A Glimpse of the Church....at Weight Watchers!

I caught a glimpse of the church yesterday. I was not at the church. In fact, I was several blocks away from any church. I caught a glimpse of the church while attending a weekly meeting at the local Weight Watchers office on K Street.

I have a love/hate relationship with Weight Watchers. I love how I lost nearly 40 pounds in 1997, just before going to seminary. I hate how I have gained the weight back and now pay Weight Watchers again, struggling to figure out how to lose it once more.

I love the meetings when I have lost weight and have something to celebrate. I hate the meetings when the person weighing me says, "Are you sure you are tracking everything you are eating?"

And yet, there is something powerful about these meetings - about people coming together because they want to lose weight. Yesterday, I watched in awe as one success after another was celebrated. Hands kept on clapping as one woman shared how she was moving more, another person shared how she lost 1.6 pounds, yet another woman said she was on vacation but only gained .5 pounds. People clapped loudly, cheering each other on. And every time there was a celebration, the leader said, "Let's share the love," getting the crowd to clap louder.

We then got to the place in the meeting where the leader asked people to share different struggles. The first person to open her mouth shared how her husband had lost his job on Friday. The whole room let out an audible, "oh no." She continued to share how when she got home, she first wanted a cigarette, but instead of returning to this bad habit she ate all of the chocolate she could find. No one scolded her for eating chocolate. Instead, one person said, "I'm a recruiter. Please give me your husband's resume." Another person said, "I completely understand." Still another said, "I would have probably ordered an entire pizza." One expression of empathy was shared after another. It was powerful.

I like to think that the church, at its best, offers this kind of community. I like to think that our churches are places where we can share every good thing happening in our lives and be cheered on by others in the congregation. I like to think that our churches are places where we can express our struggles and our disappointments and our failures and have people be with us - helping us to rise above it and move forward.

I love what I experienced at Weight Watchers yesterday. But I love the church even more - the time on Sundays when we ask, "How is it that we can pray for you this week? Where is it that you need to experience God? And what are you thankful for?" This is the church at its best.

I Love this Church!

We are working on a job description for a "Director of Music and the Arts" at Mount Vernon Place. As part of the process, I wrote a description of who we are for the opening of the job description that interested candidates can read. I love this church, and I love what this statement says about us. Here it is for you to enjoy and perhaps even be compelled to come journey with us:

Mount Vernon Place United Methodist Church, located in the heart of downtown Washington, directly across the street from the Washington Convention Center, is seeking a creative, motivated, faithful individual to lead our ministries in music and the arts. We are a growing congregation that has doubled in size in the last four years. Our worshipping community is old and young, black and white, gay and straight, people filled with faith and people struggling to believe, people in ties and suits and people in jeans and shorts, housed and unhoused, Democrat and Republican, lifelong church members and individuals coming to church for the first time, people who love to sing hymns with the organ and people yearning to clap their hands to the beat sounded from a drummer’s stick – we are a beautiful assortment of God’s creation! Our 1917, historic building has just undergone a complete restoration from top to bottom, and we are waiting for the completion of additional new space in a Class A, LEED Certified Gold building to be finished in mid-fall in which the church will own and occupy 22,000 square feet. The possibilities for ministry and growth in this community are endless, and we are excited to see where God will take us in the future!

I love this church!

Leaving the Church

I had conversations this week with another friend who has left the church. Jason grew up in the United Methodist Church. He spent years in youth ministry at a large United Methodist Church in Alabama, building a program that attracted countless kids every weekend - young people growing as disciples because of his leadership. He went to seminary with me at Duke Divinity School. He spent time as a hospital chaplain in Durham and in New England. He faithfully followed his call, responding to the affirmation of others in the church who named his gifts, giving him the courage to claim his gifts, and now he wants nothing to do with the church. He has left the church.

It's not the first time this has happened to one of my friends.

