Getting Fit

Last week she was climbing a rope to the top of the ceiling in record time. The next day she was pushing a tire down the length of a gym. Yesterday she was in the midst of a rotation that included the stair master, rowing machine and free weights. She spends a lot of time at the gym. She's one of the trainers, an employee who works with several clients in an effort to help them achieve their goals. But I see her working out - I watch her working hard to improve her own body - just as much as I see her training and encouraging other clients. She has ripples in her arms and across her back. She's incredibly lean and strong. She has a body that I'd like to try on for a while. But she's also provided an example of the changes I want to make in my life as a result of this summer.

We all had to memorize and teach a story as part of Godly Play training two weeks ago. I was given the story called, "Ten Best Ways to Live." When using Godly Play, you don't just tell the story with your words. You use objects - a desert box filled with sand, a large rock upon which Moses receives the Ten Commandments, small people who you move across the sand, and pieces of a puzzle in the shape of a heart that inform all your listeners about the ten best ways we can live. The teaching method is captivating, and I had so much fun telling the story, putting my hands in the sand and saying "The desert is a dangerous place." I cannot wait to tell more stories.

After we told our assigned story, our classmates took time to share their observations - the things that worked well in our storytelling and the things we might want to consider changing the next time. Several questions were asked. One is still penetrating my mind, "At what point did you find yourself in the story?"

And that's my very problem.

I am so tempted to do ministry, to memorize the most important parts of a sermon, to get through my visitations, to write what needs to be written, to report what needs to be reported, that I often fail to allow myself - ME! - to get caught up in the story. I regularly forget that I am in the midst of the very same story I'm encouraging others to be part of - that God is at work in my life just as much as I am telling you God is at work in your life.

The trainer at the gym does not let me forget how important fitness is to her - not just to her clients. She regularly demonstrates what it takes to be physically fit. She's taught me this - and she does not even know my name or the impact her example has had on me.

I want to be like that. I want others to not just hear the story from my lips but to see the story through the very life I live. I want people to observe God at work in real and tangible ways in my life. I want people to watch me loving God and neighbor as I love myself. I long for people to see me seeking first the kingdom - and not just the things that have to be done at the church.

I went to worship recently and noticed what it looks like when one is going through the motions instead of getting caught and tangled by the story. The sermon was preached by his colleague and was an incredible sermon on prayer. But when it came time to pray, the words were so formal that one knew the prayer was written and read instead of coming from the heart. When it came time for the announcements, there were enough funerals announced that you knew the pastoral team had to be exhausted. But this exhaustion came through - this lack of energy was tangible. The beauty and gift of prayer that was described in the sermon was hard to see practiced. The awesome power, grace and mercy of God may have appeared in the liturgy - but it was hard to see in some of the living examples around me.

I believe with my whole heart that a relationship with Jesus can and should be the most life-giving relationship we have. I believe that Jesus is passionately pursuing us at all times like a woman who turns her house upside down to find a missing coin or a shepherd who leaves 99 sheep behind to find one who is missing. I believe Jesus is far more ready to hear from us than we are prepared to turn to him in prayer. I believe Jesus loves us so much that there is absolutely nothing we can do to make him love us less. And I believe Jesus expects much from us - that he regularly calls us to work for a different kind of kingdom to emerge on earth as it is in heaven. But I don't want you to simply read these words on my blog or hear them preached from the pulpit. I want you to see me live them through the things I do, the choices I make, the people I love, the things I let go of, the very life I live.

And that's exactly why I'm working hard to get fit - not just physically but spiritually, too.

A Guest Post from My Niece Kayla - Ready for Departure

My niece, Kayla, and I depart for South Africa tomorrow. Kayla's 18-years-old, just graduated from high school, and is wondering what's next in her life. She's always had an amazing heart. Here she allows you to look inside before we depart for a three week pilgrimage of pain and hope.

After pondering the thought many times, it’s taken so long for reality to set in that I’m actually going to find myself standing on the grounds of South Africa. I have been trying so hard to tell myself that I’m ready, I’ve been questioning whether I really deserve this trip, and I’ve been worried about leaving my family when I have so many duties at home. I had been preparing, questioning, and worrying so much that I had given myself anxiety and extremely heavy burdens. So I prayed, and I prayed, and I prayed. God had given me three questions to answer on my own: What is “ready”? Is there a difference between what we deserve and what we don’t deserve? And finally, what is your life long duty? I had to come up with the answers.

So, what is “ready?” Well, you can look it up in the dictionary and it says ready: completely prepared or in fit condition for immediate action or use. However, to me, all I could read was the word “prepared” and as far as preparation all I could think of were materialistic things. My suitcase is packed, our snacks are all laid out, and the books and electronics are all set for our flight. So I read the definition again and the next words that stood out were “fit condition.” This time all I could think of was my physical condition. A couple weeks ago I went to the Children’s Hospital for my annual check up and received wonderful news that I’m currently beating my Muscular Dystrophy. I remembered that blessing and I thought maybe I was about to hit the nail on the head. But no, I still couldn’t get to what God was trying to tell me. Finally, the last words “immediate action or use” hit me. Our heads, our hearts, and our emotions act immediately and are used on the spot. We can’t prepare for when our heart races or when our stomach drops. We can’t fight emotions because they happen on the spot. We can’t control thoughts that instantly pop up. That was it. You can’t be ready for the next day until the next day is here. It’s when that very moment comes, when your heart races, you may cry you may smile, and your thoughts run wild. You have no choice other than to accept yourself in the situation mentally, physically and emotionally. I finally came to the conclusion. We can’t be ready until it’s time to face a situation and we as a whole are ready.

Well that was one piece to the puzzle. The next question was such a blur. Is there a difference between what we deserve and what we don’t deserve? Well of course there is. I don’t think good things just happen to good people and bad things happen to just bad people. However, I do believe that everything happens for a reason. I believe that when you choose an action you choose a consequence. So we get what we deserve but often times we forget something. Just because something bad or painful happens doesn’t mean it wasn’t God’s plan and it doesn’t mean he’s punishing us. We forget that he always knows the outcome and he always has something better in store. When I first told my friends about this trip, all anyone had to say is that I was lucky. I don’t even like the word lucky but it got me thinking. It had me thinking about how top notch this trip really was. I had to be honest with myself, my choices, the mistakes I made in the past couple of months, none of it added up to deserving this getaway. Only three days ago, a day before my flight, had I decided that I needed to clean up my lifestyle and build back up my relationship with Christ. I don’t deserve to get on a big fancy airplane and watch movies the whole time and eat nice dinner. I don’t deserve to stay on a game reserve where not many people get to go. The list went on and on. Sure we’re all sinners, but I’m so hard on myself when I mess up. When I reach out to God all I ask is simply that this trip change my life. That’s all I’ve prayed for. Once I got to Washington, D.C. my Aunt Donna really start putting it in my head that this wasn’t for vacation. She talked about how it was to work on our hearts. All I could say to myself was finally! Someone else saw it in the perspective I did. It was no longer about the actual trip it became clear to me that what I deserved was the experience. I realized that the experience also wasn’t going to be so easy. It’s going to be brutal on my eyes, I’m going to have many empty thoughts, my heart is going to break, my emotions are going to be heavy, and I am going to feel some of the worst pain I’ve ever experienced. It’s going to hurt but this is not the Lord’s punishment, and he most definitely hasn’t forgot about me. He is giving me the desires of my heart. That is what I deserve.

