Locked Out

"Pastor, it's mighty hard for a handicapped person to get into the church right now."

These are the words with which I was greeted on Sunday morning. They came from my parishioner, Gilbert, a 96 year-old-retired attorney who has been a member of Mount Vernon Place for decades. Gilbert is one of many members whose Sunday routine has been interrupted because of the renovation project at the church. He used to be able to walk in the front doors off of Massachusetts Avenue, take the elevator to his Sunday school room on the third floor, take the elevator back to the second floor where the sanctuary entrance is located, and then step onto a motorized lift with his walker in order to be lowered down into the sanctuary.

Since we had to vacate the building with the elevator on September 1, however, Gilbert and many others have had to adjust to a different routine. They have had to walk in one door for Sunday school and then back outside in order to walk into another door for worship in the undercroft theatre, as this way is the only way one can get from Sunday school to worship without using any steps. Gilbert and many others are making sacrifices each time they come to the church. They cannot step in from the cold or the rain and be done with it. Instead, they have to step in for one thing, step back outside, and then step back in for another thing. If I were them, I might stay home and watch a television evangelist for my dose of good news! But they, thank God, keep coming.

If this new routine were not enough, we have found that there are doors locked at times that are not supposed to be locked. We are using doors that we have never used before, and many of them lock without us wanting them locked. They lock without us having a key to get them opened. They lock, leaving Gilbert and many others stuck outside.

Pastor, it's mighty hard for someone with a handicap to get into church today.


I keep thinking about Gilbert's comment and the one door he can use being locked. How many other individuals feel locked out of the church? How many handicapped people have stayed away from Mount Vernon Place because it is too difficult to get inside? How many handicapped people have refused to sing in the choir because the choir loft requires that one be able to climb stairs? How many handicapped people have said "no" to reading scripture or serving communion because the chancel area has stairs?

Not only this, but how many people believe the doors of the church are "locked" to them because of the sins of the past or of the present? Because they do not have anything to wear that comes even close to what they see Sunday church folk wearing? Because they have been told that they are going to burn in hell because of their sexual orientation? Because they do not know anything about the Bible? Because someone once told them they were not good enough to be loved by God?

It's true that the doors to many churches around the world have appeared locked to countless children of God. The church has not done a good job of reminding itself that we are all sinners in need of God's grace and redemption. The church has often forgotten what Jesus said about how we are to not judge others. The church has failed to practice what it preaches.

It's true that we are having a hard time getting all of the doors unlocked on Sunday mornings. There is always one door that seems to stick. But I hope and pray that no one will feel locked outside of the church for long. I pray that somewhere, there will always be an opening for anyone and everyone to come to inside.

Now, let me try to find that key.

Thankful

It's Thanksgiving morning, and my eyes are already red. They are not red because I am tired. They are not red because something is burning in the oven. They are red because I have been reminded in so many powerful ways on this morning of how blessed I am. They are red because I realize how thankful I am for all of the many blessings in life.

My dad visited me this week. Dad lives in Missouri where he is the President of Linn State Technical College. He is an amazing individual with a sense of humor that can make me laugh until my tummy hurts. He has a work ethic that makes me want to work even harder than I already work. He is a bit hard headed, which makes me think that I, too, can do anything I want to do. And, he loves his family -- which makes me realize how loved I really am. I am enormously proud of my dad. I am grateful for all he has taught me in my 34 years. I am thankful for the lessons in life that he has given me -- lessons that have demonstrated to me how I should work hard to reach my goals while never forgetting the people who have helped me along the way -- lessons on why I should love God and his church -- lessons about how to never give up. Thank you, dad.

I am also enormously thankful for the people to whom I am privileged to be pastor. I realize each day how much I love the people who call Mount Vernon Place United Methodist Church their church home. These individuals awe and amaze me. They make me laugh. They make me think. They make me want to serve as faithfully as I possibly can.

One of our members had a stroke this week. When the call came informing me that she was in the hospital, I quickly put my coat on and rushed out the door. When I arrived at the hospital, I was reminded how thankful I am for having been able to hear the story of this woman's life -- her arrival in Washington during WWII, her love of the church, and her journeys as a resident of the neighborhood. I was also reminded that the call of a pastor is a precious privilege as I was not only invited to come to the hospital, but I was beckoned there. And once I arrived, I realized again how the ground on which I walk is sacred, indeed.

On this Thanksgiving morning, I also remember and give thanks for the precious friends in my life. One of the greatest joys of being back in Washington is the gift of being near so many of my closest friends. This year I was able to visit my friend, Kimberly, at the hospital on the day her second child, Abby, was born. I was also able to officiate at my best friend, Jenni's wedding -- a woman whose friendship continues to sustain me in so many lifegiving ways. Last week, I shared a simple meal of soup with Kim, a colleague I met in 1994. These women are such gifts to me. I celebrate their friendships and the ways in which I experience the love of Christ through their lives.

And this is just the beginning of my thanksgiving. God is so good.

Thank you, Lord, for my home and the gift of warmth that exudes from it. Thank you, Lord, for my call to ministry and the joy of being at Mount Vernon Place. Thank you for life in the city. Thank you for my family. Thank you for my friends. May my life demonstrate to you time and again how thankful I really am.

