19

Household Type

A significant warning sign to note is that in United Methodist congregations across the country, only four in ten United Methodist worshippers have children living at home. This is a full 25% below the national average. The people filling United Methodist pews are most likely to be women, well educated, and aged forty-five years or older.20

These words do not paint a picture of a vital denomination. They do not speak of a flourishing church.

At the same time, many congregations are growing. The church I serve, Mount Vernon Place United Methodist Church, has experienced a complete transformation in the last five years. We have gone from a congregation with an average age of 82 to a congregation that is known for attracting young adults and their families. Just five years ago, our chair of SPRC was 97 years old, our Finance Chair was 93 and our lay leader was 90. We now have in place an entirely new leadership team composed of people who have come in the last three to four years. What's changed? A whole lot. But one of the things that has changed is that we flung open our doors. We intentionally decided to be open to all people. We discerned a call to become part of the Reconciling Ministries Network. And one of our five-year goals is to work towards a transformed United Methodist Church.

Starting now, bodies across our country known as Annual Conferences are starting to look at pieces of legislation that will come before them this summer. At least three pieces of legislation that will come before the Baltimore Washington Annual Conference deal with sexuality. We'll debate again throughout the summer about who is welcome in our churches and who is not. We'll decide via votes about whose lives are incompatible with Christian teaching, ignoring all the while that most of our lives are incompatible as many of us are considered rather wealthy and are not sharing near what Jesus calls us to share. I'm what is described a goat in Matthew 25 more days than I would ever be considered a sheep.

Meanwhile, we are getting our butts kicked. We are losing members. We are growing older. We are becoming irrelevant.

What would it mean for us to take one for the team - for us to take one for Christ's Kingdom on earth as it is in heaven? What would it mean for us to put the energy we use on bullying people - on telling people that they are less than us because of the way they love - and put it into what is really important?

I pray for a transformed church. I pray for a church that is known for what we stand for - Christ's love, mercy, and grace; our love of God and neighbor; our commitment to justice; the impact we have on the communities of which we are a part; our ministries for and with the least of these. I pray for a championship win - the kind in which more people are being won over to Christ because the door was opened to them instead of being shut out.

What will it take for us to come together? What will it take for us to sing our hearts out - together as one - dancing in delight?

Excessive Celebration

2011-02-09T09:41:00.003-05:00

One penalty from Sunday's Superbowl has left me thinking. Green Bay's Nick Collins made a touchdown and then bowed down on his knees while lifting his hands in the air. He was overcome with excitement as most of us would be if we scored a touchdown in the biggest game of the year. He was filled with emotion and lifted his hands - in praise? in excitement? in delight? It is a rather normal reaction and yet Collins was penalized for these actions. His team suffered as a result of him lifting his hands in the air while kneeling.

Later in the game another player was found kneeling in the end zone. This time it was Greg Jennings. Jennings knelt down and then also bowed his head. He did not get penalized. Apparently it is okay to pray after scoring a touchdown but it is not okay to praise - to express jubilant celebration.

I posted on Facebook Sunday night how I would love to be accused of excessive celebration. Seriously, I would love to be the kind of person who is judged not for being uptight or wound up but for being filled with joy - celebration - wonder - delight.

One of the best descriptions of the church is found in Acts 2. Here we are told of the disciples' actions and how these actions were filled with joy. "Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people. And day by day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved" read verses 46 and 47. There is an abundance of praise, worship, gladness and generosity in this passage. The people are filled with joy over what God has done for them through Jesus' life, death and resurrection. They are bending their entire lives towards God, sharing everything they have. They are celebrating...excessively.

I yearn for a life like the early disciples. I yearn for a church like the one described in Acts 2 - not the kind of place we dread going but the kind of place where we cannot wait to gather on Sunday mornings. I yearn for a community that is filled with joy - one that understands the great things God has done for us, leaving us no choice but to celebrate. We have so much to celebrate. We have so many reasons to be thankful. God has done great things for us. God's grace is overflowing throughout our lives. God's love is immeasurable - there is nothing we can do to make God love us more and nothing we can to do make God love us less.

We have a reason to celebrate excessively - with absolutely no penalty.

Rock Climbing

2011-02-02T09:35:00.004-05:00

The writer Reuben Job has instructed me to start each day this week with the words of the Psalmist found in the 61st Psalm:

Hear my cry, O God;

listen to my prayer.

From the end of the earth I call to you,

when my heart is faint.

Lead me to the rock

that is higher than I;

for you are my refuge,

Lead me to a rock that is higher than I.

These words have become convicting words to me - touching my mind, my heart and especially my spirit. Lead me to a rock that is higher than I.

I have chosen too often to stay in the valley of myself and the way things are rather than the way things can be. I check our property values often and worry that we'll never be able to live in more than a one-bedroom condo. I read articles about how interest rates are forecasted to increase and worry about what our payments will be in the future as I recognize how far under-water we are today on our home values versus what we paid. I know bits and pieces of family situations and worry about people I love. I so often choose to stay in this valley of worry and despair. I so often fail to see how great God is, limiting the powers of God instead. I too often choose to wrestle with situations in my mind, going over a dozen different scenarios, instead of turning to God and praying these powerful words.

Lead me to a rock that is higher than I.

I look at the number of unhoused people in our community and wonder if we'll ever solve the problem of homelessness. I listen to the words of a colleague who shared with me recently how he works three jobs and still only made $26,000 last year - a person who is struggling hard to get his life back in order and defy the odds stacked against him as a former convict - and I wonder if we'll ever learn to trust that God gives second chances no matter what a person has done. I think about the situation in Egypt and the protests that are taking place and I wonder if peace will be found.

Lead me to a rock that is higher than I.

The Psalmist knows the power of God. The Psalmist is aware that we do not have to remain where we are - that we worship a God who longs to take us from our broken places in the valley and place us on a high rock, to lift us up from despair and into hope, to open a door where we can only see a closed door. Our God is an awesome God.

Lead me to a rock that is higher than I. Help me, God, to not worry but to trust in you. Show me how big you are. Reveal yourself to me and to our world. Enable me to see your movement in my life and call me to respond in places where I can assist. Lead me to a rock that is higher than I. Help me stand in high places of trust and comfidence with you. Amen.

Waiting 'til the Last Minute

2011-01-28T14:42:00.003-05:00

The Washington Metropolitan area was blanketed with snow on Wednesday. The snow was forecast earlier in the week. Anyone who watched the morning news knew that the snow was scheduled to begin in the late afternoon, starting first with freezing rain or hail. We were warned that the snow would come fast and furious. Unless we were living in a vacuum, we all knew what was coming. We were warned. And yet, somehow, this area was transformed on Wednesday into the worst congestion mess that Washington has experienced since 9/11. A typical, 20-minute commute became a four-hour nightmare. Some individuals spent upwards of eight hours on the George Washington Parkway. A friend of ours got stuck and ended up in a hotel room that night. Hundreds of cars were left abandoned after getting stuck or running out of gas. The area was stopped as every major artery leaving Washington was plugged.

We were all warned. The government announced it was closing two hours early. And yet, many of us did not budge from our office chairs until we saw snow - real flakes falling from the sky. The rain did not get our attention. The freezing rain that followed seemed easy to conquest. We sat, and when we finally decided to get up from our desks and go to our cars, we realized that everyone else had the same idea. There was no getting ahead. It was too late.

We were warned but we failed to heed the warnings. We were told exactly when the snow would start but we decided to wait and not believe it until we could see it.

I'm rather good at waiting until it is too late. I regularly choose to ignore the warnings. I know that my weight is above the recommended range for my height but all the other vital signs point to good health so I'm not really motivated to make any changes. I know that every health professional suggests that adults get at least 30 minutes of exercise each day but I regularly watch days pass without getting in more than a 10 minute walk from the Metro to the church.

We're all rather good at ignoring the warnings - at choosing to believe that we are invincible - that we can conquer anything - until we discover that it's too late.

We find many recommendations and admonitions for how to live in scripture. While some of the Ten Commandments are easy to follow - I've never been tempted to kill anyone - there are other Commandments that I regularly ignore like not coveting my neighbors house or keeping the Sabbath holy. Jesus told me to forgive the person who has hurt me not one time but 70 times seven times and yet I somehow find ways to hold grudges. The writer of Hebrews told me to always extend hospitality to strangers because I might be entertaining an angel unaware and still there are times when my busy schedule affords only a simple "hello" instead of genuine hospitality. I'm told at the end of Matthew that when Jesus comes again that he'll separate the sheep from the goats based upon who has tangibly cared for the least of these. I know I am a goat on more days than I am a sheep - but I don't necessarily change my ways.

What would it look like for me to take each warning seriously? How would my life be different if I lived as though each day were the last day?

What about you? How long did your commute take on Wednesday?

The Whole Armor

2011-01-25T17:51:00.002-05:00

It seems as though Mrs. Obama has upset many people. It is not because of something she said. Nor is it because of something she did. It is because of something she wore.

Rather than choosing a dress made by an American designer for the State Dinner held last week, Mrs. Obama selected a dress made by a British designer. She has upset all kinds of people in the process, including Oscar de la Renta, according to today's Washington Post. Many people believe that the First Lady of the United States should always choose clothing inspired and created by people living in the United States. What she wears says something. Her choices speak volumes, many believe. Everything she wears is to bring honor and glory to America. She speaks for America - even with the clothing she wears.

As I read the article, I immediately gave thanks that each thing I wear is not scrutinized. I then remembered how I love wearing a robe on Sunday mornings because it prevents people in the congregation from looking at my clothing and then critiquing me for the way a skirt clings to my hips or the appropriateness of a hemline. I love hiding behind a white alb, forcing people to choose to critique something other than my clothing. But, I also believe that her critics are on to something - and that we should take note.

I do not have to choose clothing created by a particular designer. No one has asked me recently where my dress was made or who designed it. And still, what I do matters. As a Christian, I stand for something - someone. My actions, words and my very life are to tell a story. Everything I do and say is to point towards Christ. I am a living testimony.

When I was in college, my roommate would often tape different passages of scripture printed on colored notecards on our mirror in the sorority house. One of verses that appeared often is a passage from Ephesians where Paul writes, "Put on the whole armor of God so that you may stand against the schemes of the devil." My roommate Susan thought this verse would help when we went out on Friday nights only to stumble home later with the armor of God nowhere to be found. Susan knew that our lives were to be different - that we should live as though we were protected by God - as though we were wearing full armor.

I've not found this full armor hanging in my closet. I know well how easy it is to be stripped of this armor while driving down I-395 in rush hour traffic when my mouth sounds anything like that of a preacher. I know that the fruits of the Spirit - love, joy, peace, longsuffering, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control are not always tangibly present in my life. My actions do not always differentiate me from others around me. There are times when I stand for Christ and other times when my actions would steer people away from Christ.

Mrs. Obama was stunning in her red dress that she wore last week. She has received rave reviews for the glamorous look and fit. The dress is beautiful. Still, many people believe a principle was sidestepped with this choice. Many people would have prefered something entirely different - a dress choice that stood for the country for which she stands - whether she wants to or not.

Our choices matter. You are a testimony.

Crazy, Indeed

2011-01-18T08:57:00.003-05:00

The staples held together large pieces of skin in two places on the man's leg as he held his pants up for the cameras to see. The wounds were visible. The marks of a gunman were in clear view for all to see.

He stood outside the home of Randy and Amy Loughner as another person or two placed flowers and balloons on their doorstep. A newscaster inquired, "What are you doing here?"

His response: "I came over to try to forgive them."

He then continued, "I know that sounds crazy" but that is why I am here.

I know that sounds crazy. I know that people are not accustomed to forgiveness. I know that one does not expect to find a victim of a shooting to stand on the steps of the home of the one who shot the gun. One does not expect love and grace to extend from one who knows well the pain of the tragedy. I know you expect hatred and revenge. I know you expect ugliness and mean-spirited conversation.

I know that sounds crazy - but I am here to offer forgiveness.

Yes, that does sound unusual. It sounds a lot like the Gospel.

I'm excited about the next several weeks of preaching. It's Year A in the lectionary cycle which means that we get to spend a lot of time with Matthew - my favorite Gospel. I fell in love with Matthew when a course on Matthew taught by Richard Hays coincided with a course titled, "The Local Church in Mission to God's World" taught by Peter Storey. The two courses were my two favorite courses in seminary. Matthew's words called us to mission and Dr. Storey shared how this mission could be prophetically embodied by the local church. The two courses and the professors who taught them transformed me during that semester.

Matthew calls for a remarkable life - a crazy life - an upside-down life. Starting this week, we get to watch and listen as Jesus calls ordinary fishermen to do extraordinary acts. We then get to journey to the top of a mountain where Jesus preaches the greatest sermon ever proclaimed. We'll hear again words that embody a crazy life - a life where the least-expected people receive a blessing - a life where something is expected from those who call themselves followers of Christ - a life filled with salt and light - a life in which one dares to be different.

As we journey with these texts, it is going to sound crazy. The teaching is going to go across the grain of all we have been taught before. It's going to sound nuts - like a shooting victim offering forgiveness to the home from which the shooter came.

I know it sounds crazy. But you're invited to join us. You're invited to allow the words to transform you. You're invited to live a different kind of life following a different kind of Lord.

I know it sounds crazy - but will you come learn with me and then dare to have the courage to embody this crazy life with me?

I Believe in Miracles

2011-01-15T11:00:00.002-05:00

While I was raised to believe that the glass is always half-full instead of half-empty, there are times when I must admit that it is easier to be a cynic than an optimist. Many days it seems as if the odds are stacked against us, shielding the ray of light from our view. But this week, I have been taught to believe in miracles.

I have been captivated by the ways in which we have seen the movement of God in the news covering the tragedy in Tucson. It was a doctor reporting from the hospital in Tucson that led me to my knees this week, hoping to have faith that defies the odds.

The doctor was telling about how anyone with a gunshot wound like the kind experienced by Congresswoman Giffords has only a 10% survival rate. Nine out of ten victims of a similar tragedy die or remain paralyzed. Only one in ten recovers. Congresswoman Giffords is this one. She is defying all the odds - opening her eyes, sitting on the side of her bed, raising her hands towards the sky. She is a miracle - a tangible expression of hope.

The doctors shared what their eyes had seen. They told about the statistics. They explained how a huge potential for paralysis exists in similar patients. They said that the Congresswoman had already exceeded their expectations. They then shared words that penetrated my heart.

Miracles happen every day.

We are wise to acknowledge miracles.

The physicians are scientists. They know how the body operates. They can identify each of our parts and the many arteries flowing through our limbs. They know what to do in many cases - how to ease a person's pain, how to make the blood flow, how to treat a wound. They do not, however, know how to make a gunshot victim raise her hands or open her eyes. These acts are the work of someone else. These signs of hope do not belong to the field of medicine. It is wise to acknowledge miracles.

Why, then, do we not approach God with more faith? Why do we fail to see God as one who can make a miracle? Why have we forgotten that miracles happen every day?

I know of many people, places and situations that are in need of a miracle. I know people who are losing their homes who need a miracle. I know couples who long to have a child but who are so far infertile who are in need of a miracle. I know patients suffering with cancer who are in need of a miracle. I know marriages that are falling apart that are in need of a miracle. I know a city where innocent people are being shot, where politics is polarizing, where too many people are sleeping outside, where a school system is known for what it is not instead of what it is, where there are so many resources and so much scarcity. I know a city that is in need of a miracle.