I know when I’ll be ready, and I know what I deserve. The last question revealed such a fulfilling answer for me. What is my life long duty? When I think of duty, for some reason the only thing that crosses my mind is the military. Then, I realized how much I had fought for in my life and I realized why I was so worried to leave home. I’ve fought for relationships, I’ve fought for my rights, I’ve fought school systems, I’ve fought to keep a roof over my head, I’ve fought to keep money in my wallet. Finally, I put it together Sunday morning during church when the kids’ choir came up and I remembered singing in church when I was younger. The song “I’m In The Lord’s Army” immediately popped into my head and played over and over and over again. I may never march in the infantry, ride in the cavalry, shoot the artillery. I may never fly o’er the enemy, but I’m in the Lord’s army. Yes sir. My life long duty is to be a better soldier of faith.

I searched in and out to find the answers before I left for South Africa. I no longer ask myself if I’m ready but am now anxiously awaiting every moment from when I board the plane to my first steps on the ground. God never gives up on me so I will never give up on his plan, I pray that he turns me inside out over the next few weeks. My duties at home will be there when I get back, but my duty every day is to be a better soldier of faith. I plan to march right through South Africa, I’ll say it loud and I’ll say it proud, Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior.

Crossing the Threshold

It's incredibly hard to walk into a church as a visitor. I've visited more than a half a dozen churches this summer, and each visit starts with a familiar routine. I look at the website to double check the time of worship. I look for instructions on parking. I leave my house extra early. I park as close to the church as possible, often with at least 20 minutes remaining before worship starts. I then watch as people are going in, making mental notes of what doors they are using and how they are dressed to make sure I'll fit in upon my entry. I then take deep breaths and start to make my way to the entrance.

When I finally get to the door of the church, I often discover that churches are very lonely places. It is a place one goes with the belief that instant welcome will be offered. The church is the location in the city that is to be the friendliest of all. Churches have specific people assigned to stand at the door and welcome people. But I've learned this summer that Wal-Mart has a clear leg up on the church when it comes to welcoming guests.

I've waited for the greeter to welcome me and hand me a bulletin in one place only to finally walk around her conversation with another church member and pick up my own bulletin.

I've walked through a long hallway at another church where one person looked up to see who was passing by while nine others kept their heads focused somewhere else.

I've journeyed through a church building in search of a bathroom before worship, passing several open offices in my route and discovering that none of the staff members inside said a word to me.

And I've entered another place where the pastor immediately introduced me to someone who gave me a tour of their church while another person showed me exactly where to go and yet another made a point to tell me how grateful she was that I came that day. This Sunday is the Sunday I remember the most this summer. I don't remember exactly what was preached but I remember the welcome - the authentic hospitality given by several people.

I think we mean well. We regulars cannot imagine anyone not being able to find their way inside our doors and have a harder time imagining someone walking in and not feeling welcome when we sit amongst familiar friends and faces. We are so comfortable on Sundays.

And that's the greatest challenge.

We forget what it's like to be a person going to church for the first time.

"In Godly Play, we have learned that children need two central things. They need to be noticed, and they need to be blessed." These words provided the foundational teaching of a three-day course in becoming a Godly Play teacher last weekend. The words were then immediately put to practice as we lined up in a hallway before entering a room. Someone at the door greeted us by name and told us how glad she was to see us. Another person was waiting inside the classroom to welcome us and learn our names. And when the lesson was over and the meal was shared, we all were called up one by one for a blessing - for twenty seconds of someone looking us in the eye, calling us by name, and telling us how glad they were to see us and how they hoped we would have a good week.

We all need to be noticed and blessed. Not just our children.

What would it mean for every church member or regular attendee to arrive on Sunday mornings not just to worship God and be fed with a bit of spiritual food but to also give the gift of noticing others and blessing them? How can we become congregations of greeters and givers of hospitality - not leaving this task to the people at the door? As a visitor, I've found that the pew is sometimes more lonely than walking in the door - especially if everyone around me seems to know each other and carry on their conversations without noticing me. How could we make the space that separates people sitting in the pews smaller than a great divide?

The folks at Godly Play call it crossing the threshold - moving from that space where you are with your parents or playing in order to enter another space where you'll soon turn to wonder at the power and presence of God. God shows up at the front door through the ways we welcome a stranger. And sometimes God is so visibly absent at the front door that I wonder if I'll ever be able to find God on the inside. I literally wanted to leave a church recently because of the lack of hospitality between the main entrance of the church and the sanctuary.

Sundays can be very lonely days. Churches are some of the hardest spaces to enter when you are alone or coming for the first time. Will you please do your part in helping people cross the threshold and find a different kind of community where God is visibly seen? I believe with my whole heart that we all need to be noticed and we all need to be blessed.

Look Ahead!!

As part of my renewal, I'm taking time this month to visit the three places where God has spoken to me most clearly. One of them is a church to which I belonged when I first experienced my call to ministry. It is from their pulpit where I preached some of my first sermons and had my gifts named and claimed. It is this congregation that sent me off to seminary with dozens of cards, some cake and lots of prayers. It is this church that had a pastor who saw gifts in me that I thought were fit for political service but he deemed fit for the church and kept opening doors for these gifts to be put to use.

This morning I'll board a bus to Manhattan just as I did as a chaperone of a high school youth trip to the United Nations in 1996. I'll go to this city not surrounded by youth but as a solo traveler with eyes wide open and a heart that is excited to experience lots of theatre and good friends. The first time my eyes saw New York, something happened within me. My journey through the city opened me to new possibilities in life. It was on a bus departing New York after a wonderful weekend with youth in 1996 where I knew God was calling me to ministry. It was on a bus coming home where I spent four hours talking with people about seminary and the process to ordination. I've met God in New York.

Two weeks from tonight I'll board a plane for a long journey to South Africa. It is in this land where I have sensed a God who asks hard things of us. It was on a Pilgrimage of Pain and Hope to South Africa in 2004 where I met a God who reshaped a prayer on my lips, "God, take me out of my place of comfort and success. Help me be more prophetic. Give me a heart for hurting and broken people." I came home from that journey and told the Dean of Duke Divinity School that I would finish that year with joy but would then resign from my position as the Director of Admissions in order to return to the local church. It was in South Africa where God gave me the courage to embrace all the challenges that first came with being appointed to Mount Vernon Place and the city of Washington.

