There is an article on the front page of today's Washington Post titled "In Major Poll, U.S. Religious Identity Appears Very Slippery." The article is about recent research done by the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life. According to the Pew research, some 40 percent of the individuals polled have changed their religion. Only one in six individuals still belongs to the church or denomination of their childhood. Some 24 percent of individuals polled are individuals who were Catholic in the past but who are no longer. And, the percentage of individuals who claim to be Protestant is now 51 percent.
The church is slipping away. The Christian church is having a hard time holding on to its members. While my parent's generation rarely changed jobs or religious affiliation, there is something about other generations that yearn for or even demand change. And while many people my age fall into this category of wanting change, I believe that the church cannot simply say, "Oh, it's just this generation." It is time for the church to wake up and start being the church once again.
My father was raised in the United Methodist Church. He comes from a long line of United Methodists. Everyone in the family is buried next to a United Methodist Church. Most people have been married in a United Methodist Church. The only church my father ever knew was the United Methodist Church...until my parents went through a painful divorce after twenty-three years of marriage. When my dad was going through the divorce, he was in a new apartment in a new community. My sister and I were not speaking to him. He was alone in many ways. And, he went to church - to the United Methodist Church - in his new community hoping to find community and support. No one spoke to him on the day he visited, however. No one reached out to him or welcomed him. He went to another church the next week, and he is now a member of the Disciples of Christ denomination.
My mother was raised in the United Methodist Church. Her father was a United Methodist minister. Her mother was a lover of the United Methodist Church. My mother has faithfully supported the United Methodist Church all of her life...until about three years ago. A new pastor came to town with little passion or energy. Mother was no longer being fed in worship. She stopped going to the church for a while, and no one reached out to her. The pastor never called to ask why she stopped coming to worship. Mother found a new church home in a Pentecostal church down the street. The church is led by a dynamic pastor and the worship is filled with passion, especially when it comes to music. My mother has a faith now that is stronger than I have ever seen it.
The Methodist Church has lost both of my parents - lifelong Methodists.
Most of my friends no longer go to church. While it seems as though we were all raised in the church, many of my peers have discovered more meaningful things to do with their Sunday mornings even if it is just catching up with household chores. If you walk through many neighborhoods of this city on a Sunday morning, you wonder if anyone goes to church. And, still, I don't see many churches making the changes necessary to bring new people in.
My beloved United Methodist Church has spent millions on a marketing campaign called, "Open Hearts, Open Minds, Open Doors." Yet, all the while the church has argued over who can come inside. There are still numerous churches who remain closed to people who do not look or act right. There are still too many churches who have not opened the doors wide enough - especially to the poor, the outcast, the gay and lesbian community, and the list goes on and on.
The Catholic Church has lost the most members according to the Pew research. Many people have turned their back on the Catholic Church in the wake of the clergy sexual abuse scandals. Still, the Catholic Church has not made any changes on how to ensure that this abuse does not happen again. The Church continues to refuse to ordain women or allow men to marry.
The church I serve is surrounded by young people. We have people in their twentys and thirtys all around us. Still, there has been an unwillingness for a long time to try new things. As we prepare to move back into our historic building in July, there is more talk amongst our older members about bringing back what used to be - even though the programs were not reaching new people - than talk about what can be. This slope is the slippery slope on which many of our churches appear to be walking.
I love the church. I love Jesus. I believe that the Gospel of Jesus Christ still has the power to transform lives - that there is hope offered through this Gospel that gives us strength for today and promises for tomorrow. I believe that the kingdom inaugurated by Jesus Christ is the very kingdom we hunger and thirst for today - it is the kind of kingdom being promised in the rhetoric being espoused by our political candidates - a kind of place where all people are being cared for. And, I love this church - Mount Vernon Place United Methodist Church.
So, if you are one of the many people out there looking for a new church, a new denomination, or a new community, let me tell you why I believe in this particular church:
1) You are invited to come just as you are. In last week's worship service, we had people in their very best suits and people in jogging suits. We do not care what you wear. Come just as you are. You are welcome here.
2) I do not care what you believe or what you do not believe. I do not care who you love or who you have failed to love. I do not want to know what you have done or what you have failed to do. You are welcome here.
3) We are part of a denomination that has long joined faith with service. From its very beginning, the Methodist Church has sent people out into the world to serve. We are trying hard to not keep our faith confined to a Sunday morning. Instead, we are trying hard to serve this community - in small ways right now - but in ways that we hope are faithful.
4) We have this amazing group of individuals that range in age from 1 - 100. Many of our most active members are people who have been in Washington since "the war" - since 1940. They are amazing! They make me laugh often. They teach me about life all of the time. When you combine this uncanny group of people with the newcomers - a wonderful group of young adults - then you have a fantastic community of faith.
5) We have learned a lot about what it means to be the church when we do not have a church building right now. The church has nothing to do right now with a glorious sanctuary or stained glass windows. The church is the people. And, the church must be the church. We must exist for the transformation of the world.
The church is far from perfect. We have to remember that the rock on which Jesus built the church was a man named Peter who seemed to be filled with more doubt than faith. Still, the church has so much potential. The church has so much to offer.
Good God, come and give us the courage to make the changes necessary to stop this slipper slope!
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Monday, February 25, 2008
The Power of Study
When I was preparing to come to Mount Vernon Place UMC nearly three years ago, I was told that my job would be two-fold by someone who knew the church but whose life has been spent in the academy. This individual told me that basically all I had to do was to hold the hand of the members who had given their life to this church and who are now in their 80s and 90s while also working to start a new church at the same time. This individual said to me, "You are basically a Hospice chaplain on one hand and the pastor of a new church start on the other hand."While I listened to this individual's words when they were spoken to me, recording them in my mind for future reference, it did not take long for me to realize that this person was completely wrong. This individual's advice was about as inaccurate as a doctor telling someone to put salt on a wound.
Yes, of course there are plenty of people in any church who have not opened a Bible in a long time. There are several people in every church who have forgotten the vows they made when they joined the church - vows to faithfully support the church with one's prayers, presence, gifts and service. And, of course, Mount Vernon Place is like every other church. Yet, one of the things that continues to awaken my spirit is the growing faith and spirituality of many of the people at Mount Vernon Place - especially a group of people who are in their 90s.
Each week I am privileged to gather around a table with a group of individuals who range in age from the mid-70s to 99. We gather for one hour each week to study the Bible. We have spent a lot of time in the Old Testament and in the New. The conversation has been rich as a week with Paul's words on homosexuality in Romans led to the question by a 95-year-old as to why we have to put labels on anyone. Last week, a 99-year-old said, "I want to read a passage to you." He then proceeded to read 1Corinthians 16:20 which states, "All the brothers and sisters send greetings. Greet one another with a holy kiss." He added, "That sounds good to me!"
Last week, our study took us to Ephesians 4 where we talked about what it means to be the body of Christ and how damaging many of our actions can be. In this passage, we are instructed to "lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another in love, making every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace."
This passage led to a beautiful discussion about how split our churches can be - how we can fail so often to be patient with one another, saying terrible things about others instead of doing whatever we can to build up the body of Christ. We then continued to talk about what it means to speak the truth in love and how we can best be the church. And, before we ended we committed to read this passage together each day, asking God for the wisdom and patience needed to live it out.
This group of individuals that I was instructed needed only a little hand holding is leading the church in becoming the church - the body of Christ. This group of individuals is struggling with me about how it is with our souls and how we can grow closer to Christ. This group of individuals reminds me each week of what a joy it is to be a disciple of Christ.
Following Bible study, I went to visit another 99-year-old member of Mount Vernon Place. This individual does not get to church often anymore. Yet, she tells me that she prays for us all of the time, and I know she is telling me the truth. Before I left last week, I asked her how I could pray for her. She then prayed for me. She reminded me of the awesome privilege I have and then she asked God to give me all that I need to share the hope we have with those around us. She prayed that Mount Vernon Place would continue to be a blessing, and that we would bring all kinds of people into the doors of our church in order that all might be spiritually enriched.
These people are amazing! There is no dust on their Bibles. What a gift it is to be their pastor.
Monday, February 18, 2008
A Demand for Change
There is a great demand for change happening in our country. The pages of the Washington Post are covered with quotes from people seeking change. Our television programs are intercepted with candidates promising us this change. And, after every caucus or primary has ended, the results show that what people want more than anything else is change. This change is producing three very different frontrunners for the Oval Office: a wounded veteran, a woman, and an African American. I love the diversity of the race. For the first time, there is a very good chance that our next President is either going to be a woman or an African American.
People want change. People are demanding change. And, the political machines are listening. Every candidate is trying to promise a little change or a lot of change.
Change is the one constant in life. Our bodies change as we get older. Our eyesight changes. Our jobs change. Our children change. Our neighborhoods change. Our schools change. Our grocery stores change. Our diets change. Change happens. Yet, not everyone or every organization is willing to change.
The church seems to be the one institution where people fight against change instead of adapting a willingness to change when needed. And, I believe that many people have sought change within the church. They have asked for changes to be made that would make the church more accomodating, more passionate, more hospitable, more open, more joyful, more relevant. Few churches have been willing to listen. Many of the churches that have made some necessary changes are growing while the majority of the churches that have refused to change are declining or even about to close because people are holding on to the programs that mean something to them while failing to meet the needs of the new neighbors. Worship styles are held hostage by musicians who have been directing for decades. And, the people on the inside have forgotten that the reason they exist is for the people on the outside - that they are called to serve the people around them.
I have just finished a book, Why Christian, written by Douglas John Hall. Hall writes,
"So far as the church is concerned, what is lost in highly institutionalized Christianity is inevitably the movement-quality biblical church. As the word established itself suggests, in the established church it is precisely movement that has to be avoided. Most people do not want to belong to something that is moving, changing, in flux; they want to be part of something stable and staionary, steadfast, permanent. In fact, the establishment of religions is always partly the result of the human desire to have, in teh midst of life's changes, something that seems solid and constant. That is why so many Christians today (and not only Christians) are upset by changes occurring in the churches.
But life is change; and when the churches refuse to change they always tend to cut themselves off from life. More importantly, they are likely to cut themselves off from the living God, whose love toward the world requires constant attention to the here and now...So "movement" is not only a matter of the church's structure, it is bound up with its very message and mission. When the church opts for institutional forms that deny or impede movement, it is putting a stumbling block in the way of God's communication with the world."
Perhaps Hall's words resonate with me because I serve a church that failed to change for decades, losing 90% of its membership as a result. One would not have known that the membership had dropped so much by looking at the programs, staff or budget, however. The church hung on to the things that meant a lot to them, failing to see that no one was responding to the programs - that lives were not being transformed. Many of the programs had to go as a result of the building program, and the church has experienced more growth in recent months than it has in a long time - with the smallest staff and budget and absolutely no building.
Lives are being transformed.
Change is happening.
But, we had to let go. We had to make room for God. We had to take a cue from the Early Church's playbook - preach the Gospel as passionately as you can, enjoy fellowship with one another, make sure that everyone knows they are welcome, care for anyone around you who has a need, invite people to repent - to change their life, and watch as people are added to the congregation.
