Campaigning

The race for mayor in the District of Columbia is heating up. When I got off the Metro today and made my way to the church, I passed some eight different individuals holding a sign, campaigning for a particular candidate. They were all along the intersection of Massachusetts and Ninth Streets. I passed five different people holding a sign before one of them spoke to me.

"Good morning," he said. "Are you a registered voter in the District?" I explained to him that I am not a resident of the District but still own a home here. He then told me to have a nice day. I decided not to leave it at that, however. Instead, I shared a few thoughts.

"You know, you are the first person holding a sign to speak to me today? I have passed several people holding the same sign but no one else even said, 'Good morning.'" I then told him that him saying "Good morning" to me meant more to me than the sign he was carrying. I then said something that I should not have said. "None of your volunteers seem to really care about the people who are passing them. Are they like the candidate you are representing?"

Again, what I said might have been too much. But, I was so struck by so many people who did not even speak to me - so many people representing someone but relying only upon a sign without even offering a word of greeting.

The church has many signs. We have two crosses in our front yard - crosses that stand some seven feet high. We also have a sign that lights up at night - one that announces how all are welcome in this place. We put out additional signs on Sunday mornings, inviting others to come in. There are signs all around us. Still, these signs mean nothing if the people who put them up are not willing to go the extra mile to welcome someone. If our signs say that all are welcome but our actions speak otherwise, then the signs should have never been ordered. It does not matter how many crosses we have hanging around our necks. If we are not willing to act like Jesus, then the sign around our neck means nothing.

So often, particularly as United Methodists, the marks of a successful pastor are how many people are coming into worship. The fruits to which we are held accountable are how many people worship with us each Sunday and how many new members join each year. Yet, we could have a church filled with people - all 499 places in the pews filled - and if no one goes out into the world to be like Jesus, then it does not matter. What we do on Sunday is not nearly as important as what we do Monday through Saturday. And, the messages printed on our signs in the church yard are not nearly as effective as the messages conveyed through our lives.

I had my mind made up about the mayor's race before walking downtown today. I cannot vote in two weeks but I know who I would vote for in two weeks if I were still a resident of this city. Still, the people who I passed today could have swayed me. The way they interacted with me could have easily propelled me to tell others why they should vote for a particular person. Their lack of engagement spoke volumes instead. Their preoccupation with carrying a sign while failing to say anything convinced me as to why I would vote for the other candidate.

We are the body of Christ and individually members of it. What do our actions say about the one whom we represent? Can others see more than a cross around our necks? Can people see Christ living and breathing in us?

I pray so.

Happy Hour

We had a plan when we set out yesterday. After saying good-bye to Craig's mom and step-dad, we took the bus into Hamilton with the full intention of making it to Somerset Village. We boarded the ferry to the Dockyard, took the 30 minute journey across the waters, got off and took note of when the next bus would come. With 25 minutes to spare, we decided to walk to the local craft market.

We walked through the bustling market, taking note of Bermuda made goods of all kinds. When we stopped to look at some different jellies, a woman encouraged us to step outside. "You can taste it for free today," she said with delight.

We walked outside where we were greeted by many Bermudians eager for us to sample their goods. One person offered us Rum Cake with a huge smile. Another offered us a taste of Bermuda's main drink, the Dark and Stormy before giving us a shot of the oldest rum made by this particular company. We never made it to the jelly table as we were soon summoned inside a pub where the Dark and Stormy drinks were on special and a delightful person, Wayne, was entertaining with his keyboard. We got a table, ordered a drink and started to communicate with Wayne.

Everyone was in a good mood. Everyone was being offered an opportunity to taste something new. Everyone was being welcomed to come inside. Everyone was offered a true taste of Bermuda. It was happy hour, a time that started at 2:00 in the afternoon and ended at 4:00.

And, it did not take long to understand the timing of Happy Hour. The Dockyard is the place where large cruise ships are anchored. The ship right outside the location of the craft market was scheduled to leave at 4:30. Happy Hour was planned at a time when the visitors to the island would be most likely to enjoy one more final taste of Bermuda, buy one more bottle of Rum, take home one more Rum cake for an office mate, or buy one more Christmas ornament made from Bermuda glass. The samples were not for the locals - they were for visitors. The pub specials were not created around the schedules of the locals - they were designed specifically for the people who would be visiting. The atmosphere was carefully choreographed with the visitor in mind.

When Happy Hour ended, Wayne, the musician, came over to talk with us. He shared a part of his story and then asked why we were on the island. I shared how I was here to preach for two Sundays, and he immediately said, "I'm an Atheist." When we continued to talk, he shared how he had been all over the world and observed each religion of the world. He told us how he had read the Koran and read the Bible, how he had worshipped with Buddhists and with Catholics. "When I examine the way people live, however, I realize that the people who are Buddhists live a lot more like Jesus than the people who claim to be Christians," he shared. He continued to talk about the hypocrisy of the church and how he does not see many Christians being kind and loving, generous and hospitable, caring and gentle. When our conversation had ended, we all concluded that Wayne really has not given up on God - but on the church. As a result of the church, he wants nothing to do with God.

What if our churches spent time doing whatever we could to prepare for Wayne's arrival? What if each action and time of worship was prepared not for the people who always come but for the person who has never come? What if we created an atmosphere for the visitor like the one we encountered in the pub yesterday - where the very best was offered without price, where the locals were all eager to welcome and greet the newcomer, where excitement and anticipation filled the air, where everything was perfectly planned and executed for the visitor?

We gather around a table in our sanctuaries where all are welcome and no one is turned away. Wine is shared - wine that represents the very best poured out so that all might have eternal life. We break bread that is the bread of life. We pass peace as we celebrate our reconciliation made possible through Christ. We hear the story of how we are to care for the people around us - especially the individuals who are too often forgotten. We are welcomed - no matter who we are, where we have been, or what we have done.

I wish Wayne lived in Washington. I'm pretty sure I could get him to visit Mount Vernon Place sometime. And yet, I am quite sure that there are people like Wayne all around us - all around each of our churches. What will we do to prepare for his arrival?

In the Eye of the Storm

I've never been in the eye of a storm. When I lived in North Carolina, there were times when powerful winds blew. I have survived snow storms. I have been caught in a thunderstorm without an umbrella. But, I have never before been in a place before that is the target for a hurricane.

Yesterday, all that changed. Throughout the day, I kept looking at the Weather Channel, wondering what would happen if Hurricane Danielle were to hit the island of Bermuda. I called US Airways to inquire about the status of our flights. I talked with the lay leader of the congregation where I am serving for two weeks, asking if they ever cancel church. I have done everything I can to increase my sense of anxiety and anticipation.

All the while, no one around me is really worrying. None of the Bermudans seem worried about the storm. Everyone assures me that the houses have been built to withstand any storm. "Church will go on as planned," I have been told.

The above map lightens my load. The island is no longer in the center of the storm. The Hurricane is moving to the East at a pace I much prefer. I am thankful.

But why is it that we worry so much? Why is it that we allow one little thing to cause us so much anxiety?

As I continue to reflect on the last couple of weeks, I see the places where I have automatically assumed the worst instead of trusting in the best. When a staff member accepted a new position in another city, I immediately thought of everything that could go wrong instead of looking at the window of opportunity being given to the church. When doctors told me two weekends ago that I am not allowed to drive for a while, I immediately started to think about all the ways this limitation will impact my job instead of thinking about the wonderful ways in which I can share parts of pastoral ministry with more members of the church. When a Hurricane started to get stronger in the middle of the ocean, I called my airline instead of praying that all would be okay.

Why do we worry so much? Where is our faith?

In the 14th Chapter of Matthew's Gospel, Jesus has sent the disciples to the other side of the water. While they are in the boat, Jesus goes away to pray. We're told that when evening arrives, Jesus is still away praying when a storm comes. The boat in which the disciples are traveling is far away from the land and becomes battered by waves with a wind blowing against them. The disciples, who surely know that Jesus is close by, fail to recognize Jesus when he starts to walk towards them. They become terrified and conclude it is a ghost. Jesus then quickly responds, "Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid."

With these words, Peter, preposterous Peter!, pushes his luck a bit and dares Jesus to command him out of the boat. Jesus invites him to come, Peter steps outside, discovers that he is walking on water, gets afraid and then starts to sink. He is then immediately admonished for his lack of faith.