I was talking this week with a colleague from seminary about another incredible person pushed out by the church. I talked about this person in May of 2007 when I preached a sermon on "Marriage, Divorce and Homosexuality." "Mark" is one of the most gifted young men I have ever met. "Mark" has so many incredible gifts for ministry, and when I first met him, he was on his way to becoming a bishop, at least in the eyes of most of his friends.

But he is no longer a United Methodist. He left our church. He left our church because he is gay, and our church does not believe that people who are gay - no matter how gifted they might be - can be pastors. Our church has locked the door on these individuals - even when they are incredibly faithful and possess remarkable gifts for ministry.

When I talked with my colleague last week about our friend who was on his way to becoming a bishop but is no longer a United Methodist, my friend said something that really struck me, "When did the church get into such a good position that a person like 'Mark' is expendable? Think about his gifts. A whole trajectory of people could have been impacted by him because of his incredible discipleship."

My colleague went on to talk about "Mark's" commitment to our church when he was in seminary - how he kept going to a United Methodist Church at that time even though he could never be ordained in the United Methodist Church. My colleague told him once, "'Mark' you love your church more than your church loves you!"

I remember well what happened in the Baltimore Washington Conference when one of my transgendered colleagues told his story on the floor of Conference. It was the holiest conference I have ever been to. It is one of the more limited times in which I have truly felt the presence of God at Annual Conference. When Rev. Drew Phoenix stood and told his story, I knew God was at work. When he stood and told us how he had struggled with his sexual identity his entire life and finally felt free to be who he is, now that his body is that of a man and not a woman, I saw and heard liberation. It was not easy to hear everything, and I still don't understand it all. It is all quite complex and perplexing to me. But, I listened to how Drew told us about his church in downtown Baltimore - how families with children are coming back for the first time, how the giving has doubled, how the church is growing in significant ways - I celebrated the diversity of our church. I celebrated the ways in which God uses all kinds of people to build the Kingdom of God inaugurated by Jesus Christ. I was taught in real ways how God needs a diversity of pastors to reach a diversity of people. Lives have been changed by Rev. Phoenix's ministry. Rev. Phoenix was an incredible pastor. But, sadly, Rev. Phoenix has also left the church.

Three incredible people - just in my own circle - have left the church. Three incredible people with remarkable gifts given to them by God - have been pushed out - told that their gifts, their commitment, their discipleship, their willingness to serve, and their willingness to be part of changing lives in the name of Jesus are not welcome.

When did the church - this body that is losing far more members than it is gaining each year in most places around our country - get into such a good position that people like this are expendable?

Just Because Our Doors Were Open!

Earlier this month, I gathered with a group of my clergy colleagues as I do on the first Tuesday of every month. The topic of conversation selected for this particular day was evangelism - how we share the good news of Jesus Christ with others and build the Body of Christ.

Sitting around a table, we were asked to share what was working well at our churches - what, specifically was helping our churches to attract newcomers. Many of my colleagues have churches that are growing abundantly, and I am always inspired by their creativity and their passion. But the answer to "what is working in your churches" boiled down to something rather simple.

"It's so simple to throw open the doors of the church," my friend said. She then went on to share how the church she serves had participated in our Conference's efforts to provide radical hospitality during inauguration weekend. Many of the United Methodist Churches near the White House and the Capitol hosted people throughout the weekend who needed a place to stay overnight and many other churches opened their doors wide on the day of the inauguration, providing a place for people to come in from the cold, enjoy a hot beverage, and receive rest for their weary bodies.

Alisa continued to share how some $1,000 had been sent to the church by people who had experienced their hospitality. She talked about the notes and the cards they had received. She said how one parent did not think she was going to be able to walk any further and then saw a member of the church open the door and say, "Please, come on in. Find some rest and enjoy a cup of coffee with me." This invitation changed everything for this woman and her son. This gesture became the highlight of their inauguration day.

It's so simple to throw open the doors of the church. People came just because the doors of our church were open!

