Seeing George W in a Different Light

George W. Bush reemerged in the spotlight last week with the dedication of his library on the campus of Southern Methodist University. As I watched highlights of his presidency on the evening news, a picture emerged that I saw in a whole new light.

It's a picture of his Chief of Staff, Andrew Card, telling President Bush about the first attack in New York City on September 11. When the scene is playing live, we watch President Bush look like a deer caught in headlights. He seems confused. He's clearly not sure what to do. He's caught between one commitment to children listening to the President of the United States reading to them and the rest of the country watching to see how he will respond.

When I saw the image last week, I had sympathy for George W. for the very first time. As I watched the events of that horrible day unfold once more, I saw the incredible weight of leadership.

Only five living men know the weight of the Presidency - what it's like to be the leader of the United States with all the world watching your every move. While we cannot relate to the heavy load of their role, many of us know what it's like to be the one making decisions with countless people watching to see how we will act, ready to criticize our every move.

We do not have cameras rolling on us, but we know what it's like to be in the middle of one commitment when we hear something that demands our full attention.

We know what it's like to be called to calmly shift our attention from one focus to another hoping that we will not let down the people we are turning away from.

We understand how paralyzing it can be to have people waiting to hear a word from us - as we pray our words will make sense and be received with power and conviction.

George W. Bush had his leadership put on the line. We criticized his every move. We wondered why he did not stop everything and start acting that day. Why did he not excuse himself immediately and go lead our country through crisis?

The more I understand how hard leadership is, even leading a church with 150 members, the more I sympathize with George W.

Leadership is an incredible gift and a daunting, humbling responsibility.

A Different Kind of Week

It's been a different kind of week for our nation. We are people who regularly go through life without being afraid. We show up for races to cheer on thousands of runners who are checking an item off their bucket list, making a dream come true, reaching another goal. We send our kids off to school on yellow buses and then go about our business until it's time to meet them on the corner a few minutes after 3:00. We walk the streets at night and day. This place we live is America, after all.

Bombs aren't supposed to go off near the finish line.

Entire cities are not supposed to be on lock down.

Plants where our family members have worked for decades are supposed to be safe.

Armies of police with fingers on the triggers of massive assault weapons are to be seen in Israel or Jordan or countless other countries - but not in quaint New England communities.

It's been a different kind of week.

I've watched more CNN than I have in months.

I've found my spirit in a funk as my heart has grown heavier instead of lighter.

There's no way we can make sense of it all. Nothing makes sense when two brothers create enough terror to paralyze millions of people. Nothing makes sense when hatred is lived out in such tangible ways. Nothing makes sense when fertilizer plants explode, wrecking havoc and pain upon an entire community.

But we can gather. We can pray. We can be - be together and with God. We can breathe - deeply and as a community.

We are in the third week of our sermon in the series, "Faith, Politics and Policy." This Sunday's sermon is titled "God's Garden." It's designed to talk about why people of faith should care about the environment and climate change. More importantly, it's focus is on what kind of world we want to pass down to our children. There will be time to talk about guns and violence next week - on April 28 - as previously scheduled.

No matter how much darkness there is in this world, there is a significant amount of beauty that is worth passing on. Even the words of an uncle were filled with hints of light as he asked his nephew to please come out and seek forgiveness before also sharing how he wants to be on his knees in front of those who knew and loved the victims, begging for forgiveness.

There is plenty of evil in the world. But there is also an abundance of good. There's a lot of darkness. But there is even more light.

You're invited to join us on Sunday at 11 at Mount Vernon Place. You can wear whatever you want. Jeans or shorts are fine. Even yoga pants will do.

Step away from the images of terror that have brought about so much fear this week. Turn away from CNN and stories filled with pain. Turn instead towards a community centered on one who came so that we might have life and life abundant. He never promised life without pain. But he said he would be with us through the pain because he is Emmanuel, God with us.

We don't have any answers to why things happened the way they did this week. I'm not sure there are any answers or explanations to offer. What we have are love and compassion to share. We have prayers to lift - for people who are mourning in Boston, in West, Texas and around the world. We have community to embody - an authentic place where any masks behind which people are tempted to hide can stay outside. We also have faith in one who promises that the light shines in the darkness and the darkness has never overcome the light.

Bring your full self - your fears, your hopes, your pain and your questions. It would be a privilege to be with you on Sunday.

For Goodness Sake

I see a lot of goodness in the world.

I saw it last night when an older couple in our church made the 15 or so mile commute to be present at a meeting. She took in every word of the conversation, reminded us to please be sure that we are building the strongest children's ministry possible, commented when she could. He sat just outside the meeting room and waited for her the entire time - until nearly 9:00 at night.

I see goodness in the patience and dedication of men and women who rise before the sun in order to make hot coffee, set out donuts and other baked goods on a platter, and then open doors so unhoused neighbors can come in and start showering before receiving clean undergarments beneath the sanctuary of our church.

I see goodness when someone stops to help a family standing on the sidewalk in DC with a map in one hand and puzzled looks covering their faces.

I see goodness in the way a man in our church cares for his wife who has limited speech skills and sometimes becomes agitated in worship.

I see goodness in people who stop to buy a copy of Street Sense on the streets of Washington.

I see goodness when people smile and say "good morning" in a city where most people keep their focus on their next destination.

I see goodness in children who innocently play, laugh and find delight in new things.

I see goodness in tulips pressing their way up through the depths of the ground.

I see goodness in people who give to an Easter fund at our church, allowing our church to help when people are hungry or in need of a prescription or facing a challenge.

I see goodness in thousands of people who have rallied behind a woman and her family who just lost a 5-year-old son.

I see goodness when people take time to write a note or make a call, just to let someone know they are thinking about them.

I see goodness every single day.

With so much goodness in the world, how can there be so much hate?

How could anyone devise a plan to hurt as many people as possible at the finish line of a race that involved over 24,000 runners who have trained for months?

How could anyone create such devastation at a place where people stricken by loss at Sandy Hook Elementary School were also gathering because many runners ran the race for them?

How could someone carefully craft and execute a plan and then wake up today with a capacity to see their plan as successful?

On mornings like today, I find my faith in the words of John, "The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has never overcome the light."

There is a lot of pain wrapped around the light. There are pieces of barbed wire that one must be careful not to touch. There are reminders of hatred and brokenness. But the light still shines.

The light also shines in us.

Goodness is always stronger than evil.

How can we be light in the midst of so much darkness....for goodness sake?

The Gift We Give

Not long ago a colleague asked a question of his friends on Facebook. "What do you give to people who join your church?" Several colleagues quickly responded with suggestions ranging from a new Bible to a financial pledge card.

We don't give our new members a gift wrapped in pretty paper.

I pray, however, that what we give to everyone who walks in our doors is a gift that can be hard to purchase and sometimes even harder to locate in the city of Washington.

I pastor in a city where words are carefully crafted and somehow empty. Our church is located less than a mile from the Capitol - a neighborhood in which the most popular question asked is not "How are you?" but "Who do you work for?" In our city, we are easily defined by our business card. We allow the words embossed below our name to tell others who we are while being fearful of what might happen if people found out who we really are.

I'm also a pastor. I am in a profession where colleagues shy away from telling each other the full truth of our lives. We are required to fill out a weekly online form that tells our supervisors and other colleagues how many people were in our pews last Sunday and how many people came for small groups. We boast about how much our churches are growing and try hard to explain why when the opposite is true (and sometimes we even stretch the real truth). Rarely do we tell others how we really are.

Vulnerability is not a state we ascribe to attain or embody in the city of Washington or in pastoral circles. It's much easier to present a different front.

If I could give one gift to the people who join our church, however, I would give them a community where vulnerability is tangible - raw - naked to the eye. If I could give new members one gift, I would give them a community where people expect the truth - the full truth - and nothing but the truth.