To borrow the words of my colleague, Paul Nixon, "I Refuse to Serve a Dying Church." The only way a church can stop dying is to change - to let go of what is making it sick and to embody the practices that lead to health and wholeness.
Our country is demanding change in the White House.
I believe many are also asking for changes in our churches. May we, as clergy and laity, have the wisdom to listen to their voices and to open wide the doors. There is way too much at stake for us to remain silent or continue to adopt the status quo.
People want change. People are demanding change. And, the political machines are listening. Every candidate is trying to promise a little change or a lot of change.
Change is the one constant in life. Our bodies change as we get older. Our eyesight changes. Our jobs change. Our children change. Our neighborhoods change. Our schools change. Our grocery stores change. Our diets change. Change happens. Yet, not everyone or every organization is willing to change.
The church seems to be the one institution where people fight against change instead of adapting a willingness to change when needed. And, I believe that many people have sought change within the church. They have asked for changes to be made that would make the church more accomodating, more passionate, more hospitable, more open, more joyful, more relevant. Few churches have been willing to listen. Many of the churches that have made some necessary changes are growing while the majority of the churches that have refused to change are declining or even about to close because people are holding on to the programs that mean something to them while failing to meet the needs of the new neighbors. Worship styles are held hostage by musicians who have been directing for decades. And, the people on the inside have forgotten that the reason they exist is for the people on the outside - that they are called to serve the people around them.
I have just finished a book, Why Christian, written by Douglas John Hall. Hall writes,
"So far as the church is concerned, what is lost in highly institutionalized Christianity is inevitably the movement-quality biblical church. As the word established itself suggests, in the established church it is precisely movement that has to be avoided. Most people do not want to belong to something that is moving, changing, in flux; they want to be part of something stable and staionary, steadfast, permanent. In fact, the establishment of religions is always partly the result of the human desire to have, in teh midst of life's changes, something that seems solid and constant. That is why so many Christians today (and not only Christians) are upset by changes occurring in the churches.
But life is change; and when the churches refuse to change they always tend to cut themselves off from life. More importantly, they are likely to cut themselves off from the living God, whose love toward the world requires constant attention to the here and now...So "movement" is not only a matter of the church's structure, it is bound up with its very message and mission. When the church opts for institutional forms that deny or impede movement, it is putting a stumbling block in the way of God's communication with the world."
Perhaps Hall's words resonate with me because I serve a church that failed to change for decades, losing 90% of its membership as a result. One would not have known that the membership had dropped so much by looking at the programs, staff or budget, however. The church hung on to the things that meant a lot to them, failing to see that no one was responding to the programs - that lives were not being transformed. Many of the programs had to go as a result of the building program, and the church has experienced more growth in recent months than it has in a long time - with the smallest staff and budget and absolutely no building.
Lives are being transformed.
Change is happening.
But, we had to let go. We had to make room for God. We had to take a cue from the Early Church's playbook - preach the Gospel as passionately as you can, enjoy fellowship with one another, make sure that everyone knows they are welcome, care for anyone around you who has a need, invite people to repent - to change their life, and watch as people are added to the congregation.
To borrow the words of my colleague, Paul Nixon, "I Refuse to Serve a Dying Church." The only way a church can stop dying is to change - to let go of what is making it sick and to embody the practices that lead to health and wholeness.
Our country is demanding change in the White House.
I believe many are also asking for changes in our churches. May we, as clergy and laity, have the wisdom to listen to their voices and to open wide the doors. There is way too much at stake for us to remain silent or continue to adopt the status quo.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
Ash Wednesday - A Day of New Beginnings
Today is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of the season of Lent. Today is one of those days that I yearn to arrive. It seems as though the marking of ashes on this day and the beginning of Lent always bring so much hope within me.
"Beginning Wednesday, I am definitely going to pray for an hour each day."
"Come Wednesday, I am going to no longer push snooze."
"Starting Wednesday, I am going to give up Diet Coke."
"This Lent, I am going to turn a new leaf. I am going to become more like Christ each day."
Lent is a season of new beginnings. T.S. Eliot once wrote, "What we call the beginning is often the end and to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from."
We start from wherever we are - right now. Whether we are filled with sin or having a hard time thinking of what sins are alive within us, we start here. We examine ourselves, asking God to point out the places in our lives that need to be corrected. We seek God's wisdom in our lives, praying that God will illuminate the places of darkness so that with God's help, there can be more light within us.
The Psalmist writes in Psalm 51: Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin. For I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me. Against you, you alone, have I sinned, and done what is evil in your sight, so that you are justified in your sentence and blameless when you pass judgment. Indeed, I was born guilty, a sinner when my mother conceived me. You desire truth in the inward being; therefore teach me wisdom in my secret heart. Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow. Let me hear joy and gladness; let the bones that you have crushed rejoice. Hide your face from my sins, and blot out all my iniquities. Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me.
This is my prayer for this Lent. What I desire more than anything else is a clean heart and a new and right spirit modeled after the teachings of Christ.
This is a day of new beginnings. No matter where you are, what you have done, what you have left undone, who you have loved or who you have failed to love, the promises are for each one of us. Thanks be to God.
Monday, February 04, 2008
"They," "Them," You Know, the "Other"
I spent a portion of Saturday afternoon in a glass shop. It was not part of the plan. In fact, there were four things on Saturday's agenda: drop off things at Goodwill, pick out bridesmaid dresses, make time to enjoy rest with Craig, and go to a birthday party on Saturday night. While three of these things were accomplished, the time for rest with Craig was replaced by Craig taking me to get my car window fixed after I discovered one of the windows had been busted sometime on Friday night.
It is the third time that someone has tried to break into my car in the two and one-half years that I have lived here. The first two times someone tried to break the locks, toying with the passenger side first before assaulting the driver side lock. The second time I went out to my car on a Sunday morning and found it running. Someone had again busted the locks, broken the key hole off and got my car started but was unable to drive it because of the Club lock. And, on Friday evening, someone broke the back window of my car, reached inside to unlock the door and then rummaged through my glove box. Nothing was taken. It appears that they were following the lead of a GPS cord in site and assumed that the GPS monitor was in the car; it was in my purse, however.
I spent much of Saturday talking about "them." "They did it again," I told my friends and family. "They have once again busted into my car, costing me a $100 insurance deductable." This conversation continued at the glass shop with a woman who was waiting for her car. "They" had gotten into her car, too. "They" had broken their glass.
By Saturday night, I had done a lot of thinking about "them." I began to realize how much I had allowed my mind to construct who "they" are. I concluded quickly that "they" were probably linked to the young man sitting in his car in front of me when I parked it on Friday night. He was sitting there in a hoodie sweatshirt with the hoodie pulled up. He seemed to be watching me, and my instincts told me to find another parking spot, but I was tired. So, I waited until the street was filled with cars, got out of my car, and rushed to my home. "They" were certainly not the people who live in my building. "They" were the other - the people who do not look like me. "They" were the people who banter the employees at 7-Eleven, crowd the corners of the neighborhood, and skip school to wreck havoc.
"They" were people for who I needed to seek forgiveness as I realized that my cultural context had once again told me that somehow I was not like "them" even though I am the minority in this neighborhood.
I then went to a viewing of film, "The Bible Tells Me So" yesterday afternoon at Calvary Baptist Church where my friend, Amy, is the pastor. I had heard a lot about this film, but it was my first time seeing it. For nearly two hours, I watched the stories of five families who have struggled with what it means to have someone in their family who is gay or lesbian. I watched as a former presidential candidate talked about his daughter. I heard things from the parents of Gene Robinson that have made me see the split occuring in the Episcopal Church in an entirely new light. My eyes filled with tears at times. My heart ached at other times. I wanted to weep. I wanted to clap. I wanted to go out and join some of these families in their quest to ensure that all people are considered equals - that the "they," "them" and "other" are no longer separated because of difference.
The viewing of the film was followed by a panel discussion of three area clergy: one Jewish rabbi and two Protestant pastors. These three individuals all lead congregations that are inclusive of everyone - actively inclusive. They all spoke passionately of their willingness to preside at same-sex unions and ensure that something like 'Open Hearts, Open Minds, Open Doors' does not hang on a shingle outside the place of worship without being practiced inside the place of worship. And, their words touched me.
Any group that gives privilege to one group does so at the expense of another group.
If there is any oppression of any kind, it burdens everyone, it is a burden to oppress someone.
We need to always remember that we were once slaves in the land of Egypt. We were once hated by everyone.
This is a civil rights issue.
If your congregation votes on whether or not you will be fully welcoming of gay. lesbian and transgender people then you are voting on the humanity of an entire community.
Any kind of exclusion is always contrary to the ways of our Lord.
We are so good at setting aside people who are different from us whether it is the color of their skin, their sexual orientation, their age, their economic standing, their disability, and the list goes on and on and on.
And yet, the Bible tells us that we are all created in the image of God. We are all called to create a culture that reflects the character of God. We are all born into this world in the same way: with nothing. And, we all leave the world with nothing.
Why, then, are we so good at separating ourselves - at putting labels on people - "they," "them" and "other." And, why does the church seem to always be the leader in this separation? The hypocrisy that is detailed in this film is real and ugly.
I love my neighborhood. I love the rich diversity that I see everytime I walk out my door. One of my favorite images is to see the children go on a walk from the nearby daycare center. They all take a hold of the same rope and if you look at the hands holding on to this rope then you will see about a dozen different colors - but they are all holding on - they are all connected - to the same rope.
I also love my church. I love the congregation that I am privileged to see every Sunday when I stand up and say, "Welcome to Mount Vernon Place United Methodist Church." This congregation is young and old, Anglo and African American, Asian and Hispanic, rich and poor, housed and homeless, gay and strait, believers and doubters, sinners and almost saints, fully committed and tipping toes in. This congregation is the body of Christ.
Dear Lord, please forgive me for too often labeling individuals as "they," "them" or "other." Forgive me for thinking that I am somehow better than anyone else because I am a privileged, young, white, heterosexual, educated woman. Forgive me for ever labeling someone as anything other than your child who is made in your image. Remind me often that we are all attached to the same rope; all holding on to life in your hands. And, grant me the wisdom and courage needed to do whatever I can to see that the church is always open to ALL people. Thank you for the privilege to serve and love you through being pastor to this amazing group of people. Amen.
It is the third time that someone has tried to break into my car in the two and one-half years that I have lived here. The first two times someone tried to break the locks, toying with the passenger side first before assaulting the driver side lock. The second time I went out to my car on a Sunday morning and found it running. Someone had again busted the locks, broken the key hole off and got my car started but was unable to drive it because of the Club lock. And, on Friday evening, someone broke the back window of my car, reached inside to unlock the door and then rummaged through my glove box. Nothing was taken. It appears that they were following the lead of a GPS cord in site and assumed that the GPS monitor was in the car; it was in my purse, however.
I spent much of Saturday talking about "them." "They did it again," I told my friends and family. "They have once again busted into my car, costing me a $100 insurance deductable." This conversation continued at the glass shop with a woman who was waiting for her car. "They" had gotten into her car, too. "They" had broken their glass.