Perhaps I was romanticizing these return visits. Maybe I thought I would see and hear God as powerfully as I have before in these very places. I'm not sure what I was expecting but I did not find it when I walked back into my old church as a visitor who had not been there in years. The place has changed as every church should change in the course of a decade. Only a handful of faces were familiar. I left with the knowledge of how lonely it can be to walk into a sanctuary as a visitor.

But perhaps I needed exactly what I got that morning - a fresh reminder that so often we go looking for Jesus where we have last found him just as the women did on Easter morning. They assumed that Jesus' body would be exactly where they laid it. They then hear a voice asking, "Why look for the living amongst the dead?"Jesus has been on the move ever since - just as he was before.

We are tempted to believe God dwells in sanctuaries and holy temples. We so often limit the movement of Jesus to the places we have experienced him before. But our God is not bound by memories or church walls. Our God is always on the move. The winds of the Spirit blow throughout the world - touching our lips and anointing us with new words, speaking fresh challenges into our hearts, showing up just when we need to be reminded that God is Emmanuel - God with us, and causing us to go to places we once never imagined only to find that God is also there just as much as God was back there.

It's a wonderful gift to go back - to see places that have shaped and formed you. I'm incredibly grateful for these opportunities to journey. But I go now not expecting to find God exactly as I found God last. Rather, I go into each day longing to hear the voice of God and see God's hands at work. In God we live and move and have our being. That means God is everywhere - as close as your next breath and as dynamic as someone who will be kind or thoughtful to you today - showing up just when you need someone to show up.

There is fullness of joy in the presence of the Lord - and that presence is everywhere. Thank you, God.

Come and See

Reviewing the call accounts of the disciples this morning, I realize again how remarkable it is that Jesus' invitation to "Follow me" was so compelling that Peter and Andrew immediately left their nets to follow him before encountering James and John who leave their nets, their boat and their father behind in order to follow Jesus. This call is the one recorded in Matthew, Mark and Luke. There is little dialogue between Jesus and the disciples - just a leaving behind.

 I've found that my call is a bit more like the one recorded in the Gospel of John where Jesus has to keep encouraging the prospective disciples to "come and see." Each step leads to a closer bond between Jesus and the men. They keep questioning but Jesus keeps saying, "Come and see." It is one step at a time, with something left at each step.

I'm spending my summer in response to this invitation of "come and see" as I seek to engage more deeply with Jesus. We started on the Isle of Iona, a place George MacLeod, the founder of the Iona Community described as being a "thin place" where "only a tissue paper" separated the spiritual from the material. Our journey to Iona took a plane ride to Glasgow, a three-hour train ride to Oban, a 45 minute ferry to Mull, a one hour bus ride across Mull and then a 10 minute ferry ride. The journey was a response to "come and see" in and of itself!

We then continued to "come and see" as we made our way around the isle. We climbed mountains to watch the sunset, clung to the side of a cliff to make it into a cave, wandered until we found Puffins, gathered rocks near the sea, gazed at cattle and sheep eating their fill of food, sat in the ancient abbey for morning and evening prayer, and marveled at the dozens of pilgrims getting off the ferry each day. It was a journey that stretched us physically as well as spiritually. Craig and I did things we don't normally do, stepping out of our comfort zones.

While on Iona, I picked up a book, "Around a Thin Place." It is a guide for those wanting to take a pilgrimage around the isle, something that is offered by the community weekly. The book starts by describing what it means to set out in the first place. Dom Helder Camara writes,

"Setting out is first of all getting out of oneself. Breaking through the shell of selfishness hardening us within our own ego. 

To stop revolving round ourself as if we were the centre of everything. 

Refusing to be ringed in by the problems of our own small world. However important these may be, humanity is more important and our task is to serve humanity.

Setting out is not covering miles of land or sea, or travelling faster than the speed of sound. It is first and foremost opening ourselves to other people, trying to get to know them."

Camara then described how this task also means getting to know people who disagree with you, "Happy are they who understand the words: 'If you disagree with me, you have something to give me.'"

He then continues, "If those who are with you always agree with you before you open your mouth, they are not companions but shadows.

When disagreement is not a form of systematic blocking, when it rises from a different vision, it can only enrich us."

Camara next writes how one can journey alone but how a good traveller always understands that the journey is "human life and life needs company...Happy are they who feel they are always on the road and everyone they meet is their chosen companion."

I believe Jesus knew the gift of pilgrimage - that he is the first author and teacher of what is written in this essay. Jesus found a companion in most people on the road. He was rarely bothered by a disruption even when he was on his way. He saw the gift of disagreement and kept on extending an invitation whether it was a woman at the well who could not figure out why he was talking to her or an encounter with Zacchaeus who wondered the same thing. Jesus knew that we rarely grow when we are surrounded by people who are just like us.

And Jesus always knew that life is better when spent in community. While he took time to be alone and get away from the crowds to recenter himself on God, he knew that his best work was done with the company of twelve ordinary men who were willing to leave behind their past and embrace the future with Jesus.

What would it look like for us to reclaim these teachings and embody them daily - to see each person as a gift, to embrace community whether we have chosen it or not, to let go of ourselves - what we hold most deeply (our agendas, our schedules, our time, our stuff, our success, our failure, our goals, our power, our prestige) in order to see the new thing God might be doing in our lives?

What would it look like to be so selfless that we can always see the needs of others in our midst?

What do we need to leave behind in order to more faithfully follow this day?

Towards the end of his writing, Camara states "To travel for the sake of travelling is not the true journey. We must seek a goal, envision an end to the journey, an arrival."

The goal of my journey is more of God in my life. I want to be formed and reformed, shaped and reshaped. I want to let go of me so I can accept more of Jesus' life within me. I want to step out into familiar and unfamiliar territory - to "come and see" what God is doing in my life and especially in the lives of others near and far. I want to be more ready to serve all with needs in my midst - those who I know and those who are waiting to be known.

I'm ready to go deeper - stepping out in unfamiliar territory.

(Re)Finding My Way

I spent last night on the balcony of the home of a member of our church where our visiting preacher in residence is currently staying. The home is located one block from our church and provides an outstanding view of the building created through the sale of church property in 2005.

It was my first year as the pastor of Mount Vernon Place, and I spent just as much time in meetings with architects, developers and city officials in those first two years as I did visiting people, writing sermons, preparing for worship and doing other typical pastor duties. There were many weeks when I used my hard hat more than I used my Bible.