Brene Brown describes the gifts I long to offer people in our church in a TED talk. She names for us our strong need to be connected. She knows what we in the church know - that God created us to be in community with each other. And she also spells out the fear we all have of what might happen to our connection - how the connection might be broken - if people knew the truth of our lives - our fears, our failures, our dreams, our heartaches, our insecurities, our pain.

Brown speaks about the courage that is needed to tell our whole-hearted truth. The telling of this truth requires that we let go of who we think we should be in order to be who we really are. We are at our best selves when we allow ourselves to be deeply seen by others - when we know that we are enough.

I see glimpses of this truth in the church I serve regularly.

At the same time, I see how far we have to go.

I don't think "fine thank you" should be an acceptable response in a faith community or in a gathering of clergy. As Brown reminds us, we live in a vulnerable world. We try hard to numb ourselves from this vulnerability. But the best way to deal with it is to allow our own vulnerability to be brought to the light of day in a community where people are willing to love us in spite of who we are.

I say every Sunday morning as worship is starting that we are welcome in our church by a God who longs to encounter us just as we are "no matter where we have been or where we have failed to be, no matter what we have said or what we have failed to say, no matter who we love or who we fail to love, and no matter what we have done or failed to do." I believe God loves our whole-hearted selves no matter how many flaws we might be able to see or are trying to hide. God longs for us to bring our whole truth into our community of faith.

While we may loathe admitting it, the truth is that most of us feel like we are hanging by a string that could break at any time. We have great jobs but aren't sure how best to lead. We have relationships that are falling apart and wonder how to bring what has been separated back together again. We are battling depression, seeing more darkness than light. We have beautiful children but wish they came with an instruction manuel. We are behind on our rent, praying that payday will come before the eviction notice is served. We have seen a rash where a rash should not be, and are hoping the doctor does not have to also learn about the night that should have never happened. We have been taking care of the pain on our own and realize how we now cannot sleep without at least two glasses of wine every night. We have a thousand friends on Facebook but no one to turn to or go out with on Friday night.

If I were to tell my colleagues the whole truth, I could name 100 things I'm afraid of, at least a dozen insecurities, and the feeling of being exhausted often because there is just so much to do and so many people to tend to - and how I regularly feel like a failure when people don't get visited or calls don't get made or cards don't get sent.

What gift do we give our new members? I pray we give them a place that longs to know the truth and then accepts the truth, loves the life in which the truth dwells and then does its best to live together in community. I pray we give them a real community that knows how the most faithful pathway to healing is providing space to bring our whole-hearted selves - every pocket and especially the place where our vulnerabilities dwell. That's a church worth getting up for on Sunday mornings, propelled by a God who is worth glorifying.

May I Wash Your Feet?

It happened again on Thursday night. We had set the table, filled basins with hot water, set a dozen towels nearby, and strategically set a chair behind it all. The congregation recited the words of the Great Thanksgiving, the cup was lifted, the bread was broken, and an invitation was extended.

As you come forward to receive the bread and the cup this evening, you are also invited to have your feet washed as we remember Jesus' final commandment to love one another as Jesus has loved us.

Feet.

Not many of us like our feet. I became a consumer of Dr. Scholl's products at a young age when I realized my feet sweat a lot in gym class - and especially when I wore shoes without socks throughout the summer months. Thankfully this aroma has disappeared with age, but I know it well enough to recall how many uncomfortable moments it produced.

My feet don't exactly look great at the moment. Though sandal season is on the horizon, it's not quite here. My toenails are not even. They are not painted in pink.

Feet.

How many of us like our feet? And how many of us will allow another person other than a person we are paying (and tipping 20%) at the nail salon to wash our feet?

I'm always amazed when people come forward on Maundy Thursday and sit in a chair as I kneel in front of them. They watch as I take their foot in my hands and pour hot water on top, gently caressing their foot and then repeating the process with the other foot before holding them both around a towel, drying off the dampness. It is an action that moves me to tears every Maundy Thursday as I look at these feet and recall the stories behind them, the challenges carried by them and the places they long to go.

I cannot wash feet without being profoundly grateful for the privilege of being a pastor.

We are welcoming new members tomorrow at Mount Vernon Place. I have had extensive conversations with one of these members about what it means to join a church and whether everyone needs a pastor. The conversations have been some of the most life-giving conversations I have ever had with anyone considering becoming part of our church family.

I don't know if everyone needs a pastor. I know that more people in our city go through life without one than choose to have one. But I also know the incredible gift that comes when someone allows me to be their pastor.

I am humbled to think of the times when I have been allowed into a hospital room to greet, hold and bless a child that is a few hours old. I consider it a sacred privilege to be welcomed at the bedside of one who is dying. I have never led a body to its final rest place in the cemetery without feeling like I am walking on holy ground. I hold close to my heart the life stories that have been shared with me because I am a pastor: stories of coming out as a gay man or lesbian woman, stories of relationships that are going well and marriages that are suffering, stories of babies being conceived and wombs that remain empty, stories of life and stories of death, stories of hopes and stories of dreams, stories of good actions and stories of actions we wish had never happened. It's a rather remarkable thing for someone to allow me to enter these places as I kneel before them, hold their lives in my hands, and offer a blessing, a prayer, a petition, tears and laughter.

I don't know if everyone needs a pastor.

But I pray - I so hope that when someone needs me to be their pastor that I am always available - that I show up, that I speak the right words, that I ask the right questions, that I allow the right amount of silence, that I laugh, and cry, and honor the sacredness and craziness and hopefulness and unfairness of life. I pray that I hold stories in my hands as though each story is fragile, as though a life could be made well or broken in an instant.

I learned a long time ago that pastoral ministry is a calling for which none of us are truly worthy.

I still cannot believe that people actually let me wash their feet.

A Holy Tuesday

If the truth were told, I almost cancelled. My mind kept questioning whether I had good judgment in making a commitment to be on Capitol Hill yesterday morning at 6:50 a.m. I thought even more about the choice I had made when I set my alarm for 4:50 a.m. the night before. But I got up (only pushing snooze once). I arrived early. I had a Holy Tuesday.

It was during an Interfaith Prayer Service where I experienced laughter and tears, repentance and promise. A statement by a UCC pastor moved me. A song written for a man's wedding day made me laugh and cry. Watching so many couples be blessed made me weep. Seeing so many people standing on the side of love enabled me to see the love and teachings of Christ being made manifest.

And then moving towards the Supreme Court in mass while singing "This Little Light of Mine" gave me more joy than I've experienced in a long time. Seeing a sea of people with signs urging, hoping for, praying for justice and equality provided so much hope.

It was an appropriate way to journey towards the cross. There was passion and there were politics on display. Both seem rather appropriate during this Holy Week.

Sam Wells' book, "Power and Passion: Six Characters in Search of Resurrection" has been my reading this week. Wells shows how the resurrection changes everything. He writes:

Politics becomes the reorientation of life according to the freedom made possible by the power of overcoming death, and not just death but sin - through the power of forgiveness. Thus those aspects of society that had previously been just window dressing...now become the key points of transformation, the nerve centers of the new politics. We still need laws, and we still need taxes, but the control of these things is no longer the definition of politics; politics is the reordering of passion in line with a new order of power. Now, in the resurrection of Jesus, we can see that every small gesture of reconciliation or care of the vulnerable is part of the way God is transforming the world. Power and passion come together at last. 

I saw glimpses of transformation yesterday. I have experienced the same transformation as a pastor in ministry with many LGBT people. And what I did yesterday may be the most faithful witness I have made for a resurrected Christ who proclaims how he has come so that we might have life and life abundantly in a long time.