I have been frightened so many times in the last two weeks. I have been frightened by health issues that I have never experienced before. I have been frightened by needles stuck inside my veins. I have been frightened by medical bills even though I have insurance. I have been frightened by a hole in my heart. I have been frightened by being put on a medication that could have major side effects. I have been frightened by being told that I am not allowed to drive. I have been frightened by a storm - by a real storm in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean and by the storms of life.

Yet, I have also seen Jesus inviting me to step out and trust him. I have heard his voice telling me to not be afraid. I have been assured that he is with me no matter what. He has allowed me to come to this place of beauty in order to discover rest, renewal and extraordinary hospitality. He has surrounded me with church members who have assured me that no matter what, it is going to be okay. He has allowed me to spend this week with family - with some of the people I love the most. He has held my hand, invited me to get out of the boat and trust him. He is with me.

"Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid." Thanks be to God. Amen.

The Hole in my Heart

One of the things the physicians discovered last weekend is that I have a small hole in my heart. I have something that is rather common in individuals, a Patent Forament Ovale (PFO). Typically, individuals are born with these small holes that typically close after a year or two. However, some individuals discover later that the flap never closed, allowing small amounts of blood and other particles to travel from one part of the heart to the other. This passing through can actually lead to heart attack and stroke.

While hospitalized last week, I watched on a screen as one health professional created bubbles with my IV, forcing fluid through the veins so we could see if there was an opening. Sure enough, a tiny opening was found - the same opening already discovered and fixed in the hearts of my mother and a cousin - and I watched as the bubbles filled the other side of my heart. The doctors are not convinced that my PFO is large enough to be the culprit for my dizziness and fainting. Yet, I cannot stop thinking about this hole and its implications. A really small hole in the heart can wreck havoc. A really small hole in the heart can be the reason for major health issues.

In the 51st Psalm, David writes powerful words about the heart. He begins the Psalm by praying to the Lord, "Have mercy on me, O God, according to your steadfast love; according to your abundant mercy blot out my transgressions. Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin. For I know my transgressions and my sin is ever before me. Against you, you alone, have I sinned, and done what is evil in your sight." He then continues later, "Create in me a clean heart, O God, and put a new and right spirit within me... Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and sustain in me a willing spirit."

Create in me a clean heart. These words are the prayer of David. A contemporary song invites us to sing, "Change my heart O God." The heart is a powerful vessel, and all it takes is one small hole to make the heart unclean. All it takes is one little ounce of impurity or hatred to cause the heart to be unhealthy.

Think about all the impurities we allow into our hearts - hatred of others, an unwillingness to forgive, being anti- this or that, our tendency to be judgmental, our preconceived notion of the other, an unwillingness to hear another's story, and the list goes on and on. All it takes is one little thing to get into our heart and cause it to not beat the way God designed it to beat - and the impact is the same whether we are speaking of our physical hearts or our spiritual hearts or perhaps even the heart of our churches.

What about your heart? What's the condition of your heart?

I'm praying for a clean heart. If the PFO is what is causing my health issues, then I want it fixed quickly. But, I'm also praying for any other ounce of hatred in my heart that is pushing through to be cleansed, to be withdrawn, to be healed.

Gracious and loving God, touch my heart once more. Cleanse it from any impurities. Block any holes that allow hatred or other impurities to pass through. Give me a heart that beats like yours. Make my heart large enough to love like you. Give me a beating, understanding, overflowing heart. Amen.

Touched by the Church

I spend most of my days trying to figure out how God can use me to be a blessing. My vocation as pastor is one in which I seek to be poured out for others - visiting people who are sick, comforting the lonely, offering a word of hope to those who mourn and being present when people need me. Providing pastoral care is a large part of my assignment. But last weekend, I was not providing pastoral care. Instead, I was the one receiving it.

The weekend started rather normal. I had a relaxing Friday morning and was getting ready for the rest of the weekend. I was starting to dry my hair when I noticed myself becoming dizzy. A few moments later, I was getting up from the floor with a huge knot on my head that happened sometime on the way down from fainting. I got up, placed some ice on my head for a few minutes and then went about my day. It was unusual but not that unusual. I have passed out several times so did not think much about it... until Saturday when it happened again with my husband watching the entire thing.

We called the cardiologist and drove to the Emergency Room. The ER doctor performed a few routine checks and an hour later I was being informed that my "room upstairs was ready."

"Excuse me?" I asked. "I cannot stay here. It's Saturday. I'm a pastor. I have to be at church tomorrow." The doctor looked at me with patient eyes, shared how I could spend the next week going in and out of physician offices or I could stay in the hospital and get whatever was happening to me treated as aggressively as possible with a series of tests. I obliged very reluctantly. And the church started to act.

I placed a call to a member engaged to one of our newest members who is a seminarian. I invited the two people to lead worship the next day. At the same time, my husband called one of our longtime and active members. When we hung up the phone, this person started calling people. He worked hard to make sure that every aspect of worship would be cared for. He must have made close to 20 calls. He invited a variety of different people to help with worship. He did whatever he could to make sure that worship would be faithful and inspiring.

When Sunday morning arrived, three different people showed up ready to preach. Three people came prepared to be used by God. The sermon was given by an 88-year-old saint of the church. Mary Elizabeth told the story of the Prodigal Son in such a way that blessed many hearers.

Following church, I was visited by three people. The church came to me. Jerry, Mary Lou and Christine came to provide care to me. I cried in their midst. I expressed anxiety about my current reality and some of the changes coming my way. They held my hand, comforted me, and cared for me. They were the church to me.

Calls continued through the week. One of our members left a message and then called back to leave a prayer on our voice mail. Cards have come with scriptures that I would normally read to others. Rides have been provided. My 102-year-old friend, Howard, had a rose ready for me when I showed up to Bible study. Hugs have been extended. Prayers have been lifted - countless prayers.

I have experienced the church - I have been touched by the church.

Mount Vernon Place is filled with so many remarkable people. Many of them have been coming to church for eight, nine or even ten decades. They know how to be the church. They know the words of James - that if one member suffers we are all called to suffer together and we are called to pray for one another. They care for each other. And, they are teaching our younger, newer members how to care for each other. They embody the Body of Christ with their actions, and their actions are teaching others how to be the Body of Christ. It is really quite beautiful.

My church carried me through last weekend. My church touched me with the hands of Christ. My church anointed my head with oil. They reminded me that no matter what happens, my cup overflows. It was a pure gift to receive the blessing of the church.

I desperately needed the church last weekend, and the church showed up in ways more powerful than I could have ever imagined.

How do people live without the church?

A Matter of Perspective

I received a frantic call from my husband last evening. Craig called on his drive home to tell me how much damage had been done in our neighborhood. He shared how traffic was at a standstill and trees were everywhere. I looked out my office window as we spoke and saw a lot of rain but nothing that looked too severe.

When I got home last night, approaching our neighborhood, I saw trees everywhere. In every lawn in our tree-filled neighborhood lied large trees and huge branches. There were trees everywhere - blocking sidewalks, stairs and streets. I have never seen anything like it. Seeing was believing. I fully understood what Craig was concerned about the moment I saw it with my own eyes.

How many times do we take time to see things with our own eyes? How many times do we place aside our own thoughts and opinions on the situation or concerns expressed by another person in order to see the weight of the matter?

We have started a journey to racial reconciliation with a neighboring United Methodist Church in downtown Washington. We have had three sessions and are now anticipating a fall Bible study and conversation composed of people from Asbury and Mount Vernon Place United Methodist Churches in addition to our partners at Wesley Theological Seminary. We are just getting started, but I have already had my eyes refocused. My eyes, mind and heart are already seeing a perspective they did not see before.

I learned a few weeks ago the pain that one of my colleagues experienced when she lived across the street from a hospital in Washington - a hospital that she was not allowed to enter even when a relative was choking. I have learned about the pain of passing certain department stores in downtown Washington - stores that sold beautiful things that only a certain shade of person could purchase. I have learned the perceptions of our church - the lure of a chapel whose doors were open all the time but nonetheless seemed accessible to individuals at a church of the same denomination less than two blocks away. And, I learned this week the pain associated with newer developments at Mount Vernon Place.

I now see things differently. I see how my words or actions could be misinterpreted. I see how important it is for me to listen more fully. I see how important and hard the work of reconciliation can be.