Living in Exile

I get to talk about my church a lot. It seems as though countless people are interested in hearing the story of Mount Vernon Place -- its history, its current state, and its plans for the future. While people will listen patiently to stories of the church's past, there are dozens of people who are spending time talking about the church's future.

I had two such conversations last week. The people at the table were a little different between Thursday's meeting and Friday's meeting. Still, everyone seemed interested in the future of Mount Vernon Place. And, everyone had an idea for what can happen at 900 Massachusetts Avenue when the property is redeveloped.

I sat patiently and listened to the words of denomination officials, seminary professors, and community leaders before being asked to share a few words about what is happening at Mount Vernon Place right now.

A smile soon filled my entire face as I started to talk. A new analogy quickly came to mind when I thought about how we are a congregation living in exile. We have left much of what is most comfortable to us.

We moved out of two buildings and sold or gave away many of the belongings.

We vacated our sanctuary at the end of August, moving worship to the undercroft theatre beneath the sanctuary.

We let go of many programs, unable to support them with the space needed.

We combined two, very independent and different Sunday school classes into one class.

And, none of these changes have been easy. Just like the Israelites, we have complained about what we have been asked to do. Still, we keep thinking about the 'promised land' that is coming -- a renovated sanctuary building and space in a new office tower. And, we keep experiencing the presence of God in bold, new ways. Something amazing is happening!

We are learning about what is really important.

We no longer climb the stairs to entire a monumental-like building. Instead, we enter a space that is a little dark and dingy in the basement. We no longer keep silent when it comes to the sharing of the joys and concerns. Instead, we speak up, sharing with others what God is doing in our lives and where we need to feel the presence of the Lord. We no longer remain in our seats when it comes time to share the passing of the peace. Instead, we walk around the room, shaking as many hands as possible. We no longer sit with 40 people in the sanctuary on a Sunday morning. Instead, we had 58 people in the theatre today!

There is something powerful about letting go of all that we have in order to see what we might become through the grace of God.

We are now awaiting the arrival of an office trailer where we will move our offices, our Bible studies, and our opportunities for worship. I am curious to see what kind of transformative time we will have in the trailer. In the meantime, I'll continue to enjoy the manna God provides each morning -- bread from heaven in the least expected places.

It's Cold Outside

I met several of the church's neighbors yesterday morning. I did not meet them at a holiday open house or a neighborhood association meeting. I met them instead when I walked around the church with a friend who was visiting for the first time.

I was giving my friend a tour, and we made our way around the massive building. It was not the architecture or the church's future plans that caught our attention, however. My attention was caught by how many people the church had apparently hosted on the night before. There were boxes, blankets, and plastic tarps everywhere. Temporary homes could be found in the bushes, while grocery carts held the entirety of one individual's possessions.


I then climbed the steps to go inside the church and met three individuals at the top of the stairs. One woman introduced herself as "one of the people who slept here last night."

But as we walked around, I realized that a dozen or so people slept on the lawn of the church on Friday night. There was stuff everywhere.

The woman was still at the church this morning when I arrived. I went out to say "good morning" and asked her how she was. She quickly said, "I am cold."

I was cold, too -- not because I had to sleep outside last night but because I had just made my way from my car to the office, spending a total of three minutes outside.

The woman was wet, along with her belongings.

I was wet, too -- not because I had to sleep outside last night but because my umbrella was not large enough to completely shelter me from the wind and rain.
One of the hardest parts of living in the city is seeing the gross gap that separates the rich from the poor. The church is sandwiched between the two. We face a building on one side where attorneys bill for $500 an hour and couples drop over $100 for dinner. We see thousands of people flock to the city each year, making their way across the street to a myriad of conventions. And we see people sleeping all around us -- not at the hotel next door or the one behind the church -- but on the lawn and the porch.

And, I hate it.

I hate it because I realize that I, too, am part of the problem.

I hate it because I realize that I have more than I could possibly use.

I hate it because I do little to alleviate the pain or ask the difficult questions about why there are so many hungry men, women and children in the world's wealthiest nation.

But my life in this city will not allow me to say "I hate it," and do nothing about it, forgetting how many homeless children of God there are living all around me. I have to see and smell the poor when I leave my home and when I walk to the church. I have to see their boxes, their tarps, and their carts while I smell their urine in the nearby alley. The poor are here -- all around me.

Jesus makes it very clear that those who follow him have a responsibility to the poor. In fact, Jesus says "Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me." He then casts people into the outer darkness saying, "I was hungry and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me....for just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me" (Matthew 25:41-45).

We warmly welcomed the stranger who came to church today, taking a break from the convention she was attending. We loved having her with us. We bent over backwards to make her feel at home.

I also invited our neighbor who slept outside to worship, but I did not offer her something to drink or something to eat. And, I wondered what would happen if she really came to worship.

Why, Lord, does following you have to be so hard?

Grant me courage. Give me compassion. Loosen the hold I have on my pride and my possessions. And Lord, please be with all who sleep outside on this cold, rainy, windy night. Do not allow me to forget them when I put my head on my pillow and cover my body with as many blankets as I would like.

A Flashback to '94

It is raining in Washington this morning. A steady stream of rain was accompanied by strong gusts of wind when I first went outside just after 6:00 this morning. It was raining twelve years ago, too.