Palm Sunday Anger

It's Palm Sunday. Today marks the beginning of Holy Week. Before the week is over we will have the chance to gather with Jesus for the Last Supper on Thursday, have our feet washed as we remember his commandment to serve one another, and then wait near a cross where he was crucified on Friday. It's an amazing week for the Christian Church. The days that separate today from Easter are game-changing days - days we need to remember and keep holy.

We often think of and remember a gentle Jesus on Palm Sunday. We imagine Jesus coming into Jerusalem bouncing on the back of a borrowed burrow. We think of calm crowds lining the streets and singing "Hosanna" while the religious authorities grow furious. Palm Sunday is the stuff that Children's Bible storybooks are made of as we always ask children to parade for us on Palm Sunday.

But that's not all that happened on Palm Sunday.

None of the lectionary assignments offer the full story of Palm Sunday. We much prefer a gentle Jesus to a Jesus who gets angry. But if we keep reading the story we encounter a Jesus who weeps over the city of Jerusalem and then goes straight to the temple in order to drive out money changers. He even makes a whip in the gospel of John.

What happened to gentle Jesus?

Jesus is furious because the religious authorizes have become so focused on ridiculous rules and saving themselves that they have forgotten the call of God placed upon their lives. They are ignoring the prophets who have instructed them to love God with all they have while loving their neighbor as themselves. They are not doing justice and loving mercy.

We concluded our sermon series on the Seven Deadly Sins today with an examination of the sin called "anger." It's a sin we know well. I get angry when I am driving. I get angry when I feel like my husband is not listening to me. I get angry when untrue statements are made about me. We get angry over all kinds of stuff - much of it not worth our rise in blood pressure.

But Jesus sets a different example for us today. He shows us what it means to have our anger rooted in love and justice. Jesus embodies righteous indignation. This anger is one that can lead to all kinds of change in the world.

When I was preaching this morning I shared different things that make me angry. I arrived downtown just in time to see a young girl who was clearly a victim of sex-trafficking get out of a pick-up truck. I wanted to run the truck down so the man would get arrested. I see victims of sex-trafficking waiting for their pimps to pick them up any time I arrive downtown before 7:00 am - it does not matter what day of the week it is. Sex-trafficking makes me angry.

I also shared how homelessness makes me angry. While I love and adore urban ministry, I serve in a constant tension over what to do with people who sleep on our porches. I hate driving into a city where I pass countless people asleep on park benches. It drives me nuts that corners of our church buildings are regularly used for bathrooms or that the stone is stained by urine. I don't believe that the capital city of the United States of American should have so many homeless people on its streets. A lack of care, programs and affordable housing makes me angry.

And I shared how our United Methodist Church's official teaching on homosexuality makes me angry. I completely disagree with our church's teaching on homosexuality. I believe we are harming people with our teaching instead of doing good. Telling gay and lesbian brothers and sisters that they are incompatible with Christian teaching because of their sexuality makes me angry. Being able to marry a couple who are not members of our church and who have only known each other for a few months while not being able to marry couples who are active members of our church, faithfully following Jesus, and who have been together for decades makes me angry.

What makes you angry?

What would happen if we were to follow Jesus' example and allow our righteous indignation to turn into action this week? What if one of the ways to make this week holy were to allow our anger that is rooted in love and justice be transformed into working for justice for others? What would this change look like?

On Tuesday morning I'll arrive on Capitol Hill at 6:50 to be part of a prayer service before the Supreme Court starts to hear oral arguments on marriage. I'll then process with clergy and followers of Christ to the steps of the Supreme Court. I firmly believe that marriage is a gift that all people should be entitled to receive and enjoy. Perhaps there is no better time for me to be part of this processional and prayers than Holy Week.

But I may need to do more. Before the week is over I may also need to finally schedule that trip to New York City so our church members can see a transformational model of homeless ministry. I may also need to reconnect with Courtney's House to see what more we can do to get victims of sex-trafficking out of the hands of pimps and into a more abundant life.

What makes you angry?

How could your anger be transformed into working for change this Holy Week?

Why My Church Needs Pope Francis

"I knew the difference between transubstantiation and consubstantiation before I could even ride a bike." 

These words are the words that started the best admissions essay I read in my four years as Director of Admissions for Duke Divinity School.  The student who wrote these words ultimately chose another school. I cannot remember his name, but I'll never forget his brilliant essay. He was an exception - and so are his words.

Though I was raised in the church and went through confirmation classes, I had no idea what the words "transubstantiation" and "consubstantiation" meant until I got to seminary. I knew there were differences between the Protestant United Methodist Church of my upbringing and the Catholic Church but I could not tell you what they were.

It did not matter.

My parents found enough of the spiritual life they needed at the Methodist Church, and I went right along. Why did I need to learn about the Catholic faith? It seemed more important to me to keep on going to what made sense to me while others continued to go to the church of their own choosing.

I continue to value diversity when it comes to our faith. There are many Sundays when I long for the fresh winds of the Spirit that blow through the Assembly of God Church in tangible ways. There are other Sundays when I would not mind a little incense when we think about the aroma of the offerings we make towards God. There are still other Sundays that I wish we had an immersion pool to use when we baptize adults so that we could see the power of dying to our sins and being raised with Christ. As I look at all the different denominations founded on Jesus, I believe we have more in common with each other than we allow ourselves to believe. Though we are far from being one, there are many things in which we find a oneness.

And to the outside, we are one. We are simply "the church" which means that when one member suffers we all suffer together.

One of the most compelling books I have read by someone who left the faith is William Lobdell's "Losing My Religion."  I found the book in a local Busboys and Poets, started to read it and could not set it down. Lobdell tells a powerful story of falling in love with God, having a mountaintop experience with Jesus, and then being assigned by the Los Angeles Times to cover the child sex abuse case in the Catholic Church. His eight years on the religion beat exposed him to a giant cover-up overflowing with hypocrisy, efforts to cover the church's ass at all costs, and deep corruption. He lost his faith completely and there are countless others like him. Even my search for the book on Amazon just now paired Lobdell's book with two additional books about preachers who left the church and became atheists. Sometimes the closer we get to the fire the more we get burned.

"If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it." Paul wrote these words to a church that had no idea how many divisions awaited it. But we do. I know well what happens when one part of the body is going astray, and how this one part impacts everyone.

I see it every time Westboro Baptist Church shows up to picket with signs full of hatred. Many of us know that Westboro is the farthest thing from Christ's love, but they still call themselves a church, and their actions impact me and my church.

I saw it when a member of the United Methodist Church compared homosexuality to beastiality on the floor of our General Conference last year, when delegates to our church's meeting could not even agree to say that we disagree. Our actions impacted countless other churches whether Methodist or not.

I see it every time a member of the cloth gives into the temptation we all face on a daily basis whether it is an extramarital affair or sins around money.

And perhaps even my life has been a stumbling block to others at times whether it is how I choose to spend my money, the words that come from my mouth, or the choice of beverage in my hand.

Our actions matter. Most people have no idea what the difference is between transubstantiation and consubstantiation and most people don't care. They see one church - a church that is constantly falling short of the glory of God - a church with leaders who are regularly falling and sinning - a church that is a long way away from what Jesus created it to be when he said, "You are my body."

Pope Francis did two incredibly prophetic things yesterday within the first hour of his life being transformed. First he took the name Francis. He took the name of a Saint whose legacy continues to have a profound impact today. It was Francis of Assisi who said, "Preach the Gospel at all times and use words only when necessary." It was Saint Francis who had a life-giving ministry to and with the poor. It was Francis who said, "make me an instrument of your peace."

Our church - our Protestant and Catholic Church - can learn a lot from Saint Francis. We have come a long way from his simple life amongst people we consider poor. We could use more of Francis' legacy in our churches.

Pope Francis then asked an overflowing crowd to bless him - to pray for him. Our church - our Protestant and Catholic Church - could be transformed if all our members took time to daily pray for their pastors, priests, bishops, nuns and pope.