Last evening, when the sun began to go deeper into the night, I found myself being captivated by the building in the background. I could not stop looking at it. My gaze last night provided tangible evidence of some of my labor. I looked upon the building and remembered tough negotiations that sometimes left me in tears, sleepless nights when our developer was changing, and lots of decisions that had to be made (some of which I'd like to do all over again). I could see the fruit of my labor in the background - a gift.

I know how to do a property redevelopment. I'm a rather fierce negotiator. I can pick out furniture and carpet and hold people accountable. I got a tough New York city developer to let go of our project when we discovered quickly how we were not the perfect match for each other. There are moments when I dream about a vocation in real estate.

But if the truth were told, I'm struggling a bit with what it really means to be a pastor.

So much of my time and energy during my first eight years at MVP has been focused on building - building a physical structure and rebuilding a congregation that had been in decline for 50 years. The words "maintain" and "sustain" were not part of the vocabulary of my call when I accepted the invitation to move from North Carolina eight years ago and be appointed to MVP (and I don't think these are words that should be part of any pastor's vocabulary for that matter). There's little about me that can put up with the status quo, and so I've spent a lot of time strategizing, thinking about catchy sermon series, and trying to figure out how to get people in Washington to see how much God loves them and longs to be in relationship with them. And my efforts to build the church have come at the expense of building my own relationship with Christ.

The building is finished, and we now have a critical mass of people each Sunday morning, the majority of whom are young adults. We've come a long way. I do not take anything for granted, and I am more than grateful for the privilege of serving in this place. There is no doubt in my mind that my call to Mount Vernon Place is as clear today as it was eight years ago.

But, if I've learned anything in the first month of my sabbatical, I've learned that I need to relearn some of what it means to be a pastor who is not a developer of property but one who is a developer of lives. I need to find my way back to being a shepherd who leads one to still waters and fullness of joy by helping others find the presence of the true Shepherd in their lives. I need to find more moments to be in God's presence. I need to come back to my creator, redeemer and sustainer.

I've stocked my Kindle with books by Eugene Peterson this morning. I'm using this precious gift of time to rediscover what God is up to in my life and how to make more room for the sweet Spirit who longs to make more of me. What a blessing.

A Place for Doubters

 This picture was taken just outside the Museum of London and is known as "The Aldersgate Flame Memorial." The date at the top reads "Wednesday, May 24, 1738," and the inscription continues, allowing one to read the words printed in John Wesley's journal on this particular day.

Mr. Wesley is the founder of Methodism - the one whose image is reproduced in stained glass windows in our sanctuary and whose bust appears throughout the world as a man of deep faith. His mark is felt in churches of all shapes and sizes. His teachings have had and continue to have a profound impact on countless people learning about the way of salvation or experiencing grace that comes to us long before we hear the name of God spoken aloud.

But Mr. Wesley was not always filled with faith. In fact, he wrestled with doubt for a significant portion of his life.

In his journal, Mr. Wesley wrote how he opened his Testament to 2 Peter and then walked to St. Paul's where he heard an anthem, "Out of the Deep have I called unto thee...If thou, Lord, wilt be extreme to mark what is done amif's, O Lord, who may abide it? But there is Mercy with thee." After printing the words of the hymn, Mr. Wesley continued to write:

In the Evening I went very unwillingly to a Society in Aldersgate Street, where one was reading Luther's Preface to the Epistle to the Romans. About a Quarter before nine, while he was describing the Change which God works in my Heart thro' Faith in Christ, I felt my Heart strangely warm'd. I felt I did trust in Christ, Christ alone for my Salvation: And an Assurance was given to me, That He had taken away my Sins, even mine, and saved me from the Law of Sin and Death.

Mr. Wesley was an ordained clergyman who was preaching regularly and leading people to have faith in Christ. He was born into the church, the child of a pastor who could be found on the front pew. And yet, he did not have faith. He was 35 years old when he wrote these words. He could have easily given up and left the church but he kept heeding to the advice of a friend who suggested that he "preach faith until you have it."

We in the church regularly speak of faith as something that is easy to find. We talk about God with words that can lead others to believe that we have seen God with our very own eyes, never mind the belief that even Moses could only see God through a burning bush.

But what if faith is a gift - a present that some of us are given at an early age while others have to wait decades to receive?

What if our seasons of doubt can lead to the richest seasons of faith imaginable?

What if you are not the only one who is doubting? What if the person preaching in the pulpit is preaching until she or he has faith again?

What if the best thing to do when we are doubting is to keep showing up - keep going to church - keep searching the scriptures - keep trying to pray even if we do these things "very unwillingly" like Mr. Wesley did?

Perhaps we in the church need to make as much room as possible for doubt, believing that God is still at work whether our picture of God is clear or blurry - whether we know God to be alive or believe God is dead - whether we have experienced the gift of a heart strangely warmed or have determined that we can live without faith in God?

It takes a long time for some of us to get to the Amen Corner. That's why we keep going - even unwillingly - to places like the Society at Aldersgate.

Tell Him I Believe in Him

I could not stay away from Mount Vernon Place last night even though I'm on sabbatical. I noticed a tweet at 5:32 p.m. informing me that my mentor and hero Peter Storey would be using the Sunday evening session to talk about Nelson Mandela. With a pilgrimage to South Africa just four weeks away, I knew hearing Peter talk about former President Mandela was something I did not want to miss - something that would make my heart sing.

Peter spent an hour telling us about Mandela's place of birth, early years of life and his time as a political prisoner on Robben Island before sharing more about Mandela's mark on South Africa. There are dozens of stories written down in my journal told by Peter last evening - stories I don't want to forget.

One story that keeps surfacing in my heart provoked tears in the eyes of many who listened last night. Peter shared how it was once discovered that one of Mandela's bodyguards was a member of a racist Nazi group. People went to the President with fear for his life, advising him to please fire the young man or at least remove him from such close detail. Peter shared how the President thought for a few moments before responding. "You know, I was once a hot-headed young man, too. Give the young guard a chance. Tell him I believe in him. Tell him I trust him."

Tell him I believe in him. Tell him I trust him.

No doubt these words changed the life and heart of the young guard. Can you imagine your dirt being aired - the feelings of hatred within you being exposed - only to discover that the one you were taught to hate actually believed in you - trusted you - wanted you as part of his team?

I wonder how often God seeks to say the same thing to us?

How often are we allowed to be part of something that we do not deserve?

When have we been given a second chance in spite of ourselves or the hatred and revenge burning within us?

When does God see our very best and expose it to all around us even when we're rather ugly on the inside?

What an amazing life Nelson Mandela has shared with the world.

And what an amazing God we have who calls us, claims us and names us...in spite of ourselves.

Five Years!

 It's been five whole years! Five years ago today I was waking up to birthday mimosas, buttoning a shirt I could easily take off without ruining my wedding hair, and preparing to head to Duke Chapel. It was undoubtedly the best day of my life. Our wedding day is one I would do again and again if given the opportunity.