I remember well catching an early morning flight from Cleveland to Washington. I had spent the last week in Cleveland, volunteering time to campaign for my boss, U.S. Representative Eric Fingerhut. It had been a hard fight. We had worked long and hard. We were hopeful he would win. But when the ballots were counted, Eric, along with dozens of other Democratic Representatives and Senators, were defeated, transferring the balance of power to the Republican party for the first time in years, leaving some 2000 Democratic staffers unemployed.

When my flight arrived in Baltimore, I took the train to Union Station and slowly made my way towards the Cannon House Office Building. Capitol Hill was a rather quiet place. The Cannon building was even quieter. The Republicans were still out celebrating with Newt Gingrich while the Democrats were trying to collect themselves. People stopped by when they saw me entering the office to say a few simple words, "I am sorry your boss lost."

The ensuing weeks were busy and challenging. There were letters to write, White House tour tickets to send, and boxes to pack for the Congressman. And, there was resume paper to purchase and phone calls to make.

My friend, Sharon, who had been through it before said, "You'll get through it, Donna. You file for unemployment benefits, and you move on." Unemployment benefits? I was a twenty-one year old recent college graduate. I was not about to file for unemployment....or so I thought. The day came, however, when I arrived in one of the huge committee rooms in the Rayburn building to complete the paperwork. I was with people whose last names begin with "C" and "D," and I could not believe that the huge room was full of people -- unemployed people -- people whose jobs were about to come to an end as soon as the new year began.

In 1994, my entire identity was based upon the business card I used to hand out often -- the card with a beautiful, gold-embossed seal at the top and the title, "Scheduler to U.S. Representative Eric Fingerhut" below my name. It was an impressive card and a great position for someone right out of college. It bought me the respect of my college classmates and gave my mother bragging rights. It was the answer I provided to the most popular questions asked in Washington, "What do you do?" or "Who do you work for?"

But the identity was gone on one cold, November night.

I started to pound the pavement immediately, distributing one resume after the next, trying to meet as many people as possible. I interviewed with different offices on the Hill, in the White House, at different agencies within the Clinton Administration, and with different firms around town. Nothing happened, however. People were great. They affirmed my gifts. I even got to interview in the West Wing on one day and with a cabinet secretary on another day. Still, I kept coming up as the second choice, forcing me to keep returning a different card to the unemployment office each week, indicating how many job contacts I was making.

With extra time on my hands and little money to spend at the bars on Saturday nights, I also did something I had not done in a while -- I got out of bed on Sunday mornings and went to church. I went back to church, trusting that I could find a community that would embrace me whether I was employed or not. And, the community I found at church was just what I needed. They welcomed me. They embraced me. They listened to me. They prayed for me. And through them, I discovered an identity much larger than anything I had ever known before. In the days of my unemployment I discovered that my truest identity was not as a scheduler for a Congressman from Ohio but as a child of God -- made in God's image, beautiful to behold, precious in his eyes. And my faith in this God provided a foundation that could never be taken away from me.

While the pain of the moment stung like hell, I can now say that my unemployment was a gift. It was a gift that placed me on a path for which I offer thanks and praise. And still, I can imagine the pain filling the halls of the Cannon, Longworth and Rayburn House Office Buildings on this day. I know the pain, the disappointment, and the anxiety that fills the hearts and minds of countless staffers whose bosses have lost their elections and whose futures are filled with so many unknowns.

One thing is known, however -- you are a beloved child of God, made in God's image, beautiful to behold. And, you're welcome in this community of faith whether you have a job or not. I would love to hear your story and be in prayer for you during this time.

Campaign Rhetoric

As with many people living in Washington, I am very curious to see what happens in tomorrow's elections. While I am tired of the campaign commercials airing on television, I do enjoy reading the different predictions and commentaries on who is ahead and who is behind.

One of the races receiving national attention is the race for U.S. Senate in Missouri. I was raised and educated in Missouri, and much of my family still lives there. I know the name Jim Talent but the name Claire McCaskill is a new name to me. One cannot escape any of the newspaper articles or television commentaries on what might happen tomorrow without seeing both of these names mentioned, however.

When I called home this week, I asked a couple of simple questions, "What do you think of Jim Talent and Claire McCaskill? Who are voting for?"

The response was rather to the point, "I like them both. I think they both have great qualities. However, I did not vote for either of them. When I completed my absentee ballot this week I voted for every race and item on the ballot with the exception of the U.S. Senate seat. As far as I am concerned, it is time for voters to stand up and say they will not put up with all of the negative campaign ads. You would not believe some of the commercials. It has gotten so ugly, and I figure it is time for a referendum. I could not support either of them after the things they have said in this race."

These comments have made me think a lot. They come from someone who has never missed the opportunity to vote before. They come from someone who is politically active. They come from someone who has refused to participate in the process of electing a U.S. Senator because of the ways in which the candidates have acted.

I wonder how many people have given up on the church because of the ways in which the church has acted (or failed to act). Someone recently commented on how some D.C. neighborhoods are filled with so many people on Sunday mornings -- people walking their dogs, drinking coffee, or meeting their friends for brunch -- that it makes you wonder if anyone is in church on Sunday mornings. But how many of these people have been turned off by the church? How many of these people have been alienated by the church? How many of these dog walkers have read the Gospel accounts only to conclude that those who go to church today do not appear to be following Jesus as they are not doing the things Jesus asked them to do? How many of these coffee drinkers believe the church is no longer relevant?