By Saturday night, I had done a lot of thinking about "them." I began to realize how much I had allowed my mind to construct who "they" are. I concluded quickly that "they" were probably linked to the young man sitting in his car in front of me when I parked it on Friday night. He was sitting there in a hoodie sweatshirt with the hoodie pulled up. He seemed to be watching me, and my instincts told me to find another parking spot, but I was tired. So, I waited until the street was filled with cars, got out of my car, and rushed to my home. "They" were certainly not the people who live in my building. "They" were the other - the people who do not look like me. "They" were the people who banter the employees at 7-Eleven, crowd the corners of the neighborhood, and skip school to wreck havoc.
"They" were people for who I needed to seek forgiveness as I realized that my cultural context had once again told me that somehow I was not like "them" even though I am the minority in this neighborhood.
I then went to a viewing of film, "The Bible Tells Me So" yesterday afternoon at Calvary Baptist Church where my friend, Amy, is the pastor. I had heard a lot about this film, but it was my first time seeing it. For nearly two hours, I watched the stories of five families who have struggled with what it means to have someone in their family who is gay or lesbian. I watched as a former presidential candidate talked about his daughter. I heard things from the parents of Gene Robinson that have made me see the split occuring in the Episcopal Church in an entirely new light. My eyes filled with tears at times. My heart ached at other times. I wanted to weep. I wanted to clap. I wanted to go out and join some of these families in their quest to ensure that all people are considered equals - that the "they," "them" and "other" are no longer separated because of difference.
The viewing of the film was followed by a panel discussion of three area clergy: one Jewish rabbi and two Protestant pastors. These three individuals all lead congregations that are inclusive of everyone - actively inclusive. They all spoke passionately of their willingness to preside at same-sex unions and ensure that something like 'Open Hearts, Open Minds, Open Doors' does not hang on a shingle outside the place of worship without being practiced inside the place of worship. And, their words touched me.
Any group that gives privilege to one group does so at the expense of another group.
If there is any oppression of any kind, it burdens everyone, it is a burden to oppress someone.
We need to always remember that we were once slaves in the land of Egypt. We were once hated by everyone.
This is a civil rights issue.
If your congregation votes on whether or not you will be fully welcoming of gay. lesbian and transgender people then you are voting on the humanity of an entire community.
Any kind of exclusion is always contrary to the ways of our Lord.
We are so good at setting aside people who are different from us whether it is the color of their skin, their sexual orientation, their age, their economic standing, their disability, and the list goes on and on and on.
And yet, the Bible tells us that we are all created in the image of God. We are all called to create a culture that reflects the character of God. We are all born into this world in the same way: with nothing. And, we all leave the world with nothing.
Why, then, are we so good at separating ourselves - at putting labels on people - "they," "them" and "other." And, why does the church seem to always be the leader in this separation? The hypocrisy that is detailed in this film is real and ugly.
I love my neighborhood. I love the rich diversity that I see everytime I walk out my door. One of my favorite images is to see the children go on a walk from the nearby daycare center. They all take a hold of the same rope and if you look at the hands holding on to this rope then you will see about a dozen different colors - but they are all holding on - they are all connected - to the same rope.
I also love my church. I love the congregation that I am privileged to see every Sunday when I stand up and say, "Welcome to Mount Vernon Place United Methodist Church." This congregation is young and old, Anglo and African American, Asian and Hispanic, rich and poor, housed and homeless, gay and strait, believers and doubters, sinners and almost saints, fully committed and tipping toes in. This congregation is the body of Christ.
Dear Lord, please forgive me for too often labeling individuals as "they," "them" or "other." Forgive me for thinking that I am somehow better than anyone else because I am a privileged, young, white, heterosexual, educated woman. Forgive me for ever labeling someone as anything other than your child who is made in your image. Remind me often that we are all attached to the same rope; all holding on to life in your hands. And, grant me the wisdom and courage needed to do whatever I can to see that the church is always open to ALL people. Thank you for the privilege to serve and love you through being pastor to this amazing group of people. Amen.
Monday, January 28, 2008
Dying Well
While working at Duke Divinity School, I was exposed to the topic of dying well time and again through the Duke Institute on Care at the End of Life. The Institute would regularly bring in different speakers to talk about how to die well. One person spoke of the role of music in dying and played a harp while she spoke. Other seminars dealt with children. Still others dealt with older adults.
I was intrigued by the offerings but never took advantage of them.
While our death is the one guarantee that we have in life, none of us like to think about our own mortality. We like to think that we will last forever, instead. Yet, I have been thinking a lot about dying well in the last few weeks due to a colleague's example.
I was only around John a handful of times. I met him first at a meeting of the Downtown Cluster of Congregations. Our paths crossed again a few times when he would come for a lectionary discussion group at Starbucks. Our churches are not too far apart, and both of our congregations are under development. We had plenty to talk about but I never made the time.
John retired not too many months ago and was setting out to make his retirement dreams a reality. He was traveling in India, preparing for the hiking adventure of a lifetime when he got very sick.
Following Christmas, I received an email from John sent from one listserv to another. It read:
Dear Friends,
From family and community networks you have heard about my six week captivity in hospitals and ICU’s in Nepal and India. Last Saturday I was Fed Ex’d back to Washington. After a week at George Washington University Medical Center, I finally made it all the way home. In addition to the care of family and friends, I am now in hospice care. My bed is centrally located in our living room, a setting conducive to good conversation.
We all come into the world in basically the same way, but the ways of leaving are innumerable. The fortunate get to have some influence over their dying. I am one of the fortunate. I look forward to having you join me in the conversation.
In the early couple of weeks, family and friends from out of town are visiting. Please call my cell phone to set a time to visit, preferably in the latter part of the afternoon. I do rather well with visits, less well by telephone.
Barbara joins me in sending love.
John
I did not accept the invitation to join the conversation. I wish I would have, however. I think John was walking on holy ground when he wrote this email. I believe John knew exactly where he was and whose he was when he wrote this email. I believe John was his own institute on how to care and be cared for at the end of life.
John died nearly two weeks ago. His service was on Saturday. You can read more about the extraordinary faith of both him and his family on his former church's website. It is a powerful witness for all to read of how to live and how to die.
I am thankful for John. I am thankful for his church's faithful ministry amongst the homeless in downtown Washington. I am thankful for his steadfast commitment to make sure that their development did not do anything to impact the people Christ had called them to serve. And, I am thankful for the lessons he has taught me through messages written by him and his family just before and immediately following his death.
May we all live and die in such a way.
Thank you for your witness, John.
I was intrigued by the offerings but never took advantage of them.
While our death is the one guarantee that we have in life, none of us like to think about our own mortality. We like to think that we will last forever, instead. Yet, I have been thinking a lot about dying well in the last few weeks due to a colleague's example.
I was only around John a handful of times. I met him first at a meeting of the Downtown Cluster of Congregations. Our paths crossed again a few times when he would come for a lectionary discussion group at Starbucks. Our churches are not too far apart, and both of our congregations are under development. We had plenty to talk about but I never made the time.
John retired not too many months ago and was setting out to make his retirement dreams a reality. He was traveling in India, preparing for the hiking adventure of a lifetime when he got very sick.
Following Christmas, I received an email from John sent from one listserv to another. It read:
Dear Friends,
From family and community networks you have heard about my six week captivity in hospitals and ICU’s in Nepal and India. Last Saturday I was Fed Ex’d back to Washington. After a week at George Washington University Medical Center, I finally made it all the way home. In addition to the care of family and friends, I am now in hospice care. My bed is centrally located in our living room, a setting conducive to good conversation.
We all come into the world in basically the same way, but the ways of leaving are innumerable. The fortunate get to have some influence over their dying. I am one of the fortunate. I look forward to having you join me in the conversation.
In the early couple of weeks, family and friends from out of town are visiting. Please call my cell phone to set a time to visit, preferably in the latter part of the afternoon. I do rather well with visits, less well by telephone.
Barbara joins me in sending love.
John
I did not accept the invitation to join the conversation. I wish I would have, however. I think John was walking on holy ground when he wrote this email. I believe John knew exactly where he was and whose he was when he wrote this email. I believe John was his own institute on how to care and be cared for at the end of life.
John died nearly two weeks ago. His service was on Saturday. You can read more about the extraordinary faith of both him and his family on his former church's website. It is a powerful witness for all to read of how to live and how to die.
I am thankful for John. I am thankful for his church's faithful ministry amongst the homeless in downtown Washington. I am thankful for his steadfast commitment to make sure that their development did not do anything to impact the people Christ had called them to serve. And, I am thankful for the lessons he has taught me through messages written by him and his family just before and immediately following his death.
May we all live and die in such a way.
Thank you for your witness, John.
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Pastoral Authority
I am in Durham this week, working with four other pastors and a professor from Duke Divinity School. Dr. Jackson Carroll is in the process of revising his book, "As One With Authority." As a result, we were given the opportunity to share cases from our settings on how we have exercised or failed to exercise an appropriate amount of authority.
Authority is an interesting gift. When I was ordained in the United Methodist Church, the bishop said, "Donna Mardell Claycomb, take thou authority upon you as an elder to....preach, teach, administer and order." There was authority that came down from Bishop Kammerer to me on that hot June night. But there are other kinds of authority. There is the authority that comes when people trust you, when the follow you, and when they are willing to allow you to take them to new places yet unknown.
My colleagues with me this week have taught me rich lessons in what pastoral authority is. One of them shared an incident at his church when a pastor and members of a church in Kansas were protesting at his church. This particular church is filled with people who hate gay and lesbian people. They even named their website "God hates fags." The hatred is real and rough. When this particular pastor was notified of the visit of these people, he came up with the idea to set a table in the yard. The table would be set with a table cloth, fresh flowers and dishes. No explanation would be given. However, the table would serve as a reminder of the 23rd Psalm, "though prepares a table before me in the midst of my enemies..." Authority. This is pastoral authority.
Another pastor shared with us how a broken playground at the church needed to be fixed. The playground equipment was dangerous. The pastor soon learned that there were layers upon layers of racism beneath the reasons for why the playground was still broken. She set out to get funding for the new equipment. She is leading her people into an understanding of what it means to be loving of all people. She yearns for her congregation to see all colors as equal in the small, rural North Carolina community where she serves. Authority. This is pastoral authority.
Still another pastor shared how when he started a new church that he knew that anytime there were 100 more people at the church that it was time to hire a new pastor. The church is named after the "Good Shepherd." In this story from John, the sheep know their shepherd and the shepherd knows the sheep....by name. Each 100 people need a shepherd - someone who knows them by name. Authority. this is pastoral authority.
A table set up in the midst of a protest where people are shouting words of hatred.
A new playground is created where all children are welcome.
A community comes where the shepherd always knows his sheep.
Pastoral authority is a beautiful thing.
There was authority given to me at my baptism. There was additional authority passed on when I experienced a call to ministry. Still more authority came when I graduated from seminary and yet more authority came when I was ordained. But there is another kind of authority. It is the authority that comes from the people who we minister with and alongside. It is the kind of authority that comes when one calls you "pastor," when one calls you in the middle of the night because a child is being born or someone is dying, when one wants to confess their sins to you, when one trusts you to do a new thing in the life of the congregation, when one says, "God might be calling me to ministry." This authority does not come immediately, and it cannot be taken for granted. This authority comes when one sets a table, when one calls her sheep by name, and when one does something for the entire community because she believes in it so much.