The eyes of the world are upon the church once more. They are upon the Catholic Church, waiting to see if Pope Francis can bring about reform and healing to a church known for monetary and sex scandals. What Francis does matters - not just to Catholics but to my United Methodist Church, too. I'm praying for Pope Francis, that he may be a saintlike leader just like his namesake, having courage to make much needed changes. And as I pray for him, I'm also praying for me and my own church. Forgive me for all I have done to ever lead someone away from God and the church instead of towards it. Forgive us for our hypocrisy, for being anti-homosexual as a denomination, for not always being like Christ. Forgive us for building a fortress when we had an opportunity to instead set up a foundation that gave money away where it is much needed.

There's a lot at stake. I love the church. I believe Jesus still has the power to change and transform lives and that he does it best through the church. The city in which I live desperately needs the church. I need the church. Our world needs the church - at its very best - Christ's body reaching out, bringing in, loving, serving, caring and transforming.

God, make us all instruments of your peace....and love, and mercy and grace. Make us like you. Amen.

Doing Lent Well

I don't do Lent well.

I'm a professional Christian - one who gets paid to tell others about Lent. I've written newsletter articles about Lent and suggested a million different ways for others to observe this sacred season of fasting, repentance and reflection. But I don't do Lent well.

Give up caffeine? I love my early morning coffee and afternoon Diet Coke.

Give up alcohol? I don't drink that much, and red wine is good for my heart. Right?

What about chocolate? Are you kidding me? It's one of my favorite things.

Cursing? I only curse in the car. Well, I try to only curse in the car.

When people ask me about my Lenten disciplines, I have an uncanny ability to turn the conversation around so I can hear all about another person's sacrifices. But oftentimes people keep prodding. "So, what are you doing for Lent, pastor?"

I told someone last week that I was trying to write more notes to people, expressing my gratitude. She commented on how I do this anyway. Her response was enough for me to see that maybe it was not a Lenten discipline, but a regular practice I seek to embody.

I'll return to Holy Cross Abbey for five days of silence, reflection, prayer, reading and walking the week after next. But can anyone say that a week in a thin place where heaven and earth collide for me is really a Lenten discipline? I don't fast at the abbey but rather have my fill of the creamed honey slathered on toast that the monks produce as a fundraiser.

I just proofed a bulletin for the Third Sunday of Lent. The season is marching on at a rapid pace. Ready or not, Holy Week is on the horizon at the end of next month - a month that starts this Friday.

I don't do Lent well.

But maybe, just maybe, God does Lent for me - getting me right where God wants me so that God can change my heart.

I completely overreacted one day last week when I came back from lunch and realized all of the trash from the morning shower ministry was just outside one of our church entrances. It had been there since 8:00 in the morning which means that hundreds of people had passed by a church that did not seem to care enough to even get its trash to the dumpster. It was an honest mistake - but one that made me steam for a while and then be obnoxious towards a hardworking, dedicated volunteer.

I've been praying since last Thursday that I would not react that way again - ever. I've been asking God to give me a better understanding and awareness of church members who pour their heart and soul into a ministry that is the equivalent of Jesus washing the feet of his disciples. I've been begging for more patience or an attitude that takes care of things that get left behind without making a big deal out of it. God's working on me. God's got me right where I need to be.

I went to bed last night tossing and turning over what my role is as a pastor. It was a rough day of pastoral care needs, and I had no idea where to start. Too often I'm caught between competing demands - some of which have little to do with why I responded to God's call on my life. As I wrestle with administration and pastoral care, the needs of a building and the needs of people, I hear my heart crying out for guidance on how to be a more faithful pastor. I don't want to be the CEO of a small non-profit downtown. I'm a pastor - a person called to journey alongside of people in joy and pain. Maybe God is in the center of this searching, pushing me back to what's important in small and subtle ways.

I don't do Lent well if Lent is defined as giving up chocolate, Diet Coke or a glass of merlot. I don't do Lent well if Lent means praying an hour a day or spending more time with the lonely and forgotten. But if Lent means allowing God to take hold of me once more, like a potter gently applying moisture to a bit of clay in order to smooth out the rough places, then maybe, just maybe, God's got me doing Lent just the way God wants me to.

What about you? How well do you do Lent?

Sewing Fig Leaves

I spent yesterday with ten clergywomen who gathered to learn more about preaching from Anna Carter Florence. It was a remarkable day in every way and one that was centered on a well-known text, Genesis 3.

We know the story well enough to have pictures in our head of an apple tree, a man, a woman and a serpent. But yesterday the story came to life on a variety of levels as we used this text to testify about who God really is - and how God worked in this one dysfunctional family.

My mind and heart are returning to a million different places in the text. But as we approach the season of Lent, the one verse that keeps coming back to me is verse 7, "Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together and made loincloths for themselves."

Have you ever sewed fig leaves? I'm not much into sewing with fabric let alone using a material that could crumble at the touch with a surface that is far from smooth.

We are tempted to think that somehow Adam and Eve covered themselves in the garden with whatever was close by. But the text says they sewed fig leaves together. They had to go and get a bunch of leaves, some string and a needle. They sewed together things that don't easily hold together. The process would not have been quick. It could have taken them hours - or even a full day.

Later, with their underwear made of fig leaves hiding parts of their body, they also hide from God. When they hear God walking in the garden, they hide. Adam says in verse 10, "'I heard the sound of you in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked; and I hid myself.'"

What are the efforts we go to in order to hide from God?

Why do we work so hard to hide our shortcomings, our failures, our mistakes from those who love us most?

What ridiculous things do we do in hopes of covering our mistakes from God?

Where have we taken time to sew together fig leaves instead of presenting the naked truth to God who sees us, searches us and knows everything about us?

One of the gifts of the season of Lent is that we get to spend time practicing repentance - rehearsing our return to God. For forty days our focus becomes letting go of our sin - those things that separate us from God - and coming clean - baring it all to God.

We will gather in sanctuaries on Wednesday, marking the beginning of Lent with smudges on our forehead in the shape of the cross as we hear the words "from dust you came and from dust you shall return." When you hear these words, I invite you to embrace them. Allow the words to be an invitation to stop your futile efforts of trying to sew fig leaves together against all odds and instead embrace the one who loves you, adores you and longs for you to come clean. Stop hiding. Come out. Accept the gift of forgiveness, redemption and new life.

Holy God, as the season of Lent stands on the horizon, I pray you would start searching my heart and examining my life. Enable me to see the places where all is not well, where sin has crept in like a thief in the night - in large ways that are abundantly known to me and in subtle ways that I tend to forget or ignore. Show me where I need to realign my life around you and your ways. Help me to get back on track. Encourage me to stop hiding from you but instead to come before you with my naked truth, knowing that you love me far too much to leave me where I am. Allow this season to be one of letting go so new life can come. Amen.

The Middle Way

I first met Adam Hamilton when I was a student at Duke Divinity School. For whatever reason, I was given the opportunity to host him during a visit to the school in the late 90's. This privilege of providing hospitality afforded an opportunity to share a meal of North Carolina's finest food at Durham's Bullock's Bar-B-Que while also hearing stories of the United Methodist Church of the Resurrection when it was in its first decade of life. Adam taught me much that day as he shared the story of the church's founding and his leadership principles. And he's continued to offer countless lessons in the years since.

The best continuing education event I have ever attended is the Leadership Institute at the Church of the Resurrection. The most helpful course I took as part of my Doctor of Ministry studies was a class with Adam on "Sermon Series that Engage the Mind and Heart." I've used his stewardship curriculum and borrowed parts of his teaching on spiritual gifts.