What does it take for us to see things through the eyes of another? To seek to understand what it is like to be in the minority? To seek to understand the loneliness in the life of a recent widow or a new resident of the city? To pursue an appreciation for someone else's job responsibilities - to seek to understand the weight of a change in office dynamics or the team? To want to hear what is happening or has happened in the life of another that causes them to react the way the do today? How is it that we gain an understanding heart - one that does not look out the window and say, "I have no idea what he's worried about. It's barely raining here!" How is it that we get to the place where we do not say, "Get over it! Racism is a thing of the past and not prevalent today" and instead say, "Help me to better see what your life is like."

I had no idea that yesterday's storm was so bad. It did not look bad from my office window. But when I switched locations and moved to a different place, I understood. The storm - yesterday's storm - was really, really bad.

Stereotypical Librarians

There are many things I love about the location of the church I serve. From my office window, I can observe water play time at the child care center across the street. I know when traffic is stopped because of a suspicious package. I can see when the weather is beautiful just by looking at size of the lunch crowd at the restaurant across the street. And, when I walk out the doors of the church, I can almost always tell which group is meeting at the Convention Center.

Without fail, the attendees usually have a name badge that tells me their name and where they are from. They also regularly have an identical bag on their shoulders identifying which convention they are attending.

I love our location.

A few weeks ago, there was a librarian convention in town. Many of these individuals were identifiable not because of the bag they carried but because of the way they dressed, the shoes they wore, or the way the styled their hair. On that Sunday morning, we were blessed to have about 8 librarians worship with us. When the worship service ended, someone remarked, "You could tell they were librarians just by the way they looked."

It's been several weeks since this happened, but I still keep thinking about the statement. I keep thinking about it because I am also in a field where people are often known for how they look. Almost half of my colleagues (myself included) could stand to lose more than a few pounds. Some of us wear clergy collars that immediately give us away. Few of us dare to wear skirts more than an inch or two above the knee. Most of us struggle with what to wear - especially if we are a woman.

When I experienced a call to ministry, one of the first things I thought about was how I did not want to be like most of the women preachers I knew. Few of them wore lipstick or toenail polish. I had a hard time finding one that had been able to successfully balance the church, a husband and children. Not many of them seemed to live the life I wanted or appeared the way I wanted to appear. A few years later, I realize how I pray others are not stereotyping me for being a "typical preacher."

But, I keep thinking about the power of stereotypes.

Sadly, the church is now stereotyped by many adjectives that are not so positive. People outside the church see us as anti-homosexual, judgmental, hypocritical and many other not so nice adjectives. We have been placed in a hole of irrelevancy. We have been cast aside as part of an organization that is no longer needed. And, I'm learning that it can take a lot to break this stereotype. It can take a lot to show someone a different side of Christianity.

But, I'm trying. And, all the while I am trying, I realize how easy it is to put on a facade. If a church member were to follow me thru Washington traffic, they would quickly see that I am not always Christlike. If someone were to peek inside my closet or see the purses I carry, they would see that I struggle with possessions. If someone were to look inside my heart, they would see that I often struggle just as much as the next person - there are some people that I, too, have a hard time liking.

But, I'm trying. By the grace of God, I'm trying to not live up to the stereotypical Christian but to be the kind of person I see Jesus calling to follow him throughout the Gospels. I'm trying to share more of what I have been given with people in need. I'm trying to watch my mouth - even when an --- cuts me off on I-395. I'm trying to be one who loves God with all I have and my neighbor as myself. I'm trying to be a really good pastor and an even better Christian.

What would happen if we as the church worked hard to break the stereotypes bestowed upon us today? What would it take for us to live our faith with all that we are? How could we better embody our faith in such a way that someone would say, "Wow. That person is really trying to be like Jesus?"

I'm trying.

Adapting to Change

I have had a Hotmail email account for over a decade. I love my Hotmail account. It is where all my personal email arrives. It is an account I use and check regularly. Hotmail changed the look of my account yesterday, however, and I don't like it. They tell me that they are working hard to clean up my account regularly and that I should love the new features. Yet, I miss the old look. I knew where to find each feature so well, and it's all changed now. I like the previous version no matter how good or helpful the new version might be.

A week or so ago I noticed a comment posted by one of my Facebook friends. She had been to a Dave Matthews concert at Nationals Park and was complaining about the music. She expressed how much the band had changed and then stated how she wished he had played more of the old stuff. It was clear that she does not like the new music but much prefers the sounds of the past - the music that came from Dave in the good old days.

The comment about music is one that every church hears often. "Why don't they sing more of the good ol' hymns?" "What's wrong with the Cokesbury hymnal?" These are the comments that come from some of our older members. At the same time, our new members exclaim, "I just don't like the music." "Can we please sing something that was composed in this decade?"

It does not matter how much the new might help us or benefit us, we don't like change. We are not quick to adapt to change but find it easier to resist change.

I am blessed to serve a church that is changing. Five years ago, our congregation had an average age of 82. Our chair of staff parish relations was 97, our finance committee chair was 93, and our lay leader was 90. We had one person in their 20s and I was the only person in my 30s. Our young people were the ones in their 60s and 70s, and there was only a handful of them. Today, we interviewed several candidates for our nursery worker position. We have 10 children under the age of two with at least one more on the way and a few that are older. We have many young adults, several families, and many new people. The landscape of our church has changed.

Our building has also changed. Five years ago, our historic building was in gross need of repair. About 1/3 of the building had become unusable due to water damage, mold and decay. Asbestos covered each floor. The stained glass windows were attached with lead that was becoming brittle to the point that the windows were literally bulging and cracking. The toilets worked on some Sundays and other Sundays I would walk in and see water all over the floor. The roof was the original 1917 roof. I could literally poke my fingers through some walls that were crumbling. It was a "leak a week" building that was consuming a ton of time, energy and resources.

Today, this very building has been completely restored and is ready to serve whoever walks in for the next 100 years. At the same time, we have multi-use space in a new building that is being used for all kinds of stuff. Tomorrow, we'll host our current mayor and the city council chairperson for a debate. We have hosted countless weddings, many conferences, several seminary classes, training sessions for local groups, and other meetings. We are the home for several nonprofits who tell me each week how grateful they are for their office space. We have a growing relationship with a seminary that houses students upstairs and faculty downstairs. We have two bakers who are making their small business dreams come true through the use of our kitchen. At the same time, we have a great fellowship hall for potlucks and large meetings and really wonderful offices and meeting rooms. The space is a gift from God. There are so many things about it that should have gone wrong and started to go wrong. But, they didn't.

However, not everyone is content with the space. One person shared with me this week how he wishes so much that we were still the 50 member congregation worshipping across the street in a borrowed library. Others point out how much money was spent on the building - something I also struggle and wrestle with. Still others question certain decisions that were made - things that were completely out of our control that were dictated by a historic review board that told us what we could and could not do with the building.

God has blessed us with so much - so much - but we find it easier to complain sometimes than see the goodness in it. God is bringing new people into our midst each Sunday, and we are surrounded by thousands of other unchurched people but we sometimes wonder why we can't be the little community that we first fell in love with. God is leading us to new places and new possibilities - but we would sometimes rather go back to where we were. Lives have been changed but we sometimes would prefer to be the community that does not have any room for additional lives to be changed.

I learned in a church leadership class that every church has a "Let's Go Back to Egypt Committee." Each church family has some people who no matter how good the future might be, always want to go back to what it once was. The Israelites were being led by God who promised to lead them to a land flowing with milk and honey. Still, they complained and wished out loud that they would have died while being enslaved in Egypt. God gave them bread from heaven and water from a rock and they still questioned God's motives and existence. They could only look back instead of looking forward.

I am tempted to look back often. I wonder all the time why my husband and I both bought one-bedroom condos at the height of the market before we met each other. I wonder all the time what decisions would have been made had the congregation that is here today been here five years ago to dream and make plans for a new building. I wonder all the time what would have happened had the property never been sold - or had we been delayed and stuck with a hole in the ground because of a changing landscape. I also wonder what would have happened had our longtime members not had the courage and the vision to sell the property, trusting that something new could happen. Had they not done this, I am pretty sure that I would not be here today. I am also pretty sure that the majority of our newer members would not be here today. Was an enormous amount of money spent on the building? Yes. But it was spent with the hope that countless new people would find their ways through doors that lead to a remarkable community called Mount Vernon Place. They were spent with the hope that this church could again be what it once was - a place faithfully seeking to serve the needs of the community, a place where all kinds of people could come and experience the gift of real community, a place where no one had to be alone in life, a place where the Gospel was being faithfully read, proclaimed and lived.

