The Power of Honesty

I have just returned from my second 'retreat' as a member of our Conference's Board of Ordained Ministry.  I spent two days this week interviewing candidates for ordination and one morning discussing and voting on the candidates.  As a result, I have been, once again, consumed with thoughts on how best to form the next generation of clergy leadership.  How is it that we can cultivate calls to ministry within the best and brightest in our congregations?  How is it that we encourage young people with significant gifts to not only consider using their minds to heal people in a doctor's office or influence policy with a law degree, but to be a healing agent of change through pastoral ministry - by leading a congregation and exposing people to the transformational power of Jesus Christ.

When I returned home, I was sharing some thoughts with one of my clergy colleagues.  Both of us have high hopes for the church.  We set the bar high for ourselves and those around us.  We believe with all our hearts that the Gospel still has the power to change and transform lives. And, we cannot stand mediocrity masquerading as faithfulness in our churches.

When I shared with her glimpses of my week along with probing questions about how we can improve this process and better shape individuals preparing for ministry, my colleague shared with me some thoughts on her role as a mentor for a seminary student.

She wrote, "He is the nicest guy in the world and a very willing and hard worker when it comes to setting up tables, etc, but a minister?  I just cannot see it!  And I'm having this awful moral dilemma - because I'm his supervisor.  Do I tell him, 'You have no emotional expression.  You're paralyzed by anxiety which renders you incapable of making a decision.  You are a tedious and boring worship leader.  Your sermon presentation is dreadful.  You lack the most basic leadership skills.  You do not take initiative.  You are not creative.  You have tunnel vision and cannot think outside the bold line.'  Do I write this in my final evaluation?"

What is the role of a teaching congregation?  How honest are we supposed to be with the students we are privileged to work alongside of, helping to shape with practical experiences that go alongside of their classroom work?  Is it better to tell the truth, the whole truth, or should we pat someone on the back, "Saying good job," trusting that somehow they will figure out their need to improve - that someone else will point out the deficiencies?  And, what is the role of our screening bodies - our District Committees on Ordained Ministry and Conference Boards?  Even more, what is the role of our seminaries?  Should we be accepting any warm body because we have country churches lacking pastors or seminary budgets that will fall short if everyone is not accepted?

I am aware - fully aware - that there are people in seminary who should never be pastors.  I am also fully aware that there are people serving our churches who should not be pastors.  And, I take all of this a little personally because neither of my parents are United Methodists anymore.  While both were raised in the United Methodist Church - my mother was the daughter of a United Methodist minister - both of them have left the church in their middle ages.  And, my mother left the church just a couple years ago because of a lack of clergy leadership.  The pastor of her local United Methodist Church worshipped the congregation down from 120 to 80 to 50 to now less than 40 people.  The local United Methodist pastor proudly proclaimed how she does not believe in the resurrection.  The local United Methodist pastor should have never - NEVER - been ordained.

Our churches are declining.  Many of them are almost dead.  Thousands of people are unchurched or dechurched.  It is going to take exceptional leadership - creative leadership that thinks outside the box - to change the current sinking ship.

What is our role?  How honest are we to be?  What is the definition of a good pastor?

What do you expect in your pastor?

Please note that this pastor values your honesty.  How is it that I can be better?  Where am I not meeting the bar?

Quite the Contrast

An article on the front page of today's Metro section reads, "D.C. school officials have registered about 462 homeless students this year, twice as many as the same time last year.  Schools in Fairfax County, one of the country's most affluent areas, counted 1,314 homeless students early last month, up 20 percent from the same period last year." (Maria Glod, "Schools Face Sharp Rise in Homeless Students," in the Washington Post, Sunday, February 8, 2009, C1.)

The article shakes me to the core of my being.  I cannot imagine trying to learn as an elementary school student and at the same time not knowing where I would sleep that night.  I cannot imagine being a mother trying to make ends meet without a place to put my child to bed at night.

As I pondered the sadness in the article, I was reminded of Millard Fuller who passed away last week.  Millard once said, "'There are sufficient resources in the world for the needs of everybody but not enough for the greed of even a significant minority" (Frances Romero in Time, February 16, 2009, 15).

Almighty God, forgive us.  Help us.  Fix us.  Amen.

Jeans in Church

I'm thinking of wearing jeans to church tomorrow.  I know that I won't, but I am tempted to trade my normal suit and heals for jeans and Uggs - for just one day.  

The congregation has been invited to come casual tomorrow and then stay after worship for a couple of hours, helping our Trustees clean out a room that has been filled with music, moving the music to the 4th floor where it belongs.  At the same time, we will be letting go of some of the furniture that was damaged in the move or no longer needed.  We have invited people, even encouraged people, to wear jeans to church.  And yet, I know that when some people wear jeans to church, other people complain.

Is this the way they dress during the week?

If they can wear a suit to the office all week, then why can't they wear a suit to church?

Would they wear that to their grandmother's church?

This, my friends, is not your grandmother's church.  Your grandmother's church is almost dead - or probably is dead - unless it has made some changes, adapting to the changing landscape of our communities and changing lifestyles of the people who live around us.

There is an article in today's Washington Post called "Bush White House Assails Obama."  The article is complete with a picture of President Obama and several of his staff members doing the God-forsaken thing of sitting in the Oval Office without their coats on.  It seems as though our new President and his staff work better without their suit jackets.  Dan Eggen, writer of the article writes, "And Andrew H. Card Jr., George W. Bush's first chief of staff, took Obama to task for allowing shirtsleeves and loose collars in the Oval Office - arguing that they are a clear departure from Bush's sterner sartorial rules."  Eggen quotes Card saying "'There should be a dress code of respect.'"

Now, I have to tell you that I believe in respect.  I believe that we are to respect our elders and also some time-honored tradition.  But, I also believe that people have a tendency to get all bent out of shape on ridiculous things - like young people wearing jeans to church and a young President not keeping his jacket on in the Oval Office.

I would much rather that the President roll up his sleeves and get to work on fixing the miserable mess our country is in right now.  I would much rather his staff wear what most suits their ability to work well.  I want the staff of the White House to be focused on fixing what is broken.  I want these individuals entrusted with power to think about the poor and not how to appear more powerful.  I don't want their energy consumed by how they should appear when they are in the West Wing or the Oval Office.

And, I want the doors of our church to be open to all - to those dressed like my grandmother dressed when she went to church and to those who do not own anything that nice.  I want the doors of our church to be wide open for those who appear to have it all together and those who appear to be falling apart.  I want the doors of our church wide open to those who wear ties and to those who wear sweatpants.  I want the doors of our church open to anyone who dares to come in - not matter what they wear or anything else!

Come on, people, let's focus on the big picture - both at the White House and in our houses of worship.

At Mount Vernon Place, you can wear whatever is most comfortable to you.  Come in what pleases you - come in whatever you want.

Maybe I'll wear jeans to church tomorrow.

Faithfulness

For the past several days, I have been amazed at the tax problems that have somehow surfaced before the Senate. First, it was Timothy Geithner who failed to pay $48,000 in Social Security and other taxes from 2001-04. The person who is now our Secretary of the Treasury - the one responsible for regulating financial issues for our country, did not know that he needed to pay estimated taxes while working for the International Monetary Fund!! Then, tax problems started to surface in the home of Tom and Linda Daschle. Over $100,000 was owed by Tom Daschle. The person spent many, many years in the Senate but did not realize that a car and a driver were more than gifts. While Geithner was confirmed, former Senator Daschle backed out today. Daschle withdrew his name from consideration as the next Secretary of Health and Human Services, not wanting to be a distraction to President Obama.

