The Contemplative Life

Two weeks later, I am still thinking a lot about my time at the monastery. A trip to the Washington National Cathedral this weekend brought forth this deep thirst for the holy again as I perused the bookshelves in the store, looking through books about this holy longing. I then visited the Botanical gardens where the orchids - all kinds of orchids - brought forth reminders of the gift of new life that is emerging all around us.

I could not help but to praise God.

I long for the contemplative life.

I long for more time with God.

In my quest for the holy, I opened a book this morning that I purchased at the abbey's bookstore, "Bridges to Contemplative Living: with Thomas Merton: Two: Becoming Who You Already Are." The book is designed to be used in a small group study, and I can imagine the power of its words in such a place. For now, I am journeying through it on my own.

The book includes words from a Psalmist, words from Merton, and words from another source. Today's "another voice" is Anthony DeMello who writes:

I imagine that today I am to die. I ask for time to be alone and write down for my friends a sort of testament for which the points that follow could serve as chapter titles.

DeMello then provides the following outline-

1. These things I have loved in life (things I tasted, looked at, smelled, heard, touched):
2. These experiences I have cherished:
3. These ideas have brought me liberation:
4. These beliefs I have outgrown:
5. These convictions I have lived by:
6. These are the things I have lived for:
7. These insights I have gained in the school of life:
8. These risks I took, there dangers I have courted:
9. These sufferings have seasoned me:
10. These lessons life has taught me:
11. These influences have shaped my life (persons, occupations, books, events):
12. These scripture texts have lit my path:
13. These things I regret about my life:
14. These are my life's achievements:
15. These persons are enshrined within my heart:
16. These are my unfulfilled desires:

I am going to start writing my responses. Perhaps I'll share a few.

What are your responses?

A Holy, Holy Week

Last week was the most amazing Holy Week I have ever had. I continue to be awed and amazed by all of the ways in which God showed up - the resurrected Christ who stands in our midst, calling us by name. As I reflect back upon the week, I am reminded of many things that stand out, making it very distinct and special.

Last week, I prayerfully wrote three sermons. Starting with the task on Monday and finishing by Thursday afternoon, I wrote sermons for Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Easter. I diligently searched the texts, but I also prayed the texts. This work was focused work because I told people what was important to me. I did not do anything building related last week. I refused to meet with anyone on the property development or building detail. Instead, I focused fully and abundantly on being a pastor.

I now wonder how many other weeks during the year need to be spent without meetings on the building but only things that are necessary - only things that give life - visits to the shut-ins, prayers at bedsides, personal notes written for encouragement, lots of study, lots of prayer, lots of sermon preparation. Why is it that we pastors allow ourselves to get so distracted on things that were never mentioned when the Bishop laid her hands on us, ordaining us to a ministry of Word, service, sacrament and order?

On Thursday evening, I preached at Mount Olive Baptist Church, the church of one of my colleagues in the Doctor of Ministry program at Wesley. Mount Olive is a large, African American Baptist Church in Arlington, and this congregation provided me with the most amazing preaching experiencing I have ever had. I am so thankful.

On Friday, I gathered with individuals from the downtown community at nearby Asbury United Methodist Church for the Seven Last Words of Christ service. As always, it was a blessing to share in this sacred space on this most sacred of days.

On Sunday, we had a glorious Easter celebration at Mount Vernon Place with the largest crowd of people that I have seen in my nearly three years at Mount Vernon Place. Last year, we let go of some of the things we always do - like passing the peace and asking people to share their joys and their concerns - in order to save time on Easter. But this year, we did what we always do - we tried our best to faithfully be the Body of Christ - an authentic community of faith. I hope and pray that all who came were blessed.

As I look back upon last week, the time that stands out to me more than any other is Maundy Thursday. I keep thinking about the mandate Jesus gave to us on the night before he was crucified. On this night, Jesus got down on his feet and washed the feet of his disciples. On this night, Jesus wanted to teach the disciples what people in the church - what his followers should do - what kind of love they should embody - so Jesus washed feet - on his knees. The mandate given to us by Jesus is that we should love one another as Christ has loved us - serving one another as Christ has served us.