What have I learned in five years?

1) Sitting at the table for dinner with the television off is essential if couples are going to continue to grow together.

2) Hearing Craig thank God for me in prayer are words I could never grow tired of hearing.

3) An annual vacation and other times away can rekindle whatever sparks have gone missing.

4) It is possible and actually delightful for a United Methodist pastor to be happily married to a devout Roman Catholic. Our worshipping in separate places and having separate days to call our own are huge gifts.

5) Setting clear boundaries at the church by restricting meeting nights to no more than two a week is hard but necessary for our marriage to flourish. Being a pastor and being a wife are both callings from God and both need to be cultivated.

6) Marriage is a means of grace that enables one to see and experience God more often.

7) Forgiveness and letting go are essential.

8) Marriage is a gift that causes me to thank God for the quick realization God made when it was discovered how one should never be alone - how life is to be shared with a helper by our side.

9) Having separate checking accounts could be a sign of strength in a marriage and not weakness.

10) Being married to someone who constantly makes me a better person is a gift to everyone around me.

"The best thing you ever did for me was to help me take my life less seriously. It's only life after all." Thanks, Craig, for five great years of making me laugh, dance and enjoy life - together.

Can I Help You?

While we did not need a map on Iona (even though we bought one), this scene played out dozens of times during our journey in London and Paris. Armed with maps and travel cards for the subway, we set out in search of a restaurant, shop or museum. There were times when we found our intended destination without much trouble, and there were other times when we felt tempted to bury our faces in the map once more. There were times when we felt certain that the route we took was the most direct route available, and there were other times when the blisters on our feet proved a detour or two had been in the making.

Near the end of our time in London, our feet were especially tired, and we were also reaching the point of being tired with each other when Craig asked if we could just take a bus home. "We don't know the bus system," I replied, "and we don't have a bus map." Craig pouted a bit while I pulled out the London Underground map once more, at which point a woman approached us and said, "May I help you?" "No, thank you," I quickly said before she asked where we were going. Craig told her the name of the hotel and she said, "Did you know there is a bus that will pick you up here and stop directly in front of your hotel?"

It was like a scene from "Touched by an Angel." I've never felt a prayer answered so quickly - even though I failed to ask Craig if he was praying or cursing that day. And I almost missed the blessing. Had this woman who was paid by the city of London to help tourists find their way not insisted on helping us by asking a second question, we would have walked several more blocks to get the Tube and then several more blocks from the Tube to our hotel, likely needing another Band-Aid.

Why do we so often refuse help when it is offered?

Why do we have a hard time accepting the assistance people long to give?

And more importantly, how often do we tell God "No thank you - I've got this," when God keeps promising to help us?

In Matthew 11, Jesus says, "Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” 

Jesus promises help. 

Jesus longs to take our burdens. 

But we refuse his help more than receive it. We convince ourselves that if we rise a little earlier or work a little later that it will all turn out fine. When we are most stressed is when we are most likely to skip prayer or time devoted to listening to God. The times when we need God the most are the very times we fail to receive the good gifts of God. 

Why?

I saw a similar picture being played out yesterday morning as I was walking along the Union Station corridor. Three men and one woman all dressed in business suits were standing looking at three different maps. I heard one man say, "There's the Capitol so it must be around here." I stopped to ask, "Can I help you find something?" "No," one man quickly snapped. I walked a bit further and then turned around to see them still looking at a map. "They should have accepted my help," I thought to myself (okay, maybe I called them idiots for not receiving my help).

And then I wondered how often God says the very same thing.

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and do not rely on your own insight. In all ways acknowledge God and God will direct your paths," the writer of Proverbs shares. Why do we have such a hard time trusting - accepting help - receiving assistance?

In Defense of Marriage

Thousands of ears and eyes are focused upon the Supreme Court this morning as we await their decisions on two cases of equality. Two appeals are testing whether the fundamental constitutional right to marry is for all couples or only couples where one person is a man and the other is a woman. What the court does today could change the lives of thousands of people in our nation - the 120,000 legally married same-sex couples in our country and the thousands of additional couples who are or will one day seek the same gift.

I remember well when the Defense of Marriage Act was making its way through Congress. I was on the staff of Senator Tom Harkin at the time, sitting next to the person who was responsible for responding to letters from Iowans who wrote on this issue. I can still visualize the stack of letters sitting on Kim's desk 17 years ago. But I don't remember having an opinion about marriage other than the fact that I knew I would one day marry, have two children and live in a four-bedroom house with a garage. I knew what my life would hold (not that things always turn out the way you thought they would - thankfully!) - but I did not have any inclination to become involved in a conversation over what the lives of others could hold.

Seventeen years later I find myself as one of many voices of dissent when it comes to both the Defense of Marriage Act and the laws of the United Methodist Church. I believe with my whole heart that marriage is a fundamental right that enables two people to experience life and happiness to the fullest possible extent (when done well). I believe we are withholding a gift from God and a fundamental right when we say that only heterosexual couples can be married in our churches and by our pastors.

Last fall I married a couple who came to the altar with few people supporting them. Never before have I received so many nasty phone calls and threatening messages from "friends" who wanted to do everything they could to prevent the marriage. "She's making a huge mistake," they would tell me. "You're not going through with this are you?" "How could you possibly be a minister and bless their relationship?" I have never heard so much hate mixed in with any other experience as a pastor, and the voices caused me to pause and scrutinize this relationship, going through the steps of the premarital counseling curriculum as though it were a UN peace negotiation.

People were upset not because of the way this couple treated each other or the depths of their love. They were upset because of the age difference. How could a 59-year-old man possibly love a 90-year-old woman?

After much prayerful conversation, I determined that both of these people were in for a blessing. It would be her third marriage, and she's the biggest lover of love in my congregation. It would be his first. He was ready to care for her, to do everything possible to keep her in her home the rest of her life (no small gift when one does not have any children or close relatives). She was ready to make space for him in her home, to share life together, to be in real community (no small gift when one lives in a rented room with family thousands of miles away). How could I withhold a blessing? How could I say "no" when it seemed like God was answering countless prayers through this relationship?

Craig and I have not yet conceived a child. Sex does not define our marriage. The greatest gift of our marriage is companionship - knowing that beyond a shadow of doubt, no matter what happens in this life, it will be a moment spent together. I know that if I am in the hospital, Craig will be by my side. I know that if I die, Craig will take what resources we have and share them in the same way I would. I know that if I am crying tears of happiness or sadness that a tissue and a shoulder will be waiting. Our marriage is far from perfect but I am a kinder, more gentle and loving person because of Craig. I experience life through what God does in our midst as a married couple.