One man is confirmed in the midst of his many mistakes. The other man backs down, withdraws his name from consideration.

One man makes it through. The other one seems to acknowledge that there are standards - high standards - for the President's Cabinet.

For the last week, many of my thoughts have been consumed by the subject of clergy leadership. I spent three years as a student at Duke Divinity School and then four years as an administrator at the school. For seven years, I was consumed by the school's literature about "excellence in ministry." While working as the Director of Admissions, I labored hard to increase our number of applicants, pulling the acceptance rate down from 90%+ to 50%. We set new standards. Even though one had a 3.8 GPA, they might not necessarily get into the school. Even though one had a clear call to ministry and great letters of recommendation, they might not be accepted. We tried to recruit the best of the best, making the incoming classes as strong as possible, hoping that these individuals would go out and transform the church and the world. It was a privilege to serve in this capacity. But, my time at Duke forced my standards pretty high - very high.

Craig Dykstra at the Lilly Endowment talks a lot about how much of our clergy leadership is "mediocrity masquerading as faithfulness." I believe Dykstra's statement is right on. More of our churches are declining instead of growing. Nearly half of our United Methodist Church's did not take in a single new member by profession of faith last year - there was not one new person who came to the faith in 50% of our churches. And yet, we keep on paying these pastors, even guaranteeing them an appointment for life.

After sitting through my first week of interviews as part of my Conference's Board of Ordained Ministry last week, I keep thinking about mediocrity and faithfulness, excellence and ministry. I keep thinking about how we can call forth the best of the best - how we can identify gifted people for ministry while in high school or college, how we can raise our standards, how we can make sure that every clergy person is offering their best - their very best. I keep thinking about how some people need to be stopped and others need to be encouraged.

I'm not sure that anyone who fails to pay nearly $50,000 in taxes should ever be our Secretary of the Treasury. I believe that Daschle did the right thing by stepping down.

There are some weeks when people in my church would be appalled at how little time I spend with God. There are other weeks when I might appear to be the picture of faithfulness. There have been some moments when I have been able to perfectly articulate my theology and other weeks when I was not sure how God really works. There are some days when I can tell you exactly what it takes to turn around a dying church and other weeks when I'd rather be reading the employment ads in the Washington Post. There are times when I offer my best and other times when I offer something far from my best.

I wonder how many people we have ordained who have something like a $50,000 tax payment owed. I wonder how many other people have gracefully stepped down - even though they had significant gifts that could be used in our church. I wonder if our process of calling forth and examining individuals is working like the process did for Geithner or like it did for Daschle.

What are the standards for clergy excellence? Clergy leadership? What do you expect from your pastor? Have you seen mediocrity masquerading as faithfulness or have you seen faithfulness - real, transforming faithfulness?

Do Unto Others

Mount Vernon Place UMC, the church I serve in Washington, has long been a staple in ministries of mercy and justice in Washington. The church has had a 'Social Concerns Commission' almost since its inception. At one time, this particular commission had some six subcommittees, one to work with prison ministries, one to work with the homeless, one to work on poverty, etc. Several decades ago, the church owned a camp - not for members of our church - but for children in our community who would otherwise not be able to go to camp. The church used to have several people on staff who provided a variety of social services. This church has long been the Body of Christ - a body of people who have been faithfully trying to discern how best to be Christ's hands, heart and feet in Washington.

Yesterday, under the leadership of two very passionate and capable individuals, our Serve Ministry Team met for the first time in 2009. We had 64 people in worship yesterday. Twenty - twenty! - of these individuals gave some time on Superbowl Sunday to gather after worship in order to talk about what service means and where we might be called as a congregation to serve in this city, this nation and this world.

The gathering started by people responding to the question, "What does serve mean to you?" Here are some of the responses people offered:

• transcending self-interest
• interacting with others so that all are accepted
• helping others to have a more normal life
• working for the restoration of God's kingdom on earth
• helping others to live the life God intended for them
• bringing the Kingdom of God to earth

Of the twenty people present, 14 are members of the church and six were visitors. Of the six visitors, one lives in a women's shelter. She knows firsthand the things that are helpful and the things that are not helpful. We learned so much from her as we want to take warm fried chicken dinners to the shelter but what she really need is something to deal with a horrendous bedbug issue. We want to provide food - but what she really needs is full length mirror because of all the shelters where she has stayed, she has never been able to see her entire body in a mirror before leaving for a job interview. We want to provide food - but what really nourishes her are good books at the day center's library. We want to give her something, but what she really needs is people willing to work on her behalf, fighting for more affordable housing and sanitary conditions in the city's shelters in the meantime.

It was a remarkable gathering. It was as if I had been to church - as if the people were feeding me - pouring the Gospel down my throat - when they defined service to me and then shared what service really means.

Can you imagine what this world might look like if we were all trying to transcend self-interest?

I hope you'll join us on the first Sunday of every month, beginning at 1:00 in the afternoon, as we seek to discern what exactly this means for us.

On Second Thought

Psalm 65:5-12 and Mark 1:4-20
January 25, 2009
Mount Vernon Place UMC, Washington

They started arriving on Saturday, bringing with them bags of all shapes and sizes. A single mother who works at our United Methodist Committee on Relief and her teenage daughter from New York were the first to arrive. This duo was the most prepared, bringing with them not only sleeping bags but an air mattress, as well.

Next came a college student from Colorado and her friend. They secured a coveted ticket to the swearing in ceremony on Friday of last week and were desperate to find a warm surface on which they could lay their heads at night. They were delighted to see the theatre dressing room where they would be spending three nights.

A pastor from the Midwest arrived with a friend, checking into the children’s nursery where the floor had been cleared as much as possible.

On Monday, many more people started to ring the door bell of our church. A family of three arrived from, proudly sharing how there were United Methodists from New York. Joan had already shared when contacting our church how her parents were slaves in Puerto Rico, owned by the church. Joan, her husband, Gary, and their twenty-two year old son with Downs Syndrome just “had to be here” for the inauguration.

Four women who had contacted us many weeks ago then arrived. When we showed them where they would be staying, apologizing for only having a floor, one explained, “This is great. You should see where we slept after Hurricane Katrina.” These women were from New Orleans.

And then an unexpected pair of guests arrived. A woman and her twelve-year-old son walked in the door. They each carried two plastic grocery bags. They had arrived on a bus from New York City, sharing with me how they also had to be in the city. They came not knowing where they would stay, but they needed to be here. “Can we please stay?” After some deliberations with the volunteers on duty, they were escorted to a second dressing room in the downstairs hallway.

Guests from near and far – some prepared well and others ill-prepared. Some with remarkable stories that know well the pain of oppression and displacement and other individuals who know well the prize of privilege all descended upon our church, eager to be part of history in the making.

