Radical Hospitality

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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?

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?

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

"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

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

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

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

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

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.