God, increase my faith. Let me not forget that you are still in the business of miracles. Reveal to me my part in making miracles happen.

I believe in miracles. Yes, I believe in miracles.

The Power of Presence

2011-01-14T08:56:00.005-05:00

I remember the first time I saw an iPod Touch. I was amazed at the power of one's touch - the ways in which one's fingers could move things on the screen or make a picture larger. I have since received my own iPhone - a tool I use dozens of times each day. It is my fingers that have the capacity to get the most from this phone - my touch moves whatever I need on the screen. Apple does a beautiful job of showing us the power of touch.

I learned last night that there is an even greater power associated with touch. I was completely captivated by a story about Representative Gaby Giffords on ABC news. The physicians were sharing how she had opened her eyes in the presence of her husband and three Congressional colleagues. We were taken to her room where we saw pictures of the Congresswoman's husband holding her hands. On last night's news, Diane Sawyer introduced us to a physician at Duke University who has been studying the power of touch - the power of one's presence. This doctor shared how social isolation in the hospital can be as bad on one's body as smoking. There is something about people being with one who is in need of healing that lowers the patient's adrenaline, allowing the patient to focus on healing whether the patient is aware or not. It does not matter if the person is in a coma, we should keep talking to them, keep assuring them of our presence, keep touching them. It does not matter whether the person is responding to us or not, studies show that our mere presence in a hospital room can make all the difference in the world.

There is power in presence. There are healing elements in our touch. We desperately need to be in community.

One of the common elements of our worship on Sunday mornings is the passing of the peace. At Mount Vernon Place, the passing of the peace often means people getting up from their seats and roaming all over the sanctuary. On some mornings, we have to start playing the piano to get peoples' attention and encourage them to sit down. We love passing the peace. And, I hear about it when we remove this element from our Sunday worship time.

One person shared with me how he gets his week's fill of hugs during the passing of the peace. He shared with me how the ten people who he hugs during these brief moments make all the difference in the world to him. He needs to be touched. He needs to experience the power of community - the presence of people who know and love him.

One of the many abundant gifts the church offers is the power of this touch. There is a priceless community found waiting in our church. We have come to understand how life is not intended to be journeyed alone but rather life is to be experienced with others. When we gather, we see a tangible authenticity that can be hard to find in other places in our city. We work hard to make sure that no one gets out the door without being touched - without being encountered, called by name, and hands embraced in a shake or body held in a hug.

There is something powerful about touch. We all need to be in community. There are healing powers found in being together. Life is not meant to be journeyed alone.

Extravagant Gifts

2011-01-05T08:17:00.002-05:00

The little men keep staring at me, decked out in lavish gowns cast in sterling silver. I see them each time I turn the bracelet so that the manger is on top of my wrist, in the prominent place it deserves. I see the three men journeying towards the manger, undoubtedly filled with gratitude that they have finally found the child for whom they have been searching after making the trek from Jerusalem to Bethlehem. My eyes behold their boxes - the chests of gold, frankincense and myrrh. I know the value of gold and how an ounce costs more than a thousand dollars these days. I wander again about the fragrant gifts of frankincense and myrrh and imagine baby Jesus enjoying the scent of the oils used on my head when I get a haircut that begins with a scalp massage. Would Jesus prefer the scent of peppermint over mango or would he go back and forth depending upon his mood?

The little men keep staring at me as they bring their gifts to the manger. This little parade across my wrist beckons me to ponder anew what gifts I am called to bring to Jesus. What extravagant gifts am I invited to offer to Jesus in the New Year no matter the cost or the sacrifice?

We have named this specific day of the wise men's arrival Epiphany. Epiphany is the 12th day of Christmas, January 6. The word comes from a Greek word much like its English counterpart which means "manifestation." The pieces of the puzzle came together on the 12th day as wise men recognized that this child was God's very Son, the one the prophets wrote about long ago. God's Son, the king of the Jews, has finally arrived on the scene. A baby blanket or plush toy are not gifts fit for a king. Kings deserve finer gifts - gifts of gold and costly oils.

But what gifts can we bring? What gifts am I being called to offer?

As I get older I realize the most costly gift I have is the gift of time. The 24 hours in each day and the seven days in each week never seem to be enough. There rarely is enough time to spend with my precious husband, enough time to ponder the passages of scripture before my fingers hit the keyboard, enough time to visit members of the church, enough time to sing praises and bring petitions to God, enough time to express gratitude for Christmas gifts and friendships, enough time for the gym, enough time to volunteer, and the list goes on and on. I am feeling called to offer Jesus more time - more time in prayer, more time in study, more time seeking to bring justice to the needs of the world, and more time seeking to embody mercy in our city.

This past year has also taught me the value of our health. Paul told the people of Corinth that our bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit. We are taught to believe that the third person of the Trinity dwells within us - that the Spirit fills our arms and legs, our hearts and heads, our veins and brains. You would never know that God dwells in me by the way I treat my body. I have too often treated my body as if it will last forever - as if I'll always have the same amount of energy or the same amount of health regardless of what goes into my mouth, how much time I spend doing cardio each week, or how many pounds I pack on each year. I feel called to bring Jesus the gift of a healthy body. I long to treat this structure in which I live, move and have my being as a temple - as they very best home in which Christ's Spirit can dwell.

The little men will stare at me for two more days before I place them in the felt case that goes inside the orange box that will be put inside my middle drawer until next Advent. I'll allow them to march across my wrist for two more days until I decide that the bracelet is not to be worn all year but only during December and early January. The lady who sold it to me informed me that I'll need to polish the bracelet - that it will tarnish after a while. I'll be ready with little cloths to dust the manger and to wipe Jesus' head clean come next Advent. But, all the while I'll be praying that the gifts I long to bring are not put away for a time. Sure, I'll need to polish them throughout the year - confessing the places where I have fallen short, asking God for guidance and direction, praying for strength and discernment - but I pray that this year will be different - that Jesus will see the gifts being brought to him regularly - extravagant, costly gifts.

My Christmas List

2010-12-24T06:59:00.003-05:00

I have been reflecting a lot this week about Christmas in years past. I recall the year I finally got a Cabbage Patch Kid. Mine did not come in the box like everyone else for mine was carefully created in the home of a creative craftswoman, but I loved it just the same. I also remember the time when my sister and I came home from school to find water beds in our rooms, an early gift for Christmas. There was another year when we found a small bowling ally in the family room, waiting for us under the tree. Many of these gifts were the result of conversations with Mom and Dad or our making lists for Santa and hanging them on the refrigerator for all shoppers to see. Each year, it seemed as though we were granted many of our desires. We made a list of what we wanted, and many of these items magically appeared under our tree on Christmas morning with Santa tracks around the house in the snow.

I'm making a similar list for Christmas this year. While the list is not pegged to the refrigerator in our home, I suspect there is one who hears the cry of my heart, one who also longs to see some of these things come to fruition.

All I want for Christmas is...

Time with my family. It has been a rough week this week with my mom being in the hospital since Sunday morning. We have had several scares with her health and have been on our knees through much of the week, asking God to bring her healing. It appears she'll be home tomorrow for Christmas. I am grateful. As we get older, the preciousness of family seems to grow more intense. I am so incredibly thankful for family and yearn for more time to create priceless memories together.

Time for friends. As we have been praying this week, I have continuously been reminded of others who are praying with us. I am convinced that I have some of the most amazing friends in the world. I am so thankful for the calls and texts and Facebook comments that have been received. I pray in the New Year that I can become an even better friend - that I can remember each birthday or anniversary, that I'll be led to write a note for no reason other than to express thanksgiving for the gift of someones presence in my life, that I'll make more calls just to say 'hello' and that we'll make more time to be with people whose lives mean so much for us.

Craig and I have some control over the above two wishes. I need a lot of help with the remaining ones.

An end to homelessness. I'm tired of seeing people wrapped up in gray blankets distributed by the city, snuggled on top of cardboard boxes even when the temperature is below freezing. I don't understand why so many people are homeless in our city and in our nation. The more I get to know some of these individuals personally, the more confused I grow. How is it that more space can be made until all people have a place to call home? What role can our church and churches around the nation play in making this wish a reality?

An end to violence. I live in a city where violence erupts regularly. I do not understand why kids are carrying guns. I have no idea why anyone feels a need to own a military style defense weapon. Why are kids killing kids? Why does an argument become so fierce that someone feels a need to end another person's life? What is worth so much that someone will kill another person in order to get it? I long for the day when war will be no more because weapons will be beat into plowshares - into tools that are used for the building of community instead of the tearing down of community.

A denomination that truly embodies Open Hearts, Open Minds and Open Doors. I'm grateful to be a United Methodist. The United Methodist Church is the only church I have ever known other than a few Sunday nights spent in praise at the local Assembly of God Church. I love our focus on grace and the ways in which these beliefs are made manifest by the ways in which we go out of our way to abundantly open all people to the table of the Lord whenever the sacrament is administered. I am so thankful for our emphasis on practical divinity - on our believing not only with our minds but with our hands and our feet by our putting our faith into practice. I love our church. Yet, I long for a church that practices what it preaches. I long for a church that truly is abundantly open to all people. I long for a church with people who realize constantly that there go any of us but by the grace of God. I'm tired of my denomination putting one group of people aside, pulling out one aspect of who a person is and allowing that aspect to hold them down. I think about what Peter Storey recently told me about something Desmond Tutu used to say in South Africa, "I'd love to be reconciled with you but it is hard to shake your hand when your foot is on my neck." Our church continues to place our feet on the necks of our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters. We continue to say that all are welcome, that all people are of our sacred worth, and then we put our foot on the neck of a gay brother when we say that their life is incompatible with Christian teaching and that they cannot experience two of the most amazing gifts I have ever received - the gift of marriage and the gift of being a pastor. I want a more inclusive United Methodist Church. I want a transformed United Methodist Church.

More people who will come to know the incredible gift of Mount Vernon Place. Not a Sunday goes by when someone does not stop and say to me, "I love the authenticity of this place." As I write to each first-time visitor, we are young and old, lifelong churchgoers and people new to the church, individuals filled with faith and people struggling to believe, housed and unhoused, liberal and conservative, gay and straight, Methodists and Catholics, and countless things in between. What unites us is a sincere desire to figure out what it means to be faithful in our context of downtown Washington I have honestly never experienced a congregation like the one I am privileged to serve. I watch as individuals in my church family open their doors and their hearts and now even their homes to people in need whether that need is the gift of someone to listen, a place to shower and sometimes a place to stay at night. I watch as people are really wrestling with the gospel and the implications of what it means to follow Jesus. I watch as our community of faith is growing deeper and wider. There is something happening in this church, and I am so excited to see what the future holds for us. I pray that people who have been hurt by the church or told they are not welcome at the church will find their way to us. I pray that people who have only seen a hypocritical side to the church will be led to us. I pray that people who want nothing to do with the church will give us a second chance.

An End to Hunger. The local newspaper has educated me this year on how many children in our city are relying upon the public school system to feed them three meals a day. I wonder what these children are doing during the Christmas break - who is feeding their stomachs. I also wonder why I am not moved to do more each time I fill my grocery cart at the local Safeway, buying some things that will not even get eaten but rot in the refrigerator and then be placed in the trash. I long for a world where no one is dying of starvation, where no child is having a hard time focusing at school because their stomach is empty, where all people are fed.

My list could continue. There many other things I would love to have. And yet, as I write this list, I realize how much we have been given.

Thank you, God, for every gift you have so generously given to us. Thank you for a warm home and plenty of food, amazing friends and beautiful family members, prophetic colleagues and a remarkable church. Thank you for my health and for arms and legs that provide mobility. Help me, God, to know what part I can play in making my wishes a reality.

Merry Christmas.

Becoming an Angel

2010-12-23T08:13:00.002-05:00

I was touched by these words this morning from Ann Weems:

Wouldn't It Be Grand To Be An Angel

Wouldn't it be grand to be an angel

and have your address

"The Realms of the Glory of God"?

And swing on rainbows,

and gather stars in your pockets,

winging in and out of earth

in a flurry of moondust

with the messages of God?

Comforting the distressed, warning the righteous,

delivering the just, guarding little children?

Of course, we can comfort and warn

and deliver and guard.

Maybe, if we get that right,

we can swing on rainbows later.

Ann Weems, "Kneeling in Bethlehem," 1980.

I'm a Survivor

2010-12-22T07:43:00.002-05:00

It was a typical holiday party. The food table held fresh-baked sugar cookies with different colors of frosting stacked on top, spicy chicken wings, and many different kinds of dips with chips and vegetables standing ready nearby. All kinds of sodas were stacked in the corner. A tree stood in another place with dozens of gifts nearby ready to be distributed.

I arrived with a family of four and took an empty seat at a table. The person sitting next to me immediately introduced himself and said, "I'm a survivor." He had a personality larger than life. He seemed to know everyone in the room. I could quickly see that I would be blessed by any conversation I shared with him. We talked about high school and future plans. We laughed. We commented on the cookies. And I listened a lot as he engaged in conversation with six people at the table. Four of the individuals had much in common. They were all high school students, teenagers. And, they were all survivors of sex-trafficking. They were so innocent and yet I knew before I walked into the room that their innocence had been robbed a long time ago. I knew that they had seen far more ugliness, far more misdirected passion, far more hours of the night and darkness in the day than any of us can begin to imagine.

When it came time to open their presents, I watched in delight. I knew that our church had purchased the gifts for two of the individuals. I sat and observed as the young people opened gifts like the ones my 15-year-old niece will open on Saturday - a digital camera and UGG boots, an iPod and a new shade of eye shadow, a pair of pants and a new coat, books and music, and many other things. And, I gave thanks that somehow my niece had been sheltered from the horror that has evaded these young lives.

I remember so well when I first started to see prostitutes on the street. It happened soon after I moved to Virginia and would drive into the city before 7:00 on Sunday morning or any other morning of the week. I can vividly picture the first time I watched someone being arrested in a very short skirt and very high-heeled boots. I know well the time my eyes were opened to the business of the night. But it took a lot of searching and being educated to have my heart and mind opened to what is really happening.

We are often led to believe that any woman working the street is a modern day Julia Roberts in "Pretty Woman." We somehow have concluded that women choose this life where they can make a thousand dollars a night and then be filled with hope of Richard Gere finally coming along, their Prince Charming whisking them away into an abundant life. Boy was I wrong.

The average age of a girl who enters sex-trafficking is 13. Individuals are found standing alone in shopping centers. Heavier girls with low self-esteem are befriended by men who tell them they are beautiful when no one else is paying them attention. Promises of beautiful clothing or the sneakers that every other kid seems to have are made, and the kids offer more trust to the giver of the gift. They are soon made to pay for the gifts - sent out on the streets with instructions for how to make money. The younger the girls, the more money can be made. Pregnant girls can also beg a higher price. And the trade is not only for girls. Boys are being trafficked, too. And, a really sad reality is that some of the boys who are being trafficked are on the streets because of their sexuality - because their parents kicked them out of the house when they learned their son was gay. Innocence is robbed in the blink of an eye - with many eyes watching. And it's not happening only in far off countries. It's happening here - in Washington and countless other cities in our nation.