Good Lord, please help me to never take authority for granted.
Monday, January 21, 2008
A Peak Inside
The property transformation continues at Mount Vernon Place UMC. The hole where the new building will go is getting bigger and bigger. They are almost to the bottom. Soon, something new will start emerging!
The inside of the sanctuary is filled with scaffolding. It is a huge web of metal with board on top where people can stand to work on the ceiling. It took several weeks to put the scaffolding in place. Amazing! You can also see the work being done on the stained glass windows in this picture as some of the damaged panels have been removed.
Another look at the scaffolding and a reminder of the ornate detail found within.
The church will have bathrooms with shower facilities just below the sanctuary, outside the Undercroft theatre on the ground floor of the building. We are excited about the different types of hospitality these facilities will be able to provide. 
The completion of the historic building is still some six months away with the new building more than a year and a half from completion. Still, something is happening. Progress is being made. And, I cannot help but to realize how blessed we are each time I go into the building and see the work being done. It is a privilege to be part of a church that is doing something so spectacular. What a gift we have been given to be able to obtain the resources needed to do this work of restoration.
The inside of the sanctuary is filled with scaffolding. It is a huge web of metal with board on top where people can stand to work on the ceiling. It took several weeks to put the scaffolding in place. Amazing! You can also see the work being done on the stained glass windows in this picture as some of the damaged panels have been removed.
Another look at the scaffolding and a reminder of the ornate detail found within.
The church will have bathrooms with shower facilities just below the sanctuary, outside the Undercroft theatre on the ground floor of the building. We are excited about the different types of hospitality these facilities will be able to provide. The completion of the historic building is still some six months away with the new building more than a year and a half from completion. Still, something is happening. Progress is being made. And, I cannot help but to realize how blessed we are each time I go into the building and see the work being done. It is a privilege to be part of a church that is doing something so spectacular. What a gift we have been given to be able to obtain the resources needed to do this work of restoration.The question remains: How will we use the buildings to be a gift to others? The possibilities are endless.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Hillary's Tears
If you have watched the news this week, then you know that Hillary Clinton had an emotional moment in New Hampshire on Monday. While meeting with a group of undecided women voters, Hillary was asked how she keeps it all together - how she keeps on going. Looking exhausted, she paused for a moment, got teary-eyed, and then talked about the passion she has for this country. She spoke of all this country has done for her and how she wants similar opportunities for her children. She shared passionately about how she does not want America to lose what it has given to so many people.
It was a remarkable moment.
It is a moment in which many ears heard Hillary's heart for the first time; a minute when we realized that the campaign is not about her but about a country she loves and appreciates.
News analysts and political pundits are scrutinizing Hillary's tears. Each day a different newscaster has spoken about them. Some people even say it was an act. I don't think so. I gained more respect for Hillary on Monday than I have had for her since I first introduced her at a campaign rally at my college in 1992.
Passion is a powerful thing.
The ability to see - really see - what motivates someone is a precious gift.
I respect and admire Hillary's passion, and I keep thinking about how this passion is needed in so many other places, especially in our churches.
I have been accused of many different things since arriving as the pastor of Mount Vernon Place United Methodist Church. Mount Vernon Place is the first place since I accepted my call to ministry where I was not immediately and warmly welcomed - where I was questioned more than I was accepted - at least by the people who vocalized their thoughts. Many people accused me of wanting to change them. Others called me an "insider" because I was an outsider who was brought in to this Conference. Still others said I was in it for myself - that it was all about me. And, at an evaluation meeting, I was told that I am too focused on growth. While the congregation has come a long way and I have long forgiven the people who said these things to me, I am not sure I will ever forget their accusations.
What continues to amaze me is why any pastor would want to come to a declining church with enormous potential for growth for any reason other than passion. When I accepted the invitation to leave North Carolina and come to Mount Vernon Place, I came for one main reason - because I believe the Gospel of Jesus Christ still has the power to change and transform lives.
I remember well what I was like in 1994-1997, when I was working in the political arena of Washington. My entire identity was based upon who I worked for - as a scheduler for Congressman Eric Fingerhut or a letter writer for Senator Tom Harkin. I often forgot who I was at the core of my being - a beloved child of God, accepted just as I was. I did not need additional legislative issues or more money to become valuable. I was already valuable - just for being me - the person God had created me to be. I long to tell this message today - "It does not matter who you are, what you do, who you love, who you have failed to love, how much money you make, what you have or what you do not have...you are loved. You are accepted. You are forgiven. You are cherished."
I also remember what it was like to long for community - real community - authentic community in Washington. I longed for a place where I could be me - where I could tell others what I felt like God was doing in my life when I was being called into ministry. I found this community in a church, and I long to continue to provide a place for all of us to discover this community.
My first year at Mount Vernon Place was the hardest year of my life. There is no way I would ever do this for myself. I do it because I believe Jesus lived, died and rose again. I believe we have this treasure in clay jars - this extraordinary power that does not belong to us. I believe that grace is amazing. I believe this place where people in their 80s and 90s laugh regularly with people in their 20s and 30s is a remarkable place.
I am passionate about it.
Passion!
I am passionate about it - to the point that it has moved me to tears.
Thank you, Hillary, for your passion.
It was a remarkable moment.
It is a moment in which many ears heard Hillary's heart for the first time; a minute when we realized that the campaign is not about her but about a country she loves and appreciates.
News analysts and political pundits are scrutinizing Hillary's tears. Each day a different newscaster has spoken about them. Some people even say it was an act. I don't think so. I gained more respect for Hillary on Monday than I have had for her since I first introduced her at a campaign rally at my college in 1992.
Passion is a powerful thing.
The ability to see - really see - what motivates someone is a precious gift.
I respect and admire Hillary's passion, and I keep thinking about how this passion is needed in so many other places, especially in our churches.
I have been accused of many different things since arriving as the pastor of Mount Vernon Place United Methodist Church. Mount Vernon Place is the first place since I accepted my call to ministry where I was not immediately and warmly welcomed - where I was questioned more than I was accepted - at least by the people who vocalized their thoughts. Many people accused me of wanting to change them. Others called me an "insider" because I was an outsider who was brought in to this Conference. Still others said I was in it for myself - that it was all about me. And, at an evaluation meeting, I was told that I am too focused on growth. While the congregation has come a long way and I have long forgiven the people who said these things to me, I am not sure I will ever forget their accusations.
What continues to amaze me is why any pastor would want to come to a declining church with enormous potential for growth for any reason other than passion. When I accepted the invitation to leave North Carolina and come to Mount Vernon Place, I came for one main reason - because I believe the Gospel of Jesus Christ still has the power to change and transform lives.
I remember well what I was like in 1994-1997, when I was working in the political arena of Washington. My entire identity was based upon who I worked for - as a scheduler for Congressman Eric Fingerhut or a letter writer for Senator Tom Harkin. I often forgot who I was at the core of my being - a beloved child of God, accepted just as I was. I did not need additional legislative issues or more money to become valuable. I was already valuable - just for being me - the person God had created me to be. I long to tell this message today - "It does not matter who you are, what you do, who you love, who you have failed to love, how much money you make, what you have or what you do not have...you are loved. You are accepted. You are forgiven. You are cherished."
I also remember what it was like to long for community - real community - authentic community in Washington. I longed for a place where I could be me - where I could tell others what I felt like God was doing in my life when I was being called into ministry. I found this community in a church, and I long to continue to provide a place for all of us to discover this community.
My first year at Mount Vernon Place was the hardest year of my life. There is no way I would ever do this for myself. I do it because I believe Jesus lived, died and rose again. I believe we have this treasure in clay jars - this extraordinary power that does not belong to us. I believe that grace is amazing. I believe this place where people in their 80s and 90s laugh regularly with people in their 20s and 30s is a remarkable place.
I am passionate about it.
Passion!
I am passionate about it - to the point that it has moved me to tears.
Thank you, Hillary, for your passion.
Wednesday, January 02, 2008
Community
I am visiting my mother this week in Lamar, Colorado. Lamar is a small town in Southeastern Colorado with a population of 9,500 people and 10,000+ cattle. My mother is the mayor of Lamar. She has lived here since 1994, owns a small business in town, and she loves it here. This place is her home. She has an incredible sense of community in this place.
On Sunday evening, my mother had an open house for Craig and me. She wanted to celebrate our engagement and introduce her future son-in-law to her friends. Several people came - some 40 or so individuals flowed in and out of the house. When they left, Mom commented on how any of these individuals would do anything for others in the community. She talked about how they are people who love each other and will do whatever it takes to support each other. She then said that no one can find this kind of community in a city. One can only find community in a small town.
I completely disagree.
While it is not as easy to get to know people in a place like Washington, community is possible. While we do not have front porches on which to sit at night, communicating with our neighbors, it is possible to have real conversations with neighbors. And, the church plays a crucial role in forming this kind of community.
There are people at Mount Vernon Place who know a lot about me and love me in spite of it all. At Mount Vernon Place, we are trying to be authentic. We are striving to be the kind of place where all can come and be welcomed - just as they are - despite what they do, what they wear, who they love, what side of the aisle they sit, what kind of home they have or don't have, and what they do or do not believe. At the church, I see people in their 90s developing significant relationships with people in their 20s and 30s. I watch as people cry when other individuals in the congregation are experiencing pain. I observe people getting excited and celebrating when people are experiencing joy. And, I see relationships being formed - real relationships - the kind of relationships that motivate people to assist others whenever help is needed.
In Lamar, people meet each other in the streets, in the grocery store and at the local coffee shop. It's not quite as easy to meet people this way in Washington. I do not know everyone who lives on my hallway in my building. I cannot call many of my neighbors by name. But, my church is different. When I am at Mount Vernon Place, I see people who are willing to love me just as I am, who feel pain when I experience pain, joy when I feel joyful, and who will journey with me through life. I see people who would do anything for others.
Community in the city is possible. It's not always easy to find - but it is here. We would love to have you be part of ours. Come join us sometime!
On Sunday evening, my mother had an open house for Craig and me. She wanted to celebrate our engagement and introduce her future son-in-law to her friends. Several people came - some 40 or so individuals flowed in and out of the house. When they left, Mom commented on how any of these individuals would do anything for others in the community. She talked about how they are people who love each other and will do whatever it takes to support each other. She then said that no one can find this kind of community in a city. One can only find community in a small town.
I completely disagree.
While it is not as easy to get to know people in a place like Washington, community is possible. While we do not have front porches on which to sit at night, communicating with our neighbors, it is possible to have real conversations with neighbors. And, the church plays a crucial role in forming this kind of community.
There are people at Mount Vernon Place who know a lot about me and love me in spite of it all. At Mount Vernon Place, we are trying to be authentic. We are striving to be the kind of place where all can come and be welcomed - just as they are - despite what they do, what they wear, who they love, what side of the aisle they sit, what kind of home they have or don't have, and what they do or do not believe. At the church, I see people in their 90s developing significant relationships with people in their 20s and 30s. I watch as people cry when other individuals in the congregation are experiencing pain. I observe people getting excited and celebrating when people are experiencing joy. And, I see relationships being formed - real relationships - the kind of relationships that motivate people to assist others whenever help is needed.