And if truth were to be told, there are some people who I was eager to welcome more than others. Some people had carefully made their plans far in advance. Some had taken the time to read our list of expectations, eager to help us take out the trash each day, helping us in our efforts to keep critters at bay. Some of our guests were well prepared. Others pushed me to question their judgment. “How is it that a mother can bring her child to a crowded city with nowhere to stay?” I asked over and over again. My initial thought was not to welcome everyone – even though we had vowed to participate in a weekend focused on not just hospitality – but on radical hospitality. I had to think a second time – listening for the voice of scripture and the voices of some of you who pushed me beyond my initial thoughts to the message that Christ would have me hear. On second thought, all who sought a place to stay were welcomed into this building last weekend.

On second thought – why is it that so much of our discipleship comes as a second thought? I yearn to keep the two greatest commandments – to love God with all that I have and all that I am while loving my neighbor as myself. And yet, there are so many times when I fail to act – when I fail to exhibit this love. Often, the ability to love comes not automatically – but after some time of pondering – on second thought.

And, as I read the words of the Psalmist that are recorded in today’s lectionary text, I wonder what it would mean for us to live a life like his? What would it mean for our faith to be a way of life – something that stands at the core of our being? How is it that we get to the place where we can say with the Psalmist, “For God alone my soul waits in silence, for my hope is from him. He alone is my rock and my salvation, my fortress; I shall not be shaken.”

For God alone.
For God alone my soul waits.
God alone is my rock and my salvation.

I can easily say that God is my rock and my salvation – but the word “alone” is what gets to me. God alone is my rock. God alone is my salvation. I yearn for this place – but this place seems so far away at times.

And then there is this call of the disciples. Each time I read the call of Simon, Andrew, James and John, I stand in awe of them. Mark tells us that Jesus comes to Galilee, proclaims a message about the good news of God and says that the kingdom of God is near. He asks people to repent and believe in the good news. We’re then quickly told how Jesus makes his way along the Sea of Galilee. He encounters fishermen in the midst of a busy day. Simon and Andrew are doing what they do best – fishing – for fish – and Jesus asks them to follow him so that they can fish for people. Mark says that they immediately leave their nets and follow Jesus. Simon and Andrew immediately – without thinking a second thought – leave the source of their livelihood and follow Jesus. The three men journey along the shore a little further, encountering James and John. Jesus calls them, and they do the same thing. James and John leave behind their boats, their father and the hired men and follow Jesus. They leave it all behind – without a second thought. They do exactly what Jesus asks them to do – without a second thought. Jesus calls. They let go of everything. They follow - without a second thought.

The disciples and the Psalmist both demonstrate in very real and powerful ways how faith is not a set of beliefs. Rather, faith is a condition. Faith is a way of life. In the words of Timothy Beach- Verhey, “The fundamental question of faith is not ‘What do you believe?’ but ‘Whom do you trust?’”[1] The Psalmist and the disciples have concluded that God is the only sensible way of orienting their lives. There is nothing else that can give them a strong motivation for living and loving.

It was an uncanny group of people who stayed in our church this past week. As I think about them – the hodge podge of people who showed up to stay at Mount Vernon Place, I wonder if there is anything else that could have possibly united this group of individuals other than the inauguration of our country’s first African American President. I ask the same question as I look at the countless photographs that have covered our newspapers, magazines and televisions this week. Hundreds of thousands of people were compelled to come to Washington because of what our nation did in electing an African American to the White House. Millions of other people are standing behind this man – waiting for him to perform miracles. Countless citizens around the world are putting so much faith in our new President, believing that he is capable of turning the tides of history, making the stock market rise and the value of our homes increase, improving our nation’s school systems and making sure everyone has access to affordable health care, enabling wars to stop and bringing Palestinians and Israelis together once and for all. It is almost as though we have never heard of hope before.

But how is it that we believe that one very charismatic person can take away all doom and gloom in this country while so often having such little faith in God – in the one who created the heavens and the earth, you and me – the one who causes the sun to rise each morning and set each night? We seem to believe that Barack Obama can solve every problem – even the protestors that are always at the Pentagon when I take the Metro have gone home, seemingly content that peace will prevail in a matter of no time.

But as Beach-Verhey explains, “The career that shows such promise, the children that seem so exceptional, the nation that appears so strong; they are like shifting sand, which offers no security, no permanent purchase.” Beach-Verhey continues to write something that we all know but seemingly have a hard time believing, “God is the only source of hope and peace for mortals. If life has any significance, it will be found in God. If our families, communities, nations, and churches have any worth, it will be located in God.”[2]

For God alone my soul waits in silence.
My hope is in God.
God alone is my rock.
God alone is my salvation.

But the Psalmist does not leave the prayer personal. Instead, the Psalmist goes from offering a personal explanation of who God is to him before turning to the people around him. In verse 8, the Psalmist begins to plead with those who will listen, asking others to put their trust in God, to pour out their hearts before God because God is a refuge for us. The faith the Psalmist has found is not a secret to be kept to oneself but a gift – a precious gift – that is to always be shared with others.

And Jesus makes it clear that this sharing of the good news is to continue. Jesus comes fishing for men. Jesus calls Simon, Andrew, James and John by name, extending to them an invitation that they do not refuse. They are caught by Jesus first, and as a result, they are asked to go and catch other people. Because they know they are caught – they know they must go and catch others – in the name of Jesus.

When Jesus calls our name, things are supposed to be different. We worship a God who loves to turn things upside down – one who constantly invites us to repent – to live a changed life. We worship a God who yearns to set us on a different path – who wants desperately to be our God – hoping that we will follow this God instead of making a political personality, a bank account, a rising star, or an achievable dream our god. Our God – our God alone wants to be our rock and our salvation. Our God wants our allegiance – desiring for us to drop whatever it is that is keeping us from following Christ as faithfully as we can. And, if we have found one who is, indeed, our rock and our salvation, then we should be so filled with joy that we cannot help but to go and share it – to go and tell others about the one who has captivated our attention, setting things right in our lives – not making things perfect, but providing us with a way to maneuver through the imperfection.

Millions of people are finding hope in a man named Barack. Millions of people see this one as the author of hope – but the hope provided by a president – no matter how visionary or different or charismatic the president might be – is only temporary.

Presidents cannot stop the earth from shaking. Only God can.
Presidents cannot heal brokenness. Only God can.
Presidents cannot offer steadfast hope when everything else seems to be falling apart. Only God can.
Presidents cannot make peace prevail. Only God can.

It is our business – the church’s business to share this hope that is found in God alone. We are called to tell others about a God who offers hope in good times and in bad times, in thick times and in thin times. This hope is our rock, our salvation, a firm foundation that cannot be shaken no matter how strong or how weak the economy or the housing market or the political landscape might be.

When people started to believe in Barack Obama, many of them got behind him completely. They spent Saturday mornings going door to door, knocking on the doors of strangers, hoping to find people whose minds they could change. The message of this candidate was this compelling – compelling enough that people did whatever they could to get this man elected to the highest office in the land.

We have a message, church. The message is so much more amazing than any promise we were told by a political candidate this fall.

“Follow me,” Jesus says. It’s time to fish for people.
And without a second thought, they left everything. They left everything, and followed him.

[1] Timothy Beach-Verhey, in Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary, Year B, Volume 1, Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2008, 274.
[2] Beach-Verhey, 274, 276.