Can you imagine a church filled with people on their knees?
Can you imagine a church filled with individuals who want to serve like Christ?
Can you imagine a church filled with men and women who are willing to wash feet - to wash the dirtiest part of a person's body?
Can you imagine what it might look like if we really lived this mandate?

As I sit in the construction trailer where my office is now located, my desk vibrating because of the machinery that is working on our church building just outside, I keep thinking about everything that could happen in that building.

We will have showers. Who will we wash?
We will have a kitchen. Who will we feed?
We will have a nursery. Whose children will we welcome?
We will have a sanctuary with lots and lots of doors. How wide will we open them?

"This is my commandment," Jesus says, "that you love one another as I have loved you."

Come to the Easter Party!

I think on Easter morning we should throw confetti in church!

No?

What about a little fanfare?

A deafening drum roll?

A three minute standing ovation?

What?

Have we had the drums beaten out of us, that we in the celebrative community can’t really get excited about God’s aliveness

About God’s love given to us unconditionally?

Have we given Easter to the lily bearers, the bunny rabbits,the patent leather shoes?

Let’s face it: We live as though we don’t believe in Easter.
We’re the crowd- easily swayed, easily scared,easily calling for blood.

We’re the good church people who can’t believe Jesus meant love one another-

Not all the one anothers, not drug addicts and criminals.

We hate injustice when it’s injustice towards us.

We love mercy when it’s mercy for us.

We walk humbly with our God when it’s convenient.

We’re babe believers who resist the resurrection;

We’re Christmas Christians who are very good at celebrating Christ’s birth.

We can cling to the babe.

We’re even Crucifixion Christians, agonizing, sympathizing,relating to the hero on the cross.

We can rock a baby; we can weep for a Dead Man;

But what can we do with a 33-year old who won’t let the story end?
Easter scares us

because we’re the people who can’t believe that God gives us abundant life.

We think we have to earn it.

In our pull-yourself-up-by-your-own-bootstraps society

It’s hard to remember that God doesn’t buy the self-made person.

So we in the church spend our lives showing God

What good people we are,

What achievers we are,

How much we deserve God’s love.

We want to pay our own way but Easter says it’s already been paid!!
Easter says, no matter how prodigal, we can go home again!!

So come to the Easter party!!

Let’s celebrate the amazing grace that in Christ’s resurrection

We are still loved even at our most outrageous.

The Lord has given us the music, all we need to do is dance!

Come to the Easter party!!
© Ann Weems in “Reaching For Rainbows”

More Wisdom from Brother Mark

This entry is the fourth entry about my time at Holy Cross Abbey last week. You may want to start at the first one if you are reading for the first time and then read up instead of reading down.

Brother Mark is 89 years old. He was a practicing physician prior to entering the monastery, and he still has an active medical license. He is funny. He smiles often. He laughs at his own jokes. And, his wisdom continues to inspire me as I think about my spiritual life and my vocation as a pastor.

After teaching me about the five kinds of prayer, Brother Mark proceeded to tell me what the three S's stand for that he had written on the piece of paper. "The first S is for 'spiritual reading.' You need to be reaching as much scripture and theology as possible," he explained.

"The next S is for 'sacraments.' I won't get into that with you, you're a pastor, after all," he said.

And then he said, "The final S is for self denial." It is here where a rich lesson took hold of me.

Brother Mark's words on self denial are life giving. He quoted a saint who said, "Every act of pure obedience is an act of pure adoration." He then said that we must deny ourselves for the sake of something greater than ourselves.

"Do you know what the definition is of a professional?" Brother Mark asked. "No," I responded.