It took us a long time to find an organization like Courtney's House. Founded and run by a survivor herself, their mission is to get boys and girls who are being trafficked off the street and into a better life. I got to see their work firsthand on Sunday as I sat with these young people. I could literally see how the chains had fallen off as a result of their passion and dedication. They are in the business of setting the captives free - captives that many of us will never see because we cannot believe that prostitution is alive and well in Washington or because we choose to believe it is a choice instead of forced labor.

Thank you, Courtney's House, for what you are doing. Thank you for the powerful ministry you are embodying in our community. Thank you for opening my eyes and showing me the truth of the matter.

Completely Covered

2010-12-17T07:11:00.003-05:00

A group in our congregation has been journeying through Blair Meeks' book, "Expecting the Unexpected" during the season of Advent. Each participant is invited to use the book as a daily devotional guide before coming together on Wednesday night for dinner and discussion. The book offers a wonderful opportunity to not only read scripture passages but to imagine a different reality based on scripture.

Part of today's assignment is to read Isaiah 57:14-24. Meeks then invites the reader to imagine the dwelling places of God that are mentioned in verse 15:

For thus says the high and lofty one who inhabits eternity, whose name is Holy:

I dwell in the high and holy place,

and also with those who are contrite and humble in spirit,

to revive the spirit of the humble,

and to revive the heart of the contrite.

As I took time to picture in my mind this morning the places where God dwells, my mind took me first to a high and lofty place in our city - the United States Capitol. It is in this place where 535 individuals have been entrusted with a significant amount of power. It is in this place where dreams can literally come to life, where captives can be released, where resources can be redistributed, and where justice can be done. As I thought about God hovering in this place, I said a prayer. I prayed that justice would be done this weekend as legislation is being discussed that allows all people to serve in our military, in particular. I then continued to pray but to also to praise God for dwelling in this high and lofty place.

My mind then went to the places where the contrite and humble dwell. I thought about all the places I pass in the early hours of the morning. I imagined the places where boxes are stacked and blankets are found in abundance - where unhoused people are sleeping even with snow on the ground and temperatures in the 20s. I imagined God dwelling in these places - but not for long - because I cannot imagine God dwelling there without wanting to do something about it. I also imagined God dwelling in the homes of people whose hearts are broken during this holiday season. I thought of people like my mom who mourn the loss of a loved one during Christmas. I thought of families who are entering the season for the first time without someone precious to them. I thought of all who are suffering because of a medical diagnosis, or a disease, or a loss of a job, or a broken relationship, or a loss of a home. I continued to pray but I also gave thanks to God for dwelling in these places.

God's presence cannot be contained in one space. There is not a physical tent big enough in which to hold God. God's hands are far more outstretched than any of us can imagine - and certainly wider than most of our bodies who are seeking to be the body of Christ. God's goodness reigns over all people in all places. And for that, I give thanks!

O Come, O Come Emmanuel and ransom the captives wherever they are on this day. Make your presence known in lofty places and make your presence known in the dark corners of the city. Where individuals are held captive to their power, help them to see the ways in which their power can set other captives free. Where individuals are held captive to sadness and depression, set upon them the dawn of a new day made possible through your love and mercy. Make your presence known in churches and make your presence known in city halls. Make your presence known on every street and in every building of this city. Help all who want to follow you to do our part in following you not only to the high and lofty places but also to those who are contrite and humble in spirit. O come, O come Emmanuel. Amen.

The Scarf No One Wanted

2010-12-14T15:17:00.005-05:00

One of our members told a story last week during joys and concerns about something that happened recently during the shower ministry. Volunteers were distributing hats, gloves, coats and scarves to shower ministry guests. When almost everything was gone, the two volunteers looked at the remaining scarf and wondered if anyone would want it. I don't know what the scarf looked like but it was apparently rather loud and unique. While colorful scarves are often valued and appreciated, this particular scarf was a little too colorful. The volunteers wondered aloud if anyone would want it.

Our church member went on to share how a shower ministry guest looked at the scarf and exclaimed with great joy that it was just what she needed. The scarf that was seen as too loud or perhaps even unwanted by two volunteers was exactly what the guest needed. The thing that could have been easily discarded was welcomed as a great gift.

After hearing the story, I shared with the congregation how the church is in the business of finding scarves that no one else wants. Part of our role is to discover individuals who have been too easily tossed aside or seen as not as useful and then uncover their gifts. We take delight in putting someone who is normally on the sidelines in the front and center - allowing the spotlight to shine brightly.

When I think about the congregation I am privileged to serve, I am constantly awed and amazed by the ways in which different people shine the light of Christ to me. We have one member who cannot communicate in complete sentences. She can only say a few words. And still, not a Sunday goes by when this member does not touch me in a profound way. While we are stumbling through the liturgy with our words or trying to sing the right tune, this member embodies the worship of God with her whole being as she lifts her hands or sways to the music in praise, wonder and delight. I see God every time I am in this woman's presence - without any words being spoken.

There is another member of the church about whom I could write an entire book. He drives me crazy at times, leaving up to 14 voice mail messages on the same day. I never know what to fully expect when I am in his presence as his life is kept in balance by different medications. And still, this individual has demonstrated to me time and again what it means to be like Christ. He is constantly asking me about a woman whose daughter died tragically too soon a few years ago. When it comes time to wake up our unhoused neighbors who are sleeping on the porch, this member shows me how to gently awaken people in a way that shows me that they are indeed respected and valued. When it comes to the care of the church facility, this member always wants things to look perfect. When we visit the sick or shut-ins, this person has the capacity to sing in a way that brings delight to all who are listening. I would not trade the privilege of being this person's pastor for anything - even though he often takes all of the patience I can muster!

Mike Slaughter, the pastor of Ginghamsburg Church, one of our largest United Methodist Churches, often shares how the United Methodist Church is one of the few places where he has been given a spot on the team. He shares how it is in this forum that he has been noticed, named and nurtured - able to play as well as he can. I think often of these words and am so grateful for our church allowing Mike to play. His leadership is making a huge difference in our denomination. I am so thankful that someone took time to see his gifts.

I have just returned from a holiday market where there were numerous vendors selling scarves. There are some scarves I loved and some scarves that I would never choose to wear. Yet, someone will likely love the scarves I did not choose and someone will likely hate the scarves I love.

When it comes to the church, I am so incredibly thankful for the same diversity - for the ways in which we are so many different colors, ages, theologies, backgrounds, sexual orientations, gifts, appearances, and the list goes on and on. I am also thankful that this church is one that seeks to welcome everyone - never knowing how Christ might be revealed to us in all of these people.

God shows up in the least likely places - in the womb of a virgin, in a borrowed barn in Bethlehem, in the beggar asking for money, in your life, and in my life. Thanks be to God!

Avoiding the Conversation

2010-12-13T17:42:00.004-05:00

It is Advent. I have not written anything on the blog for over two weeks. I spent the day at home because I nearly worked myself sick by working 8 straight days. I have eaten too many little chocolates. I have spent more money than I intended to spend. I have gotten caught up in the hustle and bustle of the society again instead of remembering the reason for the season.

It's Advent. The Sunday morning lectionary texts will not allow me to forget the mystery and wonder of this season. My preaching preparation has pushed me to reflect often on how we are called to be prepared. We have sung "O Come, O Come Emmanuel" and I have dreamed of a white Christmas.

It's Advent and while I have already journeyed two weeks into the season in a way far more different than what I originally planned, I cannot help but to be filled with hope. I cannot help but to sense God's presence gently nudging me to expect something different with hopeful anticipation. I can feel a new reality on the horizon.

A few weeks ago, one of my colleagues was sharing with me how we might need to spend more time talking to God about what we don't want to talk to God about - that if we are actually expecting God to do something different then we should address the issues with God that we have somehow concluded were too far out of control to be fixed or too far lost to be found. I've been thinking about this suggestion often during this season of hope - asking God to provide hope in situations that I have found to be hopeless. I have been thinking about what it would mean to pray for and work towards a completely differently reality. Rather than avoiding the conversation on big issues, I have been thinking about how to address them with God.

So often I get exhausted by the needs around me. I look at all the people sleeping in or on top of cardboard boxes in the city and I wonder if there will ever come a day when every person has a bed on which to sleep and a place to call home. I have grown cynical in the process, treating the issue of homelessness as if it is just a part of reality that we can always expect in the city. And then the congregation I serve shows me how if we help even one person it is making a difference. I watched as our congregation accepted a responsibility to provide a place to sleep for a week or two at a time to a couple of men who have been sleeping on our porch for almost two years. The family who first welcomed them to their

home is celebrating their first child's second birthday tomorrow and waiting for the birth of their second child to happen at any time. "Are you kidding me?" I ask as I learn about what is happening - about this family opening their hearts and their doors. Perhaps we can really work towards an end to homelessness. Perhaps we can have the audacity to pray for God to help us end homelessness, trusting that God will grant us wisdom and courage to play our part in the process.

When I drive downtown around the hour of 7:00 each morning, two things happen. 1) I want to cry when I see different girls and women who I know have been out all night, victims of sex-trafficking. 2) I want to literally run my car into the pimps that I see standing on the street corners or driving in their fancy cars with tinted windows. Prostitution is just something we have to accept in the city, many people say. It's just the way it is - the oldest job in the world. But I have watched as one of our building partners has done extraordinary work in seeking to get girls off the streets - out of the place of being a victim and into the place of being a survivor. I watched yesterday as many members of our church returned gifts for a victim of sex-trafficking and her sister. The generosity pouring through the doors was extraordinary. Perhaps we can work to end sex-trafficking. Perhaps we can have the audacity to pray for God to help us in this task.

God, there are so many things that seem too big for anyone to master. I have no idea how to end homelessness - how to get everyone on board to make the changes needed for all to have a place to call home. I lose hope when I hear of another person who has been diagnosed with cancer or when I see someone who is struggling with mental illness. I feel like I am facing an uphill battle when it comes to getting the discipline needed to live a healthier life and take better care of my body. I become so overwhelmed at times when I think about how far under water my husband and I are on our homes and how we may be living in a one-bedroom apartment the rest of our lives - how it may take a decade before we are finally able to sell these places. I lose heart when I think of world hunger or ending peace or getting people off our porch at night. God, there are so many needs around me. Help me, Lord. Help me to trust you. Help me to cast my worries upon you because you care for me. Show me what changes I can make. Teach me how to make a difference. Increase my faith! Help me, Lord. It's Advent, and I am waiting for you to come again but in the meantime, I long to do what I can to be a sign of your kingdom on earth. Let me not avoid the conversation or shy away from the work that needs to be done. Amen.

Into the Night

2010-11-25T20:37:00.004-05:00

I have a tendency to keep good company. I'm privileged to serve as the pastor of remarkable people who tend to often make more of me. I'm constantly amazed by the ways in which these individuals live out their faith - practicing radical hospitality, embodying forgiveness, and living lives of constant generosity and grace. While it might not be wise for me to admit it, there are many times when the people who belong to our church are more like Jesus than their pastor. I'm privileged to be the pastor of so many amazing disciples.

Craig and I chose not to go home this year for Thanksgiving. Influenced by high airfare and Craig's work schedule, we opted to stay home this year. We were tempted often by the idea of feasting on a turkey breast by ourselves - perhaps even coming to the meal in our pajamas. But, we instead were led to accept an invitation to share Thanksgiving with several church members.

We arrived at their home a few minutes after the appointed time to find eight people waiting for us. All but one are church members. They are all twenty and thirty somethings who have come to Mount Vernon Place in the last three years. They are individuals in whom I have seen the face and felt the hands of Christ often. They are people who live their discipleship in real and abundant ways. The other individual who had gathered at the house is someone I have met a couple of times. I met him first on a Tuesday morning when I decided to join the already mentioned saints of the church at our shower ministry. We shook hands that day. He then joined us for Wednesday night dinner last week, and he was at the house today. He had been at the church earlier today to take a shower and then enjoy a Thanksgiving breakfast prepared by other saints of the church. While waiting for a shower or enjoying breakfast he, along with several others who were waiting to take a shower, were invited to the same home where we feasted today. He is the only one to accept the invitation. I sat next to him at the dinner table. We talked about everything from scripture to purgatory to jobs to politics. We laughed. We filled our plates with second helpings of turkey and stuffing. We took delight in pecan pie and milk. When it came time for each person at the table to make a dish of leftovers, he asked for plastic silverware. When it came time to go, Craig and I offered him a ride home.

We dropped another member off first, leaving her on a sidewalk outside a quaint row house on Capitol Hill. I then inquired where this individual wanted to be dropped off. "At Mount Vernon" he said. We then drove towards the church and he asked that we leave him outside an old Carnegie Library - the same place where our congregation worshipped when our building was under construction. We pulled over to an empty building without a single light burning. We let him out onto the sidewalk and watched as he got out of our car and hoisted his backpack upon his shoulders. I then watched as he walked into the night and we returned to the warmth of our home.

If the truth were told, I suppose I should admit that there are many thoughts going through my mind. I realize that I have never taken the time to invite any of our unhoused neighbors to my home for a feast. I realize that I am often pissed at the homeless around the church who piss all over the church more than I am led to show the emotion of empathy. I realize that I cannot in a million years figure out why this person is unhoused - why this twenty-something person who could talk about anything under the sun today and then sit down and play the piano does not have a place to call home. And, I realize that I'm sad tonight. I don't like watching someone walk into the night.

I believe with all my heart that the table fellowship I shared today was a sign of God's inbreaking kingdom on earth. When I sat and ate with people who have so much and people who have so little, I realized that this is the way it is supposed to be - that Christ calls us to be one body - Christ calls us to get rid of our divisions or our 'us vs. them' mentality. But, I also believe that the ending of the day is a sign of why we desperately need God to come again. We need Christ to come again and make all things right.

We're on the cusp of Advent - this season of waiting and watching for the coming of Christ. We think of him being born as a humble babe in a barn. And, this image is perhaps more comforting than us thinking of him coming again. We don't always want to think about him coming again because we don't want to think about being judged. But, I need him to come again. I need him to come again and push through the fullness of his kingdom - that place where all of God's children have a place to call home, that place where the poor have good news given to them, where the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the blind receive their sight, and all is made well. I need to know that a different reality will one day take over and cause my heart not to ache as it does tonight but to instead celebrate because all is finally right - all is finally aligned with God's ways.

I'm grateful for this day. I'm filled with deep and profound thanksgiving for so many things. I rejoice for my church family and the people who show me how to live a life centered upon Christ. But I am especially grateful for Christ - for his presence in our lives and for that day when he unrolled the scroll and said, "The kingdom is at hand."

Come, Lord Jesus. O come, O come Emmanuel. I need you, Lord. We need you, Lord. Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Amen.

Defined by Generosity

2010-11-22T07:29:00.002-05:00

Our fall stewardship season concluded yesterday. For the last four weeks, we have journeyed together through Adam Hamilton's book titled "Enough: Discovering Joy through Simplicity and Generosity." It has been a great experience to gather with all kinds of people from all walks of life to talk about what it means to live a life of simplicity and generosity. The conversation has pushed me to second guess many purchases while also forcing me to stand inside my closet, looking at the many things I have accumulated. I counted my purses for the first time, for example, but have not yet had the courage to see how many dollars I have invested in these bags of all shapes, sizes and colors! (Seriously, does anyone need more than a dozen bags including two pink ones and one green one?)