Things have changed. Things are continuing to change. We serve a God who is always on the move. We do not always keep up with God, and sometimes we go way too far ahead of God. My prayer, however, is that we can always sense God's presence - not in the past, but in the present and the future. May we look ahead - dreaming together for what tomorrow might hold. May we let go and trust God.

Oh, and if you are looking for a church family, please come by. We would love to have you. We have plenty of room for you. We have just done something crazy, something risky, something extravagant, all in anticipation for the day you would join us.

An Unexpected Hero

For the last several weeks, our congregation, Mount Vernon Place United Methodist Church, has been working with nearby Asbury United Methodist Church and Wesley Theological Seminary on a journey towards reconciliation. The two congregations are located less than two blocks away from each other. I can see Asbury from my office window. We are so close when it comes to geography and so far apart when it comes to history.

One of the first things people notice about our monumental structure are words etched in stone, "Methodist Episcopal Church South." The large words are etched above both main entrances to the sanctuary building. The church building is monumental - it looks more like the Supreme Court building than it does a steepled church. It was designed to stand tall, to stand out, to stand above. And, it was paid for by people from other churches all over the south who were part of the same denomination, proudly stamping their building with the denomination name.

Our church was the "representative church" for the part of the Methodist Church that split in 1844 over the issue of slavery. When a bishop acquired slaves through marriage and would not let them go, the church split. The Methodist Episcopal Church would not tolerate slavery - a stance our church has held since its beginning. The Methodist Episcopal Church South, on the other hand, said slavery was fine.

We split. We built a monumental church. We remained a separate denomination until 1939. And, our churches have remained separate in so many different ways. But, through the gift of a partnership, our stories are being told in new ways - ways intended to bring together that which has been separated - to bring healing to hurt.

Our journey started with a film as we gathered to watch a movie and then talk. We then had a night devoted to hearing the history of Asbury UMC. The next Wednesday evening we learned about the history of race in the United Methodist Church. We then gathered last Wednesday night to learn the history of Mount Vernon Place.

I thought I knew what to expect. I tell the history in a short synopsis at each new member class. I have spent hours in the archives pouring through the files of history. However, I had never heard one of our members, Mary Lou, speak about our history. I had never heard her tell her role in seeking to change history nearly 50 years ago.

Mary Lou brought with her two documents. One of them was a copy of a local newspaper article from March 14, 1962. The article was titled, "Churches Declare Welcome to All Regardless of Race or Background" and told how 74 Protestant churches came together to sign a statement "welcoming into full membership all persons of any racial, economic or social background." Mary Lou brought the article and pointed out how Asbury had signed the document. She commended them for her taking a stand and then continued to tell her story.

She shared how she was responsible for the young adult group at church and invited a speaker to come and share on "How to Integrate an Unintegrated Church." Mary Lou was seeking to be faithful. She was seeking to follow her savior and expose the young adults to a different way. The conversation, however, did not go well. Mary Lou brought with her a letter dated June 14, 1962 from the pastor of Brightwood Park Methodist Church. Rev. Harry L. Bennett wrote to Mary Lou expressing thanksgiving and then shared, "I'm sorry about the embarrassment that the topic might have had for your Pastor and some of the church members. Perhaps some church members and pastors need to be embarrassed and shocked, especially when it comes to long overdue brotherhood and decent human relations."

Mary Lou did not elaborate on what had happened. She did not share why the pastor was embarrassed or what happened. She only made it clear that the conversation did not go well. In the meantime, I have been praising God for Mary Lou. I have been giving thanks for how her efforts nearly 50 years ago have played a part in getting us where we are today. I now see how Mary Lou's fingerprints are not only on the handles of doors that are opened as she brings people to church but on a congregation that has been transformed in more recent years. While we have a ways to go, I am so thankful for the steps taken long before many of us arrived at this place. I am also thankful for people at both churches who are willing to tell stories - to take steps towards wholeness and healing.

Thanks be to God for my new unexpected hero. Thank you, Mary Lou, for what you have done to make this church what it is today. Thank you for being you.

The Fine Print

Wednesdays are my favorite day to open the Washington Post. I love Wednesdays because it is the day the Food Section arrives with the normal parts of the newspaper, and tucked inside the Food Section are advertisements that I always look forward to reading. Each Wednesday, my eyes cannot wait to see what my local grocers have on sale. Giant, Harris Teeter, Safeway and Shopper's all tell me what they are willing to take a loss on that week in order to get me through their door, and they usually succeed. With four grocery stores within a mile of our house, I am willing to travel to save money.

Saving money is an art for me, actually. Each week, I make a list of what is on sale at each place and then carefully go through my coupon file to see if I can save even more money. I even get things FREE sometime! It is a delightful thing to save money on groceries - especially on items that I use each week anyway.

A few weeks ago, Giant had a special. If I bought $20 of a certain brand of products, then they would take $10 off my final bill. I carefully selected the products I would purchase, adding the cost of each one until I reached $20. Part of the plan was to purchase 7 boxes of Nabisco Crackers (I eat them at home and also use them for coffee hour at the church).

Prior to going to Giant, however, I stopped at Safeway where I was delighted to find a stack of coupons free for the taking. I took 4 coupons for $1 off a box of Nabisco Crackers. Geesh, I am going to save even more money, I thought to myself.

I got to Giant, put all my things on the belt, watched the $10 be taken off on the screen when all of my Kraft products had been scanned, and got in the car. I was so pleased at my savings. But, when I got home and looked at my receipt, I realized that I had not saved the $10. Somehow the $10 was not taken off at the very end - when the checkout person scanned my $1 coupons. My $1 coupons did not total to spending $20 worth of products. I was so frustrated! I then got out the advertisement and read the fine print. I read the small words that said something like "Purchase must total more than $20 after coupons are subtracted."

If I would have only read the small print!!

How often we as Christians fail to read the small print. We have gotten good at finding the words in scripture that we want to find. We can justify many a hate by picking and choosing what we want to read in the Bible. People can point to verses that state why I as a female should be silent in church. They can point to the teaching of Paul when it comes to homosexuality and cast one word of judgment upon another. There are places in the Bible that even justify the sin of slavery. Passages of scripture are used to justify our hatred all the time, in fact.

But what about the small print?

The central message of the Old and New Testaments is that we are to love God with all that we have while loving our neighbor as ourselves. While we are quick to judge others, Jesus says time and again that we are not to judge. He even says that the one who can throw the first stone is the one who is without sin which means none of us.

What might happen if all of us who are seeking to follow Jesus sought to read the entire book instead of the ones that enable us to be anything but Christlike?

I love the pin I was given at the Capital Pride Festival - the little one that reads, "Don't use religion to justify your hatred."

Try reading the small print. There's a lot more love there than we normally allow ourselves to see.

Neediness

I celebrated my birthday yesterday by treating myself to a massage and haircut. The combination consists of two of my favorite things, and a last minute special by my favorite day spa brought even more joy to the experience.

It has been a while since I have had a massage. The masseuse informed me that she had not worked on my back in six months, and I have had only one other massage in between while on vacation in Florida. It had been a while since anyone had really kneaded my back, and I had no idea how much I needed a massage.

A typical one-hour massage includes time for the back, the legs, the shoulders, the head, the arms and even the hands. My experience yesterday was all about my back, however. Within moments, the masseuse discovered knots all over the top of my back. There were so many knots to work out that my back is literally sore to the touch today. She spent almost an entire hour on my upper back, working diligently to break up small knots - knots that I had no idea were there.

My job is stressful at times. But I had no idea how much stress I was carrying in my back. I needed someone else to reveal the weight of the stress being carried. I could not see it alone. I needed someone else to help discover it. And the discovery is making all the difference today. I needed help to see what I could not see on my own.

We need help in a lot of places.

We need people in our lives to help us see what we cannot see.

I am reminded often of how much I need what my former boss refers to as "holy friendships." Greg Jones, the dean of Duke Divinity School, says we all need friends who can point out for us the sins we have grown to love while also naming the gifts we have been afraid to claim. We need people to hold us accountable. We need people to be truth tellers in our lives. We cannot follow Jesus alone.

As I finish my fifth year at Mount Vernon Place this week, I realize how some members of my congregation now provoke me to a greater level of discipleship. They push me to do things that I might not be ready to do on my own. They help me to see things that I might not be able to see on my own.