"A professional is someone who does their work well regardless of the circumstances. Look at Tiger Woods. Tiger Woods plays golf well whether it is raining or the sun is shining. He plays golf well at all times because this is his profession." Brother Mark then continued, "Do I want to get up every morning at 3:00 in order to be in the chapel by 3:30? No, damn it. But I do it because this is my profession. I am a professional."

I wonder how many times I have complained about something that is part of my profession of pastor. I wonder how many times I have not done something to the best of my ability - creating the liturgy, visiting an older adult, praying, preaching, or teaching - because I did not feel like it that day.

I am a professional. I am a professional pastor. Whatever I am called to do this day - tend the sick, write the Easter sermon, respond to some emails, pray for people who are hurting, be interrupted countless times, look at the recent financial statement, think about next year's student intern, talk with our administrative assistant, proofread the bulletin one more time - I need to do it well. I need to do it with thanks. This is my profession.

And, if I deny myself of what I would really like to do or how I am really feeling - then something amazing might happen. If I deny myself of some extra sleep or extra time surfing the Internet, then more people might be blessed when I try to faithfully interpret a Biblical text on Maundy Thursday, Good Friday or Easter Morning. If I let go of a little of myself, then quite possibly, this entire church might be blessed in some way.

Let it be so for me and all who gather in this place on Easter morning!

Brother Mark

I went to Holy Cross to find God again. I went seeking an encounter with the Holy One. I wanted to feel God in a tangible way and to fall in love with God again.

The mountains provided my initial introduction to God's majesty and power. I could not help but to recite the words of the Psalmist over and over again, "I lift up my eyes to the hills." The glorious sunsets made me want to linger outside each evening as the heavens told the glory of the Lord. I could see God in this place, away from the hustle, bustle, traffic and crowded streets of Washington. Still, I knew that I needed to work harder to take part of it back with me. I knew that I wanted more spiritual depth - a depth that would continue to find a lot of time for God upon my return. It is for this reason that I placed my name on the appointment schedule for time with one of the brothers.

My appointment was scheduled for 11:00 on Thursday morning. I went to the place where I was to meet the brother. The door was still closed. I paced back and forth for a little while. I went back to my room. I picked up a book. I went back to the library. It was now 11:10, and the door was still shut. "Why is he keeping me waiting?" I asked myself. I then got up from my chair, walked over to the bulletin board and crossed my name off the schedule. My return to the room did not last long, however, as I found myself going back down the hall to the room where I was to meet the brother. Finally, the door opened at 11:15, and I went in.

"My name is M - A - R - K," the brother told me. "Now what can I do for you?" he asked. We set down, and I asked, "Will you please tell me about your call to this place?" I thought that if he told me about his call, I would hear about how his heart longeth after God - about how God is so alive in his life, and that I would then be able to capture some of this passion.

Brother Mark looked at me with a perplexed look on his face. "What are you, a reporter?" he asked. "No," I responded. "I am simply an exhausted pastor who is having a hard time making space for God in my everyday life. I desperately need to be refocused," I said.

"Oh," he said. "Now I understand what you are looking for." With these words, Brother Mark took a pad of paper from the bookshelf next to him and started to write four letters. He then handed it back to me. I glanced at the paper which read:

P


S


S


S

Brother Mark then said, "Now, start taking notes." With that, Brother Mark started to tell me how I could find more of God.

"P is for prayer. There are several different kinds of prayer," he said. He then said, "Please draw 5 lines. The first kind of prayer is thanksgiving. This one is rather easy, especially here. I see a glorious sunset, and I say thanks. I see the mountains, and I say thanks. I also say thanks when I see the ocean from time to time.

The next line is for reparation. This is a reactive kind of prayer. One of our brothers goes through the newspaper each day, looking for people to pray for. He seeks to make reparations for these people through our prayers.

The next line is for adoration. This one is rather simple.

The next one is for petition. We pray for people and situations here all of the time. We petition God on their behalf.