A Prophetic Prayer for our President and our People

I was so inspired by the words that the Reverend Gene Robinson prayed at the opening of the Inauguration yesterday afternoon. I am also inspired by our president-elect who invited this child of God to pray for him and with him on this significant day. If only these prayers would be answered...

A Prayer for the Nation and Our Next President, Barack Obama

By The Rt. Rev. V. Gene Robinson, Episcopal Bishop of New Hampshire

Opening Inaugural EventLincoln Memorial, Washington, DC January 18, 2009

Welcome to Washington! The fun is about to begin, but first, please join me in pausing for a moment, to ask God’s blessing upon our nation and our next president.

O God of our many understandings, we pray that you will…

Bless us with tears – for a world in which over a billion people exist on less than a dollar a day, where young women from many lands are beaten and raped for wanting an education, and thousands die daily from malnutrition, malaria, and AIDS.

Bless us with anger – at discrimination, at home and abroad, against refugees and immigrants, women, people of color, gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people.

Bless us with discomfort – at the easy, simplistic “answers” we’ve preferred to hear from our politicians, instead of the truth, about ourselves and the world, which we need to face if we are going to rise to the challenges of the future.

Bless us with patience – and the knowledge that none of what ails us will be “fixed” anytime soon, and the understanding that our new president is a human being, not a messiah.

Bless us with humility – open to understanding that our own needs must always be balanced with those of the world.

Bless us with freedom from mere tolerance – replacing it with a genuine respect and warm embrace of our differences, and an understanding that in our diversity, we are stronger.

Bless us with compassion and generosity – remembering that every religion’s God judges us by the way we care for the most vulnerable in the human community, whether across town or across the world.

And God, we give you thanks for your child Barack, as he assumes the office of President of the United States.

Give him wisdom beyond his years, and inspire him with Lincoln’s reconciling leadership style, President Kennedy’s ability to enlist our best efforts, and Dr. King’s dream of a nation for ALL the people.

Give him a quiet heart, for our Ship of State needs a steady, calm captain in these times.

Give him stirring words, for we will need to be inspired and motivated to make the personal and common sacrifices necessary to facing the challenges ahead.

Make him color-blind, reminding him of his own words that under his leadership, there will be neither red nor blue states, but the United States.

Help him remember his own oppression as a minority, drawing on that experience of discrimination, that he might seek to change the lives of those who are still its victims.

Give him the strength to find family time and privacy, and help him remember that even though he is president, a father only gets one shot at his daughters’ childhoods.

And please, God, keep him safe. We know we ask too much of our presidents, and we’re asking FAR too much of this one. We know the risk he and his wife are taking for all of us, and we implore you, O good and great God, to keep him safe. Hold him in the palm of your hand – that he might do the work we have called him to do, that he might find joy in this impossible calling, and that in the end, he might lead us as a nation to a place of integrity, prosperity and peace.

AMEN.

Remembering Red

I truly believe that I was blessed with the best stepfather anyone could ever have.  As I prepare to go to Colorado to celebrate Red's life this weekend, I keep thinking of all of the things that made Red so special.

I remember the first time I ever met him.  He could have certainly tried to win me over.  He could have worked to charm my socks off by being insincere or too much.  But he instead walked in with his Wrangler jeans, cowboy hat and boots and gave me the biggest hug ever, treating me as though he had always known me.

I think about how he always referred to me as "the baby."  I am younger than his children and the youngest of two girls in my family.  To Red, I was always his baby.  When Craig and I were getting close to being engaged, Red always said he would simply go and sell a few bulls in order to pay for "my baby's wedding."

I think about how much Red loved life and those who journeyed alongside of him in this life.  He prided himself on never forgetting a name.  He was a coach at heart.  His vocation was coaching students - teaching them about livestock and how to judge livestock.  While his days at the college ended a long time ago, he was still coaching - still telling all who would listen about how their lives could be better - about how we could do something better.

I think about how much Red loved and admired my mom.  When my mom first wanted to run for mayor, Red said she probably shouldn't.  He knew she had the gifts and the leadership ability, but he could not stand the thought of her being criticized by people in the community.  He loved my mother with all that he had and all that he was.  Even today, my mother said how she might not wear black to the funeral on Saturday but instead bright colors because Red always commented on how great she looked in bright, flashy clothing.

And,  I think about how much Red loved us.  When it came time for me to buy my first house, Red was willing to help.  When it came time to move or apply for a new job, Red was eager to support me and encourage me.  When it came time to fall in love, Red could hardly wait to meet my match.

I praise God for Red.  I am so thankful for the 14 years of friendship we shared with him and the 9.5 years of marriage that he and my mother had.  As we prepare to go to Colorado, I pray that Saturday really will be a celebration - a celebration of this incredible life.

Thank you for your prayers and your support.

Christmas Eve Homily for Tonight - Into this Mess

Earlier this week, I received an email from the religion writer for the Washington Post. Normally, Michelle is busy writing December articles about church’s hosting live nativity scenes or a congregation’s annual Christmas coat drive. This year’s angle is different, however. This year, Michelle wanted to know about people in our congregation who are doing things differently this Christmas. She wanted to know about traditions coming to an end, money not being spent, or people celebrating Christmas differently due to the current state of affairs. The article dancing through her mind was more about darkness instead of light. It was more about what we don’t have instead of what we do have. This Christmas is different.

Normally at this time of year, my phone calls with my mother are some of the happiest calls all year. My mother loves Christmas. There are some years when she has had a Christmas tree in every room of the house. She carefully budgets for Christmas each year, making sure that she has money to buy everyone a gift. She goes out of her way to share Christmas cheer. But the phone call this morning ended with tears instead of joy. The store she owns on Main Street has sold 25% of what it had sold at this time last December. Instead of neighbors stopping in to say “Hello,” Hospice workers are coming in the house to check on her husband, making sure he is comfortable as he nears the end of his life. And, not all of the family is home this Christmas – it is the first Christmas in my entire life in which I have not seen my mother. This Christmas is different.

Some of us who gather here tonight are hurting. We, too, have experienced loss this year. We have lost a love one. We have lost a job. We have lost a portion of our salary or investments. We have lost some of our physical mobility or quality of life.

Others of us know people around us who are hurting. Christmas cards have been printed with messages of factories closing, the help fund at the church being depleted, people losing their jobs, and others losing their houses. It seems as though the pain is tangible – you can almost see it in the faces of some of the individuals. This Christmas is different.

But is it really all that different?

The more I examine the Christmas story found in scripture, the promises of a Messiah given to us in Isaiah, and the conditions into which this one was born, the more I realize how this Christmas, our Christmas in 2008, is a lot like the first Christmas.

The words given to us by the prophet Isaiah during the month of December are some of my favorite words in all of scripture. Isaiah has an uncanny ability of offering hope when everything seems hopeless. The community to whom Isaiah preaches is dominated by fear. Things are changing. The nation of Assyria has become a stronghold, clamping down on Judah, the northern kingdom of Israel. In a matter of no time, the kingdom will come tumbling down, making its occupants captives of a new king and very different kingdom. War is being waged. Families are being torn apart. Homes are being burnt to the ground. Lives of a few and the livelihood of many are coming to an end. Things are dark, dreary, messy.