Adam Hamilton represents the best of the United Methodist Church. And it's not just Adam as a person or as a leader. It's the ways in which Adam so artfully articulates and teaches the best of our Wesleyan theology. Tomorrow, Adam gets to offer our nation the best of the United Methodist Church as the preacher at the Inaugural Prayer Service.

When I shared my excitement about Adam's selection as tomorrow's preacher on Facebook, someone immediately commented, "Is it true that they are removing the BIBLE from this inauguration?"

We have a tendency to become easily upset by small pieces of fiction, don't we?

But we are also regularly tempted to believe that the presence of a Bible makes a difference.

But a symbolic Bible does nothing. What makes a difference is the way in which we interpret and embody what's inside the Bible. And the best thing about the United Methodist Church - one of the things that makes me most grateful for our church - is the way we seek to interpret and then faithfully live what we read on the pages of scripture.

The founder of Methodism, John Wesley, learned much from the religious and political leaders who ruled before he was born. When Henry VIII was replaced by Edward VI in 1549, the Church of England gravitated towards the Reformed tradition, allowing the influences of the reformers to be felt in tangible ways. But when Edward died, Mary Tudor became queen, and England was restored to a place that took its cues from Rome. The Roman Catholic Church then lost its grip on the nation's church when Elizabeth I came on the throne in 1558. With Elizabeth, a new way emerged, the via media, the middle way. The middle way straddled the best of both Rome (Catholicism) and Geneva (Reformed). The middle way was paved well and provided the foundation on which John and Charles Wesley continued to journey and eventually birth Methodism.

John and Charles discovered that one did not need to limit their understanding of theology to what was taught in the high Anglican church. Rather, they could also begin to embrace lessons learned from the Moravians, particularly their emphasis on personal holiness and awareness of God's love in one's life. Right teachings were not accepted as the most important thing. Rather, the Christian life - the experience of God combined with the tradition of the church - proved more instructive and important than a rigid orthodoxy. While core doctrines were non-negotiable, John Wesley articulated a need to allow a variety of opinions on how best to articulate, explain or teach these doctrines. Furthermore, there are countless things about God that just cannot be understood or explained if using only scripture or narrow doctrines. God is bigger!

Today, Methodists describe our way of doing theology through the lens of the Wesleyan Quadrilateral. We hold that our faith was revealed in scripture, illumined by tradition, confirmed by reason and vivified through personal experience. There is not just one way to read a Bible. In fact, there are countless ways of interpreting scripture. Furthermore, scripture must always be held in tension with the traditions of the church. And, our experiences of God throughout life are to be inserted into this mix with our reason being the fourth block of getting to the place of understanding.

The middle way has provided the foundation for a church that is large enough for all kinds of people. Rather than say, "The Bible says it so I accept it, believe it or teach it," we are able to carefully study what the Bible says and then even more carefully hold what is written in scripture with what has happened in the last 2000 years and what has happened in our lives. Scripture. Tradition. Reason. Experience. All play a role. Each one is essential to our faith.

Too often the church is quickly labeled too conservative or too liberal. Preachers are judged even quicker as they are invited and then dis-invited to play a public role because of something they have said or written - even more than a decade ago.

I wonder how many of Adam's sermons were listened to by someone at the White House before an invitation was extended. I would be curious to know how many people went through his preaching and teaching with a fine tooth comb. And still, he was invited. He was proven to have the capacity to walk the middle way.

While people watching my Facebook feed today may conclude that I lean a little to the left or am rather excited about what our President "preached" earlier today, I can think of nothing more miserable than having a church filled with people of the same mind and same opinion. I regularly describe Mount Vernon Place as being liberal and conservative...along with gay and straight, Democrat and Republican, lifelong church goers and people new to the church, Catholics and Methodists, young and old, Washingtonians and Suburbanites and countless other things.

I would not have it any other way. It would be miserable to just have one way, one belief, one doctrine, one understanding represented in the life of our faith community.

We grow when we learn from each other's differences. We are strengthened by opinions that are different from our own.

God comes to us in so many ways. Diversity should always be one of the most recognizable traits in the body of Christ.

I'm so grateful that Adam gets to share our middle way with our nation tomorrow. It's the best part of being a Methodist. This is the best of the United Methodist Church!

What would happen if all of us were willing to walk in the middle - opening ourselves to receive the best from all sides around us?

The Sound of Silence

I saw the movie Lincoln last week. Like countless critics and lovers of film, I highly recommend this particular picture to anyone who wants to be reminded where we were and how far we have come. Lincoln is nothing short of spectacular.

But there is a part in the film that is still haunting me. There is one scene that will not leave my mind....or my heart.

The proposed 13th Amendment to the Constitution has finally reached the floor of the House. A diverse crowd is shepherded into the visitor's gallery above passionate and angry Members of Congress below. A heated debate starts to take place and then votes are cast one by one. There is some cheering and some groaning as individual members vote "aye" or "nay." As the voting is close to being finished, cameras take us back to the White House, zooming in on the President.

President Lincoln is 1.6 miles from where votes are being cast. There were no Blackberries or CSPAN or Facebook to inform him immediately of the vote. Rather, Lincoln receives the news through a different sound. He knows that the 13th Amendment has passed because church bells start to ring. Houses of worship, churches centered on the good news of one who came to proclaim release to the captives and freedom for the oppressed, ring in joyous celebration. The windows of the White House are flung open as the bells continue to ring. The sound is sweet and familiar. But not all bells would have been ringing.

In fact, the bells at my church would have been silent.

There would have been no celebration coming from the church I serve. We would not have been celebrating this momentous passage of a bill that finally offered full freedom to oppressed people because of the color of their skin. Rather, our church was built as a monument to the opposite.

Mount Vernon Place was founded in 1850 by 50 people who believed that the Methodist Episcopal Church South needed a representative church in the nation's capital. The 50 people had nearly quadrupled in size at the start of the Civil War, growing to nearly 200 members. When the war waged on, people moved on and the nearly 200 people were reduced to their original 50. There were 50 folks who believed in the institution of slavery, standing behind the new denomination that came to be when Bishop Andrews acquired slaves in 1844, causing the denomination to split.

When the building was built in 1917, no expense was spared. The structure cost $280,000 to complete with $220,000 of this amount coming from people around the country who joined in support of slavery. The monumental church is hard to miss - though most people mistake it for a museum. It's quite a building, and I wish regularly that the walls could talk.

Thankfully, those inside did start to talk. One of my favorite stories to tell is about Rev. Dr. John Rustin who served as our pastor from 1935 to 1950. I've heard enough stories about him to know he was quite a leader. Some of our longtime members are convinced, I am certain, that Dr. Rustin is sitting next to God in heaven. When Dr. Rustin left, the Washington Post wrote an article about him following his last Sunday. These words were printed in that article:

"Doctor Rustin told the congregation, 'the trouble with the church is that it is not liberal enough,' and then spelled out what he thought the church of the future should be like. 'When the church becomes a real factor in the life of the people,' he said, 'first of all, it has vision and is not expending all its energy in defending creeds or standing on ancient dogmas. 'It should challenge the people to move beyond its warped emotions and deep-seated prejudices,' he continued, 'and it should always move into action."

Amazing, isn't it? Dr. Rustin worked hard to make sure that the bells of our church would never be silent again. It was almost a century after the passage of the 13th Amendment when he preached these words but more than a decade before Dr. King started to march in Washington.

I regularly wrestle with his words.

Where do we need to stop standing on ancient dogmas? Where do we need to move people beyond our warped emotions and deep-seated prejudices? How do we do everything within our power to make sure our bells are never again kept silent?

Each time I walk past our church I see words etched in the stone that continue to be my call to action. When I read "Mount Vernon Place Methodist Episcopal Church South," I am reminded of how we have spent our early years opposing the good news of Jesus Christ instead of being his hands and feet tirelessly working for equality. Our original stance has changed, and it must continue to change.