Our sermon series ended yesterday as I preached on being defined by generosity. Having been the presiding pastor at a graveside service for someone I did not know this past week, the thinking about the kind of legacy I want to leave behind was fresh on my mind. The thought of having a pastor stand and describe an empty or busy life when referring to me was a terrifying thought. I had been thinking all week about how I want to be described when my obituary is written one day. I concluded, along with many others, that I want to be defined by generosity. My mind is now creatively engaged in a process of discerning what this life looks like.

How can one be defined by generosity? The possibilities are rather endless.

One of the individuals in our study shared last Wednesday night how when he was 17-years-old and a rising high school senior, he learned that one of his classmates might not be able to finish high school in their private school. Her family did not have the money to pay for her tuition and she was being forced to finish at the public school instead of at the small Christian school she had attended for more than 10 years. My friend shared how at 17-years-old he came to the decision to use his savings and secretly pay for his friend's tuition. Generosity!

One of the defining practices that has shaped and transformed Mount Vernon Place UMC is the act of sharing coffee, snacks and conversation following each worship service. Every Sunday, more than half of our community gathers in the Narthex and lingers over a cup of coffee and something yummy to eat. For almost a year, the same person came early to prepare the large pots for coffee and hot water. She then patiently cleaned the pots following each time of fellowship. Not many people offered to help. I'm not sure how many people even acknowledged her gift. She simply did a job that needed to be done - a thankless job that made all the difference in the world when it came to our being formed as a community. Generosity!

I worked in seminary admissions for four years prior to returning to Washington. While at Duke, I got to know so many amazing people all around the nation. One of these individuals is a pastor in Florida. He has written many books. He is responsible for a large church with hundreds and hundreds of people. He is a busy person with a full life. Yet, in all the years I have known him, he has stopped often to name my gifts. He has the uncanny ability to make more of me by pointing out the gifts God has given to me. He makes time for me whenever he is in the area. He wants to read what I am writing. He has been a sign of God's abundant love cheering me on. Generosity!

From the place I sit in our church, I have a wonderful view of people coming in for worship. Two weeks ago, I watched as one of our greeters did not just say, "hello" and hand a first-time visitor a bulletin but instead actually led this individual into the sanctuary and sat her next to a church member who was also by herself. The greeter worked hard to establish an immediate connection for this person. When worship was over, I watched as another church member introduced himself to this visitor and then personally accompanied her to coffee hour where he introduced her to many other people. The greeter did not have to lead her into the worship space and find someone with whom the person could sit. The church member could have gone first to people he knew and catch up with them. But, both of these people went out of their way, going the extra mile. When I had coffee with this visitor last week, she told me how these two actions made all the difference in the world. Generosity!

We have countless opportunities to practice generosity. Imagine what it would be like if we all started to see what we could do to live a more generous life? I invite you to try a few things this week:

Pick out someone in a restaurant where you are eating - a couple who appears to be having a dispute or a woman eating by herself who appears to be lonely. Tell one of the servers that you want to secretly pay for their meal without them knowing who paid for it.
Call your pastor and ask who makes the coffee at the church each week. Ask if you can sign up to help. If there is a person who does this every week, tell your pastor that you'd like to give that person the month of December off so that you can make the coffee each week.
Write a note of gratitude. Think about someone who has made a difference in your life and then take time to write them a note - a handwritten, stamped note - letting them know how thankful you are for their presence in your life.
Rather than getting caught up in the consumerism of Christmas and the need to buy, buy, and buy, think about how you can give, give, and give. I know one pastor who tells his congregation that they can spend as much as they want on Christmas as long as they bring an equal gift to the church - a Christmas gift that is then invested in a clinic in Africa where lives are being saved through much needed medical treatment. This church has actually built an entire clinic with their Christmas gifts!
Rather than buying gifts only for your family, imagine a person in your life who makes all the difference. It might be the person who cleans your office at night. It might be the person at the gym who greets you in a way that makes you glad you came. It might be the person dressed in red who you see picking up trash in the streets of the city. What about surprising that person with a gesture that shows them how much you value their work.
When you go to church next week, work extra hard to find someone sitting alone. Sit with that person, introduce yourself, tell them how glad you are that they came. If you cannot find such a person on your way in, do whatever you can to find them on your way out. Your greeting them could make all the difference in that person's day and even their life.
Walk through the streets of the city with your head held high and say, "Good morning" to everyone you pass. Try it on the Metro, too. People will look at you with strange looks but it will be fun to see a few people smile, too.

What else comes to your mind? What are your thoughts on a life defined by generosity - on going out of your way to share with others what you have been given? I'd love to hear them! Comment away!

Evangelism 101

2010-11-19T16:48:00.007-05:00

Craig and I were on vacation last weekend which afforded us a rare opportunity to worship together. While in Washington, Craig has his church and I have my church. But when we are on vacation we always try to go together. It is a gift to sit in the pew together from time to time. It is an even larger gift to sit next to my husband in the pew.

While in San Diego, I checked out a few church websites in Pacific Beach. I knew that Craig wanted me to go with him to the Catholic Church but I was tempted to go to a place where I, too, could be welcomed at the table. When the investigation was over, I discerned that worshipping with my husband was more important last Sunday than being in a Protestant church, and I gladly obliged.

We arrived at the church ten minutes before the start of Mass. We made our way to the restrooms, passing a few people along the way. We then returned and entered the sanctuary where we took a seat in a pew about halfway back from the pulpit. We were greeted by no one during the journey to the restroom or the sanctuary. Not one person spoke to us. No one said "Good morning." No one said, "Welcome to our church." No one said, "hello." We entered as strangers who were hungry for hospitality and left as strangers who were hungry for a different worship experience. And, I'm still reflecting on the priest's central message of the sermon. He said over and over again, "Actions speak louder than words."

Indeed they do!

I visited a church where no one seemed ready to welcome a new person. I visited a church where no one seemed prepared to offer information or assistance. I visited a church where I was eager to find the presence of Christ in people since I would not experience this presence at the table, and I left with a void. Sure, I loved singing the hymns and I thoroughly enjoyed holding my husband's hand during the homily. But, I expected so much more.

Why is it that our churches cannot get the basics right?

From church, Craig and I traveled to Vons Grocery Store where we picked up a few things. When we walked in the door, two employees immediately greeted us. When we were looking for the perfect bottle of wine to give as a gift, the person in charge of the wine section immediately greeted us, asking how he could help. When we were still in the aisle five minutes later, he asked again, "Are you sure I cannot help you with your selection." As we left the checkout, the cashier called us by name, getting the information from our Safeway Shopping Card. I was not in my ordinary grocery store. I was a first-time visitor in this store. Yet, everyone made me feel more than at home.

What if we were to take a few cues from the local Vons and always have someone standing at the doors of our churches on Sunday morning, eager to say, "Good morning" and "Welcome?" What if we were to take note of the names of people who have signed the pew pad and are sitting next to us so that we can call them by name as we leave? What if we were always looking for a visitor, never taking a first-time visitor for granted? What if we were always prepared to offer radical hospitality to whoever walked in our doors?

Our sign out front says, "All are welcome. Come as you are." But our actions speak so much louder than our words.

I know we do not always get it right. But I hope and pray that no one ever gets out of the doors of Mount Vernon Place without being warmly welcomed.

Our actions speak louder than our words.

Keeping Connected

2010-11-10T12:59:00.008-05:00

I should start this post with a clever list of all the reasons I have not kept connected through my blog. There are many excuses and many items on the pages of past calendar days. But, I'm not feeling creative enough to come up with that list. Rather, I'm pondering what it means to be connected to something else.

For the past 30 days, I have been connected at all times to a heart monitor. Four electrodes have been attached to my body, all stemming from the same sensor. This sensor has been in constant contact with a cell phone that has been (at most times) within 10 feet of my body. I've carried the thing around with me for a month. I have scars to prove that the electrodes have been attached to me as my skin developed an allergic reaction to the sticky substance that attaches them. I have been connected at all times.

There are times, however, when it was impossible to stay connected. I had to un-attach all the wires at shower time. There were other times when I mistakenly failed to bring the battery charger with me and the hours of the day ticked past the hours allowed by the phone. There were other times when my body moved too much during the night, forcing the electrodes to become unattached. And, there was another day when try as I might, I could not get the sensor and the phone to communicate with each other.

I was to be connected at all times. When a connection failed, I was alerted. My phone beeped. My sensor beeped. The company who administers the test would call leaving messages on my voice mail. Every effort was made to keep me connected - to keep me in contact at all times.

And it was hard. It was downright difficult. I hated the monitor by day 10. I was counting down the remaining days by day 5. My skin was a mess at day 15. I wanted to do whatever I could to flee from the presence of the monitor - to un-attach everything and send the unit back to the company who mailed it to me. But Lifewatch would not let me get too far. The beeping captured my attention. The phone calls continued. I could not get away from the monitor and the instructions I had been given on how and when to wear it.

In the 139th Psalm, David speaks of an inescapable God. There is no place we can go that is outside the boundary of God's presence. "Where can I go from your spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence? If I ascend to heaven, you are there; if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there. If I take the wings of the morning, and settle at the farthest limits of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me fast," state verses 7 to 12.

There is no place we can go to escape God's presence. God is with us at all times - whether we are running towards God or running away from God - whether we are embracing God's call or pretending as though we can no longer hear.

I tried to run last week. I put my hands in my air and sought to tell God that I was no longer going to do something God wanted me to do. I threw my fist in the air and shouted at God, asking why God would make me stay in something I deemed not worthy of my time and attention. But, God won. God sent people into my life to tell me what a difference I had made in the exact situation I was seeking to flee. God reminded me through powerful voices of who I am and what I have been called to do - even if I don't like it. God met me in the exact place I was trying to get away from. And, I now am praying for an opportunity to redeem myself - for a chance to do over again what I sought hard to escape last week.

The heart monitor was a pain - it was a nagging presence that I could not get away from. And yet, that little machine has the capacity to help me. It has the potential to show physicians what might be causing me pain and discomfort - what might be pushing me to pass out. The pain might actually be filled with a blessing. Only time will tell.

God's voice can also be a pain. I don't like everything God tells me to do. I cannot figure out why God does not seem to listen to everything I say - why God is seemingly absent at times. I have not yet figured out how to mold God into the God I want and think I need. Still, God keeps nagging. God keeps speaking. God keeps affirming. God keeps calling. And somehow, in the midst of it all, I have grown to love this voice - to see the blessing that comes from this still small voice.

Thank you, God, for searching me and knowing me. Thank you for being with me whether I sit down or rise up. Thank you for never allowing me to run too far. I am grateful for the ways in which you always lead me back. Amen.

Never Walk Alone

2010-10-28T07:01:00.005-04:00

I sat a bad example for my congregation this week: I went to the hospital alone. I downplayed the weight of the tests with my husband, allowing him to go to his own doctor's appointment instead of with me. I turned down an offer from a church member who offered to take me to the hospital and/or sit with Craig while I was being tested. I walked alone, and it scared me.

I realized as I was signing the forms that I had no one to watch my belongings for me if I were to lose consciousness. I realized that my husband would be in Fairfax and my other point of contact, my mother, would be in Colorado - far away from where my test was being conducted. It would take them a long time to be near me if something were to go wrong. I realized that I resisted the very thing the church should be - a community that walks together on mountains and in valleys no matter what. And, I left the hospital praying for a different reality.

I left praying that no one in my congregation would ever have to go to the hospital alone. I left praying that no matter the weight of life that no on would be forced to carry it alone. I left praying that no matter how sad circumstances might be that someone else would always be allowed to the inside. I left praying that my example of being so stubbornly independent would not be followed by others in our church or community.

Last night, as we gathered for our Wednesdays @ MVP to start the study, "Enough: Discovering Joy through Simplicity and Generosity," we talked about the role of savings and money. We shared around a table about how it is scary to think about

whether there will be enough for the rest of our lives. How much are we to save? How are we to invest for tomorrow? Where is God in the midst of this saving and investing? What is God's will for our money and resources?

As we talked around the table, one member of our church, the same member of the church who repeatedly offered to take me to the hospital and sit with me and my husband this week, shared what it is like to be a single person without children. He shared out loud his questions about who would care for him when he got older. The answer seemed clear to me as he shared. My mind was immediately filled with an answer, "The church will care for you. Of course we are called to care for you."

Can you imagine such a church? What if we really did pool some of our resources, welcome people into our homes who could no longer live alone, purchase a house where more people could live together, and take seriously the vision of the early church that is captured in Acts 4 where we read how the disciples brought all of their possessions together and ensured that there was not a needy person amongst them? What if we saw all that we have been given as not ours but as God's and really sought to be the community God calls us to be? What if we then extended this vision into the entire community, allowing our hearts to be awakened often each time we passed a homeless person, realizing with each passing how they are our brother and sister, too? What if we worked passionately until all people were cared for, until no one was walking alone?

Seriously. I never want you to walk alone. I never want you to be in any situation where you feel like you are all by yourself - no matter what the situation might be. I want to be with you, and I want our church to be with you.

I've been reading a friend's book. Enuma Okoro has just written incredible reflections on her life in a book titled, "Reluctant Pilgrim: A Moody, Somewhat Self-Indulgent Introvert's Search for Spiritual Community." I commend it to your reading, and she'll be in DC on Tuesday night to read from her book (email me for more information).

Listen to what Enuma writes, "I think that's what grace is, that God is sort of stalking us and preparing us in small yet significant ways for the shock of becoming church and trying to live into the absurdity of church. Really it's not normal. We do not naturally group ourselves with strangers who are different from us in so many visible and not so visible ways. We do not readily give up the things we want in order to provide for people we don't know or even necessarily like. We do not give our time, resources and privacy to just anyone. But that's what church calls us to do and that's why I have such a hard time with it..." (48).

I have a hard time with it, too. I am perhaps the most independent person I know. I am not naturally inclined to lean on others or to accept their offers for help. I am not naturally inclined to living community to its fullest. But, I'm letting you in on a secret today. I need you just as much as you need others.

Please promise me one thing.

Promise me that you will never walk alone.

Warning Signs

2010-10-27T07:01:00.003-04:00

I was admitted to the hospital yesterday, branded with a white bracelet that stated my name and birth date and another red bracelet that branded me as one with an allergy. Each step of the branding process brought about different words of warning, caution and comfort, letting me know that the tests I was about to undergo were serious tests. It was not a casual procedure conducted in a doctor's office. Rather, I was a patient - a patient who was admitted with rights and responsibilities and countless things to think about.