The piece of scripture we regularly turn to at marriage ceremonies is found in Paul's first letter to the Corinthians where Paul defines love for us. "Love is patient, love is kind...." It reads like a romantic kind of puppy love so we put the words on pillows and cross-stitch them to hang on our walls. But the words are anything but easy to embody and rarely lived out to their fullest in marriage. They are not a description of love between man and wife. They are the words that define the love of Christ - a love we are to embody.

Rarely is this love lived out when we are defending anything.

Defense requires walls, divisions, fences and arguments. Defense requires me to tell you why what I have is better than what you have and why you are not worthy to receive it. Defense rarely includes Christ who was constantly tearing down walls, making things even, and putting people on equal playing fields. We cannot defend something without leaving others out whether it is defending our wealth instead of sharing it, defending our borders instead of allowing people to cross, defending our table as though it is ours instead of saying it is Christ's table who bids all to come, defending our marriage instead of seeing how others could be blessed in the same way despite their age or sexual orientation. People who spend their lives defending what they have are some of the ugliest, nastiest, stingiest people I know. A church made up of people who are constantly defending their time or their resources is a church that is not going to have its arms and feet go far in the name of Christ.

I'll defend marriage as one of the greatest gifts God has ever given to me. I'll defend marriage as a blessing God first gave when God noticed in the garden that it is never good for a person to live alone. But I'll never defend marriage as something that is to be shared only between a man and a woman.

It's time to head to the Supreme Court with lots of prayers and anticipation for what the day will hold.

Rescue Efforts

"I praise you, O God. I bless you, O God. You have rescued me."

We chanted the words over and over again during an evening service at Glasgow's St. Andrew's Cathedral just moments after becoming annoyed with each other at our inability to find the church after seemingly walking all over the city. It was our first and only night in Glasgow, and there were a million places I wanted to be other than sitting or kneeling in a Catholic Church - the church where I am normally made to feel unwelcome, the place where I cringe when I am not invited to a table behind which I normally stand and invite all to come. But it is in this church - this place I did not want to be - where I felt myself paralyzed by grace for the first time in what is labeled a "Summer of Deep Engagement."

I've sung the lyrics before, "Do not be afraid I am with you. I have called you each by name." But the song continued with words that stung me, words that crept into each crevice of my heart. "I praise you, O God. I bless you, O God. You have rescued me." My search for rescue, a search I did not envision to be part of this summer of deep engagement, was ignited with these words.

I was one week into sabbatical and already aware of a need to be rescued. I've developed some rather unhealthy addictions that are preventing me from experiencing the fullness of joy that comes when one is in the presence of the Lord. I'm addicted to success over faithfulness, growth in numbers over growth in discipleship, and dare I say a devotion to the church over a devotion to Christ. I've gotten caught up in doing instead of being - because there's been so much to do and expectations placed upon me that have added pressure to the doing.

I need to be rescued. I want the first question I ponder at 2:00 on Sunday afternoon to not be "How many people were in worship today" but instead "How did God work in people's lives today?" I need to be rescued from the hold of an institution that asks about numbers more than transformed lives. I need to be rescued from my tendency to "do, do, do" so that I can be - be with God, be the person God has created me to be, be alive, be filled with joy.

The rescue efforts have started.

O God, I do praise you. I do bless you. You are rescuing me.

And when the service was over, the priest stood and offered this benediction, "Go and announce the Gospel." These words are becoming my prayer - that I'll be the kind of person who is constantly announcing the good news - and that the congregation where I am privileged to be a pastor will do the same. Let's be rescued from whatever it is that is preventing us from this one task: announcing the Gospel through the very lives we live.

Thin Places

I've taken a plane, a train, two ferries and an hour bus ride on a one-lane road to get to the thin place known as Iona. It was Geroge MacLeod, one of the original members of this community, who applied this phrase to the tiny island in Western Scotland, believing that only a tissue separates heaven from earth in this spot of God's creation.

And certainly it is beautiful.

My eyes have beheld cattle and sheep, ocean and mountain, greenery and flowers. It's a gorgeous place filled with beautiful people. I've taken time to praise God here. But I'm not sure I feel any closer to God in this place than I do other places. In fact, I've been reflecting upon the other thin places in my life, and I've concluded that thin places can be found whenever we make room for God.

Certainly we make from for God when we journey long distances with the expectation of seeing God. But I also know God is near us - all the time. We just have to let go of all the stuff that makes the tissue thicker than it needs to be - the desire to please others more than our desire to please God, our stuff we accumulate, our need for success, the noises that come from television, radio or city sirens, our constant rushing instead of just being - alone, with God.

There are two women who are members of our church who I now visit since they cannot get to church. They greet me at the door before welcoming to their table where tea, sparkling water and dessert are shared. We talk and then pray together before I leave. They then follow me with their eyes down the hallway, waving and smiling until the elevator comes. Each visit to them is a thin place, a space where I know God dwells, a spot where I can hear God calling my name.

There are mornings when I rise early and position myself squarely on the couch before doing anything further. I open myself to God's movement during the day, ask for forgiveness and know God is with me. It's in my living area, on a piece of furniture I'd love to get rid of, but it is a thin place because I know God is present.

There are times when I am leading worship and I realize it is God who is speaking and not me. That is a thin place.

There are mements when I'm invited to pray with someone, allowed to peer inside dreams that are not realized or hopes that are not yet materialized. That's a thin place.

What I'm learning this week is that it's a incredible gift to be able to travel to a far-off place to encounter God. But God is not in this place more than God is in Washington, D.C. God is Emmanuel, God with us. God is everywhere. Our task is to reduce the layers we have accumulated between us and God until we see that God is both all we have and all we really need.

Last Chance

It's a gift to step away from your congregation with the knowledge that the people who are covering you are better at your job than you are. My mentor and friend Peter Storey is now covering our pulpit until July 7. Peter brings many gifts that I don't have. His voice brings a message that places people in the Spirit's direct line of fire. His journey is one filled with risks taken in the name of Jesus. His love of Jesus and his message far outweighs his desire or need to satisfy the expectations of the religious institution that requires us to report numerical statistics each week. Peter knows Jesus better than most people in my life, and I love hearing Peter tell the stories of Jesus.

I gathered with a small group on Sunday evening to listen to Peter's first teaching session with our church. Many of the things he said are things I heard when I was his student at Duke Divinity School. But the lesson entered my heart differently this time as my context is radically different. What he said matters in a way it did not matter before.

"What we saw this morning is God's best, last chance at healing the world," Peter said, referring to the 124 people who filled the pews on Sunday morning.

Wow. Crap. How can it be?