While we have traveled long roads towards diversity, building a congregation that is considered "multi-ethnic" in the eyes of the denomination, we have a long way to go. Our denomination is still oppressing people. We are still causing harm to others, elevating heterosexual people above homosexual people, telling some of the best Christians I know that their lives are incompatible with Christian teaching. We are standing on the wrong side of another civil right when it comes to who can be married by our pastors and our churches. Our bells are not ringing on the side of equality. We are voting "nay" instead of "aye" when it comes to treating all people equally.

When I heard the bells ringing in a movie theatre last Friday afternoon, I heard them as a call from God, a reminder that God still needs people who will work tirelessly until the oppressed are set free once more.

The sound of silence is deafening.

May our bells never again remain silent.

A Clean Slate - A Fresh Start - A New Beginning

New Year's Day may be one of my favorite days of the entire year. There is something wonderful about knowing that a whole new year has dawned. I love fresh starts and new beginnings. Each new year begins with my making a mental list of things I want to change in my life:

1) I want to commit to going to the gym 4 times a week.

2) I want to commit to a year of counting points on Weight Watchers.

3) I want to start each day with Bible study and prayer, making more room for God.

4) I want to finally find "my place" in downtown Washington - that place where I regularly linger, study, write, and meet people instead of being in my office so much.

5) I want to write more - perhaps even commit to blogging 3 times a week and really take advantage of other opportunities to be published.

6) I want to say "no" to things that take life from me in order to make space for that which makes more of me.

The list could go on and on.

Every gym manager will tell you that today is the best day to have your sales team fully staffed. January will be crowded with people who have promised themselves that this year will be different while March will present many days without a single new member joining.

We are good at making promises to ourselves to live differently. We want to change.

There's a strong chance that I'll accomplish some of the things on my list this year. There's an even greater chance that I won't. But still, I get a clean slate. And so do you.

But this promise of a clean slate is one of the reasons I need God - not just on New Year's Day but on every day. The promises of scripture remind me time and again that I don't have to wait for a fresh start or a clean slate to come just once a year. A new beginning can be offered to me every single day and sometimes several times during the day. A fresh start is mine for the asking. My slate is wiped clean each time I return to God.

Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 5:17, "Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!" We can all be made new.

1 John 1:9 reads, "If we confess our sins, God is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness." Sounds like a clean slate to me.

In Acts 3:19 it is written, "Repent, then, and turn to God, so that your sins may be wiped out, that times of refreshing may come from the Lord." Yes, I'll take a fresh start.

Thank you, God, for the gift of a new year. Thank you for fresh starts, clean slates, new beginnings. May we stay close to you throughout this year. Help us to make wise decisions and give us strength to be faithful stewards of our bodies, our minds, our time, our talent and our resources. And when we fall short, remind us that every day is a new beginning. You are a God who is constantly making all things new. Thank you, God! Amen.

Happy New Year!

Trusting Enough to Let Go

"My wife was in the best mood possible."

These words concluded a story that seemed stressful at best. My friend told me how he recently sent his wife and two young kids off early for the holidays while he remained in Washington to finish another week of work. When my friend dropped his family off at the airport, he left his wife, a two-year-old toddler and a baby who is a few months old standing in line at the ticket counter. Along with these three people of different sizes, there was one stroller, two car seats, one carry-on bag and two suitcases.

It was more than any one person could handle.

When his wife stepped out of the car, she said how she was filled with confidence that someone would help them. She trusted there to be people at each twist and turn who would be willing to carry a child, play with a toddler, hold a bag or pick up a car seat. She stepped into the airport trusting the goodness of humanity. And at the end of the day, his wife described it as one of their best travel days. "My wife was in the best mood possible."

People showed up.

Help was offered.

Bags were carried.

A load was lightened.

I'd like to think of the church as such a place. In my best images of the church, there are people at every twist and turn who are ready to assist - to care for a child, to prepare a meal, to provide a ride, to pay for an unexpected doctor's bill, to help someone move, to be present when everything seems empty, to show up often. And while there are several pockets of incredible care in every congregation, I know we often fall short.

But I also cannot help but to wonder how much I try to carry it all on my own when others are trying to assist.

How much do we try to do by ourselves when a community surrounds us?

And how often do I start a day convinced that there is too much to do that I cannot possibly take time to pray for guidance or ask God for help? How regularly do I turn to God in times of great need before first scheming on my own?

What if we went into each challenging situation trusting there to be someone to help? What if we carried too much because we knew we would not carry it long before someone came to our aid? What if we believed in one who invited us to cast our burdens upon him because he cares for us enough to really leave our worries, our anxieties and our fears with God?

Light in the Darkness

Horror.

Tears.

Sadness.

Anger.

Weeping.

Our spirits have been through much since our Facebook feeds lit with news of a senseless tragedy in a storybook small town in Connecticut. How could any person kill his mother, enter her place of vocation and then kill more than a dozen children? How could anyone be so overcome with evil? Is there any place that is completely safe today?

My tendency yesterday was to go on a rampage about gun control. I hate guns. My father and I have been bantering over gun laws since 1994 when I worked for a Member of Congress who lost hundreds of votes and an election when he voted in support of a ban of semi-automatic handguns. It was during that year when I started making donations to Handgun Control in order to cancel my father's donations to the National Rifle Association. I cannot understand why anyone in our country needs a military style assault weapon tucked inside a cabinet in a closet in the basement or placed beneath the bed. Eighteen years have passed since I learned of Congress' inability to make lasting change on gun control, and hundreds of additional lives have been sacrificed and slaughtered since our argument started.

I then glued my eyes to the news, allowing my spirit to be transported to Newtown. I imagined myself as a child who miraculously got out. I thought about what it would be like to be a parent not yet united with a child who I had kissed good-bye less than five hours earlier as I rushed out the door to get to work on time. I sought to think about the twenty-year old person who had the gun - a child himself when I saw his picture for the first time.

And then my thoughts turned to Advent - to this season of waiting and watching for a savior who has come and is coming again. I thought about the mess into which Jesus was born - a borrowed barn in Bethlehem because there was no room for him at the inn. I recalled the words of the prophets of long ago who told all generations of one who was to come and why this one was desperately needed. The words of the prophets are painted amidst a background of darkness of oppression to a people who know violence, unrest, hunger and thirst. And still the prophets proclaim with all their passion that people must hold on. One is coming who will make all things right.

And the one came.

And when he got here he immediately threatened the powers of the day. In the book of Matthew, Herod got word of the birth of Jesus and did everything possible to find Jesus. The wise men told Mary and Joseph of Herod's hot pursuit, and encouraged them to flee to Egypt until Herod died.

We then read words of horror that are often overlooked in the Christmas story. "When Herod saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, he was infuriated, and he sent and killed all the children in and around Bethlehem who were two years old or under...." (Matthew 2:16).

There is darkness all around the birth of Jesus. Countless kids were killed. And yet, the Savior, the Prince of Peace, the Mighty One survived. And he continues to live and rule today.

His light has been shining into darkness for more than 2000 years. His light has power to penetrate into every place where darkness seems to have a hold - into mental illness, into senseless tragedy, into grief, into loss, into unspeakable sadness. And the darkness has never and will never overcome the light.

Are you trying to find hope in this situation? Are you at a loss in your efforts to make sense of them?

Nothing about what happened yesterday makes sense. It is filled with darkness and evil. But the message of Advent - the reason that thousands of people will gather in churches tomorrow - is that Emmanuel has come. We will sing again tomorrow "O Come O Come Emmanuel." We need him today like never before. It is Emmanuel's life, death, resurrection and promise of his coming again that enables me to find hope in the hopeless, to experience peace in the grief and to know that the light has come and will continue to come.