I arrived at 7:00 for the check-in procedures. I was ushered over to a kind woman's desk. She entered the information on my insurance card and then asked me a series of questions before inviting me to complete different forms. The first form asked for who to contact in the event that I became unresponsive during the procedure. I carefully printed my husband's contact information along with that of my mother. She then handed me a form that encouraged me to leave all of my belongings with a loved one. "Please do not take any valuables with you into the hospital. The hospital is not liable for any lost belongings." Right, I thought to myself as I looked at my large work bag packed with my calendar and sermon books and my purse sitting next to it. She then asked me what my religious preferences are. "I'm a pastor," I said. "I don't really need a chaplain," I shared before thinking about how ignorant the response was. Everyone needs a chaplain while in the hospital! Then she asked if I wanted to be added to the visitation list, allowing others to know where I was so that they could visit me if given a room. "Of course," I said, thinking of how much visitors meant to me when I was in the hospital this summer.

When the admitting process was over, I gathered my large bags and was given a pager like the ones assigned at the Cheesecake Factory when all the tables are taken. I went to the bathroom and had not even finished my business when the pager started to sound. I reported back to the main desk and was told to go to the 4th floor where I encountered a gentleman waiting for me. He led me into a room, made me as comfortable as possible, and then carefully applied all kinds of goop to my head for my EEG. He explained each step and when the EEG was over, I was escorted to the 3rd floor, sporting a head full of wires along the way.

Once on the 3rd floor I was ushered into the tilt table test room and given another form to complete. This form had much more serious consequences. It alerted me to the fact that some people (could have been only 1 or 2) had died because of the procedure I was having. She made sure I had not eaten anything that day and then asked me to sign.

I signed my life away.

I was told not to worry about anything.

I was encouraged to leave my possessions behind.

I was assured a community surrounding me.

I was told to let go and trust that everything would be okay.

I was informed of the importance of what I was doing even though there could be consequences.

Sounds a lot like discipleship to me - discipleship at its best.

Sounds a lot like church to me - church at its best.

I don't think our commitment to follow Jesus and to be part of a church community is a casual commitment. I believe it is a commitment that is designed to demand our very best - one that is designed to change us, transform us and lighten our load as we let go of some things in order to embrace a heavy cross. We are encouraged to sign our lives away - to offer them into the hands of the potter who will shape and reshape us until we molded into the people this potter intends us to be. We are encouraged to let go of our possessions - the disciples were told to take nothing for their journey. We are called to let go of anything that is not really necessary (don't worry, like you I am still working on this one). We are called to surround each other with a community that will be present no matter what - which means that we can count on this community despite the circumstances of life we are enduring but also means that we are called to be present and part of the community despite the circumstances of life we are enduring. And, we are informed often of how there may be consequences to following Jesus - we may lose friends, we may discover that we're surrounded by wolves when we feel like a lonely sheep, we may see just how heavy the cross is, and the road may not be an easy one to travel even with Jesus leading the way. But, we may also see the power that comes when we trust in God and gather as a community - something extraordinary might happen. Healing may be made manifest before our eyes. The lame may walk. The lepers may be cleansed. The blind may see. The poor may have good news brought to them. Something remarkable happens when we are branded and have the courage to actually live out our baptism.

Annie Dillard offers what continues to be one of my favorite words on the church and discipleship. She writes,

"On the whole, I do not find Christians, outside the catacombs, sufficiently sensible of the conditions. Does any-one have the foggiest idea what sort of power we so blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies' straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping god may wake some day and take offense, or the waking god may draw us out to where we can never return." (Teaching a Stone to Talk, Harper & Row, 1982)

Give me a helmet. I'm ready to sign my life away. What about you?

A Powerful Essay and Letter

2010-10-22T11:43:00.001-04:00

A friend of mine shared a blog with me today. The beginning words are powerful. The letter to her son made me laugh and cry. I commend it to you here. Seriously, take time to read this post, please.

Open for Change

2010-10-22T10:51:00.002-04:00

My 20th high school reunion was last weekend. Several hundred people gathered in Columbia, Missouri to celebrate and remember their time at Rock Bridge and Hickman High High Schools. I received the invitation along with an email from a Facebook friend who encouraged me to go, but I never intended to go. I don't think much about high school. I keep in touch with high school friends only via Facebook. Rather than thinking about high school, I seek to keep those memories locked in a box that is rarely opened.

High school was a painful experience for me. It seemed as though there were two choices during high school - I could try hard to keep up with the Jones - the kids who had great clothes, drove fancy cars and gathered at the local swim club or country club for fun. I could try to keep up with a select group of people who were always invited to the parties even though I rarely made the list. I could put myself in a place of pain and disappointment. Or, I could coast on the sidelines and engage my time and energy in other places. I chose the later.

High school was a painful experience for me. I was surrounded by people who I grew up with from the second grade - the same people who picked on me while riding the yellow school bus while never picking me for their teams in gym class. I was in class with the same individuals who had teased me for most of my life for being the kid who weighed the most. I grew up with the people who always reminded me of how I was out while they were in.

I now have several Facebook friends from Columbia. I take delight in discovering where we are in life, becoming familiar with where our life journeys have led us. I have so enjoyed seeing pictures on Facebook this week from the reunion. I keep wondering how much people have changed. Had I traveled to Missouri last weekend, would I still feel like an outsider? Would anyone have worked any differently to make me feel included? Would I have arrived in a way reminiscent of my prom night - with only one friend and a date from the outside because no one on the inside really seemed to make a genuine connection?

What really changes in life? Are people and institutions open for change or are we all the same?

I was visiting one of our church members this week who resides in a retirement home where I have gotten to know the chief administrator. On my way to visit our member, I stopped to say 'hello' when I noticed the administrator's office door was open. We caught up on life and talked about the member I was going to see. She then asked me about the church, and I shared what was happening. I then asked her about her church.

"I don't go to church," she said. "I'm a relapsed Catholic who has not been to church in years." She then continued, "But I have heard that there are a few churches open to people like me. A lot of my friends tell me to go to the Unitarian church." I responded by telling her how she was welcome at our church. I shared how our church was different - how we had intentionally made a decision to welcome all people - especially LGBT people. She looked at me in disbelief and then said, "Well maybe I'll make it down there one day."

There are hundreds of people all around us just like this woman - "hurt-churched" people. There are countless individuals who have been told that they are outsiders from those who are inside the church. There are people who have been told that they are of sacred worth but not fully accepted unless they change. Our church buildings are less than half full while thousands of people walk by on their way to something else because the church has told them that they are not fully welcome - sometimes with words and oftentimes with actions. We have thrown a party each Sunday morning at 11:00 but have so often invited only the people who are like us - the people who live like us, dress like us, love like us. Oh how much the church has in common with painful high school days!

There are churches that are changing. There are communities of faith that are saying they are not going to continue with church life as we know it but instead make bold steps to change - to welcome people no matter what and to fill old wine skins with new wine. I have tasted some of this new wine. I love savoring its sweetness. But I am reminded all the time that we must go to great lengths in order to show people the change. Putting words on our sign might work for some people - but the best messages are the ones told by our lives.

I'm open for change. I'm part of a church that has changed and is changing in bold, daring, beautiful ways. I hope people believe me when I tell them of this change.

Perhaps I should have gone back to see what changes 20 years can bring.

There's always 2020.

Empty Church

2010-10-17T16:02:00.004-04:00

I had the joy of worshipping this week in one of my favorite places. Duke Chapel is the place where I have experienced some of the most memorable preaching. It is a space where my heart has soared as I have listened to their choir. It is a space where I preached on the Sunday after my ordination. It is also the place where I was married. I love Duke Chapel.

On Monday evening, I gathered in Duke Chapel for worship along with some 500 or 600 other pastors attending Pastor's School and Fall Convocation. We gathered at the end of a day filled with wonderful lectures. We gathered to hear an inspired, renowned preacher. We gathered to worship. But, as hard as I tried, I had a hard time settling my mind and my spirit. I could not worship.

The space that is filled with so many memories did not speak to me. I was surrounded by hundreds of people, more people than I have worshipped with in a long time, but it seemed so empty. I stayed for the sermon and then quickly snuck out before the prayers. And, in full disclosure, I was checking status updates on Facebook during the sermon. I just could not make myself be present.

I've been thinking a lot about my reaction this week. How is it that the place that once spoke to me the moment I walked in the doors seemed so empty on Monday? Why is it that the preacher who has so much to say to millions of people could not get past the doors of my ears? Why is it that I could hardly wait to get out of the space instead of journey closer to the altar?

As I have wrestled with my emotions, I have realized that worship is so much more than the liturgy, the preaching and the music. These three things are vitally important - they are what mold us and shape us, drawing us into the presence of God and allowing us to see the beauty of God in different ways. However, I realized this week that I am unable to worship God without somehow being connected to a community of people who are worshipping with me and who will continue to keep me accountable during the week. I am not able to worship God on Sundays without knowing that our worshipful work will continue at different points during the week.

I had the opportunity to visit different churches this summer. One church sat on a beautiful spot in the middle of an incredible oasis. The worship was quaint and lovely. The congregation was diverse. However, there was nothing happening in the life of the church other than worship - the people were only coming together for an hour each Sunday before dispersing until the next Sunday. I kept hearing my mentor Peter Storey saying over and over again, "These people are just playing church."

Monday's service was designed to touch my soul, penetrate my heart and replenish me as a preacher. Yet, I could not get there. I wanted to escape - I wanted to run home fast to the community that is my church.

I might not ever see this community contain 600 people. It might be years before there are even 200 people in the pews of my church home. I have never had my spirit soar because of music in the way that my spirit has soared at other places of worship. Yet, there is something about this community that I would not trade for anything.

We worshipped together today for an hour and a half but I could have easily stayed another hour. I could have stayed until each person had an opportunity to share - until each person had spoken and been listened to. We gave thanks for a new baby today and prayed for a couple struggling with infertility. We gave thanks for a new job and prayed for someone who is grateful to go through another day without drinking. We gave thanks for for someone who is home from visiting family in the Sierra Leone and prayed for people whose temporary storage site went away when bulldozers tore down a fence across the street yesterday. We came together - this beautiful, diverse group of people - and when I witnessed our community again, I was able to worship.

I would not trade this community for anything.

Dear Mr. Phelps

2010-10-06T16:43:00.004-04:00

Dear Mr. Phelps:

I took time to walk by the Supreme Court today. I went out of curiosity to see if your church was picketing your very own trial. But I also went to pray. I went to pray for you, the members of your church, and the Supreme Court justices who are now charged with discerning whether or not you are liable to pay the family of Matthew Snyder for the hurt you caused them. You are in my prayers often, Mr. Phelps. I pray that somehow God will change your heart - that somehow you will be led to love people instead of hate people.

It was actually a gay person who told me how I needed to love you. He brought me an amazing picture taken near a place where you had been holding your signs filled with hatred. The picture was of a woman who was draped in a rainbow flag. She was holding a sign that read, "God loves fags, trannies and even Fred Phelps." Yes, Mr. Phelps, while I despise your actions and the way in which you cause so much harm to the church of Jesus Christ, I believe God loves you. And, I believe I am called to figure out how to love you, too.

Mr. Phelps, your daughter argued before the court today that Matthew Snyder died at the age of 20 because of gay people in our country. She then continued to add how God punished Matthew Snyder and his family because his parents had divorced. Mr. Phelps, who exactly is your God? We both call ourselves followers of Christ but we seem to have met a different Jesus.

Jesus changed my life. The one who is my Lord and Savior taught me to love instead of hate. He told me to love my enemies and pray for those who persecute me. He told me that all of the commandments boil down to two things - to love God with all my heart, soul, strength and mind and to love my neighbor as myself. I am reminded often that we do not get to pick our neighbors. Our neighbors are whoever come near us - like the man who was beaten by robbers and saved on the road by the Good Samaritan. Jesus told me that I cannot possibly judge another person because I have specks in my eye, too. Jesus taught me how to love all kinds of people - especially the people who seem to be lonely, lost or left-behind. Jesus calls me to love. Where, Mr. Phelps, do you get permission to espouse so much hatred in the name of Jesus?

Mr. Phelps, I do not believe God punishes people. I believe we sometimes have to lie in the beds we make for ourselves but I do not believe that God is a God of suffering and revenge. God does not test us. God does not kill our loved ones because of something we have done. We might see glimpses of this kind of a God in the Old Testament but I just don't see these actions or characteristics in Jesus.

You have come close enough to our church once. You stood outside, across the street at the Convention Center. Watching members of your church, especially children who are being taught to hate at such a young age, made my heart weep. I'm not eager for you to return, but I wish you could see the beauty I see each time I stand in our pulpit here. Every Sunday, I am blessed to see an extraordinary array of people, and I would not trade the diversity that is so apparent in this place for anything. My gay brothers and sisters have taught me how to love and how to offer so much grace. The fact that they are here in a denomination that often says something else humbles me to my knees regularly. They are Jesus to me - Jesus with arms wide open saying, "I'm willing to forgive and give you another chance."

Mr. Phelps, we lost another child of God way too early last week. Tyler Clementi died because he was bullied by people who took part of his life and exploited it. He was led to a bridge where he believed his only option was to jump because of people like you who choose to espouse judgment and hatred. Mr. Phelps, will you please stop? Will you please silently go into the hills of Kansas and be silent? Stop protesting. Stop espousing hatred. And if you cannot stop, then please do not call yourself a pastor of a church. Please, I beg you.

The justices have a hard case on their hands. Like many of them, I would be so cautious about limiting one's ability to speak. The First Amendment is what allows me to write this letter and to speak in many other places and formats. The freedom of speech is a precious gift. But, you are not only accountable to the court. You are accountable to a higher power - one who calls you by name, one who formed you in your mother's womb, one who loves you and calls you to do the same.

Mr. Phelps, I really cannot stand you. But, God loves you, and because God loves you, so do I. Will you please, please, please stop shouting, stop hating and try to love instead? Let go of the shackles and chains in which you have placed yourself and so many other people. Come to the other side and experience the goodness of Christ. Come and meet the Jesus I know and love.

Again, you are in my prayers,
Donna

P.S. If anyone else is reading this letter and wondering if all churches are like Westboro Baptist, let me assure you that they are not. I am grateful to serve a church where all people really are welcome - where we celebrate the diversity amongst us - where we are working hard to make sure that LGBT people are not only welcomed but affirmed and given access to every other blessing the church can offer. There are different churches that exist. Please do not think we are all like Westboro Baptist. Please!

Keys, Please!!

2010-10-05T17:43:00.006-04:00

I filled up my car with gasoline for the first time today since the beginning of August. The price was rather high at $2.71 a gallon but I did not complain. Rather, I gave thanks for the ability to drive again.

It was on August 16 when I was told not to drive for a while. I left the hospital with a certain diagnosis that was anything but certain. In fact, three doctors have since told me that I was misdiagnosed at the hospital - that the doctors were too quick to draw a conclusion with no substantial evidence to back it up.

I grieved for several days at the thought of not being able to drive. I spent a lot of time pouring through train schedules and bus schedules trying to figure out how best to get around. I bought new shoes and a weatherproof coat. I purchased an iPhone, getting a smart phone for the first time. I woke my husband up early on Sunday mornings, eagerly accepting his offer for a ride downtown. I inquired of a couple of people if they would be willing to drive me somewhere. And, I cried. I cried a lot.

I saw a neurologist a few weeks ago who first told me how he thought I had been misdiagnosed. He referred me to a cardiologist affiliated with the same hospital, and I went to see this doctor last Wednesday. Prior to my appointment, I asked several people to please pray for me.