In Lamar, people meet each other in the streets, in the grocery store and at the local coffee shop. It's not quite as easy to meet people this way in Washington. I do not know everyone who lives on my hallway in my building. I cannot call many of my neighbors by name. But, my church is different. When I am at Mount Vernon Place, I see people who are willing to love me just as I am, who feel pain when I experience pain, joy when I feel joyful, and who will journey with me through life. I see people who would do anything for others.
Community in the city is possible. It's not always easy to find - but it is here. We would love to have you be part of ours. Come join us sometime!
Monday, December 24, 2007
Thin Places
The Gospel of Luke provides us with the best account of what happened on this night. Luke writes in the second chapter,
"In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, 'Do not be afraid; for see - I am bringing to you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, 'Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors.'"
I imagine this scene as a thin place - as a place in life where heaven seems to come down to earth, leaving a very thin place separating the two.
I can only imagine how privileged the shepherds were that night - how privileged the people were who received the message from the angels and then traveled to the borrowed barn in Bethlehem where their Savior was born. It was like heaven - but on earth. It was hard to tell the difference between the two.
I have been thinking a lot about thin spaces lately. It seems as though many times in the last week heaven has descended to earth, angels have appeared, and I have felt myself surely in the presence of the Lord.
This time of year fills my mail box with dozens of cards from across the country. There are some cards that arrive, bringing news from individuals with whom I only communicate at Christmas. It seems as though many of these cards come from Hendersonville, North Carolina - the community in which I was first appointed as a pastor. Each card comes with a blessing - each card seemingly reminds me of the holy ground on which I walked with these individuals for one transformational year. Some of the cards tell me what a difference I made in one's spiritual life. Other cards tell me that I am still missed. Still others remind me of the sacredness of being pastor - of the privilege I have of journeying through life with people. Many of the cards have brought tears to my eyes. They have taken me to a thin place - a place where I know God is lurking - almost close and tangible enough to touch God.
I experienced another thin place on Friday. My friend, Louie has been sick for nearly three months, two of which were spent in a hospital and the last few weeks in a nursing center. Prior to his sickness, Louis was the one member of Mount Vernon Place who made me laugh more than any other. He brought so many smiles to my face with his wonderful, spunky personality. He and his wife of 59 years demonstrated to me often how to love life - how to seize life and make the most of it - the ups and the downs.
Louie also gave his heart to the church. He spent hours trying to find the right contractor for our stained class window restoration. He poured over our insurance policies, making sure we were getting the best coverage for the church. He knew about the boiler - when to turn it on and when to turn it off. He seemed to know every nook and cranny of the church, and I am not sure we'll ever find a more faithful member of the Trustees than Louie.
I had lunch with Louie and his wife not long before he got sick. I am not sure I'll ever forget this lunch. I am so glad I accepted the invitation. It was one of the last extended conversations we shared as he has not been able to talk since he got sick.
I saw Louie last Wednesday. I held his hand for a long time. I wiped his mouth. I told him I loved him. I prayed for him. And, I laughed with him. But I had no idea it would be the last time I could tell him of God's love for him and how much I appreciated him.
On Friday afternoon, I was shepherded into a small conference room with Louie's wife and one of the interns at Mount Vernon Place. We were asked to sit down and wait for the doctor - a person who arrived a few minutes later to share news that no one likes to hear - news of Louie's death. We then entered a room where Louie had breathed his last breath.
It was a thin place.
It was a place where I knew God had been present and was present. I believe with all of my heart that God was right there - that God was with the doctors who administered CPR a final time and then removed the tubes for the last time. I believe God was there, ready to receive into his tender arms of mercy one of God's precious children. And, I believe God was there as we entered that room broken hearted in order to say a final goodbye.
On this night, heaven came down to earth. On Christmas, God came down to us. God came to us in the form of Emmanuel, God with us. Jesus came, born in the most humble of ways, teaching people how to live by loving God and loving neighbors. Jesus reached out to the least, the last and the lost, telling us to do the same. Jesus then suffered and died upon a cross, but on the third day he rose again, giving us strength for today and hope for tomorrow. His life, death and resurrection assure us that no matter what happens on this earth - no matter how dark it might appear - that the darkness has never overcome the light.
Thank you, God, for the thin places of life. Thank you for Louie. Thank you for the privilege of being a pastor. Thank you for the gift of Christmas - for the gift of your Son.
Glory to God in the highest!
Merry Christmas.
"In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, 'Do not be afraid; for see - I am bringing to you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, 'Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors.'"
I imagine this scene as a thin place - as a place in life where heaven seems to come down to earth, leaving a very thin place separating the two.
I can only imagine how privileged the shepherds were that night - how privileged the people were who received the message from the angels and then traveled to the borrowed barn in Bethlehem where their Savior was born. It was like heaven - but on earth. It was hard to tell the difference between the two.
I have been thinking a lot about thin spaces lately. It seems as though many times in the last week heaven has descended to earth, angels have appeared, and I have felt myself surely in the presence of the Lord.
This time of year fills my mail box with dozens of cards from across the country. There are some cards that arrive, bringing news from individuals with whom I only communicate at Christmas. It seems as though many of these cards come from Hendersonville, North Carolina - the community in which I was first appointed as a pastor. Each card comes with a blessing - each card seemingly reminds me of the holy ground on which I walked with these individuals for one transformational year. Some of the cards tell me what a difference I made in one's spiritual life. Other cards tell me that I am still missed. Still others remind me of the sacredness of being pastor - of the privilege I have of journeying through life with people. Many of the cards have brought tears to my eyes. They have taken me to a thin place - a place where I know God is lurking - almost close and tangible enough to touch God.
I experienced another thin place on Friday. My friend, Louie has been sick for nearly three months, two of which were spent in a hospital and the last few weeks in a nursing center. Prior to his sickness, Louis was the one member of Mount Vernon Place who made me laugh more than any other. He brought so many smiles to my face with his wonderful, spunky personality. He and his wife of 59 years demonstrated to me often how to love life - how to seize life and make the most of it - the ups and the downs.
Louie also gave his heart to the church. He spent hours trying to find the right contractor for our stained class window restoration. He poured over our insurance policies, making sure we were getting the best coverage for the church. He knew about the boiler - when to turn it on and when to turn it off. He seemed to know every nook and cranny of the church, and I am not sure we'll ever find a more faithful member of the Trustees than Louie.
I had lunch with Louie and his wife not long before he got sick. I am not sure I'll ever forget this lunch. I am so glad I accepted the invitation. It was one of the last extended conversations we shared as he has not been able to talk since he got sick.
I saw Louie last Wednesday. I held his hand for a long time. I wiped his mouth. I told him I loved him. I prayed for him. And, I laughed with him. But I had no idea it would be the last time I could tell him of God's love for him and how much I appreciated him.
On Friday afternoon, I was shepherded into a small conference room with Louie's wife and one of the interns at Mount Vernon Place. We were asked to sit down and wait for the doctor - a person who arrived a few minutes later to share news that no one likes to hear - news of Louie's death. We then entered a room where Louie had breathed his last breath.
It was a thin place.
It was a place where I knew God had been present and was present. I believe with all of my heart that God was right there - that God was with the doctors who administered CPR a final time and then removed the tubes for the last time. I believe God was there, ready to receive into his tender arms of mercy one of God's precious children. And, I believe God was there as we entered that room broken hearted in order to say a final goodbye.
On this night, heaven came down to earth. On Christmas, God came down to us. God came to us in the form of Emmanuel, God with us. Jesus came, born in the most humble of ways, teaching people how to live by loving God and loving neighbors. Jesus reached out to the least, the last and the lost, telling us to do the same. Jesus then suffered and died upon a cross, but on the third day he rose again, giving us strength for today and hope for tomorrow. His life, death and resurrection assure us that no matter what happens on this earth - no matter how dark it might appear - that the darkness has never overcome the light.
Thank you, God, for the thin places of life. Thank you for Louie. Thank you for the privilege of being a pastor. Thank you for the gift of Christmas - for the gift of your Son.
Glory to God in the highest!
Merry Christmas.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Denied
Early last Tuesday morning I was waiting for a bus. Heading downtown 
for a 7:30 meeting, I walked out of my building at 7:10 a.m. I turned the corner and started down 14th Street just as a bus was arriving at the stop. I ran down the block in hopes of catching the bus only to watch it slowly pull away. I was one minute too late.
I continued to wait, looking up the street, looking at my watch, and worrying about being late. Soon, another bus was in sight. It approached the individuals standing at the bus stop, a rather long line by now. And, it went right on by. In fact, it whizzed right on by - passing each one of us.
We had been denied.
We were denied access because the bus was already too crowded. Ten minutes later another bus arrived. We finally boarded, crowding into the already full aisle for the ride downtown. It was 7:45 when I finally arrived at my meeting.
I do not like being denied.
I went to worship with my fiancee this week. Craig is a Roman Catholic. We went to Mass on Saturday night, and I found it to be a tremendous blessing to be in worship on a Saturday night. It was a blessing to hear the texts read and proclaimed - the same texts I would read and proclaim on Sunday morning. It was a blessing to hear the music and to sit in the quiet. I was so grateful for the time to pray - the space to center myself and dedicate Sunday's worship to God, asking God to already go ahead of us and fill the space where the Mount Vernon Place congregation would worship the following morning. Yes, the service was a blessing. But, I cannot go to worship with Craig without feeling denied. I cannot attend Mass without feeling as though I am left out whenever it comes to the Eucharist. It is clear that I am not welcome at the table. Even though I have the authority in the United Methodist Church to pray, "Pour out thy Holy Spirit upon these gifts of bread and wine, making them be for us the body and blood of Christ," I cannot partake of the feast with my fiancee. I am not allowed at the table where he partakes.
One of the things I love about the United Methodist Church is our founder, John Wesley's, beliefs about the Lord's Supper. Wesley taught that Holy Communion is a means of grace - it is a way in which we can experience the presence of God in our lives and the power of Christ's forgiveness. The Lord's Supper is a visible sign of an invisible grace. And, Wesley believed that all should come to the table - that it was a converting ordinance - that the bread and the wine had the power to transform lives. Wesley even said that we should come when we do not feel like coming. I love this theology. And, I love remembering who exactly was at Christ's table on the night in which he gave himself up for us.
On that Thursday night, Christ gathered twelve men around a table. They were ordinary men. They had seen Christ perform significant miracles but they still doubted their faith. They were people who promised to stay awake for the night only to fall asleep. They were individuals who Jesus knew would deny him. Still, Jesus gathered with them around the table. Jesus invited them to eat with him, and he gave thanks for them. He then offered them everything that he had.
Ordinary people.
People filled with doubt.
Sinners.
People who would deny Jesus.
People like you and like me....were all invited to the table.
I love the Lord's Supper. I yearn to both celebrate and partake of the feast. The Sundays on which we celebrate Holy Communion are my favorite Sundays because I have the awesome task of taking a little bread and a little juice and asking God to bless them, making them beco
me the body and the blood of Christ. I then get to see all kinds of people coming forward - those who believe and those who doubt, sinners and saints, children and elderly individuals - all coming forward to the table - receiving signs of the greatest gift ever given.