But into this mess comes a word from the wilderness. Isaiah comes to the people walking in the darkness of change, anxiety, fear and uncertainty, telling them that all who are in darkness have seen a great light. A light is shining upon the land of deep darkness. Their burden is being eased as the bar across their shoulders is being broken. The soldiers trampling over the land are being stopped in their tracks as their clothing and boots are burned. The darkness is giving way to the light – the light that comes with a child promised long before the child was ever born.

Isaiah tells all who will listen that a child has been born for us. A son has been given to us. Authority rests upon his shoulders. He is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. This one is bringing about a new kind of kingdom. This one is coming into the mess and is turning the mess upside down. This one will rule with justice and righteousness.

But what about us?

What about we who gather here, acquainted with pain of our own or the pain of those we love?
We gather in the shadow of a window that for me tells it all. There was a baby born in the most humble of ways. All of the hotels were booked long ago. No friends or relatives were nearby. The only shelter to be found was a barn – a borrowed barn. The place on which to lay the baby once he was born was not a sterile bassinette covered with clean, white sheets. The only thing that could be found was a manger – a mechanism made for cattle; not a baby. But it was into this mess that Jesus, the Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, and Prince of Peace was born. He came into a mess – a literal mess – on the night he was born. And, he never forgot his humble beginnings.

He spent his entire life breaking into the messes of the world – into the messes created by people who had done everything wrong and little right. He cleaned up that mess. As Titus tells us, he gave himself for us that he might redeem us from all iniquity and purify a people who will be like him. He went into the mess of broken relationships, teaching people to go out of their way in order for reconciliation to happen – in order to bring back together that which had been separated. He told us to not forgive just one time but 70 times 7 times – making sure that the mess really was cleaned up. He went into messy homes and messy neighborhoods. In fact, he much preferred to be with those who had little – little clothing, food, shelter, health care, friends, family, respect. He touched the mess, he redeemed it, he made people whole once more, and he taught his followers to do the same – to spend time with people at the bottom, in the mess. And when the mess had really gotten out of hand, he borrowed a messy animal and rode through the streets of Jerusalem, ending the week on a cross where he died a very messy death. And it was this death that turned the mess of the world upside down once and for all – promising that while we all will die – we all will live.

We have made Christmas into a holiday that was seemingly designed for us. We light up the city and neighborhood with bright lights, spending more on energy this month than we normally spend. We rush around the shopping malls and stores, seeking out the perfect gift for our friends and loved ones. We send cards to people – some of whom we only communicate with at Christmas. And, we tell others what we want for Christmas – thinking that Christmas is our birthday and not the birthday of our Savior. But maybe, just maybe, the things we have been forced to let go of this year have gotten us closer to the original, messy story. Maybe our letting go of some of the traditions has enabled us to see how much we really have and how what we have is enough. Maybe our not walking in without a gift has pushed us to give more of ourselves – sitting, listening, waiting, and watching. Maybe our not being where we normally are this Christmas enables us to see and sense more of what really happened at Christmas – a baby being born far from home with nothing that the mother anticipated having at the moment of birth – nothing clean, no friends, no family, only a few strangers looking in. Maybe the spot where the person we love always sits but who is no longer with us will be filled – filled with the presence of one who longs to bring comfort. Christmas, the true meaning of Christmas, is messy.

And, I would give anything to be able to stand up here tonight and tell you that the mess is ending. I would love to be able to say that the stores on Main Street will stop closing, that your job is safe and secure, that you will find employment in the New Year, that your friend or family member will be cured of cancer, that your mourning, broken heart will stop hurting, that your home will be refinanced before you lose it, that you will be reconciled with the one from whom you are separated, or that you will have love in your life at this time next year. I wish I could offer you a pie in the sky – telling you that your wishes, your dreams, and your desires will all come to fruition. But this is not the promise of Christmas.

The promise of Christmas is that one has come who knows about mess. One has come who knows about pain and sorrow. One has come who knows about betrayal and disappointment. One has come who knows whatever it is that we or our loved ones are experiencing. One has come. And this one promises that no matter how dark the mess might be, the light has never been overcome by the darkness. This one knows our mess. This one longs to sit alongside of us in our mess. This one longs to be present – to be Emmanuel, God with us…in the mess.

An Invitation to Christmas Eve...

I am working on worship planning this morning and came across this beautiful liturgy from the Iona Community. It embodies for me what Christmas is about and gives words to my prayers for what might happen when we gather tomorrow evening for worship. You are welcome here on Christmas Eve. Our sanctuary will be open for prayer and meditation from 6:00 - 7:00 p.m. with worship beginning at 7:00. Looking for a place to be in Washington on Christmas Eve? Come join us.

This, tonight,
is the meeting place
of heaven and earth.

For this, tonight,
is the stable
in which God keeps his appointment
to meet his people.

Not many high are here,
not many holy,
not many innocent children,
not many worldly wise,
not all familiar faces,
not all frequent visitors.

But, if tonight
only strangers met,
that would be enough.

For Bethlehem was not the hub of the universe,
nor was the stable a platform for famous people.

In an out-of-the-way place
which people never thought to visit -
there God kept and keeps his promise;
there God sends his Son.

Copyright: Cloth for the Cradle: Worship Resources and Readings for Advent, Christmas and Epiphany, 1997, Iona Community, Wild Goose Worship Group.

What Were You Thinking, Mary?

I've been thinking a lot about Mary lately.  Mary, the mother of Jesus, has been on my mind a lot as I have spent time with different women who have recently given birth to a child or who have conceived a child to be born in the new year.

Two conversations have especially made me think about Mary.  One of the conversations was with a woman who wanted badly to have a vaginal birth but who instead had to give birth by C-Section after a long time in labor.  The other conversation was with a woman who had not imagined getting pregnant so early in her marriage.  "We thought we would enjoy each other for a couple of years and then get pregnant," she said.  But, God's timing was different.  God's timing was much, much earlier.

An angel named Gabriel came to Mary, telling her that she was a favored one and that God was with her.  Gabriel then said, "'Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God.  And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus (Luke 1:30-31).'"

Mary heard the news and then went to her relative, Elizabeth, who was also pregnant.  And, instead of complaining, Mary shared with Elizabeth, "'My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.  Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name."

She then continues to tell others about this one being born through her saying, "'His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation.  He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.  He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly.  He has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.  He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise he made to our ancestors...'"

They are beautiful words.  They are extraordinary words of a woman with great faith - a woman who was not prepared to give birth to the Savior of the world but one who knew that God was at work in her life and so she was willing to be the God-bearer.

My friends, we are all God-bearers.  While thankfully none of us have been named the recipients of a message like the one Gabriel brought to Mary, we have all been called to bear God.  We have all been called to allow God to be born through us.  God continues to select ordinary people like you and me as the people who will bear God to others - bringing God's grace to those who are filled with mistakes of the past, bringing God's love to those who are feeling alone, bringing God's peace to those filled with anxiety, bringing God's light to this world where too much darkness looms, bringing God's welcome to those who have only seen closed doors.

Without us, God can have a hard time breaking through.  God continues to take ordinary things and uses them to do extraordinary measures.  You have been chosen.  We have been chosen. 

How is it that we will be God-bearers on this day?