I had a specific prayer, "Please pray that the doctor will tell me I am okay to drive again." I did not ask people to pray that we would find a specific diagnosis. I did not ask people to pray that I would be healed. Rather, I asked people to pray that I would have control again. I asked people to pray that I could be in charge of my schedule again with me behind the wheel instead of on a bus, train or in the car of another. In all honesty, the hardest part of these last six weeks has not been knowing that something might be wrong with my heart but rather losing control. I like to be in charge. I prefer being independent instead of dependent. I don't like relying on others. I hesitate asking for help.

The doctor granted me my wish. When I inquired, "Can I drive again?" he immediately replied, "Of course you can. There is absolutely no reason why you cannot drive." I rejoiced. I literally went skipping out of his office. I got what I asked for - but we're not anywhere closer to discovering what exactly is wrong with me. I got what I prayed for. Yet, there still could be something wrong with my heart.

We're good at asking God for control. We are rather proficient at telling God exactly what we want. We tell God how God needs to provide us with a larger house, a new job, a baby in our womb, a new best friend, control over a certain situation, a way out of some relationship, a winning lottery ticket, a better working environment and the list goes on and on. We tell God exactly what we believe we need. We're good at treating our relationship with God as though we are the ones who are in control - as though we are the people who know what's best for our lives. We know what we need. It does not matter what God thinks. And even when God gives us what we ask for, we so often fail to express thanksgiving. Rather, we continue the illusion of control.

But I realized last week that I may have gotten it all wrong. I've thought a lot about how I may have missed the mark in my prayer request. Perhaps I fell short of asking for what I really need - a clean bill of health and not the keys to my Jeep.

In Jeremiah 29:11, God tells Jeremiah, "For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm, to give you a future filled with hope." God continues, "Then when you call upon me and come and pray to me, I will hear you. When you search for me, you will find me; if you seek me with all your heart, I will let you find me, says the Lord..." God is working with Jeremiah, trying to get Jeremiah to trust God again. God wants Jeremiah to know that God has a plan, that God is in charge, and that God will bless Jeremiah. Jeremiah simply has to trust. God does not tell Jeremiah that he will get exactly what he wants. Rather, God tells Jeremiah that God will be with him and that the gift of God's presence will be enough.

Proverbs 3:5-7 reads, "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not rely on your own insight. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths. Do not be wise in your own eyes..." The wisdom of the Proverb is found in trusting God's ways and not our ways. The blessing is discovered when we let go of trying to control things, trying to figure out things, trying to solve each puzzle placed before us.

God invites us to trust - to let go of the control. God beckons us to turn the keys over and see where we'll be taken. God invites us to offer our full lives into the hands of God.

I have so often believed that I knew what was best for me. I have told God regularly what I need. All the while, I have often failed to pray, "God show me what you believe is best for me. Help me to relinquish control and trust in you fully. Show me your way, your path, your plans."

I'm driving again - but I'm praying each day that I can continue to relinquish some of the need to be in control.

My Friend, Mabel

2010-09-30T15:06:00.003-04:00

I stood on holy ground today. It was not the ground I was expecting. I was expecting to be doing a regular pastoral visit, stopping into say 'hello' to my parishioner, Mabel, who has been growing weaker each day. I expected to sing a couple of hymns with her, laugh with her, and then pray with her after telling her how special she is. Instead, I was ushered into that thin space where heaven and earth collide.

I did sing, "Amazing Grace" to Mabel. I tried to make her smile by telling her how I had just come from Bible study and that Lois and Howard had asked about her. I told her how much I appreciated her and how much she meant to our church. I stroked her head, combing my fingers through her beautiful gray hair. I then invited her children - three of them were there - to come in and pray with us.

We gathered around the bed and praised God for Mabel. We thanked God for the things she had taught us and the joy she had brought into our lives. We thanked God for all 102 years of her life. We praised God for the ways she made us laugh by telling us that she is the one who had discovered President Obama. We also prayed for her children, that God would journey close to them in the days ahead. When we said, "amen," her son stayed in the room and assured her that the Lord was with her. Everyone then left, and I returned to say good-bye. It was then that Mabel entered the Church Triumphant, breathing her last breaths.

I stood on holy ground today. I stood in the presence of angels - a 102-year-old angel named Mabel and a great company of angels who came to welcome her to her eternal home. A colleague just reminded me that there are times when we do get to meet people who have been made perfect in this life. Mabel is one of these individuals.

I have written about her before in two different posts. I told her how special she was today and said "thank you," again. But, this is what I really wish I could have told her.

Dear Mabel:

Thank you for allowing me to be your pastor. You were chair of the Staff Parish Relations Committee when I first arrived at Mount Vernon Place, and I remember the first time I met you. You were so striking - tall, thin, dressed in a beautiful suit, walking with a classy cane, hair styled just right. You told me on that day, "You are about to have the best job in Washington." I believed you on that day. I was so excited about coming to Washington to be the pastor at Mount Vernon Place.

A couple months later, I arrived. I arrived with so much anticipation and excitement. I had a list of ideas to be implemented and could see how God was about to transform this church. It did not take long, however, for my joy to be robbed. The moment that I started to make some changes is the very moment the criticism started. Perhaps it preceded my arrival as people talked about my age and my gender. But, it got louder after my arrival. So many people questioned why I was here. So many people wanted nothing to do with the changes I was suggesting so that our church could grow again. But you, you kept looking me straight in the eye saying, "You have the best job in Washington. Mount Vernon Place is in the center of the city. Our city needs Mount Vernon Place. I believe in you. You are just what is needed. Keep up the good work." Everyone else seemed to be criticizing me. Your voice was one of a handful of voices that were filled with affirmation and support.

Mabel, I am not sure I would have ever made it through those first couple of years without your voice. It was your voice that I heard when I was ready to throw my hands in the air and apply for a different job. It was your voice that I heard when I was questioning why I was here. Your voice is a precious voice.

Our church started to grow. I remember the first time a group of young adults came to your home to sing Christmas carols to you. It was such a gift to bring the new members into your home - for you to see what God has done in this place. It was priceless to watch you look at the people who were joining your church - the church you gave so much of yourself to for some six decades. You told them what you told me, "Mount Vernon Place is needed. Washington needs our church in the center of the city."

Mabel, I came to your house often. I came most often because I believed that you and Holland needed a visit. You needed prayers. But, I also came because I needed your prayers. I needed to hear you tell me that I really could do what needed to be done here. I needed to hear you say again, "You know, you have the best job in Washington." I always loved walking into your living room, reaching over and kissing you in your chair, and then sharing time with you. And, I always left more excited about Mount Vernon Place than I was before. I'll treasure those visits for a lifetime.

I also remember Wednesday Bible studies with you. You were almost 100 and still taking a cab downtown each week in order to study the Bible. You got after people who left church early in order to go to a football game. You told us how much God loves us. You shined God's light so brightly and abundantly.

When Barack Obama was elected President you wrote in your Christmas letter how you were grateful to be alive at a time when all God's children could make their dreams come true. You were always fighting for what was right - always looking out for everyone - especially the people who were not yet noticed. Mabel, do you have any idea how incredible you are?

I promise to do whatever I can to continue to work as though I have the best job in Washington. You asked often about Wednesday nights, and I think you'd be so excited to know that Wednesday night suppers and studies are starting again in just a few weeks. We're reclaiming a tradition that meant so much to you. Like you, I believe that these evenings can be transformative for people who will come. Like you, I believe that one's relationship with their church can be the most significant relationship one has. I promise to be faithful to my call to Mount Vernon Place. Your church is growing again. We're attracting new people each week, and we will continue to seek to bring new people into the warmth of God's love and this community of faith.

We'll celebrate your life next week. My heart will be aching but my soul will be rejoicing. Your life - all 102 years of your life - is a rather wondrous life to celebrate. I'm so thankful to have been a part of it.

Mabel, thanks for all you taught me.

You're right, I really do have the best job in Washington.

I love you dearly. Rest in peace, my friend.

Your Pastor and friend,

Donna

A Call to Prayer

2010-09-20T13:33:00.002-04:00

My commute into Washington is now done on public transportation. I board a bus in front of our house, and the bus takes me directly to the Pentagon where I board a Metro train. Twice each day, I see dozens of people in military uniforms. I pass hundreds of people running to catch a train or bus. I sometimes see protestors hoping for peace. Today, however, I saw a call to prayer.

I took the escalator to the top where my eyes were immediately captured by the image of two military police carrying huge assault rifles. The two men stood there examining each person as they came up the escalator. I then went down another escalator where I saw a third policeman with the same weapon watching as two very well dressed men questioned a Middle Eastern man.

It's not the Monday morning I was expecting. I hate weapons. I despise guns. Seeing these huge guns on my way to work on a Monday is not my idea of peace. I would have rather avoided the sight as the images ring fresh in my head. But I soon found the images calling me to prayer. I could not see the guns, the people carrying them, or the man being questioned without being led to pray. I found my prayers being offered to God rising like incense as I waited to board the train into the city.

Let there be peace on earth, God.
Let the day come when war will no longer be an option.
Let weapons be beat into plowshares and war be no more.
Let there be peace on earth, God.

Each day we are surrounded by things that trouble us. We see people and places that cause our hearts to weap. We are exposed to situations that cause us to ask what went wrong. What if we saw each troubling situation as a call to pray? The homeless person sleeping on a grate and the girl being prostitued on the corner of 11th and K can be a call to prayer. The man with a sign asking for money can be a call to prayer. The Pentagon can be a call to prayer. The Capitol can be a call to prayer.

Who or what is calling you to pray?

A Second Look

2010-09-18T09:45:00.002-04:00

I have seen more doctors in the last five weeks than I have seen in the last five years. I have experienced being a patient in a hospital for the first time. I have watched as doctors have come in and out, trying to figure out what is wrong with my body - what is causing my body to faint. After a weekend in the hospital and a battery of tests, I left with a prescription. Craig and I went to the local pharmacy where we had the prescription filled, and I purchased a small plastic box in which to organize my medication. I then started to research the drug I was ordered to take every twelve hours. I looked at the long line of possible side effects and realized that this was a serious medication. Two weeks into it, I found my body absolutely exhausted, unable to do many of the things I am accustomed to doing.

I then went for a second opinion. I made an appointment with a neurologist who came highly recommended and who is affiliated with one of our teaching hospitals. The doctor listened to my words detailing my experiences. He then read the hospital records and immediately said with an expressive tone in his voice, "I cannot believe they immediately slapped you on this medication." He proceeded to share how there is nothing conclusive in my story or my records to conclude that I am suffering from seizures. He ordered me off the medication immediately and quickly connected me with a cardiologist to continue to explore what is known about my heart.

I have spent the last four weeks thinking that I am prone to seizures. I have spent the last four weeks on a medication that was wrecking havoc with parts of my life. I have spent the last four weeks dealing with what it means to not be able to drive before being told that I should be able to drive very soon - as soon as we fully discern that it is my heart that is causing my fainting. I now wait for another appointment in ten days and then a table tilt test scheduled for the middle of October.

A second opinion revealed a very different reality. A second opinion changed almost everything. A second opinion restored pep in my step and increased my hope. I needed someone to look at me and my records a second time, and this second look has possibly changed my life.

As a pastor who is seeking to bring about change in our church, I spend many moments hoping that people turned away by the church will offer us a second look - a second chance.

Pastor Terry Jones captured the attention of the world last weekend as he threatened to burn copies of the Koran at his Florida church. He claimed to be representing Jesus Christ, one who proclaimed love, peace and forgiveness. But his words made me weep. I have never experienced Jesus as one who would call us to cast judgment on another religion. I have never experienced Jesus as one who would tell me to burn another's holy book. This is not the Jesus I have grown to love and follow. As I watched Pastor Jones on television, I prayed for the people all over the world watching his actions and listening to his words. I prayed that all people outside of the church would give the church a second chance - that somehow they would be led to offer the church a second look.

Each morning when I get off at the Gallery Place Metro stop, I take the escalator to the top of 7th and H Streets where I am greeted by a man shouting that "Jesus is Lord." He stands and faces the escalator, positioning himself in a spot where he believes his voice will carry, and seeks to make sure that each person riding the three escalators will hear that "Jesus is Lord." I have been tempted to stop and engage him in a conversation many mornings. I have not yet done this, but I keep thinking about his actions. I personally do not know anyone who has come to know Jesus by someone shouting at them that "Jesus is Lord." I am convinced that our actions speak louder than our words.

As I walk up 7th Street towards K, I pray each morning that all who hear the words of this man will somehow give the church a second look. I pray that people who hear this voice will not be led to believe that people who follow Christ have only one task - shouting at other people as they get off the Metro.

In Washington, I know more people who are not connected to a church than people who are connected to a church. I am blessed with incredible friends - some of whom love the church and others who cannot see why anyone would want anything to do with the church. I pastor in a community where there are thousands of unchurched and dechurched people living all around us. I hope and pray that they do not allow Pastor Terry and the man at the Metro to shape their opinions of the church. I pray that they will come inside our church and take a second look.

Who are we? We're young and old, lifelong church goers and people new to the church, people filled with faith and people struggling to believe, former Catholics and lifelong Methodists, gay and straight, housed and unhoused, liberal and conservative, employed and unemployed, government workers and students, single and married, parents and grandparents, and so many other things. What unites us is a sincere desire to figure out what it means to be faithful - not in the shadows of sanctuary stained glass but in the streets and neighborhoods of our city. We preach love and acceptance of all people no matter what. We proclaim that all are welcome and that it does not matter what you wear. We have taken a stand to radically include all people, especially people who have too often been turned away from the church. We're trying hard to be church - a different kind of church.

And, you're invited.

You're all invited.

Come inside, offer us a second look.

Campaigning

2010-08-31T10:29:00.005-04:00

The race for mayor in the District of Columbia is heating up. When I got off the Metro today and made my way to the church, I passed some eight different individuals holding a sign, campaigning for a particular candidate. They were all along the intersection of Massachusetts and Ninth Streets. I passed five different people holding a sign before one of them spoke to me.

"Good morning," he said. "Are you a registered voter in the District?" I explained to him that I am not a resident of the District but still own a home here. He then told me to have a nice day. I decided not to leave it at that, however. Instead, I shared a few thoughts.

"You know, you are the first person holding a sign to speak to me today? I have passed several people holding the same sign but no one else even said, 'Good morning.'" I then told him that him saying "Good morning" to me meant more to me than the sign he was carrying. I then said something that I should not have said. "None of your volunteers seem to really care about the people who are passing them. Are they like the candidate you are representing?"

Again, what I said might have been too much. But, I was so struck by so many people who did not even speak to me - so many people representing someone but relying only upon a sign without even offering a word of greeting.

The church has many signs. We have two crosses in our front yard - crosses that stand some seven feet high. We also have a sign that lights up at night - one that announces how all are welcome in this place. We put out additional signs on Sunday mornings, inviting others to come in. There are signs all around us. Still, these signs mean nothing if the people who put them up are not willing to go the extra mile to welcome someone. If our signs say that all are welcome but our actions speak otherwise, then the signs should have never been ordered. It does not matter how many crosses we have hanging around our necks. If we are not willing to act like Jesus, then the sign around our neck means nothing.