While I love the rich diversity of the city, the city also makes me think -- a lot. Life in Washington presents more opportunities to be like Jesus than my earlier years in Missouri and North Carolina presented to me. When I arrived to work at First UMC in Hendersonville I did not have to unlock the church's doors with a homeless person sleeping six feet away. When I lived in Columbia, Missouri, I did not have to pass the man each morning who asks me for change in order to get something to eat.

My friend in Missouri would have voted for a U.S. Senator had the candidates acted like Senators.

I wonder how many people would come to church if the church was acting like Jesus -- if the pastor stopped to say "good morning" or bring a cup of coffee to the person sleeping on the church's stoop this morning instead of quietly locking the door behind her. I wonder how many people would come if we lived this radical life that Jesus lived -- a life that healed the sick, fed the hungry, gave the thirsty something to drink, and befriended the lonely.

We have heard so much rhetoric in recent weeks about what candidates will do once they step into office. Candidates for political office always promise more than office holders can possibly deliver. They often say they will vote one way during the campaign only to change their mind once they get into office. Candidates also drag their opponents into the mud, making us wonder which person, if any, we are to believe.

Lord, may our rhetoric -- may the words that come from your church -- not be rhetoric -- but words that are accompanied by our actions -- by a living faith.

A Prophetic Voice in an Unexpected Place

I heard one of the more prophetic voices I have heard in a long time on Sunday night. The prophetic message came not from a preacher or even a television evangelist (smile). The prophetic voice came from a musician at the Birchmere in Alexandria, VA.

Apparently I had heard Catie Curtis' music before, as Craig took me to the concert as a big surprise after hearing my response to her CD playing in the car. However, I did not know much about her music until she started singing. And, I found myself saying, "Amen" more than once during the concert.

It is clear that Catie has been pushed aside by many people in her life. She is quick to tell you about how hard it is to be the mother of two children when the other parent is not a father. She is also quick to tell you about how many times her lifestyle has been judged. Catie has a remarkable take on the pain in this world -- pain caused by politicians who wear the label "Christian" and from countless people in the church. And, Catie spoke to me. She spoke directly to my heart.

She spoke so loudly that I wanted to shout out loud when I got an invitation to stand in line this Saturday morning for tickets to the lighting of the White House Christmas tree. I have stood in line before. There have been times in my life when I would wait in line for hours to be in the presence of a President. I used to give hours of my time volunteering on the White House Advance team. But something struck a chord with me when the friend's email arrived yesterday.

Too many times last week I opened my Washington Post to a picture of another young widow being presented with an American flag at Arlington cemetery -- an incredible token, for sure, but one that cannot possibly take the place of a life lost too soon.

We are now preparing for an All Saints Day Vigil at our church. On Wednesday evening we will read the name of every single member of the coalition forces who has died in Iraq -- over 3000 names. Meanwhile, I keep reading arguments about just how many Iraqis have died. No one seems to want to admit the truth.

There may be a warm, fuzzy feeling emulated on the lawn of the White House when the Christmas tree is lit in a few weeks but there is certainly not much peace on this earth.

God, please let there be peace on earth.


Following are the lyrics to one of Catie's songs that spoke to me:

People Look Around
Written by Catie Curtis and Mark Erelli

Mississippi River divides this land in two,
Like the way we tend to think of things;
Black and white, red and blue.
If they can keep us fighting about marriage and God,
There will be no one left to notice if the leaders do their jobs.
And the truth is bigger than these drops of rain, falling.
The truth is bigger than these drops of rain,
Falling in the ocean, falling...
When the water is rising and there is no higher ground,
You can wave your hands up on the roof,
But you might be left to drown.
In the streets of New Orleans;
a makeshift funeral pall,
Here lies Vera, God help us all.
And the truth is bigger than these drops of rain, falling.
The truth is bigger than these drops of rain,
Falling in the ocean, falling...
Jesus said, "Feed the hungry,"
Jesus said "Help the poor,"
"Take care of each other love one another,"
People look around.We let them down.
Mississippi River flooded New Orleans,
And we stared in disbelief at our TV screens,
If they can keep us fighting another endless war,
How many tears before the truth cannot be ignored?
And the truth is bigger than these drops of rain, falling.
The truth is bigger than these drops of rain,
Falling in Lake Pontchartrain.
Falling in the ocean, falling...

The Little Boy from Birmingham

Yesterday was an amazing day as I spent the afternoon visiting some of our members who are now in nursing homes. One of our newest members, Eddie, went with me.

Eddie is someone in whose words and actions I often hear and see the living God. Yesterday was no different.

Our first stop was a visit with a woman who has recently had to trade an independent life in her own home for a dependent life in a nursing facility. The change has not been easy. She misses the food she used to eat, the home she helped to build, and her neighbors. She wants badly to go home, and she is depressed.

Eddie was amazing with her, however. He was the "wounded healer" who was able to minister to her in a powerful way. He listened carefully to her words of sadness and complaint. He wished her joy when she spoke of darkness. He reminded her of how precious life is when she said she simply wanted to die.