Each Sunday, I tell individuals how the table does not belong to me. It does not belong to Mount Vernon Place. Rather, it is the table of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.
Look who he invited.....no matter who we are, what we have done, who we have loved, or who we have failed to love....we would surely be invited. Again, look who he invited - the ones who would betray him!
The body of Christ broken for you.
The blood of Christ shed for you.
Thanks be to God. The access will never be denied.
for a 7:30 meeting, I walked out of my building at 7:10 a.m. I turned the corner and started down 14th Street just as a bus was arriving at the stop. I ran down the block in hopes of catching the bus only to watch it slowly pull away. I was one minute too late. I continued to wait, looking up the street, looking at my watch, and worrying about being late. Soon, another bus was in sight. It approached the individuals standing at the bus stop, a rather long line by now. And, it went right on by. In fact, it whizzed right on by - passing each one of us.
We had been denied.
We were denied access because the bus was already too crowded. Ten minutes later another bus arrived. We finally boarded, crowding into the already full aisle for the ride downtown. It was 7:45 when I finally arrived at my meeting.
I do not like being denied.
I went to worship with my fiancee this week. Craig is a Roman Catholic. We went to Mass on Saturday night, and I found it to be a tremendous blessing to be in worship on a Saturday night. It was a blessing to hear the texts read and proclaimed - the same texts I would read and proclaim on Sunday morning. It was a blessing to hear the music and to sit in the quiet. I was so grateful for the time to pray - the space to center myself and dedicate Sunday's worship to God, asking God to already go ahead of us and fill the space where the Mount Vernon Place congregation would worship the following morning. Yes, the service was a blessing. But, I cannot go to worship with Craig without feeling denied. I cannot attend Mass without feeling as though I am left out whenever it comes to the Eucharist. It is clear that I am not welcome at the table. Even though I have the authority in the United Methodist Church to pray, "Pour out thy Holy Spirit upon these gifts of bread and wine, making them be for us the body and blood of Christ," I cannot partake of the feast with my fiancee. I am not allowed at the table where he partakes.
One of the things I love about the United Methodist Church is our founder, John Wesley's, beliefs about the Lord's Supper. Wesley taught that Holy Communion is a means of grace - it is a way in which we can experience the presence of God in our lives and the power of Christ's forgiveness. The Lord's Supper is a visible sign of an invisible grace. And, Wesley believed that all should come to the table - that it was a converting ordinance - that the bread and the wine had the power to transform lives. Wesley even said that we should come when we do not feel like coming. I love this theology. And, I love remembering who exactly was at Christ's table on the night in which he gave himself up for us.
On that Thursday night, Christ gathered twelve men around a table. They were ordinary men. They had seen Christ perform significant miracles but they still doubted their faith. They were people who promised to stay awake for the night only to fall asleep. They were individuals who Jesus knew would deny him. Still, Jesus gathered with them around the table. Jesus invited them to eat with him, and he gave thanks for them. He then offered them everything that he had.
Ordinary people.
People filled with doubt.
Sinners.
People who would deny Jesus.
People like you and like me....were all invited to the table.
I love the Lord's Supper. I yearn to both celebrate and partake of the feast. The Sundays on which we celebrate Holy Communion are my favorite Sundays because I have the awesome task of taking a little bread and a little juice and asking God to bless them, making them beco
me the body and the blood of Christ. I then get to see all kinds of people coming forward - those who believe and those who doubt, sinners and saints, children and elderly individuals - all coming forward to the table - receiving signs of the greatest gift ever given.Each Sunday, I tell individuals how the table does not belong to me. It does not belong to Mount Vernon Place. Rather, it is the table of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.
Look who he invited.....no matter who we are, what we have done, who we have loved, or who we have failed to love....we would surely be invited. Again, look who he invited - the ones who would betray him!
The body of Christ broken for you.
The blood of Christ shed for you.
Thanks be to God. The access will never be denied.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Change
Change is the one constant in life.
I speak this phrase often at Mount Vernon Place. A lot is changing at Mount Vernon Place. There have been significant changes in the last year. We are no longer worshipping in a magnificent sanctuary. We are not even in our own building. And, buildings that meant a lot to people - buildings where people were married or learned the stories of Jesus or fellowshiped with friends - are no longer standing. Instead, a hole is getting deeper and deeper in order for a new building to come up.
The congregation is also changing at Mount Vernon Place. Several newcomers now make up a significant portion of the congregation. New people are filling leadership roles on important committees and ministry teams. New liturgies are being introduced. New ideas are constantly emerging. Change - significant change - is happening.
My neighborhood of Columbia Heights is also changing. The city's largest shopping complex, a huge place located a block from where I live, will open in the spring. New condominiums and apartment buildings are almost ready for occupancy. Nice restaurants and a fancy spa have already opened. New people are moving in all of the time, making the neighborhood more and more diverse. And, while some of the change is welcome, there are many people in the neighborhood, people who have lived here for a long time - sometimes all of their lives - who do not like the change. The Washington Post wrote a great article that captures some of the feelings earlier this week. The change is causing tension.
I love the change that is happening at Mount Vernon Place. I get excited about what is happening when I look out on Sunday mornings and see new people smiling back at me or when I go and serve in the community with people who were not at the church one year ago. I am also excited about the new building that is on the horizon.
And, I like the change happening in my neighborhood. It is one of the reasons I purchased a place in this neighborhood in 2005. While the traffic is increasing each day and more people get off at the Metro stop each evening, I see the change as something that is good.
But I learned of a change this past week that I do not like at all. Last week, I learned that one of my favorite people at Duke Divinity School is leaving the administration.
If any of you know me, then you know that I love Duke Divinity School. I believe that Duke is one of, if not the best, theological schools in the country. Duke has some of the strongest theologians and Biblical scholars on their faculty. The seminary boasts one of the youngest student bodies in the nation. The institution prides itself on being one of 13 United Methodist seminaries in the United States. It has an amazing field education program that is funded by an endowment that makes an education affordable. The seminary is located in the heart of a leading university - a university that is consistently ranked in the top ten year after year - allowing us to learn not only about the divinity of Christ but also the coaching skills and techniques of Coach K while learning cheers like "Go to hell, Carolina, go to hell."
Yes, I love Duke. My passion and love of the school are the reasons why I accepted an invitation to return to the school and serve as the Director of Admissions from 2001 -2005. And, one of the reasons why I love the school so much is because of a man named Greg.
Greg was the Director of Admissions when I was discerning a call to ministry and applying to seminary in 1997. He hosted me on my prospective visit day. He sent letters telling me of my acceptance and of my being selected for a Dean's Scholarship. He greeted me in the parking lot when I brought my family to campus for the first time - calling me by name even though he had only met me once before. He led orientation when I was a first year student. Greg was then promoted to Associate Dean of Student Services. In this role, Greg was directly responsible for recruiting me to return to the Divinity School. He cornered me one fall asking if I could pray about coming back to the school. He called one morning saying, "I am sorry to be bothering you but the search committee has just met and we really want you to apply for this position." He took me out to dinner, along with the Dean, on the eve of my interview. And, he was the first person to celebrate with me when I had been offered the position.
For four years, Greg was my boss. He was with me when I was missing the parish tremendously, asking questions like, "Why on earth did you pull me out of the local church?" He was there to say, "great job" when we set new records in the admissions office for the number of inquiries and applications received in a year. And, he was there when I discerned it was time to go - time to go back into the parish. All the while, Greg was demonstrating to me what it looks like to live a balanced life - what it looks like to put your family first. Greg came into the office after taking his children to school. He worked hard during the day, but he never allowed work to impact his time with his children and his wife. He always showed what it looked like to love God, neighbor, family and then work. I will never forget his example - particularly since balance is something I struggle to find.
Greg is leaving the Divinity School. The student services staff is being reorganized. New people have been temporarily appointed to take his place, along with the places of two other key leaders who are leaving. And, I don't like the change. I find the change very hard to accept. I cannot imagine the Divinity School without Greg!
But, I am trying to repeat the words I repeat to the people in our church. Change is the one constant in life.
Thank you, Greg, for being my mentor, my example, and my friend.
Friday, December 07, 2007
The Cross Endures
I had lunch last week with a friend of mine. I met Tracy at the Duke Youth Academy for Christian Formation, an intensive two-week academy for rising juniors and seniors in high school. The Academy is one of the most amazing programs I have experienced. It is based upon our baptism - about what it means to live out our calling as baptised individuals who have been bathed and claimed by Christ. And, it is transformational in every sense of the word.
The extended community of DYA was heartbroken this year, consumed with grief, when a DYA alumnus was struck by lightening while playing soccer and killed. The young man was on the soccer field, practicing a game he loved with his high school classmates when his life came to an end all too soon.
Tracy told me a story that was relayed to her by the young man's pastor. The young man's body was prepared for viewing. Just before his family said goodbye to him, his father slipped a metal cross on a colorful ribbon around his neck. It was a cross given to him at another formative youth event. The cross was made of metal and it meant a lot to the young man. The young man's body was then cremated. Yet, something unusual happened.
The parents went to get their child's ashes and opened the box. Inside of the box were the usual ashes but the metal cross rested on top of it all.
The cross should have melted.
The heat of the crematorium should have consumed it.
But it did not.
The cross endured.
The cross endured!
I have thought a lot about Tracy's story in the last several days.
It seems as though this time of year can remind us about everything that we do not have instead of all that we do have. We are reminded often of the loved one who is no longer with us because of death or divorce. We think about the people who were once part of our lives but who are no longer. We see families knit together perfectly, enjoying the holidays, and we wonder why we do not have the same bliss. We worry about our finances and our health. We experience the pain of loneliness. Yet, the cross endures.
It does not matter what we are going through during this time of year. No matter how dark things may appear, the light shines. The light shines and the darkness has never overcome the light. Life begins. Life ends. But the cross endures - promising us all that even death itself cannot extinguish the light.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
The extended community of DYA was heartbroken this year, consumed with grief, when a DYA alumnus was struck by lightening while playing soccer and killed. The young man was on the soccer field, practicing a game he loved with his high school classmates when his life came to an end all too soon.
Tracy told me a story that was relayed to her by the young man's pastor. The young man's body was prepared for viewing. Just before his family said goodbye to him, his father slipped a metal cross on a colorful ribbon around his neck. It was a cross given to him at another formative youth event. The cross was made of metal and it meant a lot to the young man. The young man's body was then cremated. Yet, something unusual happened.
The parents went to get their child's ashes and opened the box. Inside of the box were the usual ashes but the metal cross rested on top of it all.
The cross should have melted.
The heat of the crematorium should have consumed it.
But it did not.
The cross endured.
The cross endured!
I have thought a lot about Tracy's story in the last several days.
It seems as though this time of year can remind us about everything that we do not have instead of all that we do have. We are reminded often of the loved one who is no longer with us because of death or divorce. We think about the people who were once part of our lives but who are no longer. We see families knit together perfectly, enjoying the holidays, and we wonder why we do not have the same bliss. We worry about our finances and our health. We experience the pain of loneliness. Yet, the cross endures.