So often, particularly as United Methodists, the marks of a successful pastor are how many people are coming into worship. The fruits to which we are held accountable are how many people worship with us each Sunday and how many new members join each year. Yet, we could have a church filled with people - all 499 places in the pews filled - and if no one goes out into the world to be like Jesus, then it does not matter. What we do on Sunday is not nearly as important as what we do Monday through Saturday. And, the messages printed on our signs in the church yard are not nearly as effective as the messages conveyed through our lives.

I had my mind made up about the mayor's race before walking downtown today. I cannot vote in two weeks but I know who I would vote for in two weeks if I were still a resident of this city. Still, the people who I passed today could have swayed me. The way they interacted with me could have easily propelled me to tell others why they should vote for a particular person. Their lack of engagement spoke volumes instead. Their preoccupation with carrying a sign while failing to say anything convinced me as to why I would vote for the other candidate.

We are the body of Christ and individually members of it. What do our actions say about the one whom we represent? Can others see more than a cross around our necks? Can people see Christ living and breathing in us?

I pray so.

Happy Hour

2010-08-28T08:58:00.005-04:00

We had a plan when we set out yesterday. After saying good-bye to Craig's mom and step-dad, we took the bus into Hamilton with the full intention of making it to Somerset Village. We boarded the ferry to the Dockyard, took the 30 minute journey across the waters, got off and took note of when the next bus would come. With 25 minutes to spare, we decided to walk to the local craft market.

We walked through the bustling market, taking note of Bermuda made goods of all kinds. When we stopped to look at some different jellies, a woman encouraged us to step outside. "You can taste it for free today," she said with delight.

We walked outside where we were greeted by many Bermudians eager for us to sample their goods. One person offered us Rum Cake with a huge smile. Another offered us a taste of Bermuda's main drink, the Dark and Stormy before giving us a shot of the oldest rum made by this particular company. We never made it to the jelly table as we were soon summoned inside a pub where the Dark and Stormy drinks were on special and a delightful person, Wayne, was entertaining with his keyboard. We got a table, ordered a drink and started to communicate with Wayne.

Everyone was in a good mood. Everyone was being offered an opportunity to taste something new. Everyone was being welcomed to come inside. Everyone was offered a true taste of Bermuda. It was happy hour, a time that started at 2:00 in the afternoon and ended at 4:00.

And, it did not take long to understand the timing of Happy Hour. The Dockyard is the place where large cruise ships are anchored. The ship right outside the location of the craft market was scheduled to leave at 4:30. Happy Hour was planned at a time when the visitors to the island would be most likely to enjoy one more final taste of Bermuda, buy one more bottle of Rum, take home one more Rum cake for an office mate, or buy one more Christmas ornament made from Bermuda glass. The samples were not for the locals - they were for visitors. The pub specials were not created around the schedules of the locals - they were designed specifically for the people who would be visiting. The atmosphere was carefully choreographed with the visitor in mind.

When Happy Hour ended, Wayne, the musician, came over to talk with us. He shared a part of his story and then asked why we were on the island. I shared how I was here to preach for two Sundays, and he immediately said, "I'm an Atheist." When we continued to talk, he shared how he had been all over the world and observed each religion of the world. He told us how he had read the Koran and read the Bible, how he had worshipped with Buddhists and with Catholics. "When I examine the way people live, however, I realize that the people who are Buddhists live a lot more like Jesus than the people who claim to be Christians," he shared. He continued to talk about the hypocrisy of the church and how he does not see many Christians being kind and loving, generous and hospitable, caring and gentle. When our conversation had ended, we all concluded that Wayne really has not given up on God - but on the church. As a result of the church, he wants nothing to do with God.

What if our churches spent time doing whatever we could to prepare for Wayne's arrival? What if each action and time of worship was prepared not for the people who always come but for the person who has never come? What if we created an atmosphere for the visitor like the one we encountered in the pub yesterday - where the very best was offered without price, where the locals were all eager to welcome and greet the newcomer, where excitement and anticipation filled the air, where everything was perfectly planned and executed for the visitor?

We gather around a table in our sanctuaries where all are welcome and no one is turned away. Wine is shared - wine that represents the very best poured out so that all might have eternal life. We break bread that is the bread of life. We pass peace as we celebrate our reconciliation made possible through Christ. We hear the story of how we are to care for the people around us - especially the individuals who are too often forgotten. We are welcomed - no matter who we are, where we have been, or what we have done.

I wish Wayne lived in Washington. I'm pretty sure I could get him to visit Mount Vernon Place sometime. And yet, I am quite sure that there are people like Wayne all around us - all around each of our churches. What will we do to prepare for his arrival?

In the Eye of the Storm

2010-08-26T15:45:00.003-04:00

I've never been in the eye of a storm. When I lived in North Carolina, there were times when powerful winds blew. I have survived snow storms. I have been caught in a thunderstorm without an umbrella. But, I have never before been in a place before that is the target for a hurricane.

Yesterday, all that changed. Throughout the day, I kept looking at the Weather Channel, wondering what would happen if Hurricane Danielle were to hit the island of Bermuda. I called US Airways to inquire about the status of our flights. I talked with the lay leader of the congregation where I am serving for two weeks, asking if they ever cancel church. I have done everything I can to increase my sense of anxiety and anticipation.

All the while, no one around me is really worrying. None of the Bermudans seem worried about the storm. Everyone assures me that the houses have been built to withstand any storm. "Church will go on as planned," I have been told.

The above map lightens my load. The island is no longer in the center of the storm. The Hurricane is moving to the East at a pace I much prefer. I am thankful.

But why is it that we worry so much? Why is it that we allow one little thing to cause us so much anxiety?

As I continue to reflect on the last couple of weeks, I see the places where I have automatically assumed the worst instead of trusting in the best. When a staff member accepted a new position in another city, I immediately thought of everything that could go wrong instead of looking at the window of opportunity being given to the church. When doctors told me two weekends ago that I am not allowed to drive for a while, I immediately started to think about all the ways this limitation will impact my job instead of thinking about the wonderful ways in which I can share parts of pastoral ministry with more members of the church. When a Hurricane started to get stronger in the middle of the ocean, I called my airline instead of praying that all would be okay.

Why do we worry so much? Where is our faith?

In the 14th Chapter of Matthew's Gospel, Jesus has sent the disciples to the other side of the water. While they are in the boat, Jesus goes away to pray. We're told that when evening arrives, Jesus is still away praying when a storm comes. The boat in which the disciples are traveling is far away from the land and becomes battered by waves with a wind blowing against them. The disciples, who surely know that Jesus is close by, fail to recognize Jesus when he starts to walk towards them. They become terrified and conclude it is a ghost. Jesus then quickly responds, "Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid."

With these words, Peter, preposterous Peter!, pushes his luck a bit and dares Jesus to command him out of the boat. Jesus invites him to come, Peter steps outside, discovers that he is walking on water, gets afraid and then starts to sink. He is then immediately admonished for his lack of faith.

I have been frightened so many times in the last two weeks. I have been frightened by health issues that I have never experienced before. I have been frightened by needles stuck inside my veins. I have been frightened by medical bills even though I have insurance. I have been frightened by a hole in my heart. I have been frightened by being put on a medication that could have major side effects. I have been frightened by being told that I am not allowed to drive. I have been frightened by a storm - by a real storm in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean and by the storms of life.

Yet, I have also seen Jesus inviting me to step out and trust him. I have heard his voice telling me to not be afraid. I have been assured that he is with me no matter what. He has allowed me to come to this place of beauty in order to discover rest, renewal and extraordinary hospitality. He has surrounded me with church members who have assured me that no matter what, it is going to be okay. He has allowed me to spend this week with family - with some of the people I love the most. He has held my hand, invited me to get out of the boat and trust him. He is with me.

"Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid." Thanks be to God. Amen.

The Hole in my Heart

2010-08-24T06:53:00.002-04:00

One of the things the physicians discovered last weekend is that I have a small hole in my heart. I have something that is rather common in individuals, a Patent Forament Ovale (PFO). Typically, individuals are born with these small holes that typically close after a year or two. However, some individuals discover later that the flap never closed, allowing small amounts of blood and other particles to travel from one part of the heart to the other. This passing through can actually lead to heart attack and stroke.

While hospitalized last week, I watched on a screen as one health professional created bubbles with my IV, forcing fluid through the veins so we could see if there was an opening. Sure enough, a tiny opening was found - the same opening already discovered and fixed in the hearts of my mother and a cousin - and I watched as the bubbles filled the other side of my heart. The doctors are not convinced that my PFO is large enough to be the culprit for my dizziness and fainting. Yet, I cannot stop thinking about this hole and its implications. A really small hole in the heart can wreck havoc. A really small hole in the heart can be the reason for major health issues.

In the 51st Psalm, David writes powerful words about the heart. He begins the Psalm by praying to the Lord, "Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin. For I know my transgressions and my sin is ever before me. Against you, you alone, have I sinned, and done what is evil in your sight." He then continues later, "Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me... Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and sustain in me a willing spirit."

Create in me a clean heart. These words are the prayer of David. A contemporary song invites us to sing, "Change my heart O God." The heart is a powerful vessel, and all it takes is one small hole to make the heart unclean. All it takes is one little ounce of impurity or hatred to cause the heart to be unhealthy.

Think about all the impurities we allow into our hearts - hatred of others, an unwillingness to forgive, being anti- this or that, our tendency to be judgmental, our preconceived notion of the other, an unwillingness to hear another's story, and the list goes on and on. All it takes is one little thing to get into our heart and cause it to not beat the way God designed it to beat - and the impact is the same whether we are speaking of our physical hearts or our spiritual hearts or perhaps even the heart of our churches.

What about your heart? What's the condition of your heart?

I'm praying for a clean heart. If the PFO is what is causing my health issues, then I want it fixed quickly. But, I'm also praying for any other ounce of hatred in my heart that is pushing through to be cleansed, to be withdrawn, to be healed.

Gracious and loving God, touch my heart once more. Cleanse it from any impurities. Block any holes that allow hatred or other impurities to pass through. Give me a heart that beats like yours. Make my heart large enough to love like you. Give me a beating, understanding, overflowing heart. Amen.

Touched by the Church

2010-08-22T07:02:00.002-04:00

I spend most of my days trying to figure out how God can use me to be a blessing. My vocation as pastor is one in which I seek to be poured out for others - visiting people who are sick, comforting the lonely, offering a word of hope to those who mourn and being present when people need me. Providing pastoral care is a large part of my assignment. But last weekend, I was not providing pastoral care. Instead, I was the one receiving it.

The weekend started rather normal. I had a relaxing Friday morning and was getting ready for the rest of the weekend. I was starting to dry my hair when I noticed myself becoming dizzy. A few moments later, I was getting up from the floor with a huge knot on my head that happened sometime on the way down from fainting. I got up, placed some ice on my head for a few minutes and then went about my day. It was unusual but not that unusual. I have passed out several times so did not think much about it... until Saturday when it happened again with my husband watching the entire thing.

We called the cardiologist and drove to the Emergency Room. The ER doctor performed a few routine checks and an hour later I was being informed that my "room upstairs was ready."

"Excuse me?" I asked. "I cannot stay here. It's Saturday. I'm a pastor. I have to be at church tomorrow." The doctor looked at me with patient eyes, shared how I could spend the next week going in and out of physician offices or I could stay in the hospital and get whatever was happening to me treated as aggressively as possible with a series of tests. I obliged very reluctantly. And the church started to act.

I placed a call to a member engaged to one of our newest members who is a seminarian. I invited the two people to lead worship the next day. At the same time, my husband called one of our longtime and active members. When we hung up the phone, this person started calling people. He worked hard to make sure that every aspect of worship would be cared for. He must have made close to 20 calls. He invited a variety of different people to help with worship. He did whatever he could to make sure that worship would be faithful and inspiring.

When Sunday morning arrived, three different people showed up ready to preach. Three people came prepared to be used by God. The sermon was given by an 88-year-old saint of the church. Mary Elizabeth told the story of the Prodigal Son in such a way that blessed many hearers.

Following church, I was visited by three people. The church came to me. Jerry, Mary Lou and Christine came to provide care to me. I cried in their midst. I expressed anxiety about my current reality and some of the changes coming my way. They held my hand, comforted me, and cared for me. They were the church to me.

Calls continued through the week. One of our members left a message and then called back to leave a prayer on our voice mail. Cards have come with scriptures that I would normally read to others. Rides have been provided. My 102-year-old friend, Howard, had a rose ready for me when I showed up to Bible study. Hugs have been extended. Prayers have been lifted - countless prayers.

I have experienced the church - I have been touched by the church.

Mount Vernon Place is filled with so many remarkable people. Many of them have been coming to church for eight, nine or even ten decades. They know how to be the church. They know the words of James - that if one member suffers we are all called to suffer together and we are called to pray for one another. They care for each other. And, they are teaching our younger, newer members how to care for each other. They embody the Body of Christ with their actions, and their actions are teaching others how to be the Body of Christ. It is really quite beautiful.

My church carried me through last weekend. My church touched me with the hands of Christ. My church anointed my head with oil. They reminded me that no matter what happens, my cup overflows. It was a pure gift to receive the blessing of the church.

I desperately needed the church last weekend, and the church showed up in ways more powerful than I could have ever imagined.

How do people live without the church?

A Matter of Perspective

2010-08-06T08:50:00.002-04:00

I received a frantic call from my husband last evening. Craig called on his drive home to tell me how much damage had been done in our neighborhood. He shared how traffic was at a standstill and trees were everywhere. I looked out my office window as we spoke and saw a lot of rain but nothing that looked too severe.

When I got home last night, approaching our neighborhood, I saw trees everywhere. In every lawn in our tree-filled neighborhood lied large trees and huge branches. There were trees everywhere - blocking sidewalks, stairs and streets. I have never seen anything like it. Seeing was believing. I fully understood what Craig was concerned about the moment I saw it with my own eyes.

How many times do we take time to see things with our own eyes? How many times do we place aside our own thoughts and opinions on the situation or concerns expressed by another person in order to see the weight of the matter?

We have started a journey to racial reconciliation with a neighboring United Methodist Church in downtown Washington. We have had three sessions and are now anticipating a fall Bible study and conversation composed of people from Asbury and Mount Vernon Place United Methodist Churches in addition to our partners at Wesley Theological Seminary. We are just getting started, but I have already had my eyes refocused. My eyes, mind and heart are already seeing a perspective they did not see before.

I learned a few weeks ago the pain that one of my colleagues experienced when she lived across the street from a hospital in Washington - a hospital that she was not allowed to enter even when a relative was choking. I have learned about the pain of passing certain department stores in downtown Washington - stores that sold beautiful things that only a certain shade of person could purchase. I have learned the perceptions of our church - the lure of a chapel whose doors were open all the time but nonetheless seemed accessible to individuals at a church of the same denomination less than two blocks away. And, I learned this week the pain associated with newer developments at Mount Vernon Place.

I now see things differently. I see how my words or actions could be misinterpreted. I see how important it is for me to listen more fully. I see how important and hard the work of reconciliation can be.