When we got in the car, Eddie said, "Pastor Donna, we have to go back there soon. We need to spend an entire afternoon with her. We need to get her out of her bed and into a place where she can simply feel the sun on her face. We need to make time to go and listen to her -- listen for several hours." He continued to explain how he knows exactly how she is feeling because he has been placed in a hospital when he did not want to be there. He knows what it is like to have "people caring for you who don't really care about anything but getting paid." He knows what it is like to need only a little sunlight on your face. And, most importantly, he knows how hard it is to find someone who will spend time doing nothing else but listening.

Eddie taught me more about pastoral care yesterday than any course or textbook has ever taught me. He taught me much about how it is not the big things that matter -- but the ordinary things -- the things that are so extraordinary in today's world.

Eddie then made me laugh for hours. On our final stop we sang to a church member living in nursing home -- a church member who does not remember a lot but who can sing every word to "Jesus Loves Me." And when we got into the car we kept singing different songs.

Eddie is not from the United States, and English is not his first language. Chinese is the language he most readily speaks and writes. Yesterday, he requested a song saying, "Pastor Donna, do you know the words to 'The Little Boy from Birmingham?'" I responded by asking if he meant Birmingham, Alabama. He responded with an emphatic, "no." And, I soon realized that the song he was requesting was not about a boy in Birmingham but rather about a "child in Bethlehem!"

I cannot believe I actually get paid to do my job. What an extraordinary privilege I have been given.

Temperature Changes

I recently wrote an article for the Duke Divinity School alumni magazine. The article is about one of my favorite times of the week -- our Wednesday Bible study group. It is a group filled with many of the church's longest serving members, many of whom are in their 80s and 90s.

This group demonstrated its incredible commitment and tenacity to me once again this week when they arrived to study the Bible in a church with no heat.


The gas was turned off a couple of months ago in preparation for our upcoming renovation project. We were supposed to be out of the church completely by the first of October -- before the cold temperatures arrived. However, a few things have been delayed, included the arrival of our office trailer.


Still, the people come, and they keep coming! On Wednesday, we kept our coats on while we read. We drank warm coffee. We ate breakfast breads. We experienced the incredible warmth of community. And, we were reminded again of how much we take for granted.

We have choices when it comes to being able to step inside from the cold -- choices that many of our neighbors do not have -- children of God who live all around us -- sleeping and gathering on the church's lawn and nearby parks throughout the cold winter months. We can get in our cars and turn the heat on. We can go home to our houses or apartments and turn the furnace on. We can get into a bed and cover our bodies with many blankets. Others, however, are relegated to a few boxes and whatever else they can find to cover their bodies through the night.

The gas man returned on Thursday to turn the gas back on at the church. The heat is flowing from the radiators throughout the sanctuary building. And, all are welcome to step inside and enjoy the warmth when Sunday arrives. I can almost guarantee you that warmth will flow not only from the radiators, but also from these amazing people who continue to allow me to bask in the light and the warmth of God whenever I am in their presence.

Counting the Hours at the Courthouse

I spent a good part of yesterday morning at Judiciary Square. It is no secret that people living in the District of Columbia get called for jury duty often. I suppose I am lucky that I made it for almost a year and a half without being called to report to the courthouse for jury duty. And, it is true that I complained to myself on the Metro ride to the courthouse, while standing in line to check in once I arrived, and while sitting in the jurors' lounge while waiting to be called.

You see a myriad of people at the courthouse. There were hundreds of people just like me -- people wearing coats with a tag attached labeling them as a potential juror. There were many attorney types who wheeled around briefcases filled with folders. There were other individuals who appeared rather worried, labeling them as the one whose fate would be placed in the hands of the potential jurors who filled the lounge at the end of the hallway.

I was also amazed to see what people were reading as they waited for their name to be called. Plenty of people had Monday's edition of The Washington Post with them. Others had magazines. Some had nothing. And one woman had a book called, "God Don't Like Ugly."

When I saw the book, I concluded that the woman was brilliant. After all, what judge or attorney could see this book and want the person reading it to be on the jury? Often times, it is an ugly side of a person who sits on the side of both plaintiff and defendant. There are plenty of plaintiffs in court out of sheer greed. There are plenty of defendants in court for the same reason. Our ugliness can get us in court for dozens of different reasons. And, God don't like ugly.

I did not have a book with such a title to take with me when I was called to approach the bench. I approached it, instead, with a simple greeting, "Good Morning." One of the attorneys then asked, "So you are a pastor?" The judge followed by asking where I served only to tell me that he had seen different shows in my church's theatre. No one wanted a pastor on the jury, I soon learned, as I was the second person dismissed out of the pool of potential jurors.

And still, I learned something yesterday. The judge explained everything to the potential jurors as if we had never been in a courtroom before. He told us about how long we could anticipate serving as a juror. He explained the "hush" button, a button that, when pushed, makes a lot of sound so as to "hush" the voices from the ears of potential jurors. He shared how 8 people would be chosen to sit on the jury, and he went through the process of selection. He also shared details of the case.

No one in the court room was made to feel like an outsider. Rather, everything was explained until it made sense to everyone -- to those who had served as a juror several times before and to those who had never been in a court room before.