The final line is for meditation. I encourage you to set in your room for 20 minutes each morning and 20 minutes each night. I want you to sit on the floor and cross your legs. Close your eyes and say over and over again, 'I love you, Lord or 'Jesus I love you.'" Brother Mark then continued to tell me how his former Abbot, Thomas Keating, taught him this method. "You have to make room for God - to adore God. And, don't always expect God to show up, just keep praying," Brother Mark said. "You must spend 20 minutes doing this twice a day."

"All of these principles are like plowing the field. You never know when something might be successful - when something might sprout, but we keep plowing," brother Mark told me.

I have yet to set aside 20 minutes, two times a day for mediation. I can imagine such a life, of course. For now, I am trying hard to offer my thanks over and over again, to make reparations for myself and the world, to adore God, and to pray for others.

I can't wait to tell you what else Brother Mark taught me.

Almost Empty

Each month, I gather with other clergy members from this annual conference for what is called "Discipler Group." We gather to talk about how best we can lead our churches to celebrate in worship, connect as one, serve like Christ, develop as Disciples and share our faith. There are times when the gatherings are very rich and beneficial. Like anything, there are other times when I would rather spend my Tuesday morning somewhere else. One of the best things about the gathering is the individuals who I get to see on the first Tuesday of each month.

When we met for the first time this fall, our group discerned how best we would covenant with one another for this journey. One of the things that became important for us was to create space where there was no room for B.S. - but where we needed to be ourselves - to name everything that was happening in our lives - to bring it all to the table. We talked about how if we are trying to create authentic community in our own congregations, then we, too, needed to be authentic with each other. This desire to be authentic pushes and probes us in different ways - typically with difficult questions.

At the end of our time together on the first Tuesday of this month, our guide (who is our District Superintendent) asked a question, "Now, what is it that you are not saying?"

We had been talking about where we found ourselves in the middle of Lent, what was happening in our lives, and how we were growing. The guide continued, "What is it that no one knows yet?" The question pierced me, and I found myself opening my mouth.

I am spiritually dry. I have not had a regular prayer time or devotional time in months. I am thrilled by what is happening at the church, but I am exhausted. I yearn for time with God.

I then continued, "You know, it is so easy to say that we are pastors. We tell others that we are pastors, and people automatically assume that we are close to God. We stand up and pray in the midst of the congregation each Sunday, and people assume that we pray all of the time. But, I am having a hard time balancing it all with the development and the time it takes, along with everything else I need to do."

I was exhausted. It had been months since I had experienced a real Sabbath. It had been weeks since a church member did not call me on my Sabbath - on a Friday to ask questions that could have waited until Sunday (Why is it that people cannot understand that pastors, more than anyone else, desperately need a day away from the church and the people of the church?). It had been months since I had taken a 24-hour break from checking my email. I could not remember the last time I spent a Friday resting, worshipping and seeking renewal.

And so, I went to the Abbey - the week before Easter. I went to the Abbey to find myself again - to discover a life of prayer. I went, telling my congregation to not call me but to call the person on call. I went, and God pulled me back one more time. The Good Shepherd lifted me up, put me around his shoulders, and carried me back into his fold.

68.2 Miles

Early Monday morning I was with a group of clergy who had met to continue planning the opening worship service for the Baltimore Washington Annual Conference. I explained to them how I could meet with them that day but how I could not attend the meeting on the following afternoon because I would be on retreat.

"You are going on retreat the week before Easter?" one of my colleagues asked.

"Yes, I am going away this week. Everything is going to be crazy after Easter," I explained. "Once Easter is over, everything needs to be calculated to prepare us for our move back into the historic church."

My rationalization made sense to me. There is so much to do after Easter. There is so much to discern, to pray about, to think about and to prepare for as we think about moving the congregation from rented space to our permanent home after a very expensive and extravagant renovation. Still, there was more to the story. The real truth would come out in the days ahead.

The idea came up at a recent meeting of the Staff Parish Relations Committee. With new members participating in their first meeting as a committee member, I was explaining to the group that their chief purpose was not to respond to problems that come up with the pastor or staff. Rather, their chief purpose as a committee is to support the pastor, the staff and their families. With this explanation, one of the new members on the committee asked a question, "What are we doing to take care of our pastor?"