It does not matter what we are going through during this time of year. No matter how dark things may appear, the light shines. The light shines and the darkness has never overcome the light. Life begins. Life ends. But the cross endures - promising us all that even death itself cannot extinguish the light.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
Monday, December 03, 2007
Christmas Giving
Last year, I had the privilege of hearing Michael Slaughter speak. Rev. Slaughter is the pastor of Ginghamsburg United Methodist Church in Tipp City, Ohio. Each year, Rev. Slaughter challenges his church to celebrate the real meaning of Christmas.
"Why do you act like Christmas is your birthday," he asks.
His question is on target. We do celebrate Christmas as if it were our birthday. We put together lists of the things we want, starting at a very early age in life. We tell others exactly what we want for Christmas, forgetting that Christmas is not our birthday but Christ's birthday.
Christmas is the birthday of the one who came proclaiming good news to the poor, release to the captives and recovery of site to the blind.
Christmas is the birthday of the one who turned this world upside down, inaugurating a new kind of kingdom - a kingdom radically different from the ways of this world.
Christmas is about Christ - not us!
We did something a little different at Mount Vernon Place yesterday.
We asked people to do their Christmas shopping at church. We invited people to give gifts that matter- gifts that keep on giving. People were invited to buy dinner for women at Calvary Women's Shelter, glucose testing strips for Christ House, a sheep for Heifer International, a net for a child in Africa, yarn for a prayer shawl, or free trade coffee and chocolate. One of our new members made beautiful cards that explain the gift - a card that enables the recipient to understand the meaning and the significance of the gift.
People gave. They gave generously. Our small congregation raised over $2500, and as a result of their giving, other people will receive a gift.
Homeless men will receive the gift of medical care.
People around the world will receive eggs and milk and meat from animals that were purchased.
Individuals in our congregation will receive a prayer shawl - tangible evidence of God's love and grace in their life.
Women - our neighbors - will receive a home-cooked meal delivered to their home at Calvary.
The gifts will keep on giving.
What are you giving for Christmas?
"Why do you act like Christmas is your birthday," he asks.
His question is on target. We do celebrate Christmas as if it were our birthday. We put together lists of the things we want, starting at a very early age in life. We tell others exactly what we want for Christmas, forgetting that Christmas is not our birthday but Christ's birthday.
Christmas is the birthday of the one who came proclaiming good news to the poor, release to the captives and recovery of site to the blind.
Christmas is the birthday of the one who turned this world upside down, inaugurating a new kind of kingdom - a kingdom radically different from the ways of this world.
Christmas is about Christ - not us!
We did something a little different at Mount Vernon Place yesterday.
We asked people to do their Christmas shopping at church. We invited people to give gifts that matter- gifts that keep on giving. People were invited to buy dinner for women at Calvary Women's Shelter, glucose testing strips for Christ House, a sheep for Heifer International, a net for a child in Africa, yarn for a prayer shawl, or free trade coffee and chocolate. One of our new members made beautiful cards that explain the gift - a card that enables the recipient to understand the meaning and the significance of the gift.People gave. They gave generously. Our small congregation raised over $2500, and as a result of their giving, other people will receive a gift.
Homeless men will receive the gift of medical care.
People around the world will receive eggs and milk and meat from animals that were purchased.
Individuals in our congregation will receive a prayer shawl - tangible evidence of God's love and grace in their life.
Women - our neighbors - will receive a home-cooked meal delivered to their home at Calvary.
The gifts will keep on giving.
What are you giving for Christmas?
Sunday, December 02, 2007
It's Beginning to Look a lot Like Christmas...
Craig and I had the privilege of going to the White House last night with people from our church. The house is exquisite in every possible way. The beauty radiates from everything - the flowers, the decorated Christmas tree balls from each of the national parks, the lights and the gingerbread house covered in white chocolate. There is something magical about this time of year. Enjoy it.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Thankful
I had an idea last week. I thought about it often - how I would write a blog entry each morning during Thanksgiving week. I would write each day about something for which I am thankful - a blessing in my life for which I am grateful.
The week came....and the week went. Even Thanksgiving day came and went without my writing a thing. I thought often about how thankful I am but I never typed anything.
Now that the week is over and I have caught up on several things, it is time to share my thanksgiving with you.
I am thankful for what is happening at Mount Vernon Place. I consider the opportunity to watch this historic church be restored from top to bottom to be a rare privilege - a once in a lifetime opportunity. I am excited about our getting back into our sanctuary next summer. It is truly amazing to see the structure being restored - to see the outline of the new chancel floor or the new walls being put in place. I can hardly wait to see what God has in store for this church.
While the building is exciting, it is even more exciting to see the congregation developing. We have an amazing group of new members at the church. There is a renewed emphasis upon serving the community in a variety
of ways - we have raised over $2400 this year for a homeless day program. We delivered new blankets to another shelter today. Many people have volunteered to serve dinner at this shelter on a monthly basis. And, the mother of one of our new members knitted 25 scarves for the residents of the shelter - scarves that were delivered this past Sunday. I love the energy - the passion - the new ideas - that are surfacing each week at the church. God is clearly at work.
I am thankful for Craig. Over a decade ago the Indigo Girls recorded a song with a line, "The best thing you ever did for me was to help me take my life less seriously.
It's only life after all." Craig helps me take life less seriously often - in the best of ways. He makes me laugh. He makes me smile. He has an uncanny ability to celebrate and seize the gift of life - helping me do the same. He shares life with me - all of life - whether it is listening to my stories, unloading my dishwasher, or reminding me that I am working too hard. Craig adds beauty, delight and joy to each day. I am thankful for him, for our upcoming marriage and for the lifetime that awaits us.
I am also thankful for the gift of living in Washington. My family was in town last week, and I played the role of tourist again. I journeyed along the National Mall, taking in the Vietnam War Memorial, the FDR Mem
orial, the Lincoln Monument, the White House, the Washington Monument, and Tidal Basin. I was reminded often of what a gift it is to live in this city. I was also reminded of how blessed this nation has been, and I gave thanks for the incredible men and women who have provided great leadership to our nation. I was struck, once again, by the things President Roosevelt stood for, and I gave thanks for his willingness to stand up for the poor. I gave thanks for President Lincoln's leadership - a leadership that brought equality to all people. And, I gave thanks for the men and women who have faithfully served this country as members of the Armed Services. May we continue to fight for the poor, for the equality of all people, and for the veterans returning from war.
And, I have given thanks for the gift of family. My father is one of the funniest people I know. He has a zest for life, a strong work ethic that has been passed down to his children, and an ability to make people laugh...hard. There were several years when I did not have a relationship with my father - when I kept him lo
cked outside of my life, unwilling to hear his side of my parents' divorce or forgive him for what he had done. I am thankful for the gift of reconciliation and forgiveness. I am thankful to have him in my life. And, I am thankful for our visit last week. It was great to have him, his wife, and my little brother here - all four of us in my 537 square-feet home.
God is good. I am thankful. Let everything that has breath praise the Lord.
What are you thankful for?
The week came....and the week went. Even Thanksgiving day came and went without my writing a thing. I thought often about how thankful I am but I never typed anything.
Now that the week is over and I have caught up on several things, it is time to share my thanksgiving with you.
I am thankful for what is happening at Mount Vernon Place. I consider the opportunity to watch this historic church be restored from top to bottom to be a rare privilege - a once in a lifetime opportunity. I am excited about our getting back into our sanctuary next summer. It is truly amazing to see the structure being restored - to see the outline of the new chancel floor or the new walls being put in place. I can hardly wait to see what God has in store for this church.
While the building is exciting, it is even more exciting to see the congregation developing. We have an amazing group of new members at the church. There is a renewed emphasis upon serving the community in a variety
of ways - we have raised over $2400 this year for a homeless day program. We delivered new blankets to another shelter today. Many people have volunteered to serve dinner at this shelter on a monthly basis. And, the mother of one of our new members knitted 25 scarves for the residents of the shelter - scarves that were delivered this past Sunday. I love the energy - the passion - the new ideas - that are surfacing each week at the church. God is clearly at work.I am thankful for Craig. Over a decade ago the Indigo Girls recorded a song with a line, "The best thing you ever did for me was to help me take my life less seriously.
It's only life after all." Craig helps me take life less seriously often - in the best of ways. He makes me laugh. He makes me smile. He has an uncanny ability to celebrate and seize the gift of life - helping me do the same. He shares life with me - all of life - whether it is listening to my stories, unloading my dishwasher, or reminding me that I am working too hard. Craig adds beauty, delight and joy to each day. I am thankful for him, for our upcoming marriage and for the lifetime that awaits us.I am also thankful for the gift of living in Washington. My family was in town last week, and I played the role of tourist again. I journeyed along the National Mall, taking in the Vietnam War Memorial, the FDR Mem
orial, the Lincoln Monument, the White House, the Washington Monument, and Tidal Basin. I was reminded often of what a gift it is to live in this city. I was also reminded of how blessed this nation has been, and I gave thanks for the incredible men and women who have provided great leadership to our nation. I was struck, once again, by the things President Roosevelt stood for, and I gave thanks for his willingness to stand up for the poor. I gave thanks for President Lincoln's leadership - a leadership that brought equality to all people. And, I gave thanks for the men and women who have faithfully served this country as members of the Armed Services. May we continue to fight for the poor, for the equality of all people, and for the veterans returning from war.And, I have given thanks for the gift of family. My father is one of the funniest people I know. He has a zest for life, a strong work ethic that has been passed down to his children, and an ability to make people laugh...hard. There were several years when I did not have a relationship with my father - when I kept him lo
cked outside of my life, unwilling to hear his side of my parents' divorce or forgive him for what he had done. I am thankful for the gift of reconciliation and forgiveness. I am thankful to have him in my life. And, I am thankful for our visit last week. It was great to have him, his wife, and my little brother here - all four of us in my 537 square-feet home.God is good. I am thankful. Let everything that has breath praise the Lord.
What are you thankful for?
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Everything Communicates
On Friday and Saturday of last week, I traveled to Atlanta to spend time going over grant applications with an organization I greatly respect. Some of the deliberations were easy and others were quite difficult. In the midst of our conversations, one of the employees of the foundation shared with me how their director of communications reminds her often that "everything communicates." Who they fund communicates their mission. What they do communicates their motives. Every memo, decision, action, hire, grant effort, and activity communicates who they really are.
Everything communicates.
I am a pastor. Everything I do communicates. My actions on Sunday morning communicate - I am judged by whether or not I go out of my way to greet a first-time visitor and whether or not I remember their name when they return next week. My sermon communicates - hopefully it communicates the Good News of Jesus Christ but it also communicates whether I am liberal or conservative, open or closed, joyful or tired, and what kind of a church I visualize in my mind. Our church building communicates. Right now it is being restored. The restoration process communicates that we want to be an active presence in downtown Washington in the years to come. We want to serve our community, provide a space for authentic relationships to be lived and restored. We want to tell children the stories of Jesus. And, we want to celebrate God's presence in our lives in a sanctuary where the windows tell the stories, along with the beauty of the space. The way I spend my time communicates. If I go and visit the sick and the shut-ins, then I am considered a compassionate pastor. If I neglect to show hospitality to the stranger or our members, people will think there are problems. Everything communicates.