How many times do we take time to make sure everyone feels welcome in our churches? How many times do we explain what we are doing throughout the service to everyone -- to those who are worshipping for the first time and to those who have been coming to church for over 80 years? Do we make everyone feel welcome by sharing what we are doing, what will come next, what the desired outcome will be, and how long we are expected to be there?

The judge made me appreciate him and his profession almost immediately. He made me appreciate the fact that jury duty is not just a duty but also a huge responsibility. He made me stop complaining and instead made me be willing to serve -- no matter how much I did not want to be there.

And the judge taught me more than about being a juror. He reminded me of the teaching work we have to do in the church, too.

And they're off!

One of the joys of embarking upon a massive renovation and building project is being able to give away many items that will no longer be needed in the new church once it is finished. The congregation at Mount Vernon Place has given away air conditioners and kitchenettes, toys and dishes, chairs and Bibles in the last several months. And yesterday, one of the most meaningful contributions was loaded onto a truck in route to Ocean Springs, Mississippi.

One of the buildings about to be demolished at Mount Vernon Place has a lovely chapel in it. The Shure Chapel was dedicated in memory of a long-serving, beloved Minister of Music, Dean Shure. It is a beautiful space with stained-glass windows, pretty pews, and deep blue carpet. The space was used weekly by the Chinese Community Church's Cantonese and mandarin speaking services until August of this year. It was the site of many weddings in the 50s and 60s. It is a beloved space -- so much that many of our members wanted to pick it up and transport it directly into the new building once it is finished in 2009.

This summer, however, the congregation of Mount Vernon Place discerned that there were other congregations that could use the belongings in the chapel right now. Many of these churches are along the Gulf Coast of Mississippi, the region that was hit hard by Hurricane Katrina. And one of these churches will receive a shipment later this week of pews, a piano, an altar, a baptismal font, kneeling pads, and Bibles.

The things were picked up yesterday by a large Mayflower truck driven by a woman named Elizabeth. Our friends from Federal Moving and Storage donated their time to load the items into the truck -- a task that started at 8:00 yesterday morning and ended at 4:30 yesterday afternoon. And, members of Mount Vernon Place have given generous gifts to pay for the trucking costs.

It is our hope and our prayer that the people of St. James United Methodist Church in Ocean Springs, Mississippi will be as excited to receive these items as we are about giving them. It is our hope and our prayer that these items will be another sign of God's presence in the aftermath of a storm.

What a joy it is to give!

A Glimpse

Today was stewardship Sunday at Mount Vernon Place. Today is the day annually set aside for members to ponder anew how they can support the church in the coming year with their prayers, their presence, their gifts and their service. Ordinarily, stewardship Sunday is not one of the favorite Sundays of the year. Many people loathe for the pastor to talk about money, concluding that the pastor has no business meddling in one's financial business.

But, today was an amazing day! The choir sang beautifully, offering an incredible anthem based on the Sermon on the Mount. The children's message went off without a hitch as the children responded to the message as if they had cue cards. And, the sermon was well received (at least that is what the people told me as they left the worship space)! But the best part of today was the potluck lunch that followed the worship service.

We gathered for lunch together, recognizing that it may be one of the last times we'll be able to sit down as a congregation in our current building until the construction project is finished in December of 2007. We gathered in order to talk about the new ministry team structure being proposed for 2007. We also gathered to see new artist renderings of different rooms in the building to be built. And something happened when we gathered.

When we gathered, I caught a glimpse of the community described in Acts 2. Most people brought something to the meal, but many others did not. Still, everything was shared. Everyone was fed -- even a man and his two children visiting from New York City -- a family who found the church in the Yellow Pages. No one was sent away hungry. We gathered together as people of all ages and backgrounds in order to break bread together. People ate their food with glad and generous hearts. And, we praised God for what God is doing in the midst of our community -- for providing a more intimate worship space while we rebuild, for our new members who joined the church two weeks ago, for the incredible space that is about to be built, and for the gift of simply being together.

It was a glad and joyous day. If we have a few more days like today, then I am quite confident that the Lord will also add to our number, just as the Lord added to the congregation in Acts 2.

What a joyous day!

It's me, it's me, it's me, O Lord...

Do you remember the song we used to sing as little kids? The song with the lyrics, "It's me, it's me, it's me, O Lord, standing in the need of prayer. Not my father, nor my sister but it's me O Lord, standing in the need of prayer." We typically would sing this song right after we sang the lyrics to "Jesus Loves Me." We used to sing these songs a lot, in the middle of Sunday school or at some point in summer Bible School. I wonder why we stop singing these songs as adults? Why are these songs sung most often by children and not by adults?

Since Mount Vernon Place is located in the center of a major city, we often have people who come in the doors in order to request something from the church -- a few dollars for the Metro, some money for food, or directions to the nearest shelter. Yesterday, a young man walked into the doors with a simple request, "I need some prayer." I met him at the door, and he immediately began to share with me how he had recently been "down and out" with no job and two kids to care for. However, God has answered his prayer as he has just found a job. He now needs to be able to get to his job. He then said, "My only request is for you to pray that I will be able to get back and forth from work this week." He did not ask me for money for the Metro or fare for the bus. Instead, he said he knew that God would provide for his needs and said, "Will you please pray for me?"