I spend a lot of time thinking about church doors. There was a time when the church I serve had great big bars placed upon the doors of the church. Gates were installed in an effort to keep people from sleeping on the porch of the church at night. Thanks be to God these gates were removed as part of our restoration in the last couple of years. The symbolism of the doors was so jarring - borderline offensive. But I also think about the non-physical gates that our churches have installed - either intentionally or by association.

On Sunday, we had our first Church Council meeting of the year at Mount Vernon Place. During this meeting, one of our members got up and talked about his experience as a traveler in many different cities looking for a place to worship. He shared how not every United Methodist Church is the same. He talked about how he does not always know what message he might hear - how in one church he might hear a message of hate and condemnation while in another church he might hear a message of love. He shared how his gay friend, a lifelong United Methodist, had been to United Methodist Churches where he was told straightforward that he was going to hell and in United Methodist Churches where he was embraced and loved.

Adam went on to share the tool that he and his wife now use when looking for a church to visit. He goes onto a website associated with our denomination and looks for a church that is part of the Reconciling Ministries Network of the United Methodist Church. He seeks a church where he knows that he is welcome and where he knows that his gay friends are welcome. Adam wants to be sure that the message he hears is one of grace and love and compassion.

Adam shared his journey with us on Sunday. As a result of his faithful leadership and courageous vision, our Church Council agreed to appoint a Task Force to consider what it means to be a Reconciling Congregation and to truly struggle, wrestle and be educated on what it means to be gay, lesbian, transgender or bisexual and more importantly, what it means to be a place of radical hospitality - a place with doors wide open to all people - to all of God's children no matter what - especially those living in the margins.

We will start this conversation on Sunday, March 29 with a viewing of the film, "For the Bible Tells Me So" in our church's undercroft theatre at 1:30 p.m. The film viewing will be followed by a panel discussion of clergy and laypeople who are willing to share their story. I am looking forward to this conversation and to our congregation's willingness to struggle - to really struggle - with what it means to be followers of Jesus, disciples of Christ.

It's so simple to throw open the doors of the church!

And yet, we sometimes have a hard time just opening the door. Sometimes, the keys are hard to find.

The door is open. Please, come join us. Please come be part of this holy conferencing. Please come be part of our journey. And if you cannot be here, then please keep us in your prayers.

Hiding

I wore a clergy collar today.  Tucked underneath a black suit jacket with a long black skirt, I looked very smart, if I do say so myself.  I wore the collar because I wanted to hide behind it - I wanted people to see it and immediately know that I was the pastor who was reporting to duty for the memorial service.  The service was at a church that I had never been to before, and only one person in the family knew who I was.  I was doing the service as a favor - the family needed a pastor, and I said I would come.

It's the second time this has happened to me.  The first time was at Arlington National Cemetery where I found it really important for a clergy person who is both a female and a stranger to show up in a collar.  The collar - the small piece of plastic tucked carefully into the clergy blouse - made me easy to recognize and hard to miss.

But today - at the start of this day - I wanted to hide not behind the collar but I wanted to hide the collar - the entire marking of my identity.  I wanted desperately for people not to see it.

I parked my car in the garage where I normally park - a few blocks from Mount Vernon Place.  I got out of the car, gathered my belongings, and walked towards the elevators.  I made my way upstairs, all the while being reminded that my vocation was no longer secret - everyone who looked at my neck noticed a collar - a collar that marked me as a pastor, or a priest, or a servant of some sorts.

I made my way through the building lobby and outside to the street where I noticed a group of teenagers standing outside of a nearby Hostel with eyes wide open.  They were clearly gawking, and I quickly realized what had captured their attention.  Three women stood opposite of them.  Three women were across the street, and the three women were not dressed like everyone else walking the streets at 7:30 this morning.  Everyone else had on enough clothes.  These women had on tiny skirts that barely covered their bottoms.  The women were clearly women of the streets - prostitutes gathering after a night's work.