O Come, O Come Emmanuel.

Seeing the Signs

"There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see 'the Son of Man coming in a cloud' with power and great glory...Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life, and that day catch you unexpectedly, like a trap. For it will come upon all who live on the face of the whole earth. Be alert at all times..." (Luke 21:25-36).

We are always looking for a sign.

Some people regularly check their horoscope in the morning, searching for an indication that today will be the day when love will finally come knocking, a job offer will be received, or a dilemma will be solved.

Barren women longing to be pregnant scrutinize other signs. A different kind of cramp, a change in mood, a delayed period can all be seen as signs that God is finally listening.

A young woman in love can look for other signs. "He has not asked me what I want for Christmas. Does that mean he finally purchased a ring." "He was looking at my fingers rather intently. Does he know my size?"

We long for signs. We want to know that some things are changing and other things are staying stable. We long to hear how others are pleased with our performance, a sign that we are successful. We need to hear that life is in order, that things are looking up, that someone is in control.

But what are the signs we seek as followers of Christ? Do we recognize the movement of God in our lives?

I'm not the kind of Christian who regularly looks for a sign that signals how Christ is finally on the way to make all things right. I don't keep my ears open for the sounds of trumpets blowing, and I don't scrutinize weather patterns, comparing them to descriptions like the one above.

But I am the kind of Christian who is longing to see signs of God at work.

And perhaps the signs are all around us.

It's hard to walk into any grocery store during the days that separate Thanksgiving from Christmas without hearing bells ringing. I can't remember ever putting money in the bucket next to the bell. But I wonder how God might use even this sound as a sign - an invitation to ponder how we are invited to be of assistance to someone in need or share the gifts God has given to us with others?

Throughout the day, thoughts of different people regularly enter my mind. There are times when I am thoughtful enough to stop at that moment and make a call, letting someone know I've been thinking of them only to hear someone say, "You have no idea how much I needed to hear from you today." What if I paid more attention to these signs - to these thoughts - considering each one as an invitation to reach out with a phone call or a note of encouragement?

I recently shared communication with someone who shared how he longs to be in a faith community where his gifts are being noticed, named and nurtured. He has gifts to share but the gifts have not always been recognized, let alone put to faithful use. I wonder how God is using this conversation as a sign, a sign of ways in which I can do a better job of noticing and nurturing the gifts of people in our congregation, making sure everyone has a place to serve.

The signs of Christmas are all around us. Brightly lit trees reach toward the sky in parks around us and towards the ceiling of shopping centers far and wide. Wreaths adorn doors, and poles are wrapped in red ribbon. Advertisements fill our inbox and scamper across our screens, beckoning us to consider the perfect Christmas gift.

Still it's easy to miss the main message.

Christ is coming. We are between the time when he arrived in a borrowed barn and when he will come again. In the meantime, he longs to burst into our lives. He longs to dwell within us, tempting us to respond to his never-ending love and amazing grace. He longs to be the reason we act different, think differently, speak differently, give differently, love differently and live differently. He's ready to again be the greatest gift we have ever received.

So what if all these signs were not reminders of how far behind we are when it comes to buying, baking and bagging but instead how far we have to go when it comes to unwrapping the gift of Christ - the gift of Emmanuel who is always with us - the gift of a savior who makes all things new.

Dear Jesus, please open my eyes and ears to how you are at work all around me. Let me see the many ways in which you are trying to capture my attention. Show me how you want to use me this day. Come amongst me. Come inside me. Come and make all things new. Amen.

Vacancy: Room Available Immediately

While it may ruin my reputation as a faithful Wesleyan, I must confess that I have been carrying around two Powerball tickets in my purse this week. One was purchased by my partner who almost always plays and one was purchased by me since we were far from home with no one looking. I did not think we would win when we made the purchase with some postage stamps at Publix last week, but we decided to take a chance.

It's probably good that we did not win.

Sure, we could have finally traded two underwater condos for a house with more than one bedroom. We could have enabled everyone around us to have the Christmas of their dreams. We could have planned a New Year's Eve extravaganza. It would be fun to have $175+ million at one's disposal.

But, it's good we did not win.

Had we won, I would have likely quit my job on Thursday morning. I would have forfeited plans for an amazing summer sabbatical and gone on a permanent sabbatical. I would have not just told God how God was crazy for calling me to the impossible task of leading a church but instead come close to telling God to "Take this job and shove it. I ain't working here no more."

I'm tired.

Running on empty.

I've been trying to do it all. I've stayed up late fretting over the pledges that have not yet come in. I've been filling parts of a role that has been empty at our church for months. I've been trying to see several shut-ins, have coffee with new people and be present for my people. I've been reading materials for the Board of Ordained Ministry and thinking about a new exam process. I've been working with a coach and filling the pages of a notebook with things I should be doing. I've been leading a church through growth, hoping each week that the Vital Congregations Dashboard will show how I am a successful pastor. I've made it. If they could see me now!

But I have been missing the main thing. A stack of devotional books on my table will reveal to you when I last picked up some of them as the place-marker falls on a date that is long passed. I am not in the pulpit for two weeks in a row which means that my Bible has not been opened for study much, let alone for seeking to encounter God. I've thanked God for meals because I'm married to someone who never forgets, while often going about my day with more cuss-words yelled on I-395 than prayers of praise and adoration.

I'm running on empty. And I'm convinced that this life is not the life I am called to live. No doubt Jesus keeps on knocking, keeps on trying to get my attention. But I keep giving him one message: There's no room here for you. There's no vacancy. Can't you see how much is on my to-do list, Jesus? Can't you see how success is measured in this thing called the United Methodist Church? Can't you see how I can come to you later - after I've done all these other things?

No room.

I'm full.

And yet....I'm empty. I'm in need of a savior and a second chance.

As we approach the eve of Advent, I'm crawling back. I'm determined to not make these next 26 days about holiday lights, pretty packages, sugar cookies, greeting cards, overeating and overspending. Rather, I want to do everything to show Jesus how there is room available here. There's space that is wide open, chiseled out like the middle of a vessel that is ready to be filled.

This Advent will be different. I refuse to be like the innkeeper who told Mary and Joseph how there was no room at the inn. I refuse to push Jesus to the barn out back. Rather, I want him to take the best space possible - all of it - every pocket of my life and every ounce of my being.

O Come, O Come Emmanuel. I'm ready for you. There's room available here: a great big vacancy waiting to be filled by you.

Stuck in the Middle

The United Methodist Church has been filling much of my Facebook feed in recent days. Last week, I watched as many of my friends grunted and groaned over the closing of brick and mortar Cokesbury stores across the land. Cokesbury is our store. It is the place where we went to buy our books in seminary, the place we returned to during fall convocations to get books we could easily buy at home, paying for nostalgia in the process, the place where we could hardly wait to see what a professor was assigning to her class in the spring semester.

We love Cokesbury.

We love it even though most of us switched to buying our books on Amazon years ago, frustrated within seconds of not being able to easily find even a United Methodist product on the Cokesbury website. We all know the challenges of the Cokesbury website. We also know how often we walk into a Cokesbury store and find only one or two persons shopping alongside of us. We know how expensive print media is and how often we get mailings from Cokesbury. If we think about it for a few minutes, we might start to wonder how Cokesbury stayed open as long as it did. But we can't stand the thought of it closing.

My Facebook feed has also been erupting with news from the United Methodist Judicial Council, the equivalent of a Supreme Court for the church. The Judicial Council is getting a reputation for undoing decisions made by larger bodies. First it was the move of our General Conference to let go of guaranteed appointments. And now the Judicial Council is reversing a decision that would let go of a bishop who was determined to be ineffective. Many clergy celebrate the first decision, taking delight in a lack of accountability. Some clergy are angry about the second decision, especially those in the annual conferences where this bishop may be assigned to lead.