I also have clergy colleagues who do the same - who point out for me my gifts and ask why I am not using them or who tell me when I am doing something that I probably should not be doing. My colleagues tell me when I am being narcissistic and in need of humility. They also tell me when I should be shining more. We cannot follow Jesus alone.

Sunday worship - our time of coming together in order to celebrate God's presence in our lives, confess our sins, hear God's word read and proclaimed, and receive the sacrament - is the beginning of a life together. I believe worship is central in terms of our being able to acknowledge God's presence in our lives while also embodying practices that demonstrate our reliance on God. But I am not sure worship is enough.

For years I chose to worship in a university chapel. I went because of the amazing preaching and incredible music. But I also went because I could worship there without any sense of accountability. No one knew when I was there and no one really knew when I was missing. No one asked me to pledge a portion of what God had given to me. No one pushed me to think about how I was sharing my God-given gifts with the community. I could go to worship and receive an encounter of God but I was never led to a deeper level of discipleship.

We need accountability, and we need community. It's one of the many reasons I believe in the power of small groups sometimes called covenant discipleship groups. I need to be asked, "How is it with your soul" by people who are not going to accept "fine, thank you" as a response. I need people to ask me if I am giving at least 10% of what God has given to me away. I need people to inquire about whether I have been practicing the means of grace - reading my Bible daily, setting aside time for prayer each day, spending time with the poor, and experiencing holy conversation. I need people to help me confess and turn away from sins I have grown to love while also fully using the gifts God has given to me.

We cannot be disciples on our own.

What about you? What are you getting away with that you would not get away with if you had someone regularly seeking to hold you accountable?

Encouraging the Church

I love the church. For as long as I can remember, the church has been the place where I have discovered community - a circle of people who provide friendship, laughter, accountability, growth, support and companionship through life. The church has been a place I have run from once or twice in life but more than anything it has been the place that I have run to when a few things in life seemed to be shaky or falling apart.

I now have the privilege of providing leadership for a church. I have the precious responsibility of ordering the life of a congregation and helping to guide people towards a fuller relationship with Christ. I have the daunting task of discerning how best individuals can be formed, shaped and transformed and then equipped as saints carrying out the ministry of Christ in the world. There are times when I feel like I have a strong handle on how to do these tasks, fulfilling the responsibilities bestowed upon me at ordination. There are other times when I am absolutely terrified - when it feels like I have made too many mistakes in laying the foundation or when I am overcome with feelings of doubt about how I could possibly get us moving forward again. There are times when I feel like I know exactly what I am doing and there are other times when I wonder how I could possibly be the one God is asking to move a people forward.

When people ask about the transformation that has happened at Mount Vernon Place, how we have gone from a congregation that had been in decline for fifty years to a growing church that is reaching out to its community, I often tell them that the one thing that has made all the difference is a sense of authenticity that pervades all we do.

Five years ago, we had a glorious sanctuary that was engulfing us. We had a hard time finding each other in the sanctuary, let alone in the day to day struggles of life. When we started to redevelop the property, we had to vacate this sanctuary, moving into much smaller and less than glorious space. It was in this more intimate, plain space that we rediscovered the precious gift of community.

The theatre seats on which we sat forced us to come closer together, and we then started to share specific practices that cultivated our sense of togetherness. We started to break bread together at the end of each service, sharing coffee, cookies and other goodies. And, we started to share the joys of life and the burdens of our hearts. We began to make space in each service to share with one another what was making our heart to sing and what was causing our heart to be heavy. It did not take long to begin to see the Spirit at work in these ancient practices.

"What is it that has turned your church around?" people ask. My most common response is, "Seeking to be a place of real authenticity in a city where authenticity can be hard to find." I then go on to explain how the first question we ask at Mount Vernon Place is never, "What do you do?" but rather, "Who are you? What makes your heart sing? What causes your heart to hurt?" This authenticity has made all the difference in the world.

This week, I have been struggling a lot with what I perceive to be hints of brokenness in the body. There are several people who have not been to worship in a while, and it makes me sad while also causing me to wonder what we might have done to disappoint them. There has not been enough communication on some things, and a few folks have felt let down when their desire to do something new has not come to fruition. And it feels at times that we have lost our focus, including sometimes my own focus. It's in times like this when I feel hesitant - uneasy - doubtful - and sometimes even afraid. I wonder what kind of criticism is pointed towards me. I wonder how best to bring individuals back into the fold. I wonder what God is asking me to do now.

This morning during my quiet time, two passages of scripture appeared on the same page of the devotional book I am using. The first passage is 1 Corinthians 12:26-27 which reads, "If one member suffers, all suffer together with it; if one member is honored, all rejoice together with it. Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it."

This important work of rejoicing and suffering together is central to who we are. We have celebrated the arrival of new jobs and the loss of jobs. We have rejoiced at the birth of new babies and become saddened when another life ended in miscarriage. We have given thanks for new homes and grieved together when homes were hard or impossible to find. We have sought to be the church together - to share the fullness of life with one another - and it has been powerful and life-giving. And I wonder how anyone can get through life without the assurance of having a community of people to journey through life with. I wonder if this message is powerful enough to bring all kinds of people back to the church or into the doors for the first time.

The other passage of scripture I read is Hebrews 10:24-25, "Let us consider how we may spur one another on toward love and good deeds. Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another."

The verses appeared as a gift from God. It was almost as if God wrote directly to me in response to what has been on my heart. Our call is to spur one another on toward love and good deeds. We are called to encourage one another. We are called to be together. We are called to do what we can to propel one another to continue being together - when we are getting a lot from the experience and when we are getting little from the experience - when we are seeing God show up often and when God's face is hard to find - in good times and in bad times - in sickness and in health - when the pastor and the lay people are leading in ways we love and when the pastor and the lay people are leading in ways that we would not choose to lead if we were in charge - when the church is singing songs we love and when the church is singing songs that we despise. It is a covenant, after all.

Laurence Hull Stookey adds this prayer to the devotional book, "This Day: A Wesleyan Way of Prayer."

O God of hosts: You are never alone.

Even when you seem to us to be solitary in your splendor,

you yourself live within the community

of your triune being.

As you are never alone,

so you provide that we shall not be alone.

Increase our appreciation for your gift of the church,

imperfect though it is because of our many faults.

By the unifying power of the Holy Spirit,

visit us and bind us together as those

who know themselves to be your people;

through Jesus Christ, whose promises we trust.

Amen.

A Church with Showers

A church with showers is a wonderful thing - especially in the heart of the city. Having showers at Mount Vernon Place was something I thought about before I arrived - part of the vision God gave to me when I was given a few select details about the church I might be appointed to serve.

A few years later, the showers are here. There are two showers in the men's room and two showers in the women's room. There are lockers and space to change, too. The showers are here - available for the church to host overnight guests and also for others to come in and receive a simple necessity of life - something most of us take for granted when we stumble into our bathrooms eyes half-closed, mumbling how we would rather still be in bed.

A year or so ago, several people in the church started to investigate what we could do with these showers. They visited shelters, churches and other facilities blessed with spaces where others could come inside and shower, having their dignity restored in the process. A policy was created and past by the Trustees. The showers opened four months ago. Each Tuesday morning, the showers at the church are available from 6:00 to 8:00. Anyone can come inside and shower.

The ministry has been going for four months. I have read about it and heard about it. However, I had never seen the ministry in action until this week. I have plenty of reasons - at first it was a standing commitment each Tuesday morning from 7:15 to 8:00, I then got excited about something happening at the church that I did not have to be at (it's powerful to be a pastor and see the laity embracing their call to be the priesthood of all believers), and I then allowed long days at the church to dictate why I could not be here at 6:00 towards the start of the week. I realize now that while these are valid excuses, perhaps I allowed some of my insecurities and fears to really keep me away. It's messy business, after all, when you start to take the gospel seriously. It's easier to stand at a distance than to get involved. It's easier to see people than it is to take time and listen to a person's story. And, it's certainly easier to separate ourselves into "us" and "them" than it is to seek to bridge the divide - something our lay leader spoke more eloquently about on Sunday than I am writing about here.

Thankfully, however, I finally arrived at the church a few minutes after 6:00 on Tuesday morning. I placed all of my belongings in my office upstairs and then came downstairs to the lobby near the doors to the showers. And, I saw grace the moment I walked through the door.