It's been a long time since I have walked up to anyone and said, "Will you please pray for me?" More often than not it seems as though I rely upon my own ability to get me to and from work, to keep my body healthy, and to keep food on my table. I often forget that all of these needs are met not through anything that I do but rather through the resources that God has entrusted to my care. Too often, I turn towards my own strength and ability to meet my needs instead of saying, "I know that God will provide." I take so much for granted.

This young man reminded me of a lot I learned as a child. He reminded me that all that we have is a gift from God. He also reminded me that no matter what our needs are, that we should ask the Lord to supply them. He very poignantly claimed that God would provide his needs.

I took the man's hands yesterday, and we prayed together. It was a simple but powerful prayer -- the kind of prayer where you can feel God coming close in order to listen. And, there is no doubt in my mind that this man made it to work today...through the grace of God. I also made it to work today...through the grace of God.

At Mount Vernon Place, we are trying to create an authentic Christian community where all are welcome. We are trying to create a place where we can bring our deepest sorrows and are abundant joys. We are trying to create a place where anyone can come...just as they are. I yearn for a place where anyone can walk in and say, "I just need a little prayer," and be greeted by people who are prepared to pray, trusting that God really does supply our every need.

It's me, it's me, it's me, O Lord, standing in the need of prayer.

Taking the Bus

I took the bus to work on Thursday morning. It is true that taking the Metro is so much easier. I live less than two blocks from the Columbia Heights Metro stop, and the church is only about three blocks from the Mount Vernon Square Metro stop. Taking the Metro is quick and easy. Taking the bus is a different story.

The bus can take twice as long as the Metro. The bus drops me five blocks from the church instead of three. The bus forces me to practice my balance as I have to stand up as it starts and stops during rush hour traffic. Still, I took the bus. I took the bus because I always learn something on the bus.

The bus reminds me of the rich diversity of Washington as it moves from the upper parts of 14th Street to downtown Washington. The bus forces my eyes to gaze upon things that I could easily avoid if I were below ground on the Metro -- like the incredible children who play at a ministry called Martha's Table, making me question why so many children have more than they could ever use while these children have so little. The bus forces me to see how so much of our city is still divided by the lines of color as not very many white people step on board until the bus gets closer to downtown. The bus forces me to see the homeless -- people who are not allowed to dwell inside Metro stops, motivating me to examine what all I have. And while the journey on the bus takes twice as long as it takes for the Metro to arrive at my final destination, I am almost always glad that I chose to take the bus.

Scripture shows us how Jesus rarely took a direct route. More often than not, Jesus took the long way to wherever he was going. He went into villages that he could have easily avoided. He took the one lane roads instead of the multi lane interstate. And it is by taking the road less traveled, the less efficient route, that Jesus saw the people who needed to be touched by his love and told about a different kind of kingdom.

I'll see you on the bus.

Looking Like the Church

On Friday night, several people from Mount Vernon Place went to see the Washington Nationals play the New York Mets at RFK Stadium. The invitation to attend the game was extended to all young adults and those who are "young at heart" at the church, and we ended up with 18 people in attendance, including several guests. One of the "visitors" looked at the group and said, "Your church looks like the church." When I looked a little perplexed by her statement she continued to explain, "Donna, look at how many different people are here tonight. You have four different ethnicities represented in this group. You have different ages. You have different economic backgrounds. Your church looks like the church."

Our guest noticed one of the many things I really love about Mount Vernon Place. When I was in seminary we spent a lot of time talking about diversity but all of the churches I have ever been a part of have had a hard time achieving this diversity within the congregation.

Mount Vernon Place is different, however. At Mount Vernon Place there is an extraordinarily rich diversity of people from places around the globe. There are many different skin colors and many different stories. There are several people in their 90s and a new, seven-week-old baby. There are some people who have a lot and there are other people who have very little. There are several sinners and a few saints. There are some who are quick to believe and others who are quick to doubt. Yet all these people find a place to call home in our community of faith.

And it is my hope and prayer that the church's makeup will grow even more diverse in the years to come. It is my hope and prayer that the church will continue to be a place where all are welcome -- no matter what you look like or act like, no matter where you live or have lived, no matter what you have or what you don't have, no matter what you have done or are doing. After all, I, too, love a church that looks like the church.

"I LOVE it!"

I went to a Pampered Chef party on Saturday afternoon. The event was actually a bridal shower for my friend, Jenni, who is getting married next weekend. I have been to a Pampered Chef party before. I love their products and have received several of them as Christmas presents from my mom. The one thing about Pampered Chef is that the company has quite a following. The company has won the hearts and affection of several satisfied customers.

This fact was quite evident on Saturday afternoon when we played a little "game." While the Pampered Chef person was cooking, demonstrating different products to us, we were to shout, "I love it," if she used a product that we own. Not one product was used without someone at the party saying, "I love it!." One person had the pizza stone. Another had the handy measuring cup. Still another had the knife and the food chopper and the crinkle cutter and so on. And each time someone shouted, "I love it," there was another person in the room who was eager to buy the product so she, too, could have another item in the kitchen to love -- another gadget in the kitchen to make her life easier.