The United Methodist Church is in trouble. At the current rate of decline, our denomination will be dead in 50 years in the United States. Many people point fingers as to who is responsible. Others come up with plans that could reverse our decline. Still others make moves to hold people accountable. One group moves forward and then another group says the move is illegal according to church law. In the meantime, we cannot even agree to disagree on matters like homosexuality - with our church's stance causing heartache and pain in countless churches, including the church I serve.

Do you know of any organization that is actually growing without holding its leaders accountable?

Do you know of any business that grows - and is sustainable - with an ineffective CEO (i.e. bishops) and ineffective local managers (i.e. pastors)?

While we don't like the decision made by the United Methodist Publishing House, the closing of Cokesbury stores should awaken our denomination. It takes guts to make hard decisions. Hard decisions are rarely popular. I applaud this decision even though I love going to Cokesbury and buying books there once or twice a year.

I'm ready for our denomination to make other hard decisions - to learn that one regularly has to let go of what we most love in order to discover life again. I'm ready to be part of an organization that is known for its vitality instead of its decline. But I have not seen the denomination make many hard decisions and ultimately stick with them. It feels like being stuck in the middle - with one side ready to lead in new ways and another side resistant to any change.

It can be lonely in the middle.

But rather than being stuck, I'm going to give thanks for what God is doing at Mount Vernon Place, the church I know and love the most. I'm going to keep surrounding myself with fellow disciples who are asking what it means to be faithful in our context of downtown Washington. I'm going to keep pondering the ways we can do church outside the box. I'm going to keep following Jesus. I'm going to keep asking God what it means to resist evil and oppression in whatever forms they present themselves, including our denomination's stance on same-sex marriage. I'm going to keep being the best pastor I know how to be.

And, I'm going to give thanks for the $10 coupon that Cokesbury sent to me, one that did not even require a minimum purchase, allowing me to enjoy a new Advent devotional for a couple of bucks.

Enough? vs. Enough!

I consider it a privilege to serve in the center of the city of Washington. I love urban ministry. I take delight in living in the midst of the city where one can walk many places or rely upon public transportation, interact with a wide range of people on a regular basis, and have a mind that is constantly inspired to think.

But there are times when I loathe living in the city.

I get tired of people always asking me for something.

There are many days when I am tempted to put my head down and walk or drive in autopilot instead of allowing my eyes to make contact with the eyes of a person in need.

But something recently happened that is causing me to think again. It is a story I shared in my sermon on Sunday morning and one I am still reflecting upon.

I was riding in the car with my colleague, Alisa. We had experienced a magnificent morning of prayer practices, connecting our bodies with our spirituality through the gift of a Paulist priest and a grant given to six clergywomen in our annual conference. Our morning of stretching, twisting and praying was followed by a delightful lunch on the sidewalk of a neighborhood pizza place where we were all encouraged to order our own individual pizza only to discover that our table of six women needed three pies instead of six. When our bellies were filled and our souls satisfied, we had our leftovers wrapped in foil that concealed the pizza we planned to bring home to our partners. The shiny packages were placed in our bags as we hopped in the car and made our way home.

The car had stopped at a busy intersection where I am trained to keep my focus straight ahead instead of looking at the people on the sidewalk who regularly approach cars waiting for a green light. I did what I always do - look ahead - while Alisa looked outside the window - my window.

Are you hungry? I heard her ask as I turned my gaze to match hers. I don't know what exactly transpired next but I remember reaching into my bag while saying out loud, "We have food!" A moment later I was rolling down the window and handing over our two packages of pizza. We then watched....and learned a lesson.

The man took the two packages and immediately handed one to a friend waiting on a bench. They both sat down and started to eat with a pace that confirmed that the answer to Alisa's initial question was, in fact, "Yes." They were hungry. The two pieces of pizza in each package were consumed before our light turned green.

The man who gave one package of pizza to a friend never examined the packages before handing one over. He did not peek inside to see if one package had something he liked better than the contents of the other package. He did not hold the packages up to see if one weighed more than the other or if one had three pieces while the other had two pieces. He received two packages and immediately gave one to someone with a similar need to be satisfied.

How often do we do the same?

Do we ever give without first evaluating whether we have enough? How often are we given the equivalent of two packages of pizza and quickly consume them both when we could have been satisfied with one, allowing someone else to be satisfied at the same time? How often do we give joyfully because there is a need without asking how our giving might negatively impact us - whether it is our time, our talent or our resources?

The man was hungry but he revealed one of my hungers as he took our leftover pizza.

I long to live a life where the word, "enough" has an exclamation point behind it - a life where I can always see the abundance God has given to me - instead of being in a place where I am regularly asking, Is there enough? or Will there be enough for ME if I share what has been given to me?

God goes to great lengths to help the Israelites see the power of taking just enough when God rains bread from heaven, providing manna in the wilderness. The Israelites then learn what happens when they take more than enough - the leftovers spoil.

In what ways are we being invited to share?

The words are rather beautiful. Read them once more. "I have enough!"

What Would Make Your Heart Sing?

What would make your heart sing? 

I was first exposed to the Lilly Endowment's deep impact upon seminaries, churches, pastors and other organizations while serving as the Director of Admissions at Duke Divinity School. The Lilly Endowment funded unique scholarships and fellowships that attracted the best and the brightest to our entering class. Students were able to serve in exceptional congregations around the country for a summer, growing in their pastoral formation in transformational ways. I have since benefited from the generosity of the Lilly Endowment in other life-giving ways - through my work with the Fund for Theological Education, a summer writing program at the Collegeville Institute, and now with the College of Pastoral Leaders at Austin Presbyterian Seminary. The Lilly Endowment has had a profound impact upon the church - and upon my life.

And it is the Lilly Endowment that has caused me to ponder, dream and reflect upon what would really make my heart sing. A creative and passionate team of people was pulled together last spring to help clarify my response while asking the same question for our congregation. Together we dreamed of a summer of deep engagement - intentional time to engage deeply with Jesus, deeply with our city and deeply with each other.

We dreamed about what would enable our congregation to take additional risks in their discipleship while also going away to escape the fumes and demands of city life. We dreamed about our children and how to bring more vitality to our ministry of sharing the love of God with them. We dreamed about how we can better see and experience Jesus by going to the places where Jesus most tangibly dwells in our city. And we came up with a plan.

We would invite my teacher, mentor and friend and his wife to spend six weeks with us, filling the pulpit and leading an evening session of learning. We would seek to learn as much as we can from the Church of the Saviour and their ministries in our city. We would go away for a weekend on retreat. We would do yoga together and create some pottery or paintings. And we would enjoy a grand morning of music.

At the same time, my dreams for a summer of deep engagement started to become clearer. I would travel to Iona with Craig, a thin place where I have always longed to encounter God. I would go back to London, a place where I lived as a college student but have not returned to in nearly 20 years. I would develop deep rhythms of life in Washington - starting with putting my health in the first priority by working out with a personal trainer four days a week and then seeking to offer myself to different organizations in ministry with the poor in our city. I'd take an acting class, get a few massages and read books because they bring me joy and not because I need a great sermon illustration. I'd go to New York City with Craig for a weekend, stay out until midnight on Saturday night and perhaps go to Mass and Sunday brunch with him, relishing the gift of a Sabbath together. I'd go back to South Africa - to the place where I experienced my call to let go of success and comfort in order to return to the city and take on a church that was close to death instead of exhibiting signs of life. I'd visit the places of pain and hope that turned my world upside down. I'd see the church in action. And, I'd look for God's creative touch up close and personal through a safari.

Each piece of the application was carefully crafted, printed and placed in an envelope last May. Postmarked to Indianapolis, I said a prayer in the Post Office while asking for a return receipt. We then waited...

And then we learned that some dreams come true.