My eyes were captivated by a table filled with many things - men's boxers and briefs of all sizes, women's underwear in several sizes, socks, shampoos, conditioners, towels, clean shirts, tooth brushes and paste, and several kinds of deodorant. Everything was there on the table - everything was available to be taken. Opposite of this table was a table where hot coffee was being brewed and granola bars and fruit were being set out. Everything was being carefully prepared, readied for our guests.

Soon our guests started to arrive, and I am not sure I have been the same since. I wrote these words to the coordinators of the ministry yesterday afternoon:

You are both good at sharing your reflections with others after being here on Tuesday mornings. I want to share my reflections with you – and mainly express my deepest sense of gratitude and respect.

I experienced grace the moment I walked in. Perhaps it was good to be a few minutes late as I walked in and saw a table filled with necessities – with things I take for granted all the time – but morsels that people carefully selected and took into the shower room this morning. I was reminded of the Syrophoenician woman who responds to Jesus about how even the crumbs that fall from the table are blessings. It was a powerful display for my eyes to see.

I think I was particularly touched and transformed by one of our visitors, Sipea (sp?) this morning. She will be heavy on my heart this day, causing me to reflect and think often. I was touched by her saying how a shower was just what she needed. I was struck by how she bowed before so many of us expressing thanksgiving. I was struck by how she wanted to give us $5. And, her appearing to be so incredibly alone will haunt me with the questions of what more we can do. She’s entered my heart, for sure.

Gregory was typical Gregory. He drives me crazy, and yet, I enjoy hearing him say, “You know, Miss Donna?”

And, there is something powerful about watching people select a pair of clean underwear – something I’ll think about when I open my dresser drawer and see a collection of dozens of pairs to select from – and the power of being grateful for one clean, new pair – one pair – not dozens of pairs.

All of this is to say, thank you. Thank you for providing me with an experience of grace this morning. Thank you for allowing me to see God’s goodness in my life and in the lives of those around me. Thank you for your commitment and organization and passion that continue to propel this ministry.

I am sincerely grateful, and I look forward to continuing to work with you as we discern our next faithful steps together.

Have a blessed day.

Glad to be your pastor,
Donna

This afternoon I was walking down the street when I heard someone calling my name, "Miss Donna, Miss Donna, Miss Donna!" I looked over and saw Gregory sitting on a bench in a park. I said, "Hello" to Gregory, and Gregory shouted again, "Miss Donna, I got to go to the dentist today!" I smiled and shared, "That's great." I then chuckled as I watched the people around me gaze at this man yelling to me on the sidewalk. As I continued to walk, I realized again how much I love this community.

Usefulness

I was shocked to see today that Tipper and Al Gore are separating. A couple who seemed so happy throughout their days of being in the public eye, a couple who seemed so together when the marriage of President Clinton seemed so shaky, a couple who kissed for what seemed to be several minutes on stage at the Democratic National Convention, is splitting up, calling it quits after 40 years of marriage.

How is it that people can stay married for 40 years and then give up?

This question is the one I asked earlier today when I posted my frustration and sadness on Facebook. My friend, Cynthia, answered with a comment that is making me think.

She wrote, "...But it also made me think of a group I was involved with that stopped getting together and meeting because "it had run its course of usefulness for us." And I wonder how we have turned our relationships into commodities whose only requirement for existence is their "usefulness" to our personal lives--within marriage, within our churches, *with* our churches, with any other group where relationships get difficult and require more work than we think we can give."

I've given up on such relationships before. There have been many times when I let go of something because it no longer seemed useful. I used to meet with two nearby clergy every single week. These two individuals are the people who got me through the really hard first year at Mount Vernon Place when I wanted to quit more often than I wanted to stay and be a pastor. However, when our time together turned from a time of sharing about life and the church to a time of studying the lectionary together, I decided it was no longer useful. It was no longer useful for me to spend an hour or so of my time with these two clergy friends. A few years later, one of them has moved away and the other one is only three blocks away, but I never see her. I miss her friendship deeply. There are many times when I wish I would not have given up on that sacred small group. My deeming something unuseful resulted in a near loss of relationship with someone who is responsible for getting me through the toughest year of ministry.

Certainly we all have an experience of determining that something is no longer useful. I am guessing that we also all know what it feels like when someone has determined that spending time with us is no longer useful.

What would it mean for us to take every single covenant we have made and see it as something we have to work hard to keep no matter what? What would it mean to see the commitment we made as the reason we stick with everything instead of whether or not something is still useful in our lives? Would we then see the church that was useful when we were lonely and needed friendship as the place that might be able to use our gifts today to provide fellowship to others? Would we then see the church that nurtured our children when they were little as a place where we are called to serve today - to ensure that other children have the same experiences as our children? Would we see the Bible study group that was useful to us when we were going through a horrific divorce as a place where our gifts can be utilized because someone else might be going through a difficult time? What would it mean for us to approach our relationship with God as not something we use only when needed - when we're on our knees and crying out to God in the midst of a major disappointment, or one door having closed after another, or an illness or loss - but something that we enjoy because we are a covenant people bound to God who promises to always be with us? What if we always remembered the promises made at our marriage - to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, until we are parted by death - as promises made for life and not just when being with our spouse seems useful?

What about you? What have you let go of because it no longer seemed useful? What might you be called to take up again whether useful or not?

Strangely Warmed

It's Aldersgate Day. It was May 24, 1738 when a reluctant John Wesley entered a meeting room on Aldersgate Street in London. He did not want to go. He went unwillingly. And yet, something extraordinary happened when he arrived.

Someone was reading Martin Luther's preface to the Epistle to the Romans. John Wesley listened and felt the story taking hold of his life. He felt his heart strangely warmed. He wrote in his journal, "I felt I did trust in Christ, Christ alone, for salvation; and an assurance was given me that he had taken away my sins, even mine, and saved me from the law of sin and death."

Wesley did not want to go but he went. He did not want to be there but the message still caught up with him. The reluctant Wesley experienced something that enabled him to believe that salvation was by grace and grace alone and that Christ really had died for him. This belief continues to penetrate the hearts of Methodists who have followed him for the last two centuries. This message has continued to set hearts on fire. And it started with someone not wanting to be there.

I was recently having a conversation with someone in our church who shared with me how it sometimes takes everything within a person to get to worship. She went on to explain how our members live busy lives and that another commitment on Sunday can be just too much. She sought to justify some of our members not being in worship for weeks because of the busy demands of life in Washington.

This morning, I started my work week by having breakfast with another church member who is eighty-eight years old. Mary Elizabeth missed church yesterday. She started her journey from Arlington to downtown Washington and then encountered roadblock after roadblock of people bicycling in an event in downtown DC. After running into several roadblocks, Mary Elizabeth and the two members with her discerned they were not going to make it to church, and they turned around to go home. Mary Elizabeth then continued to tell me how much she missed church. She shared how she can hardly make it through a week without worship. Worship is the place where she is renewed and receives what she needs for the six days ahead.

I have been thinking a lot about the two perspectives shared with me. There are times when we are convinced that our lives are our own - that everything we have - our time, our talents and our resources are because of us - what we have done or what we have earned. There are other times when we are able to be won over, when our hearts and minds begin to comprehend that we are nothing on our own - that all that we have is because of the goodness of God. We live and move and have our being because of God. It is from this understanding that we arrive at the place where we cannot get through another week without worship.

I yearn for the faith life of Mary Elizabeth. I want people to knock on my door and find me reading the Psalms. I want to read scripture by heart and not always by sight. I want to offer at least 10% of every dollar I have back to God. I want to invest in the lives of others, providing scholarships and other forms of assistance. I want to live and breathe God - God's goodness - all the time.

I had my heart strangely warmed today. It would have been much easier to go directly into the office and face the dozen things on my "to-do" list. It would have felt more productive to tackle the tasks at hand than to sit and sip coffee for an extended time. But, my morning started with an experience of having my heart warmed - of knowing without a shadow of a doubt that God is with me and that God is blessing me. I was reminded again today of what is important and that a life in which God is first and not me, my goals, my priorities, my checkbook, my schedule - is the best life possible. I lingered for a moment, and I was able to see how worship and God always have to come first.

I wonder what would happen if we simply committed to putting ourselves in a place where God can touch us. What would happen if we committed to being in worship unless we are physically unable to be there - to showing up no matter what? What if we pushed ourselves and said that being in worship is more important than sleeping in, or enjoying a hobby, or getting to the office, or going on a run, or meeting friends for brunch, or anything else? What if we put ourselves in a place where we always demonstrate to God how God is first in our lives - beginning on the first day of the week, bringing to God the first fruits of what we have?