How can we be God's last chance at healing the world? How can we be the vehicle God most wants to use to bring about healing? God, surely there is another way for you to end homelessness in Washington, to bridge the gap between those who have and those who have not, to make sure every child receives a quality education, to fill bellies that are empty, to provide community to those who only know the emotion of loneliness, to end violence on our streets, to welcome the outsider whether they are documented or not, to bring together that which is separated. Do you really expect us to do these things?

Peter then shared how God is more interested in verbs than in nouns. Our God is a doing God, and the church must be a people who do - a group called into action - out of the pews and into the world.

The church is called to do four things well: proclaim, teach, live the true community and serve.

We must tell the story in a way that arrests people who hear the story of Jesus. We must speak prophetically into current situations. We must proclaim the good news at every opportunity with our words, our actions and even our buildings.

We must teach in ways that grow people, challenge people, transform people and mobilize people.

We must live the true community by demonstrating the transforming and reconciling presence of Christ in the lifestyle of the community, loving each other in a way that commands wonder, love and joy.

And we must serve Christ where we meet Christ - in the suffering, pain, oppression and need of his brothers and sisters - those whom we see as "the least of these" in the world.

God is rather serious about the church - the body of Christ on this world. We cannot simply show up for one hour each week and then go about our business as if we matter most. Our faith is one that should fill not only our souls and spirits but our hands, our feet, our mouths, our ears, and every resource God has entrusted to our care.

All of this learning is from the first night. Imagine what he will share on the remaining five Sundays.

Almighty God, thank you for the amazing people who you have sent to share your good news to Mount Vernon Place this summer. We are grateful for the prophets in our midst and pray you would use each one to help us be ready to proclaim, teach, live the true community, and serve. Help us to fully comprehend what it means for us to be your best, last chance at healing the world. There is so much pain in our city. There is much that is broken and in need of being fixed. Let us not shy away from the opportunity to be part of your efforts to heal. Let us be prophetic. Let us be faithful. Let us be a people who are mobilized to seek your kingdom before any other thing. Bless your people who gather at the corner of 9th and Mass. Enable them to have a summer of a lifetime so that others might be able to experience life more fully. Amen. 

Keeping the Faith ... In Community

Each day this week I have taken time to post something on Facebook that describes the highlight of that day as a way of marking my first week on sabbatical. I've posted about a massive housecleaning that resulted in a generous pile of stuff left at Goodwill. I've shared a photo of Great Falls National Park taken during a journey with a friend yesterday. Today's highlight is undoubtedly time spent with a group of women who have come to be gifts from God in my life.

Brought together by a grant through Austin Presbyterian Seminary, this group has gathered monthly for more than a year now. We've played with clay, hiked through the forest, sat by a pool, discussed what Sandberg's book "Lean In" means for each of us, learned from a great preaching professor, and shared laughter, sorrow, hopes, dreams, food and cocktails in our time together.

When I posted the image above after Annual Conference last week (missing our friend, Ginger), one person shared it on Twitter saying "these are the woman who help me keep my faith."

Rachel could not have described the gift of this group any better.

Each additional step through discipleship convinces me that the journey is not meant to be a solo flight. I'm not sure any of us are capable of keeping the faith - whether it is faith in God or faith in the church or even faith in ourselves - on our own.

We need each other.

We are called to be together - to reveal Jesus to one another when Jesus is seemingly absent, to pray when we have lost the ability to pray, to name our gifts when we have convinced ourselves we have none, to have faith when faith is hard to find, to cheer us on when everyone else is trying to cheer us out, to be present when what we want to do is walk away. In the words of my former colleague, Greg Jones, we need holy friends who are willing to point out the sins we have grown to love, name the gifts we are afraid to claim and help us dream dreams we would never dream on our own. My group of clergywomen remind me often of why everyone needs the church - and especially a church where authenticity is embodied and spaces for vulnerability abound.

Not long ago a seminary student made an appointment to see me. We had barely sat down with our cups of coffee before tears started to flow. It had been a difficult academic year. The voices that propelled him up the East Coast to the Nation's Capital were not as audible in May as they were in August. The call of God that once seemed so clear was more like muddy water. Seminary was no longer a gift but more of a burden. When I asked him about his church - about the community in which he had gotten involved in this first year of formation, I was told there really had not been much time for that. "I've visited a few places but don't really have a place to call home."

I left that conversation with a deep amount of sadness at this person's inability to see their pure beauty and remarkable gifts. I also left knowing that if they had just come to our church - if they had just allowed themselves to be received by our community and opened themselves to serve Jesus in our midst - that they would be in a different place. I believe we would have kept naming his gifts.

We all need community - real community.

Even more recently I shared time with a dear friend who is between two church communities. One community is closer to home. The other is more of a drive but comes with a sense of greater familiarity. This friend is an amazing person of faith - someone who has regularly brought Jesus to me. But he's not sure about Jesus now. He prays - but he's not sure who he's praying to when he offers different words of gratitude or petition. The conversation was enough to convince me again that we all need a church - a real place where we can come with our real selves and engage Jesus in real ways. We cannot keep the faith alone.

Jesus was capable of anything. He healed the sick, turned water into wine, cleansed the leper, told the paralytic to get up and walk, and changed tax collectors into devoted followers who gave away their wealth. He had so many powers and was constantly applying these powers in real, tangible ways. And still, Jesus needed community. He called a group of twelve disciples to follow him and made the one who was constantly making ridiculous comments or failing to get with the program "the rock" - the one upon whom he built his church. Even Jesus needed community - an imperfect community of travelers who would journey with him to hard, rewarding, exciting and challenging places.

Are you struggling to keep the faith? Why not allow a community to keep it for you - to hold for you what you've been unable to hold on your own.

Are you struggling to know who you are - not what your business card says about you but who you really are? Why not allow a faith community to name your gifts for you - those gifts that enable others to see God at work in the world?

I'm so grateful for these women in my life who help me keep my faith - in Jesus, in others, and even in the United Methodist Church - while seeing God actively at work in the world around us.

Letting Go

A colleague of mine embraced Sabbath with her words on Facebook yesterday morning. She shared in a post how the laundry was piled high and life maintenance errands were needing to be done, before letting folks know that she would be embracing the good gift of Sabbath. I read her words in awe and wonder as though reading a travel book for a place I longed to go but had not yet been before.

I've never been good at keeping the Sabbath.

I'm good at not coming into the office on Fridays. My voice mail at church tells everyone that Fridays are my Sabbath. I start Fridays in prayer before proceeding to the gym. But I rarely make it through a Friday without running at least one errand and checking my email ten times.

I've never been good at keeping the Sabbath.

I believe with my whole heart that the Sabbath is a gift from God. It is a day when God beckons us to crawl into God's arms like a child climbs onto her mother's lap. It is a day when we can allow ourselves to be fully loved by God as we trust that God will tend to whatever it is that we normally do. There is something powerful about stopping and trusting and being still.

But I've never been good at it.