I saw the women, and my heart felt like it was tearing again.  My heart breaks every Sunday morning when I see these women gathering on a nearby corner.  But, I have never seen them during the week - when so many other people are around.  I watched them walk towards a hot dog stand and buy bottled drinks, and I crossed the street.  My heart was breaking and yet I could not muster up any strength to go and approach them - to hand them my card and invite them in for a conversation - for a cup of tea - for an encouraging and supportive ear. 

I then thought again about the collar I was wearing.  As a pastor, my reaction should have been to walk up to them - to go out of my way to speak to them.  But, I instead pulled my arm up around my neck, hoping no one would see me as most eyes gazed at this threesome.  I wanted to hide the collar instead of hiding behind it.  I had what I needed to be clearly marked to these women, and I choose instead to be marked like everyone else - to join the gawking crowds instead of being the one to stop and offer help.

I did it again later today - I covered my neck - at a stoplight when someone was asking for money while holding a cardboard sign that said, "hungry."  If they see my collar, then I'll have to give money, I thought to myself.

I blew it.  I missed two opportunities to be the kind of disciple, let alone the kind of pastor, I want to be. 

I preached a sermon on being a risk taker yesterday - on being one who is filled with so much faith that they can do anything because God is leading them.  Somehow this sermon escaped my memory today.  Somehow my ability to take risks shrunk just as I tried to shrink in my seat or behind my arm instead of behind a collar that tells others how I have been set apart to do faithful work with and through the Holy Spirit.

I invite you to please pray for your pastor.  Pray that I'll be a more faithful risk-taker.  Pray that God will continue to break my heart every time I see these women until I am finally so overwhelmed that I know nothing other than to approach them and offer my card - an introduction.  Pray for these women.  And please pray for our church - that we can somehow find a way to be in relationship with them.

God, forgive me.  God, help me.  Help me be the one who heard what I preached yesterday - and then has the courage to follow.  Amen.

Practicing Our Faith

It's Lent.  For me, Lent is always a time to try to re-program my life.  Similar to the start of a New Year, I try to spend the days before Ash Wednesday thinking about what in my life needs to be fixed - restarted - reformatted.  Most of the time, I begin Lent very aware of how out of balance my life is.  It seems as though this season of intentionally moving closer to God has a way of uncovering just how many layers in my life there are - layers that need to be pulled away, one after another, until I find myself in perfect balance with God once again.

In an effort to move closer to this balance, I dug out a book that I first purchased in seminary, "Practicing our Faith: A Way of Life for a Searching People."  In this book, Dorothy Bass edits a powerful collection of chapters on different spiritual practices: honoring the body, hospitality, household economics, saying yes and saying no, keeping Sabbath, testimony, discernment, shaping communities, forgiveness, healing, dying well and singing our lives.  At times, my mouth starts to water just thinking about these practices - about a life in which these practices intentionally shape and form every waking hour.

Bass starts the book by sharing an account of perfect balance.  She tells the story of a retreat center high in the mountains where her family journeys each year.  At this center, each family member gets to do what they love most from fishing to hiking to reading.  More importantly, the family discovers the balance for which they were intended.  Bass writes, "When we are there, we slip into a way of life that comes pretty close to our vision of how things are supposed to be.  As staff members, we work; we consume appropriately, eating lower on the food chain and doing without the goods and gadgets that usually clutter our lives; we worship daily.  In other words, we enter a community shaped by shared practices that make sense, and as we adjust to them, we feel ourselves becoming a little different, a little better" (Practicing our Faith, ed. Dorothy Bass, ix).

Journeying with a small group at Mount Vernon Place, we are trying to discover this way of life once more - this community "shaped by shared practices that make sense."  Many of us are gathering for a 40 minute time of worship on Wednesday mornings at 7:00.   We are working to put God and God's ways first in our lives once again.  It is a journey - one that I long to stay on - one with a clear end goal in mind.

What are the practices that shape you?  What is it that you need to shed in your life and what is it that you need to take on?

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.