A very reluctant John Wesley went to a meeting room in Aldersgate. He did not want to be there. But God met him there. And those of us who are United Methodists still follow his teachings and form our beliefs on his faith today.

When have you last experienced your heart being strangely warmed?

When have you been willing to give yourself over to God - showing up even when you don't want to be there?

How can we better show God that we understand how God is the source of all that we have?

Getting it Right

During the season of Lent, Mount Vernon Place was privileged to be one of five congregations to pilot a new program for the Fund for Theological Education. Based in Atlanta, the FTE works to ignite a sense of excitement and provide opportunities to exceptional young people who might be interested in pursuing a call to ministry, individuals who are already in seminary, and African American doctoral candidates.

The work on this particular program of empowering congregations to notice, name and nurture people in our congregations through creating space for storytelling began last summer. At that time, a wide range of pastors and church leaders were invited to Atlanta to share thoughts on the ideas being presented and to talk about how to broaden the reach of the FTE on this and other programs. In November, each of the five congregations was invited to travel to Atlanta for an extensive training on the program and an opportunity to experience the power of storytelling. We then returned home, started to publicize the program in our congregations, and carefully followed the training manuals given to us for five weeks during Lent.

The program worked on some levels and failed on other levels. There are some things about the program that we loved and other things that continue to puzzle us. Some of the congregations attracted a large number of people to the program and other congregations, like the one I serve, could not keep people interested. I learned about how the program worked in other places this past week when representatives from our five congregations again gathered in Atlanta to talk about what had been done.

For 30 hours this week, we went through a deliberate time of reviewing the process. Using post-it notes of all shapes, sizes and colors, we were all given an opportunity to comment on what worked and what failed - on the things we loved and the things we would leave behind - on the pieces that were effective and the pieces that were ineffective - all in an effort to assist the people at the FTE with developing a program that will be user-friendly, accessible and really assist congregations and campus ministries in this important work of providing space to discuss vocation - to notice, name and nurture the gifts of each person so we can all discover that place where our deep gladness meets the world's deep needs. The FTE will now take our learnings and continue to tweak the program until it is right.

As I think about this process - each step of planning, training, creating, offering, and evaluating, I realize how often we settle on the way things are instead of the way things could be. So often in the church we discern that it is better not to rock the boat and so we keep on doing things whether we like them or not. A ministry starts and even if it is attracting only a couple of faithful participants, we don't want to offend anyone by suggesting that we let it go. A new worship experience is offered and no one new really comes but we sometimes determine to keep doing it instead of moving a different direction. A system of committees and ministry teams that once worked starts to become ineffective but instead of doing something different, we determine that it's easier to continue to do what we have always done.

What if our churches worked hard to intentionally get the thoughts of a wide range of people inside our churches and outside our churches on how the church can better serve the needs of the community? What if we searched high and low to discover what people really need to enable them to experience more of God's presence and use the unique gifts God has given to them while serving the needs of our community at the same time? What if we then took all of these thoughts and carefully proceeded - not duplicating things that are already done, not starting things for which there is limited passion or people to assist, not doing things that we want to do over things that we need to do - but doing things that lead to life - abundant life for all involved? What if we focused our efforts on really getting it right and then asked people to evaluate what we are doing regularly - inviting people to offer their thoughts and then not being afraid or offended to step back and see that we might be missing a mark or two? What if we kept on working - long and hard - until we got it right?

I look at how much the FTE has invested in time and money in an effort to get something right that they have determined is important. Doing something once was not enough. They had to do it again and again. They had to let go of some things and embrace other things - all in an effort to further awaken God's call. They had to put their own feelings aside in order to listen to others. They had to let go in order to embrace something new.

I'm ready to order to sticky notes - post-it notes of all shapes and sizes.

Seeing Church

I saw the church at its best this week. I saw the church - not the big, fancy building in which millions of dollars have been invested - but a rather small yet sacred group of people being the body I envision Jesus called us to be.

Throughout this week, I have been privileged to share time with people who are willing to struggle in order to discern our call in the city. Almost every day this week I have been able to dialogue with people in an effort to discern what our role is with individuals who sleep on the front porch of the church. We have talked about what mercy is and what justice is. We have discussed what it means to offer money and what it means to offer life abundant. We have pondered what it means to offer people a few dollars here and there and what it would mean to literally accompany someone through the immigration process. The conversations have been real, and they have been hard. But, there have been people willing to dialogue and I have seen the church through this dialogue.

As the sun was rising yesterday morning I gathered with two church members for a 7:00 a.m. Bible study. We have been meeting together for several months now, studying the gospel of Mark and using a book by Ched Myers which pushes us to think prophetically - to really engage the text. We spent most of our time together yesterday talking about the changes happening at the church and then opened the pages of scripture. We read less than twenty verses - the verses which tell the story of Blind Bartimaeus being healed. As we read the passage together, I realized that one person was touched in a tangible way. The scripture passage had busted open any false pretenses and what followed was an honest assessment of life - of how hard it is when Jesus does not answer prayer immediately, of how hard it is to lose a loved one, of how hard it is to journey through life. In those moments of vulnerability, I saw the church.

As the day came to a close, my final appointment was with a group of three other women who were eager to plan a four-week Bible study on service during the month of June. We talked about the needs of the congregation. We discerned which biblical texts should be studied. We even had a closing prayer. And then when "amen" was spoken, another prayer request was spoken. One young woman shared a difficult situation happening in the life of a dear friend. It was a sad story filled with tears. I then watched as an older woman in the congregation tangibly consoled this young woman - with words and then with a hand that held on to her in such a way that both knew they could count on each other. In those moments of sharing and holding, I saw the church.

Earlier today, I shared Bible study with the normal Thursday group. Howard is almost 102. Lois is 96. Ruth is around 95. Another participant is in their 90s and the others are a bit younger by a decade or two. The 10:00 hour on Thursday mornings is one of my favorites because I get to spend it with these precious people as we read and ponder the Psalms together. This morning, it was one of our ministry interns' last time to be with the group. Following Bible study, the group took Jessica and me to lunch. There were 8 of us gathered around the table of a restaurant where the owner really does know everyone by name. Towards the end of the lunch, I listened as the group affirmed Jessica. They shared their excitement for her as she prepares to be married in June and then become a pastor of a church in July. They told her how grateful they are for her being with us. They offered the sweetest prayer for her before we ate. They built her up. They named her gifts. They nurtured her from the chapter of seminary to the place of being a pastor. In those moments of hearing one being noticed, named and nurtured, I saw the church.

I have seen the church this week - not in the beautiful building where I am privileged to work - but amongst the incredible people with whom I am privileged to serve, and grow and believe. I cannot imagine going through life without the church. Thank you, God, for allowing me to see the church you have called us to be throughout this week.

The Horse or the Rider?

Like many of you, I made sure I was in front of a television on Saturday evening. I was out with friends but made it a point to perch myself near a screen so I could see horses race at the Kentucky Derby. At the end of the two minute race, I stood in awe and wonder as Calvin Borel won his third Derby in four years at Churchhill Downs. Once again, Borel came from behind on a horse that was not the most favored to win in order to prove that anything can happen.

When the race was over and Borel had kissed what seemed to be everyone with whom he came in contact, I sat and wondered. Is it the horse or is it the rider? Is it the horse that enables one to win the Kentucky Derby or is it that rider that enables one to win the Kentucky Derby? Who is most responsible for the win?

Last year I was talking with a friend of mine whose son had recently been appointed to a different church. When I inquired about his son's appointment I was told, "He's serving a church that is in great need of resurrection and it is going to take a lot longer than three days for it to happen." I laughed. But, I cannot help but to think about these words.

When it comes to the church, there are all kinds of communities that are in need of resurrection. It is more common for a church to be in decline than it is for a church to be growing. Churches receiving new members are an exception and not the norm. And I wonder. Is it the horse or the rider?

I have often heard statements that lead me to believe that it is the horse. Many of my colleagues make statements about how there is no way a certain church is ever going to grow.
The people are too set in their ways. No one is moving in around our church. The neighborhood has changed. People just don't go to church like they used to. How can the bishop expect this church to grow? Seriously, this church is believed to be able to grow? I don't know why anyone would want to join this church.