But as Christians, our entire lives communicate. I am amazed at how many of the books written today about how God is not great or why religion is wrong have been written out of disgust over the church. The authors of these books are disillusioned because the church has not been the church. Rather, the church has been too much like the world. Christians have preached one thing and done another thing. They have said they believe in a Savior who called for love of God and neighbor and then hated their neighbor. They have heard the call for justice and done everything but working for it. The church's communication - their actions and their words - has been a raw, empty communication. It has been a communication filled with more hatred than love.
I wonder what we communicate at Mount Vernon Place.
I am hopeful that we communicate a Gospel that is open to all people - young and old, rich and poor, gay and straight, Caucasian and African American, believers and doubters. I am hopeful that when people enter our temporary space that they feel welcome to come on in - just as they are. I am hopeful that people experience joy when they worship with us and that they receive the presence and the power of the living God. I am hopeful that people are given a reason to want to come back - a reason to get out of bed early on Sunday morning and spend a couple of hours at church. I am hopeful that people see a group of remarkable individuals who are trying to figure out how to be more faithful. I am hopeful that people see sinners and saints, and people who are working towards the latter. And, I am hopeful that people see a congregation filled with individuals who are more concerned about God's needs and desires than they are the church's needs and desires - that we focus our time and our attention on what is happening outside the doors of the church instead of inside.
Everything communicates.
God, forgive me for not always communicating your love and grace. Forgive me for coming up with names for some of the people around me that are outside of what you call them - beloved children of yours who are made in your image. Forgive me for preaching the Gospel with my words more often than with my life. Help me to communicate better your message of hope and salvation. Help me to be a better ambassador of your Son who preached good news to the poor, release to the captives and recovery of site to the blind. Amen.
Everything communicates.
I am a pastor. Everything I do communicates. My actions on Sunday morning communicate - I am judged by whether or not I go out of my way to greet a first-time visitor and whether or not I remember their name when they return next week. My sermon communicates - hopefully it communicates the Good News of Jesus Christ but it also communicates whether I am liberal or conservative, open or closed, joyful or tired, and what kind of a church I visualize in my mind. Our church building communicates. Right now it is being restored. The restoration process communicates that we want to be an active presence in downtown Washington in the years to come. We want to serve our community, provide a space for authentic relationships to be lived and restored. We want to tell children the stories of Jesus. And, we want to celebrate God's presence in our lives in a sanctuary where the windows tell the stories, along with the beauty of the space. The way I spend my time communicates. If I go and visit the sick and the shut-ins, then I am considered a compassionate pastor. If I neglect to show hospitality to the stranger or our members, people will think there are problems. Everything communicates.
But as Christians, our entire lives communicate. I am amazed at how many of the books written today about how God is not great or why religion is wrong have been written out of disgust over the church. The authors of these books are disillusioned because the church has not been the church. Rather, the church has been too much like the world. Christians have preached one thing and done another thing. They have said they believe in a Savior who called for love of God and neighbor and then hated their neighbor. They have heard the call for justice and done everything but working for it. The church's communication - their actions and their words - has been a raw, empty communication. It has been a communication filled with more hatred than love.
I wonder what we communicate at Mount Vernon Place.
I am hopeful that we communicate a Gospel that is open to all people - young and old, rich and poor, gay and straight, Caucasian and African American, believers and doubters. I am hopeful that when people enter our temporary space that they feel welcome to come on in - just as they are. I am hopeful that people experience joy when they worship with us and that they receive the presence and the power of the living God. I am hopeful that people are given a reason to want to come back - a reason to get out of bed early on Sunday morning and spend a couple of hours at church. I am hopeful that people see a group of remarkable individuals who are trying to figure out how to be more faithful. I am hopeful that people see sinners and saints, and people who are working towards the latter. And, I am hopeful that people see a congregation filled with individuals who are more concerned about God's needs and desires than they are the church's needs and desires - that we focus our time and our attention on what is happening outside the doors of the church instead of inside.
Everything communicates.
God, forgive me for not always communicating your love and grace. Forgive me for coming up with names for some of the people around me that are outside of what you call them - beloved children of yours who are made in your image. Forgive me for preaching the Gospel with my words more often than with my life. Help me to communicate better your message of hope and salvation. Help me to be a better ambassador of your Son who preached good news to the poor, release to the captives and recovery of site to the blind. Amen.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Front Page News
Last week, I opened my newspaper. It was Wednesday - one of my favorite days to open the newspaper pack because of the store ads. But this Wednesday was a little different. When I opened the paper, I found something a little unusual on the front page of The Washington Post. The front page had pictures of the usual suspects - Senator Obama and Senator Clinton. John Edwards was photographed beneath them. And then, at the very bottom of the front page, there was a picture of me in front of the church's office trailer and construction project, along with an article on churches that are developing their property.
I have been in the newspaper several times since arriving at Mount Vernon Place. Never, however, have I been on the front page. Needless to say, it was an exciting day - a day on which I bought newspapers at 7-11, Starbucks, Dunkin' Donuts and CVS before dropping lots of quarters and dimes into several newspaper machines around the city. I also heard from a lot of people last Wednesday - people I have not heard from in a long time. It was great. I loved it! I loved it until one night this week.
On Sunday evening I was leaving the church. It had been a long day, and the sun was starting to set. I was walking through a small park in front of the church when a man stopped me. The man is someone I see often. He often dwells in the neighborhood - sitting in this park or on the benches outside the place where we are currently worshipping. He always has something to say - though he has not and will not tell me his name. Instead, he comments on what I am wearing or what I am doing. This time he said, "Front page news, huh?" He then proceeded to ask how a church could ever spend so much money when there are so many people just like him - people who are homeless and living in the streets. "What are you going to do for me?"
His question haunts me.
I think often of the endowment that could have been created with the money we are spending on the restoration of the church and the building of another space. It is a huge amount of money.
Still, I get excited every time I go inside the church and see the work that is being done. I think often about all of the amazing ministries that will take place inside the building. I imagine lots of people coming together for a meal or a cup of coffee. I visualize people's lives being transformed through small groups and Bible studies. I think of the different kinds of worship we can have - in a small chapel, a huge sanctuary, a theatre, and a fellowship hall. It is going to be fantastic space - space that will enable people to celebrate God's presence, grow in faith, connect with one another, serve the community and share the good news. I cannot wait!
I also cannot stop asking the question, "What are we going to do for him?"
I have been in the newspaper several times since arriving at Mount Vernon Place. Never, however, have I been on the front page. Needless to say, it was an exciting day - a day on which I bought newspapers at 7-11, Starbucks, Dunkin' Donuts and CVS before dropping lots of quarters and dimes into several newspaper machines around the city. I also heard from a lot of people last Wednesday - people I have not heard from in a long time. It was great. I loved it! I loved it until one night this week.
On Sunday evening I was leaving the church. It had been a long day, and the sun was starting to set. I was walking through a small park in front of the church when a man stopped me. The man is someone I see often. He often dwells in the neighborhood - sitting in this park or on the benches outside the place where we are currently worshipping. He always has something to say - though he has not and will not tell me his name. Instead, he comments on what I am wearing or what I am doing. This time he said, "Front page news, huh?" He then proceeded to ask how a church could ever spend so much money when there are so many people just like him - people who are homeless and living in the streets. "What are you going to do for me?"
His question haunts me.
I think often of the endowment that could have been created with the money we are spending on the restoration of the church and the building of another space. It is a huge amount of money.
Still, I get excited every time I go inside the church and see the work that is being done. I think often about all of the amazing ministries that will take place inside the building. I imagine lots of people coming together for a meal or a cup of coffee. I visualize people's lives being transformed through small groups and Bible studies. I think of the different kinds of worship we can have - in a small chapel, a huge sanctuary, a theatre, and a fellowship hall. It is going to be fantastic space - space that will enable people to celebrate God's presence, grow in faith, connect with one another, serve the community and share the good news. I cannot wait!
I also cannot stop asking the question, "What are we going to do for him?"
Friday, November 09, 2007
The Parent of a Rock Star
Last Wednesda
y night, on Halloween, Craig and I went to see The Bravery at the 9:30 Club in Washington. The Bravery is a band that formed within the last few years, and they have become very hot. Faces of the band members have appeared on the cover of magazines throughout the world. Their songs can be heard on several television and radio commercials. They have two albums for sale. And, they have performed on several of the late night television talk shows.
y night, on Halloween, Craig and I went to see The Bravery at the 9:30 Club in Washington. The Bravery is a band that formed within the last few years, and they have become very hot. Faces of the band members have appeared on the cover of magazines throughout the world. Their songs can be heard on several television and radio commercials. They have two albums for sale. And, they have performed on several of the late night television talk shows. It was my first Bravery concert. While I have been invited to see the band several times, this night is the first night my schedule permitted me to go. I now wonder why I waited so long.
It was a great concert. The band members are fabulous entertainers and know how to work the audience. While the sound level was loud enough to cause my ears to ring, the music was good. It was very good. Yet, no matter how good the music was, the best part of the concert was watching two of the individuals standing next to me.
The mother of o
ne of the band members is a member of the church where I am a pastor. Abbie sings in our choir, and Abbie is the one who taught her son, the lead singer, to sing. We have heard a lot about the band as part of the regular "joys and concerns" time that proceeds our prayer time on Sunday mornings. As a congregation, we have prayed for safety on their travels, for wisdom as they make big decisions, and we have praised God for their success. However, I never realized the impact this child is having on his parents until I stood next to them at the concert.
ne of the band members is a member of the church where I am a pastor. Abbie sings in our choir, and Abbie is the one who taught her son, the lead singer, to sing. We have heard a lot about the band as part of the regular "joys and concerns" time that proceeds our prayer time on Sunday mornings. As a congregation, we have prayed for safety on their travels, for wisdom as they make big decisions, and we have praised God for their success. However, I never realized the impact this child is having on his parents until I stood next to them at the concert.The parents took absolute delight in their son. They sang along the words of his songs. They danced when he danced. Abbie even waved at one point to her son during the concert, her son waved back, and Abbie remarked, "He waved at me" just as a 16-year-old fan would do. Abbie reacted to the crowd filled with many people who are clearly fans of the band. Abbie and her husband were mesmerized by watching their son perform - by watching their son do what he loves to do.
At some points during the concert, the words spoken from the mouth of the son were not the words a parent loves to hear. When this happened, Abbie covered her mouth as if to imply, "Oh my." But when the band started to play again, she would become overtaken with delight once more.
I keep thinking about Abbie and the concert. And, I wonder if this is how God responds to us.
God created us. God is both our mother and our father. God knows everything about us and loves us. God keeps an eye on us and longs to see us doing what we do best. God longs to see us using the gifts that God has given to us. And, I wonder if there are times when God is dancing right along with our dance in life - when God is smiling down upon all that we do. I also wonder if there are times when God responds, "Oh my" to our words or our actions. Yet, no matter what causes the "oh my," God keeps on loving us, keeps on supporting us, keeps on desiring to be with us - to wave back at us.
Thank you, God, for loving us.
The pictures posted here were downloaded from flickr.com. They are not my pictures but were rather taken at a concert in London.
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