Preparing the Way

I have been thinking a lot lately about how best to prepare a way for the Lord.  In this season of Advent - this season of expectant waiting - how do we best make space in the business of our lives for the Advent of Christ amongst us once more.  I have been trying to spend more time in prayer and contemplation.  I have been practicing my Sabbath more - intentionally not making plans to be at a Saturday church event so that Craig and I can take delight in one another and spend time doing things we love to do - doing things that give us rest and renewal as individuals and as a couple.

On Wednesday, our church provided beautiful space for people to step away from their over-scheduled lives.  Our chapel floor was turned into a prayer labyrinth.  The only light was from candles.  The music was played by two guitars and a violin with the accompanying voices chanting songs from Taize.  It was a powerful experience.

But yesterday, I got an email that opened the door even more for the Spirit of God to burst through.  

Facebook has  enabled me to reconnect with all kinds of people - people I have not talked with in nearly two decades, in fact.  It is amazing to me how all kinds of people pop up around me through this mechanism and how I can miss people who I literally have not thought about in more than ten years.

Yesterday, I received an email from a childhood friend.  Jen and I went to the same church and same elementary school.  We sang in the choir together.  We then went to separate high schools and I am not sure that I have spoken with her in 20 years.  The message came through Facebook.  She told me she had something important to talk with me about.  I wrote back and said I could hardly wait to find out what is on her mind.  She then wrote:

Sooooo, what I REALLY wanted to talk to you about it this!

Our pastor always encourages us to give and receive forgiveness as a top priority, as any of those two left undone interferes with our worship.  Of course, you know all of this...but, after a sermon, a while back, I searched my heart....seeking to determine if there was any forgiveness that I needed to seek or offer.  And, I found some.

That's were you come in.

I feel as though I need to ask for your forgiveness.

I am hoping and fairly certain that you may not even know WHY.  But, I'd like to clear my conscience.  When I searched my heart, I found you.

In elementary school, when we still used the lower playground, you were hanging upside down on the dome-shaped jungle gym.  Some kids were teasing you as you were hanging there.  I'm afraid I was one of them.  I don't remember the details, and I hope you don't either.  But, no matter what really happened, I realized that I didn't help you.  I didn't stick up for you.  And, for ALL of these years, I really regret it.  We went to church together.  We were in choir together.  And when we were at school, I didn't defend you or help you to stop them.  I wasn't the instigator, but, I certainly didn't act appropriately.

So, please, Donna, forgive me for not being a better 'sister.'  I always felt so much guilt about that incident, that I never got closer to you, because I KNEW in the back of your mind you would remember that day on the playground.

Quite an email to receive, huh?  After twenty years, I received this email.  And, while I remember elementary school as a very painful experience of finding my way through life as the heaviest kid in the class, I do not remember this specific incident.  I remember so many days of literally hating to go on the playground, but I do not remember Jen's specific role in this.

But, Jen's email has prompted me to search my heart.  Who is it that I need to seek forgiveness from?  How is it that I need to make more space in my heart for others?  What, from the past, is taking up too much space because it is too heavy?

What about you, who do you need to forgive or seek forgiveness from?

Prepare the way of the Lord.  Prepare the way of the Lord.

For All This, I Give Thanks

I give thanks for

1) My husband, Craig, and our first five months of marriage.  Craig continues to embody for me the Indigo Girls song "Closer to Fine" with the 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 recognizes my strengths and my weaknesses.  He respects my call to ministry and supports my role in the church.  He makes me laugh.  He makes me enjoy life a little bit more.  He is my partner and my best friend.

2) My family.  I am ever more aware of the gift of family as I spend this week with my mom, sister and niece in Colorado.  They are a constant reminder of the gift of God's tangible love here on this earth.  As we watched the wedding video again today, I am reminded of how blessed I am to have two parents who love me dearly and an extended family in many different places.

3) My friends.  I am so thankful for old friends and new friends - friends from college, seminary, church, Capitol Hill, Duke, and so many other places.

4) My call to ministry.  As I reflected last week, I cannot think of any better job than being a pastor.  I am so thankful for the gift of being "Pastor Donna" and the remarkable privileges this entails.

5) The Church.  I give thanks for the first place where I served as a pastor, First United Methodist Church of Hendersonville, NC.  I give thanks for the churches where I served as an intern in seminary.  I give thanks for Duke Chapel and the preachers who constantly encouraged me there.  And, I give thanks for Mount Vernon Place United Methodist Church - the church where I currently pastor.  In this place I see God at work in so many ways.  I am so thankful for the people who are part of this incredible congregation - those who have been here since 1940 and those who joined our church family just four weeks ago. 

6) My education.  I give thanks for my time at William Woods as an undergraduate and my time at Duke Divinity School as a seminary student.  Without a doubt, I have been shaped and molded to be the best I can be, and I am thankful.  I also recognize that this is one thing that I so often take for granted.

7) Our home.  While we would love to have more than one bedroom, I realize each time I leave the church and see many of our unhoused neighbors that we are blessed.

8) Life.  From Duke Basketball to the Sunday paper, pumpkin pie to the Metro, Aveda shampoo to a rainbow in the sky, coupon shopping to Yankee candles, the final markdown sale at Talbot's to running into old friends on the street - life is good - very, very good.

9) My faith in Jesus Christ.  I realize that when we leave Colorado this week, that I might very well be saying good-bye to my stepfather, Red, for the final time.  Still, my faith says something more.  My faith tells me that one day we will all be reunited.  One day, we will all meet again in my Father's House with many, many rooms.  I am grateful for the gift of forgiveness, the tangible presence of God in my life, the Kingdom of God inaugurated by Jesus, and the promise of eternal life.  What a mighty God we serve.

10) All of you who regularly read this blog.  Thanks for reading my attempt to process and share my thoughts on life, faith, the church, and a variety of other things - both helpful and unhelpful.

Happy Thanksgiving!

A Visit to Home

His cowboy hats and baseball caps still hang on a rack when you walk in the door.  A bedroom downstairs is filled with trophies of all shapes and sizes - signs of his success as a livestock judge - a legend in his own right.  His Wrangler jeans are in the washer right now.  His shirts are hanging to dry.  But he is not here, and I was not completely prepared to see him last night for the first time since last Christmas.

Craig and I are in Colorado visiting my mother.  While getting to Lamar, Colorado is no easy feat, this place is a place of rest and renewal for me.  It is a place where we stay in our pajamas until noon, go to happy hour at the Sonic drive in every afternoon, eat a lot of great food, and laugh.  The entire house fills with laughter often.  I love coming to this place.  I love visiting my mother and stepfather, Red.  But things are definitely not the same this year.

Red is sick.  Red is very, very sick.  

The pictures all over the house show a healthy man who weighs around 200 pounds.  The man I saw in the nursing home last night was skin and bones when I hugged him - I have never felt his bones before.  He weighs under 130 pounds.  He breathes heavy and deliberately.  He is, for the first time, showing his age - the 15 years he has on my mother  And I am showing a lot of emotion.

As a pastor, I go to the nursing home often to see different people.  There are some places that are hard to visit, I'll be the first to admit.  But I go.  I go.  I visit.  I pray.  I leave.

Last night I went to the nursing home to visit Red.  I then cried.  Craig and I went out the doors first.  My mother and niece followed.  We all then stood in a huddle at the door crying - realizing that we never know when the last visit will be - that at any time a call can come.