Calvin Borel has demonstrated to the world of horse racing that anything is possible. Not once and not twice but three times Borel has brought a horse through the finish line earlier than the horse was believed to be capable of crossing. Borel has demonstrated great skill when it comes to communicating and motivating a horse. Borel has done what was thought to be impossible. It did not appear that he would win on Saturday...until the very end.

Can we as pastors learn anything from Borel?

The Membership Gap

I serve as a pastor in a shrinking denomination. Our church, the United Methodist Church, has been losing members for decades. The loss is significant enough that four out of five geographical regions, things we call "jurisdictions," are being required to eliminate a bishop. Bishops are often not easily eliminated. A lot of people want to be a bishop! This step means that things are serious - that the continuous decline is forcing some tough conversations.

While many people say we should not focus too much time or attention on numbers, I must confess that I think a lot about church growth. I spend hours daydreaming about how to bring more people into the church and how our church's ministry can play a role in God's never ending efforts to change and transform lives.

Last week, I attended a conference organized by members of my denomination titled, "Prodigal Worship." The conference was designed to showcase different ways in which our worship can attract prodigals - individuals not currently affiliated with the church, people not currently following Jesus. At Tuesday's Conference, Michael Slaughter of Ginghamsburg Church taught us about preaching and videos, stage design and other strategies. The folks from Midnight Oil offered a powerful presentation on the importance of metaphor. It was extraordinary and offered insights we will definitely use.

Throughout the day, the worship featured many singers standing around microphones. A couple of people played electric guitars. There were two kinds of drums and a couple of keyboards. Nothing was traditional. Everything was contemporary.

I left having been given the impression that unless our churches have rock bands and a screen, then we might as well not expect any young adults to come into our doors. I left having been given the impression that it is worship - and little else - that brings young people into our doors.

But...my experience has been quite different.

In the March 15, 2010 edition of Newsweek, Robert J. Samuelson offers statistics that we who are leading churches need to read. He writes in an article titled, "The Real Generation Gap," what millennials and Gen Xers do, think and feel. Millennials are individuals 29 and under. Gen Xers are people age 30 to 45. These two groups are the very groups many of our churches are missing.

Samuelson writes, "Surprising (to me): almost two-fifths of millennials (38 percent) have tattoos, up from a third (32 percent) among Gen Xers and a seventh (15 percent) among boomers. Not surprising: millennials are the first truly digital generation. Three quarters have created a profile on Facebook or some other social-networking site. Only half of Gen Xers and 30 percent of boomers have done so. A fifth of millennials have posted videos of themselves online, far more than Gen Xers (6 percent) or boomers (2 percent)."

Later in the article, Samuelson states, "Every generation shows more racial and sexual openness. Half of millennials favor gay marriage; among boomers and older Americans, support is a third and a quarter, respectively. Only 5 percent of millennials oppose interracial marriage, down from 26 percent among those 65 and older" (page 18).

How do we expect these individuals to come into a church that is sending an entirely different message?

I am not sure it is our worship style that is keeping people out of the church or bringing people into the church. I serve as the pastor of a church where we sing from a hymnal and are accompanied by either a piano or an organ. When I look out at our congregation, I see a congregation in which 75% of the people have come in the last couple of years, most of whom are under the age of 40. I serve a church that is growing - growing with young prodigals - growing with people who once wanted nothing to do with the church. Our church is growing - without a band and with technology that is all there but not often used.

A few weeks ago I was meeting with a couple preparing for marriage. One of the individuals goes to church occasionally and would like to go more. The other person wants little to do with the church. When we were talking about religion, I inquired of this person what it would take to get him going to church again, "What kind of church would you go to?" His response, "I would go to church if I could find a church that was not hateful or judgmental."

Our churches, many of our churches, are surrounded by young prodigals. Some of them have been told that they are not welcome because of how they live or how they love. Some of them have been looked at in a not so accepting way because of how they dress or perhaps even the tattoos on their body. Some of them have been given everything but a positive picture of the church - the body of Christ.

Yes, our church is growing. It is growing with people who want to be in a place that really is, "Come just as you are." It is growing with people who want to see a congregation seeking to faithfully engage and serve the needs of its community. It is growing with people who want to offer their time and other gifts to meet the complex needs of a city. It is growing with people who believe that all should be welcome - that all should be accepted - no matter what. This is the kind of church I serve. I love my church. If I were not pastoring this church, it is the kind of place I would want to come as a 30-something young adult.

It takes more than a rock band and an edgy video to get people in the doors. If the doors are shut, if they are even only partially open, then prodigals will never find their way home.

Missing Lent

I missed Lent this year. I started the 40 days with high hopes for how my life would change - for the discipline that would enter my diet, my exercise routine, and my spiritual life. I had high hopes for how I might be different come Easter. But, I did not see much real change throughout Lent - not much change until this week.

I missed Lent this year. Instead of journeying with an Adam Hamilton study focused on the final hours or a cross-shaped Bible study, our congregation entered into a Season of Storytelling. The conversation was rich. The ability to sit and listen was a gift. But, I don't feel like it brought me to the cross.

I missed Lent this year. Unlike my parishioner Mary Elizabeth who can hardly wait to eat a cookie and some candy come Sunday because she has not had it for 40 days, I did not let go of one specific thing that I love.

I missed Lent this year.

At least I thought I did. I thought I had missed it until this Holy Week commenced. I now realize where Jesus has me, and it is one step closer to the cross.

My eyes have been awakened this week to all the places where his name is still crucified. I have listened many mornings to the beat of a drum outside my office window, a drum that keeps marchers on step as they go around a circle arguing for better wages from a drywall company doing work in the building upstairs. It's a fine argument to make. But not when the argument is being made by homeless people who are marching for a union and being paid anything but a minimal wage.

I went to the cross on Tuesday. My spirit was already vulnerable as I had been working on my Good Friday sermon. There is something about preaching on this day that is so real and so painful. My mind was at the cross as I exegeted a passage and sought to discover how the final words from the cross, "into your hands I commend my spirit" could be made tangible in the lives of those who will gather downtown today. But I soon found my spirit coming to the cross, too.

At some moment on each day this week I have been working for equality in our United Methodist Church. I have been working, praying, and communicating for ways in which doors that are currently shut might be opened to LGBT United Methodists and those who will soon come to our churches. Each day, through emails and conversations, I have been aware of what a struggle this is - of how strong the opinions are on each side. Each day, I have been aware of the hurtful comments that are made - how mud is sometimes slung back and forth from both sides of the aisle. And, each day this week I have been reminded how even people who stand on the same side of the issue can somehow figure out how to oppose one another - to discourage one another instead of encourage one another. There have been times this week when I have wanted to toss my hands in the air and let it all go - not my call to this struggle and not my love of God - but my love of an institution. The struggle is so painful. But, I am reminded that there are thousands of people who have been struggling a lot longer than me. They have not given up. I am also reminded of how my life has been much easier - I am a straight, white person who has always been accepted, after all. And, through the push of Jesus, the journey to the cross, the shouting voices that call us to do justice and love mercy and walk humbly with God, I am not giving up either.

The cross is such a mysterious place. My colleague in the city has done a sermon series on all the theories that describe what happened there. There are a million of them. We can disagree on what exactly happened and the reasons behind it. But this I know. I know in my heart that Jesus came and showed us how to live - how to love extravagantly, how to go to the margins, how to let go of our lives so that God could have our lives. I know that Jesus willingly went to the cross. He went to the cross to show that death would not have the final answer. He went to the cross to show who was in control. He went to the cross, and he preached prophetic words even from that place - telling a thief, yes a thief! - that even the thief could enter God's kingdom that day. He went to the cross and continued to share words of love even from the place of crucifixion. He went to the cross and demonstrated to us what it looks like to embody the words, "Take up your cross and follow me." He was crucified - not for being bad - but for being so incredibly good. He was crucified for taking something - for taking power away from the fists of this world's ways.

And then he rose. And his resurrection is what tells me that no matter what might be happening today, there is always another way. No matter how many people walk without the basic necessities or the care or the dignity they respect, there will come a day when all of God's children will have shoes! No matter what today holds, I know that the ultimate tomorrow is held by God.

I've journeyed to the cross. I'm ready to stand with him there from noon to 3:00 today. I'm ready to go to Golgotha. But God, when it's all over, please, please give me the courage and the wisdom to not just walk away and celebrate Easter but to take up the crosses you continue to call me and our church to carry. Show us, once more, who is in captivity and waiting to be freed. Show us, God, who needs your resurrection power - the power that shows us who really is in control. Take us to the cross.