As Christians we profess that one of the things we love is Jesus. We profess that Jesus makes all the difference in our lives -- that he eases our burdens, that he makes life easier, that he brings joy, that he shows us a new way, that he offers grace, that we love him. Still, it is true that I rarely see the overwhelming endorsement of Jesus in the way I saw people endorse Pampered Chef on Saturday afternoon.

What would it look like if our churches were filled with signs that we LOVE being in worship? That we LOVE serving our neighbors. That we LOVE being in a community where all are welcome and accepted just as they are. That we LOVE knowing that we are forgiven. That we LOVE hearing how Jesus inaugurated a new kingdom. That we LOVE singing songs of praise. That we LOVE Jesus!

Pampered Chef's advertising slogan is "Discover the chef in you." At church, you can "discover the Christ in you."

I LOVE IT!

One Barrier Down...

A barrier has been removed this week. The gate blocking one of the entrances to the church has been taken down. Look at how different things look as a result of this change:

Dear God, help us to continue to remove whatever barriers exist between your church and your children -- all of your children. Help us to not pass you by when we see someone who is hungry, someone who is hurting, someone who is lost, someone who has no place to lay his head, someone who is in need of your love. Amen.

A Prayer for this Day

I included as part of my devotional time this morning a prayer book by Ted Loder called, "Guerrillas of Grace." A particular prayer titled, "It Would Be Easier to Pray if I Were Clear," has certainly spoken to my heart on this day:

O Eternal One,

it would be easier for me to pray

if I were clear

and of a single mind and a pure heart;

if I could be done hiding from myself

and from you, even in my prayers.

But I am who I am,

mixture of motives and excuses,

blur of memories,

quiver of hopes,

knot of fear,

tangle of confusion,

and restless for love,

for love.

I wander somewhere between gratitude and grievance,

wonder and routine,

high resolve and undone dreams,

generous impulses and unpaid bills.

Come, find me, Lord.

Be with me exactly as I am.

Help me find me, Lord.

Help me accept what I am,

so I can begin to be yours.

Make of me something small enough to snuggle,

young enough to question,

simple enough to giggle,

old enough to forget,

foolish enough to act for peace;

skeptical enough to doubt

the sufficiency of anything but you,

and attentive enough to listen

as you call me out of the tomb of my timidity

into the chancy glory of my possibilities

and the power of your presence.

Small enough to snuggle, young enough to question, simple enough to giggle, old enough to forget, foolish enough to act for peace. I love these words!

Amen?
Amen!!

Breaking Down the Barriers

As we get closer to the scheduled demolition of two of our buildings at Mount Vernon Place, there are new signs and walls emerging all throughout the church. When I returned today after being gone a few days I was greeted with several new signs on the doors and a new wall that separates one part of the church from another part.


The wall is not very attractive right now -- but it gets the job done as it definitely keeps people out of the restricted areas that will soon be demolished.

The message on the signs is quite clear. They quickly tell people inside the building where they are and are not to be within the walls of the church. I got the point rather quickly when I walked into the church today. I felt very unwelcome. The signs and the wall stuck out at me like a sore thumb...and I belong here. I know what is happening and why the signs exist.

All of this made me think about other barriers at the church. One of them is a horrible, metal gate that blocks one of the entrances to the church. It is an eyesore -- one that sends the message that people are not welcome on our porch or that we are afraid that someone might get inside who is not welcome inside. The barrier is one that I used to be able to ignore a little easier since we never used these doors. However, these doors are now the main entrance to our offices, and I have to walk through the gates each day. I have learned how hard it is to welcome people inside when the gates do not open all the way. The gates will thankfully be coming down very soon as part of the renovation project, and they will not be replaced when the work is over. The barrier will be broken down.

But what are the other barriers that exist at the church? Someone recently asked me how new people could possibly feel welcome inside such a large, stately structure. I have thought a lot about her question.

I also wonder about the other barriers we have created between those inside the church and those outside the church. If everyone inside the church is dressed in their Sunday best then how will those who prefer shorts and jeans feel? If everyone inside knows the routine -- why we say certain things or recite a prayer called, "The Lord's Prayer," then will the person who is new to the liturgy feel comfortable? If everyone is old then will the young person feel a sense of community? If everyone seems to have it all together then how will the person feel who is filled with guilt from the events of the weekend?

We're talking a lot at Mount Vernon Place about what it means to be the church -- about what it means to be the kind of place where all people are welcome. I pray that the barriers we have grown accustomed to will start shining in a different light so that we can see them, address them and remove them. I pray that all people -- every single person who visits our church -- really will feel welcome at Mount Vernon Place -- that we will be a church for all of God's children.

In the meantime, we have some barriers to break down.

Purple Showers

I am in Florida this week, enjoying a few days of vacation in Sarasota. The friends with whom I am staying have this amazing plant by the pool -- a "purple showers" plant. Each morning the plant is covered in perfect purple blossoms. The problem is that the flowers only last one day. The plant is covered with flowers throughout the day but the flowers all fall off at night. You get to enjoy the beauty during the day, but the plant becomes pretty much like every other plant at night. And yet, beauty comes again in the morning. New flowers appear each morning.

God, help me not to miss the purple showers in my life. May the blossoms of beauty linger a little longer so all can catch a glimpse of your grace.