It is so much easier being a pastor in times like this than it is the one in need of a pastor.  Life is a journey - a journey in which the only guarantee that we all have is that we will one day all die.  I am so much better proclaiming this message than I am at living it, however.

We're trying hard to savor this visit - to savor being around the Thanksgiving table as a family tomorrow.  Tears fill my eyes just thinking about our joining hands as a family and giving thanks.

One thing is for sure - I am so thankful for Red - for his life, his love, his laughter, his joy and for his amazing ability to love my mother.

God, grant us all your peace and your strength.  Amen.

Do You Hear What I Hear?

I know well the call of God upon my life.  I can remember vividly my call to ministry - my weekend in NYC with young people in 1996 and how God used this time away to completely touch and transform me.

I also remember well when God called me out of the local church and back to the Divinity School at Duke to be director of admissions.  And, I remember how God used a Pilgrimage of Pain and Hope to South Africa to call me away from seminary admissions and to Mount Vernon Place.

God's movement in my life is real.  God speaks volumes to me when I am willing to listen.  And lately, God seems to be speaking a lot.

A few months ago, a clergy colleague was visiting me at Mount Vernon Place.  Arriving a little early, he had a long conversation with a police officer outside.  Engaging him in a conversation, my colleague asked the officer what the number one issue was facing our church's community.  The police officer immediately answered my colleague's question with "prostitution."  The number one issue for the police officers who cover our church's neighborhood is not robbery or shootings or gangs but prostitution.

I did not think much about the comments when I first heard them.  I had not seen the prostitutes, and I seemed more focused on what my eyes could see.  But my eyes have now seen what my colleague told me about.

Two weeks ago, I arrived at the church early on a Sunday morning to police lights flashing.  A woman on the street and a man in a car were being arrested.  The woman's dress gave her occupation away - tight leather jacket, short skirt, high heals, a lot of makeup at 7:00 on Sunday morning.  I watched her get arrested.  I watched her walk down the street, putting her citation in her little black bag.  I watched her - a woman a few years younger than me - a woman who looked as though she could be my friend.  I watched her but I never went out to befriend her - I did not go out and invite her in or ask if I could buy her a cup of coffee, and I have regretted it ever since.

Last Sunday, I turned the corner at 11th and K Streets and saw one woman dressed in similar attire.  She was shouting across the street.  I looked and realized she was talking to another woman - one of her colleagues.  This woman had lost her clothes during the night.  She had no pants on and no skirt.  She had a tight leather jacket, high heals and black underwear - that's it.  My heart continued to sink as I turned the corner.  I then saw two more women with similar attire.  Not one prostitute - but four young women engaged in this vocation were all right there to greet my arrival in downtown Washington.

And, I cannot stop thinking about them.  I cannot help but to wonder what our role is in their lives?  How is God using these sightings to push me and our congregation?  I have watched our congregation welcome people and completely change their life as a result of the embrace.  I have watched lives being transformed through the power of these people at Mount Vernon Place who have the capacity to welcome all kinds of individuals into our midst.  

Am I naive to believe that we could change the lives of these women?  

Am I stupid to think that I might have some role in creating a community where these women can feel safe - where they can step inside and share their fears and their dreams?  

Am I silly to believe that these women want a better life - a different life?

The faces of these women are well embedded in my mind.  I cannot get them out of my mind.

God, how are you calling me to respond?  I know you are working.  Please continue to break my heart and show me how best to be your hands, your heart, your eyes and your ears in downtown Washington.

The Best Job in the Whole World

This past week, I traveled with a colleague to Duke Divinity School to talk with individuals there who might be interested in serving in the Baltimore Washington Annual Conference of our United Methodist Church upon graduation. It was a joy to spend a day in a place I love (particularly since I was given Duke basketball tickets for that night in the middle of the day). I love talking with people about their call and the ways in which God is at work in their lives. In my mind, there is no vocation more rewarding than being a pastor. I cannot imagine doing anything else with my life.

When I gathered with a group of young adult clergy last month in preparation for our Conference's recruiting efforts, we talked about why we love doing what we do. Here are some of the responses:

I have a sense of purpose.
People are coming with heavy hearts.
I get to see people as they grow.
The hours are flexible; I can get my hair cut in the middle of the week.
The day to day stuff of our lives is where we do effective ministry.
There is a sense of assurance.
I am not just looking for the next best thing.
Nothing is missing. I am where God has called me to be.
We get to point out the hope in people's lives.
We are privileged to be part of one's life journey.
We get to be part of so many sacred moments.
Ministry helps me to see just how precious life is.
I cannot believe I get paid to do this.

And then, my friend, Alisa, sent me this story:

The late Frederick Speakman, noted Presbyterian minister, told the story of shaking hands at the door one Sunday when the service was over. As he came back down the aisle the lights were already turned out. He sensed that strange aliveness of an empty church just after worship. Some things were left behind. A bulletin with a shopping list in the margins ~ hopefully, not during the sermon. In this pew, a pair of gloves; in the next, a pencil on the floor and a candy wrapper on the seat. As he reached the chancel he stared once more at the empty sanctuary and thought to himself, "I wonder what else has been left behind." Wouldn't it be every pastor's dream to come down the aisle after worship and find other items there. You know, in this pew a lady's deep grief; there, a man's bitter disappointment or sense of failure. In another section some secret sin, whether real or imagined, not all that ultimate as long as it was discarded. Further on, the more bulky trash of a badly bruised ego, the remains of a heated argument on the way to church. Anger, guilt, hurt ~ all the stuff that can beat us up and burn us out ~ swept up and thrown out with the rest of the leftover trash. Realized forgiveness ~ God's grace as a renewable resource ~ he whispered to himself.
"That's the only thing that keeps some of us going."

What a blessing it is to be a pastor. This is the best job in the world.

A prayer from my colleague, Ken

My colleague, Ken Carter, posted this prayer on this blog recently.  I post it here for us on this election day:

Creator of us all:

you are the source of every blessing,

the judge of every nation

and the hope of earth and heaven.

We pray to you on the eve of this important and historic election.

We call to mind the best that is within us:

That we live under God, 

that we are indivisible,

that liberty and justice extend to all.

We acknowledge the sin that runs through our history as a nation:

The displacement of native peoples, racial injustice,

desecration of your creation, economic inequality, regional separation.

And yet we profess a deep and abiding gratitude

for the goodness of ordinary people who have made sacrifices,

who have sought opportunities,

who have passionately loved and cared for the earth and its fruits,

who have journeyed to this land as immigrants

strengthening its promise in successive generations,

who have found freedom on these shores,

and defended this freedom at tremendous cost.

Be with us in the days that are near.

Remind us that your ways are not our ways,

that your power and might transcend the plans of every nation,

that you are not mocked.

Let those who follow your Son Jesus Christ

be a peaceable people in the midst of division.

Send your Spirit of peace, justice and freedom upon us,

break down the walls of political partisanship,

and make us one.

Give us wisdom to walk in your ways,

courage to speak in your name,

and humility to trust in your providence.

Amen.

Words from my friend, Peter

As many of you know, Peter Storey has had a more profound impact on my life than any other disciple I know. He is my teacher, my mentor and my friend. Today, it is his email message that has caused me to think most deeply about tomorrow. I share his words with you here....