And yet, here I am on my second full day of clergy renewal leave. I have been given the good gift of a generous grant to do what makes my heart sing. For three months, I get to take absolute delight in stepping away from the demands of pastoral ministry in order to travel, read, write, exercise, play, pray, worship and stay up late on Saturday nights. I've done my very best to prepare our congregation and staff. Hundreds of emails have been crafted and sent with detailed instructions on how to continue the work of the church. A gifted ministry intern knows what to do if a pastoral care emergency arises. A minister emeritus is on call, too. My task now is to embrace the gift of extended time away.

The Psalmist reminds us to "Be still, and know that I am God!" It's not a sentence that ends with a period. Rather, there is an exclamation point at the end. God is serious about our being people who allow God to be God - God who is alpha and omega, the beginning and the end. God who is creator, redeemer and sustainer. God who can calm the storms and provide a way out of no way. God who is almighty and all powerful.

Why is it that we have such a hard time letting go of our control and accepting God's desire to lead, shape, form and reform our lives? And why is it that we believe we know what is best for the church when it really is God's church? And who taught us that the church cannot possibly thrive without us? And why is it that we fail to receive one of the greatest gifts God offers - rest and renewal accompanied by a promise that God will take care of us?

I'm trying hard to listen for God's voice which requires me to quiet myself down and let go. I'm seeking to be still. I'm praying to find that space and place where I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it is God's movement in my life and in the life of our church that is the most important thing.

I'm learning to slowly let go. In the meantime, I am caught up on my errands, have cleaned out the closets and gone to Goodwill. I've purchased a cute dress and paid some bills. I sent enough emails yesterday to have a church member tell me that "you suck at sabbath leave."

It's hard to let go. Very. Hard.

Be still, and know that I am God!

I'm trying God. Lord knows I'm trying.

Leaving a Legacy - Reflections on Memorial Day

Memorial Day came with certain traditions in our family. Each year we would pile into the brown station wagon and head to Northern Missouri. A feast would await us upon arrival at the Claycomb family farm - ham, turkey, homemade pies and several sides. But we could not get to the table without walking by buckets of fresh flowers that Grandma had picked earlier in the day.

When our bellies were full, we would pile back into the car and head to the cemeteries for what seemed like a tour of every burial plot in a sixty-mile radius. At each stop, we would go walking through the large grave yard until we found the plots where relatives were buried. Grandma would then repeat a carefully thought out process at each plot. Ferns were laid first as though covering the body and then flowers were placed on top of the greenery. It was an act of remembrance for each person who once graced the earth with their presence, playing a role in making members of my family who they are today.

I don't miss going to the cemetery.

I used to regularly tell my mother that I would plant a rose bush on her grave so she would always have flowers even if I did not visit.

I don't think we have to go to cemeteries to remember people. In fact, I'd be perfectly fine with no headstone at all when I die. I'd rather my legacy be remembered in different ways.

What kind of legacy do you want to leave? How do you wish to be remembered?

Each December I receive certified mail from a local CPA. The letter inside reads the same each year starting with the words, "It is my pleasure to inform you that it is time once again for the ---- Family Foundation to make its annual donations to the beneficiaries named in the foundation documents." The letter then tells me how the woman was an active member of our church until her death nearly 10 years ago. The check that arrived with the letter last December was for over $21,000. A similar check has arrived every December since 2005. What an amazing legacy! One could look at our growing children's ministry and see this woman's face as she is making sure we have money to tell our children the stories of Jesus. One could listen to music playing in the sanctuary on Sunday mornings and think the same. One could visit a small group during the week and hear this woman's voice making sure that Mount Vernon Place would be a strong presence in the nation's capital for years to come. Or one could visit the shower ministry and feel hot water pouring out of spouts and upon people who are able to get clean. This woman's generosity is making a real difference - nine years after her death. What an amazing legacy. What a way to be remembered!

Last year our church lost a member who meant the world to me. Howard was almost 104-years-old when he died but was still at weekly Bible study a few months before. He loved watching our church grow. On communion Sundays, he would regularly count the people coming down to receive the sacrament and inform me how many people were in church, often telling me how much our church had grown in the last month alone. I adored this man, and I get to see his light every Sunday through the gift of a seminary student who is in ministry with us. This man's final gift to our church was the establishment of an endowed scholarship at Wesley Theological Seminary - a gift that provides a generous scholarship to a student who then serves at our church 10 to 12 hours a week. Each time I see Rachel, I get to remember Howard. Each time I watch her claim her gifts and grow more confident in her call, I get to hear Howard cheering her on and our church on, as well. What a way to be remembered!

Not long ago, the New York Times wrote a story about a man who left millions to no one. He was bright, educated and successful. He amassed a wealth worth $40 million when he died. And now this $40 million will likely be turned over to the state because there are no living heirs to be found. Imagine all the ways $40 million could be invested - in schools, churches, synagogues, playgrounds, communities, ministries far and near. Imagine the difference $40 million could make. I cannot imagine a colder death than this one. Who will remember him?

There is life beyond death - I believe this with my whole heart. It's one of the reasons I regularly proclaim the good news of Jesus' life, death and resurrection. But we also do not have to wait until the second coming to live again. We can continue to live through the choices we make today about how what we have will be shared and distributed to others when we leave this earth.

When I die, please don't worry about purchasing an expensive headstone. You do not need to lay flowers on my grave. Rather, keep remembering me through ministries I love - a seminary that formed me, churches that caused me to become a more faithful pastor, places that made a difference in my life and will continue to make a difference in the lives of others in the years to come.

A Prayer for the House

Last Friday I was invited to serve as the Guest Chaplain for the House of Representatives. It was a gift that brought my life full circle. Never in a million years would I have imagined when first coming to the Hill as a Scheduler to Congressman Eric Fingerhut in 1994 that I would return in this capacity.

The opportunity has also reminded me of the importance of praying for our Members of Congress and the incredible weight of responsibility and privilege we place upon them when we elect them to office. I am so grateful to be a pastor in the city of Washington and especially thankful for the gift of being able to offer this prayer on Friday. You can also watch the short video on C-SPAN here.

Loving God, thank you for the women and men you have called and equipped to be members of this body – people we criticize while not knowing what we would do if we walked in their shoes, individuals we say need our prayers while regularly forgetting to pray for them, citizens we often tear down instead of seeing your image upon them.

Grant each Member and their staffs the capacity to dream new dreams for our nation and then give them courage to legislate in a way that ensures peace, values every person, promotes sound stewardship, and moves our country forward without leaving anyone behind.

Heal that which is broken.

Restore relationships that are separated by party lines.

Surprise the cynical.

Awaken the exhausted.

Humble the exalted.

Unbind those who are tied to anyone but you.

And when the road seems rough or too divided, unify us once more.

Amen.

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.