What are we doing to take care of our pastor?

It was a refreshing question to hear. I had not heard anyone ask it before.

The committee members continued to talk, with the older members adding information about vacation and continuing education. This newcomer added something else, "But our pastor is getting married. Our pastor is working hard. What are we doing to make sure she is taken care of - that she is taking care of herself?" She then continued, "I think we should require that she find time for a spiritual retreat between now and her wedding. We need to make sure that she goes away and takes care of herself."

At this point, I started to pinch myself. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. After some discussion about how I already had time off for vacation and continuing education, followed by an explanation of what a spiritual retreat is, the committee agreed that I needed to go away.

On Tuesday morning, I drove 68.2 miles to Holy Cross Abbey in Berryville, Virginia. It took me just over one hour to arrive at a place described by one of the other retreatants as "just an inch or two below heaven."

And, I cannot wait to tell you more about what I discovered this week.

What a difference 68.2 miles can make.

Finding a Familiar Tune

We resurrected another ministry at Mount Vernon Place last week when women from our church gathered for lunch. The men in our congregation have an abundant, life-giving gathering every other Saturday morning when they gather for fellowship and a discussion on discipleship at a nearby Starbucks. The women gathered when we were in our old building. However, with the loss of parking, this ministry was also at a loss.

Thanks to the passion and energy of several new members at Mount Vernon Place, our women met again last Saturday. We gathered not in downtown Washington, but at the favorite restaurant of one of our members, the most amazing 95-year-old that I have ever met. There was plenty of parking. There was a lot of laughter. And, there was a great mix of longtime members and newcomers to the church. It was a blessing.

Finding a blend between what is old and what is new is not always easy to find. I am told that some of our longtime members sometimes feel left out. I have been criticized often for not asking the longtime members what they want or don't want at the church. Still, I recognize that the most life-giving moments we have as a congregation are the times when everyone is present - the twenty-somethings and the ninety-somethings, the people who can tell you what has happened in the last year at Mount Vernon Place and the people who can tell you what has happened in the last sixty years at Mount Vernon Place. One of the best things about our congregation is its beautiful mix - its diversity - of people.

I have been reading a lot about church transitions lately and how best to provide leadership in times like this. I was struck by something that Barbara Lundblad writes about in her book, Transforming the Stone. She writes:

At a recent Lutheran churchwide assembly, a bishop came to the microphone at the closing session. He hadn't come to make an amendment or call for a vote, but to ask for a point of personal privilege: "Could we all rise and join in singing 'A Mighty Fortress Is Our God?' His request didn't come after a particularly division session, but out of a deep personal longing. During that assembly, we had sung in Spanish and clapped the rhythms of South African freedom songs, and we had heard new images for God lifted up in prayers. The bishop hadn't heard his heritage lifted up in prayers. The bishop hadn't heard his heritage lifted up or celebrated in ten days of meetings. He wanted us to sing a song he knew before going home.

No doubt some will say, 'That's too bad! We've spent fifteen hundred years singing his songs!' Many at that assembly delighted in the Pentecost diversity of language and music while others, like the bishop, felt the church was moving on without them.

Lundblad continues to ask how we can make sure that we remember everyone in our preaching - those who are new and those who feel estranged in the church of their birth, the prodigal son and the older brother standing in anger, everyone.

We are trying hard to strike this balance at Mount Vernon Place. We are seeking to honor the past while embracing the future. Who knew this balance would be so hard to find! And still, it is happening, slowly but surely. And may I add one more thing - the beer bottle in the middle of the table and the martini glass at the end of the table do not belong to any of the "younger" women!

A Slippery Church

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!

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.

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.

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.

"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.

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.

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.

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 question remains: How will we use the buildings to be a gift to others? The possibilities are endless.

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.

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!

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.

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 become 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.