Dear Friends in the United States,

Warmest greetings to you on this momentous evening. You have been much in our minds and on our hearts over these past few months as we have avidly followed the progress of your Presidential election campaign. As we've said before, what happens in your election profoundly affects us all.

And what a campaign! I recall a dinner table conversation in Atlanta way back in May, 2007, in the home of good friends Jim and Fentress Waits. Those around the table were talking with a deep sense of interest and hope about an exciting young Senator named Barack Obama. Back then, the possibility of Obama's even gaining the nomination of his own party appeared so remote that it seemed more the stuff of dreams than reality.

Yet here you are, on the eve of an even more 'impossible' breakthrough tomorrow! Think of it: the nation whose original sin was to to buy and sell Africans like chattels, that legislated them less than human, could well elect an African-American tomorrow to be its First Citizen! I wonder if the people of the USA have fully realized what a liberating moment this could be? For African Americans, who hold their breath, not yet quite believing what might be possible tomorrow, this may be a step beyond even what Martin Luther King Jr saw from the mountain-top, but it is also more than that: it will be a day of liberation for all Americans: whether deeply conscious, as so many thoughtful people are, of this great burden of historic guilt, or defiantly denialist as too many on the shrill right wing remain. All - the good, the bad and the ugly - will take a giant step toward liberation from one of US history's most burdensome shackles.

I say this because that is the experience we discovered the day Nelson Mandela took the oath of office as the first black President of South Africa. Millions of his exploited compatriots danced with obvious joy at their new freedom, but less expected and perhaps more amazing was the sense of liberation that came upon their erstwhile oppressors. White South Africans testified in large numbers to a new lightness of being, as if some invisible, dragging weight, was gone, and something new could be born.

Now I know that the USA is not South Africa, and your story is not identical with ours, but there are enough echoes for me to assure you that if the voters of America break this barrier tomorrow, you will experience what I'm talking about!

Of course, like so many of you, we are anxious as well as excited. Having seen how deep are the currents of fear and prejudice that still run across the length and breadth of the United States, we too hold our breath. Be assured that the hopes of the vast majority of the people of the wider world go with Senator Barack Obama. There is no question about this. I doubt that even 5 percent of South Africans of any race group have any desire to see anyone of George W Bush's party near the White House. However, we have seen how easily US elections can be stolen and we are praying, as so many of you are, that tomorrow, the American people will march to the polls in greater numbers than ever before, determined to expunge eight of the most shameful years in US history. President Bush has brought America's reputation so low, that from our point of view, another such blow from the US electorate would be almost impossible to understand. Eight years of arrogance and ignorance have been done deep harm in the rest of the world and to the image of a great nation. Surely they will be declared as enough by the people of the US?

But let us be hopeful! Just as tomorrow offers the opportunity for a great sense of historic liberation in the US, so it also offers a chance to radically alter the world's current perception of America, and to open the door to new possibilities of healing and transformation for US foreign relations. If Obama is announced as your President-elect, there will be great rejoicing all around the globe. We will see new hope of the might of the United States being bent to works of justice and compassion and cooperation. We will see new possibilities for the poor of the earth: for the first time, Americans will have elected someone who knows what it is like to be on the outside as well as in the circle, who has actually worked among the poor, who has lived , however briefly, outside the American bubble, and who has the blood of the world's most oppressed continent in his veins. Everyone of these factors speak of change.

You will recall that the day following September 11, 2001, France's most famous newspaper ran the headline: 'Today, we are all Americans!' Well, please know that around the world there are so many people whose hopes ride on what you will do tomorrow, that I guess we wish we were all Americans! What a privilege it will be to vote in this election!

Our prayers are with you.

Warm regards,

Peter Storey

Outside

One of the things I love most about the United Methodist Church is how the table is open to all people. There are no restrictions placed on who can receive the Lord's Supper. In fact, our founder, John Wesley, believed that one could actually experience God for the first time in the bread and the wine. This openness at the table has led to a more open church, I like to believe. I like to believe that the church is open to all people - that the doors of the church are open for all people to come in and receive love and hospitality. But....

I'm really struggling today.

For the last three years, I have had the extraordinary privilege of serving as the pastor of someone who has taught me more about the Kingdom of God than anyone else. Through this person, I have shared a love of older adults and Popeye's Chicken, a love of taking care of the church building and artwork, a love of music and a love of prayer. Through this person, I have seen the power of a church community. It is our church family who has given this individual more medicine than anything else as people have accepted this person almost unconditionally. There have been some Sundays when we did not know what to expect from this person - how this person might respond or react. There have been some Sundays when we were not sure what this precious child of God would say during the sharing of joys and concerns - the concern expressed once was "how the pastor was having to pick up too much poop from the homeless outside." Yet, this person has brought joy and life to our community. This person is integral - central - to who we are as a community of faith. I adore this person.

But I'm really struggling today.

When does the church give up on someone? When does the church reach the place where it is more dangerous to let someone in the doors than it is to keep them out? Is there anyone who is beyond redemption? What are we to do in situations like this one?

Damn it. Why is ministry so messy?

Exposed

A few weeks ago, I joined the wonderful word of Facebook. I have heard about Facebook for more than a year now. I have seen the wedding pictures of friends on Facebook when another person on Facebook was willing to show them to me. I have been intrigued by Facebook, and I finally joined after one of my clergy sisters shared with me how many people she had reconnected with over Facebook. Like my friend, Ginger, I have now reconnected with high school friends and college sorority sisters, clergy colleagues and seminary classmates. It has been a joy - an absolute hoot - to be in communication with all of these people once again.

One of the features Facebook provides is photograph tags. A Facebook friend can post a picture on their page and then tag you in the process, linking it to your page. This past week, a Facebook friend posted a picture of me from her wedding weekend. The picture was anything but flattering. In the picture, I am about 20 pounds heavier than I am now. I am wearing an awful polka-dotted shirt, and I have a beer can in my hand. The picture was anything but the image I seek to project. I rather hated the picture and so I denied it. I untagged the photograph, blocking it from my Facebook page.

There was too much truth in the photograph.

The photograph exposed too much.

The photograph showed me - too much of me.

I did not like it, so I blocked it. And, I keep thinking about how much we block in our lives.

There is so much of us that we seek to pretend is not there - so much of us that we think is not good enough - not smart enough, pretty enough, successful enough, holy enough, hot enough, big enough, small enough - that we seek to hide. There is too much truth to and in us that we are afraid to exposed - fearful that if people know the real truth that they will not be able to bear it or us in the process. We wear so many facades - so many faces - so many masks. We hide so much.

But what happens when we remove the mask? What happens when we allow people to see inside?

At Mount Vernon Place, we seek to create this place where people can be real - exposed - raw. We seek to be an authentic community where people can come as they are, share what's on their hearts or in their minds, talk about their fears and their frustrations, and be loved through it all. We seek to not be the place where everyone only wants to know what one does for a living - but to be the place where people share why they love living - what is giving them joy in life - as well as what is hurting them in life, causing pain in life. And something miraculous is happening in the process. As we are being real, lives are being healed. As we tell the truth, the truth makes us free.

Maybe next time I'll let the photograph be posted - the one that exposes me - shining a light on me that isn't exactly flattering - but telling the truth.

I love authenticity. I love the authentic community that I see each week at this place. Lord, please help us all to be authentic with one another - real - raw - exposed.