What does it take for us to see things through the eyes of another? To seek to understand what it is like to be in the minority? To seek to understand the loneliness in the life of a recent widow or a new resident of the city? To pursue an appreciation for someone else's job responsibilities - to seek to understand the weight of a change in office dynamics or the team? To want to hear what is happening or has happened in the life of another that causes them to react the way the do today? How is it that we gain an understanding heart - one that does not look out the window and say, "I have no idea what he's worried about. It's barely raining here!" How is it that we get to the place where we do not say, "Get over it! Racism is a thing of the past and not prevalent today" and instead say, "Help me to better see what your life is like."

I had no idea that yesterday's storm was so bad. It did not look bad from my office window. But when I switched locations and moved to a different place, I understood. The storm - yesterday's storm - was really, really bad.

Stereotypical Librarians

2010-08-04T14:38:00.004-04:00

There are many things I love about the location of the church I serve. From my office window, I can observe water play time at the child care center across the street. I know when traffic is stopped because of a suspicious package. I can see when the weather is beautiful just by looking at size of the lunch crowd at the restaurant across the street. And, when I walk out the doors of the church, I can almost always tell which group is meeting at the Convention Center.

Without fail, the attendees usually have a name badge that tells me their name and where they are from. They also regularly have an identical bag on their shoulders identifying which convention they are attending.

I love our location.

A few weeks ago, there was a librarian convention in town. Many of these individuals were identifiable not because of the bag they carried but because of the way they dressed, the shoes they wore, or the way the styled their hair. On that Sunday morning, we were blessed to have about 8 librarians worship with us. When the worship service ended, someone remarked, "You could tell they were librarians just by the way they looked."

It's been several weeks since this happened, but I still keep thinking about the statement. I keep thinking about it because I am also in a field where people are often known for how they look. Almost half of my colleagues (myself included) could stand to lose more than a few pounds. Some of us wear clergy collars that immediately give us away. Few of us dare to wear skirts more than an inch or two above the knee. Most of us struggle with what to wear - especially if we are a woman.

When I experienced a call to ministry, one of the first things I thought about was how I did not want to be like most of the women preachers I knew. Few of them wore lipstick or toenail polish. I had a hard time finding one that had been able to successfully balance the church, a husband and children. Not many of them seemed to live the life I wanted or appeared the way I wanted to appear. A few years later, I realize how I pray others are not stereotyping me for being a "typical preacher."

But, I keep thinking about the power of stereotypes.

Sadly, the church is now stereotyped by many adjectives that are not so positive. People outside the church see us as anti-homosexual, judgmental, hypocritical and many other not so nice adjectives. We have been placed in a hole of irrelevancy. We have been cast aside as part of an organization that is no longer needed. And, I'm learning that it can take a lot to break this stereotype. It can take a lot to show someone a different side of Christianity.

But, I'm trying. And, all the while I am trying, I realize how easy it is to put on a facade. If a church member were to follow me thru Washington traffic, they would quickly see that I am not always Christlike. If someone were to peek inside my closet or see the purses I carry, they would see that I struggle with possessions. If someone were to look inside my heart, they would see that I often struggle just as much as the next person - there are some people that I, too, have a hard time liking.

But, I'm trying. By the grace of God, I'm trying to not live up to the stereotypical Christian but to be the kind of person I see Jesus calling to follow him throughout the Gospels. I'm trying to share more of what I have been given with people in need. I'm trying to watch my mouth - even when an --- cuts me off on I-395. I'm trying to be one who loves God with all I have and my neighbor as myself. I'm trying to be a really good pastor and an even better Christian.

What would happen if we as the church worked hard to break the stereotypes bestowed upon us today? What would it take for us to live our faith with all that we are? How could we better embody our faith in such a way that someone would say, "Wow. That person is really trying to be like Jesus?"

I'm trying.

Adapting to Change

2010-07-28T18:23:00.002-04:00

I have had a Hotmail email account for over a decade. I love my Hotmail account. It is where all my personal email arrives. It is an account I use and check regularly. Hotmail changed the look of my account yesterday, however, and I don't like it. They tell me that they are working hard to clean up my account regularly and that I should love the new features. Yet, I miss the old look. I knew where to find each feature so well, and it's all changed now. I like the previous version no matter how good or helpful the new version might be.

A week or so ago I noticed a comment posted by one of my Facebook friends. She had been to a Dave Matthews concert at Nationals Park and was complaining about the music. She expressed how much the band had changed and then stated how she wished he had played more of the old stuff. It was clear that she does not like the new music but much prefers the sounds of the past - the music that came from Dave in the good old days.

The comment about music is one that every church hears often. "Why don't they sing more of the good ol' hymns?" "What's wrong with the Cokesbury hymnal?" These are the comments that come from some of our older members. At the same time, our new members exclaim, "I just don't like the music." "Can we please sing something that was composed in this decade?"

It does not matter how much the new might help us or benefit us, we don't like change. We are not quick to adapt to change but find it easier to resist change.

I am blessed to serve a church that is changing. Five years ago, our congregation had an average age of 82. Our chair of staff parish relations was 97, our finance committee chair was 93, and our lay leader was 90. We had one person in their 20s and I was the only person in my 30s. Our young people were the ones in their 60s and 70s, and there was only a handful of them. Today, we interviewed several candidates for our nursery worker position. We have 10 children under the age of two with at least one more on the way and a few that are older. We have many young adults, several families, and many new people. The landscape of our church has changed.

Our building has also changed. Five years ago, our historic building was in gross need of repair. About 1/3 of the building had become unusable due to water damage, mold and decay. Asbestos covered each floor. The stained glass windows were attached with lead that was becoming brittle to the point that the windows were literally bulging and cracking. The toilets worked on some Sundays and other Sundays I would walk in and see water all over the floor. The roof was the original 1917 roof. I could literally poke my fingers through some walls that were crumbling. It was a "leak a week" building that was consuming a ton of time, energy and resources.

Today, this very building has been completely restored and is ready to serve whoever walks in for the next 100 years. At the same time, we have multi-use space in a new building that is being used for all kinds of stuff. Tomorrow, we'll host our current mayor and the city council chairperson for a debate. We have hosted countless weddings, many conferences, several seminary classes, training sessions for local groups, and other meetings. We are the home for several nonprofits who tell me each week how grateful they are for their office space. We have a growing relationship with a seminary that houses students upstairs and faculty downstairs. We have two bakers who are making their small business dreams come true through the use of our kitchen. At the same time, we have a great fellowship hall for potlucks and large meetings and really wonderful offices and meeting rooms. The space is a gift from God. There are so many things about it that should have gone wrong and started to go wrong. But, they didn't.

However, not everyone is content with the space. One person shared with me this week how he wishes so much that we were still the 50 member congregation worshipping across the street in a borrowed library. Others point out how much money was spent on the building - something I also struggle and wrestle with. Still others question certain decisions that were made - things that were completely out of our control that were dictated by a historic review board that told us what we could and could not do with the building.

God has blessed us with so much - so much - but we find it easier to complain sometimes than see the goodness in it. God is bringing new people into our midst each Sunday, and we are surrounded by thousands of other unchurched people but we sometimes wonder why we can't be the little community that we first fell in love with. God is leading us to new places and new possibilities - but we would sometimes rather go back to where we were. Lives have been changed but we sometimes would prefer to be the community that does not have any room for additional lives to be changed.

I learned in a church leadership class that every church has a "Let's Go Back to Egypt Committee." Each church family has some people who no matter how good the future might be, always want to go back to what it once was. The Israelites were being led by God who promised to lead them to a land flowing with milk and honey. Still, they complained and wished out loud that they would have died while being enslaved in Egypt. God gave them bread from heaven and water from a rock and they still questioned God's motives and existence. They could only look back instead of looking forward.

I am tempted to look back often. I wonder all the time why my husband and I both bought one-bedroom condos at the height of the market before we met each other. I wonder all the time what decisions would have been made had the congregation that is here today been here five years ago to dream and make plans for a new building. I wonder all the time what would have happened had the property never been sold - or had we been delayed and stuck with a hole in the ground because of a changing landscape. I also wonder what would have happened had our longtime members not had the courage and the vision to sell the property, trusting that something new could happen. Had they not done this, I am pretty sure that I would not be here today. I am also pretty sure that the majority of our newer members would not be here today. Was an enormous amount of money spent on the building? Yes. But it was spent with the hope that countless new people would find their ways through doors that lead to a remarkable community called Mount Vernon Place. They were spent with the hope that this church could again be what it once was - a place faithfully seeking to serve the needs of the community, a place where all kinds of people could come and experience the gift of real community, a place where no one had to be alone in life, a place where the Gospel was being faithfully read, proclaimed and lived.

Things have changed. Things are continuing to change. We serve a God who is always on the move. We do not always keep up with God, and sometimes we go way too far ahead of God. My prayer, however, is that we can always sense God's presence - not in the past, but in the present and the future. May we look ahead - dreaming together for what tomorrow might hold. May we let go and trust God.

Oh, and if you are looking for a church family, please come by. We would love to have you. We have plenty of room for you. We have just done something crazy, something risky, something extravagant, all in anticipation for the day you would join us.

An Unexpected Hero

2010-07-22T18:26:00.004-04:00

For the last several weeks, our congregation, Mount Vernon Place United Methodist Church, has been working with nearby Asbury United Methodist Church and Wesley Theological Seminary on a journey towards reconciliation. The two congregations are located less than two blocks away from each other. I can see Asbury from my office window. We are so close when it comes to geography and so far apart when it comes to history.

One of the first things people notice about our monumental structure are words etched in stone, "Methodist Episcopal Church South." The large words are etched above both main entrances to the sanctuary building. The church building is monumental - it looks more like the Supreme Court building than it does a steepled church. It was designed to stand tall, to stand out, to stand above. And, it was paid for by people from other churches all over the south who were part of the same denomination, proudly stamping their building with the denomination name.

Our church was the "representative church" for the part of the Methodist Church that split in 1844 over the issue of slavery. When a bishop acquired slaves through marriage and would not let them go, the church split. The Methodist Episcopal Church would not tolerate slavery - a stance our church has held since its beginning. The Methodist Episcopal Church South, on the other hand, said slavery was fine.

We split. We built a monumental church. We remained a separate denomination until 1939. And, our churches have remained separate in so many different ways. But, through the gift of a partnership, our stories are being told in new ways - ways intended to bring together that which has been separated - to bring healing to hurt.

Our journey started with a film as we gathered to watch a movie and then talk. We then had a night devoted to hearing the history of Asbury UMC. The next Wednesday evening we learned about the history of race in the United Methodist Church. We then gathered last Wednesday night to learn the history of Mount Vernon Place.

I thought I knew what to expect. I tell the history in a short synopsis at each new member class. I have spent hours in the archives pouring through the files of history. However, I had never heard one of our members, Mary Lou, speak about our history. I had never heard her tell her role in seeking to change history nearly 50 years ago.

Mary Lou brought with her two documents. One of them was a copy of a local newspaper article from March 14, 1962. The article was titled, "Churches Declare Welcome to All Regardless of Race or Background" and told how 74 Protestant churches came together to sign a statement "welcoming into full membership all persons of any racial, economic or social background." Mary Lou brought the article and pointed out how Asbury had signed the document. She commended them for her taking a stand and then continued to tell her story.

She shared how she was responsible for the young adult group at church and invited a speaker to come and share on "How to Integrate an Unintegrated Church." Mary Lou was seeking to be faithful. She was seeking to follow her savior and expose the young adults to a different way. The conversation, however, did not go well. Mary Lou brought with her a letter dated June 14, 1962 from the pastor of Brightwood Park Methodist Church. Rev. Harry L. Bennett wrote to Mary Lou expressing thanksgiving and then shared, "I'm sorry about the embarrassment that the topic might have had for your Pastor and some of the church members. Perhaps some church members and pastors need to be embarrassed and shocked, especially when it comes to long overdue brotherhood and decent human relations."

Mary Lou did not elaborate on what had happened. She did not share why the pastor was embarrassed or what happened. She only made it clear that the conversation did not go well. In the meantime, I have been praising God for Mary Lou. I have been giving thanks for how her efforts nearly 50 years ago have played a part in getting us where we are today. I now see how Mary Lou's fingerprints are not only on the handles of doors that are opened as she brings people to church but on a congregation that has been transformed in more recent years. While we have a ways to go, I am so thankful for the steps taken long before many of us arrived at this place. I am also thankful for people at both churches who are willing to tell stories - to take steps towards wholeness and healing.

Thanks be to God for my new unexpected hero. Thank you, Mary Lou, for what you have done to make this church what it is today. Thank you for being you.

The Fine Print

2010-07-13T18:00:00.004-04:00

Wednesdays are my favorite day to open the Washington Post. I love Wednesdays because it is the day the Food Section arrives with the normal parts of the newspaper, and tucked inside the Food Section are advertisements that I always look forward to reading. Each Wednesday, my eyes cannot wait to see what my local grocers have on sale. Giant, Harris Teeter, Safeway and Shopper's all tell me what they are willing to take a loss on that week in order to get me through their door, and they usually succeed. With four grocery stores within a mile of our house, I am willing to travel to save money.

Saving money is an art for me, actually. Each week, I make a list of what is on sale at each place and then carefully go through my coupon file to see if I can save even more money. I even get things FREE sometime! It is a delightful thing to save money on groceries - especially on items that I use each week anyway.

A few weeks ago, Giant had a special. If I bought $20 of a certain brand of products, then they would take $10 off my final bill. I carefully selected the products I would purchase, adding the cost of each one until I reached $20. Part of the plan was to purchase 7 boxes of Nabisco Crackers (I eat them at home and also use them for coffee hour at the church).

Prior to going to Giant, however, I stopped at Safeway where I was delighted to find a stack of coupons free for the taking. I took 4 coupons for $1 off a box of Nabisco Crackers. Geesh, I am going to save even more money, I thought to myself.

I got to Giant, put all my things on the belt, watched the $10 be taken off on the screen when all of my Kraft products had been scanned, and got in the car. I was so pleased at my savings. But, when I got home and looked at my receipt, I realized that I had not saved the $10. Somehow the $10 was not taken off at the very end - when the checkout person scanned my $1 coupons. My $1 coupons did not total to spending $20 worth of products. I was so frustrated! I then got out the advertisement and read the fine print. I read the small words that said something like "Purchase must total more than $20 after coupons are subtracted."

If I would have only read the small print!!

How often we as Christians fail to read the small print. We have gotten good at finding the words in scripture that we want to find. We can justify many a hate by picking and choosing what we want to read in the Bible. People can point to verses that state why I as a female should be silent in church. They can point to the teaching of Paul when it comes to homosexuality and cast one word of judgment upon another. There are places in the Bible that even justify the sin of slavery. Passages of scripture are used to justify our hatred all the time, in fact.

But what about the small print?

The central message of the Old and New Testaments is that we are to love God with all that we have while loving our neighbor as ourselves. While we are quick to judge others, Jesus says time and again that we are not to judge. He even says that the one who can throw the first stone is the one who is without sin which means none of us.

What might happen if all of us who are seeking to follow Jesus sought to read the entire book instead of the ones that enable us to be anything but Christlike?

I love the pin I was given at the Capital Pride Festival - the little one that reads, "Don't use religion to justify your hatred."

Try reading the small print. There's a lot more love there than we normally allow ourselves to see.