Time with a Friend

It's Monday of the busiest week of the year. There are many books I planned to have read by now and others I downloaded just last night. I intended to have at least one of the three sermons to be preached this week written by now but still have blank screens staring me in the eye. And I cannot get any further - at least not at the moment. I have been stopped in my tracks by the morning devotional and invitation to spend time with my friend, Jesus.

My friend, Jesus.

"What a Friend We Have in Jesus" is the only hymn I can play on the piano without music. The words of the song are ingrained in my head as my grandmother and mother used to regularly sing the familiar tune. But if the truth were told, it's not often that I think of Jesus as my friend.

Today's devotional reading took me to the home of Lazarus, Mary and Martha. Lazarus is the one who was in the tomb for four days until Jesus came and called him out. Imagine being at that dinner party, sitting across the table and breaking bread with this man who has come back to life. One would think that his sisters, Mary and Martha, would be reluctant to leave his side. I can imagine them to be tempted to write down every word so they could make a million telling the story about how heaven is for real. But their attention is on someone else tonight - it's on their friend, Jesus. John tells us that Martha serves Jesus while Mary gets down and anoints the feet of Jesus with costly perfume and wipes them with her hair.

My devotional guide has invited me to imagine the smell of the perfume filling the house. I then read the words, "It was an extravagant, wasteful, and indulgent thing to do, but it spoke of a human reality: some opportunities need to be grasped as they arise, some moments need to be honored, friendship cannot always be calculating." The writer then adds, "Holy Week invites me to spend time with Jesus, not for any logical reason, but simply to accompany a lovely friend."

I'm pondering what it means to spend time with Jesus. Even more so, I'm pondering how often I put friends on the back burner. I used to talk to one of my closest friends every Sunday night. We caught up this past week after nearly two months of communicating only through Facebook updates. I have other friends going through changes and transitions that I don't reach out to nearly enough. I have four Godchildren and have not seen a couple of them in years - and one even lives in the same city. The busyness of life too often gets in the way, and I too often allow it to creep in on time with friends.

But I do the same thing when it comes to time with my friend, Jesus. I wanted to dig right into reading this morning, reading that would have started with the prayer, "Help me, Jesus. We've got sermons to write." But instead I'm here pondering what it means for me to spend time with my friend, Jesus. I tell my friends everything that's happening in my life - the good, the bad and the ugly. I laugh with my friends. I sometimes play with my friends. I eat with my friends. I reach out to my friends. I have to put everything aside in order to be with friends - something I always love even though I don't do it often enough.

I wonder how many times I've missed spending time with my friend, Jesus, because I've had too much to do. I wonder how many invitations Jesus has offered to just let go for a bit, step away from it all, and take wonder and delight in being in his presence instead of staying at the church another hour or doing more ministry. I wonder if the most faithful start of Holy Week is to clear the agenda for today and simply sit for a while - with my friend Jesus.

Lessons from Mary

Sunday night took us to third row, center seats for the Oak Ridge Boys. I grew up singing the music of the Oak Ridge Boys. I can remember two-stepping at a place called Good Time Country to some of their music. Who doesn't remember singing Elvira? I love the Oak Ridge Boys, and seeing them in concert was a treat.

Midway through the concert, I noticed the lead singer making regular connection through eyes and smiles with someone in the audience. I did not turn around to see who it was, however, until the singer started to talk to her from the stage during a break in the music.

Mary was introduced to the crowd as one of their most loyal fans. We then learned that Mary is 88-years-old, and that her mother was also a devoted fan of the Oak Ridge Boys until she died at the age of 105. Mary had just returned from being on a cruise with the Oak Ridge Boys. She continued the conversation with the band, while the audience looked on in delight. She filled us with laughter as she sat in her chair with her cane tucked between her knees.

The band started to play again, and several more number one hits were belted out from the stage before another familiar tune started to be played.

Can't you feel it in your bones?

Oh, a change is comin' on
From every walk of life

People are seeing the light
A new thing is taking shape

Reach out, touch a hand

Lord, make a friend if you can

Anytime you come on in

Live the united way

Why don't you join us today?

Make a friend if you can

Reach out, touch a hand

Make a friend if you can

Of others just like you

Reach out, touch a hand

Yo, make a friend if you can

Many people in the crowd started to sing along. I also started to sing words to a song I had not heard in what must be 20 years. But Mary did something different. She actually started to reach out to everyone around her. She made every effort to touch the hand of anyone sitting within five feet of her chair. Again, we took delight in Mary. But none of us followed her example, and some of us got a little uncomfortable at the thought of having to touch the hand of everyone around us. 

We're not used to holding hands with strangers. 

Mary has not left my mind since Sunday night. I keep picturing her reaching out to everyone with a huge smile on her face. And I'm convinced the world needs more Mary's. I am even more convinced that the church needs more people like Mary.

There are more churches today that are in decline than there are churches that are growing. The average age of a church goer goes up each year. Many millennials are giving up on the church all together. 

At the same time, there is a movement within the church that believes the only way to reach those on the outside - the best way to get young people in our pews - is to start something new. We are regularly tempted to believe that the church has to present an entirely new face - new music, new technology, new attire, new space, new people - in order to reach new people. I'll admit there is a huge amount of power in new church starts. It's a rather wonderful thing to have the capacity to reach new people without the resistance of older people criticizing every change you make. But I've learned a thing or two about the power of having people like Mary in the congregation.

Mary is six years older than the average age of the congregant in the pews when I first came to Mount Vernon Place in 2005. Our leadership team consisted of a 97-year-old chair of Staff Parish, a 93-year-old Finance Committee Chair, and a 90-year-old Lay Leader. These individuals had fallen in love with our church when it had over 4000 members and had stuck with it as the membership rolls plummeted to less than 300. They had been part of a vital church that made a profound difference in the city and were struggling to believe that God still had a plan for their church. While most were resistant to change at first, there were a few people who got excited when young adults started to come to worship. One person invited a young couple into her home where the three lived together in community for over four months. One took notice of a young teacher and her passion for children, seeking to do all she could to get her connected to the Methodist Children's Home. Another man started to count how many young adults would come forward for communion on the first Sunday of the month, announcing with a great sense of excitement how his church was growing again. Still another continues to go out of her way to welcome people this day - extending her hand to touch the hand of whatever new person is sitting near her. And another prayed fervently for her pastor and each new member as more people started to come into the doors. When Mount Vernon Place started to grow again, I regularly told people that one of the gifts that set us apart from other places in the city is that our church was one of the few places where a twenty or thirty-something could develop a meaningful relationship with a ninety or one-hundred-year-old. And it was true. The longtime members of our church showed us the gift of reaching out, extending a hand, going out of their way to welcome new people into our midst.

I'd love to see Mary walk down K Street during lunch hour. I imagine her saying "hello" to everyone in her midst. I get a kick out of imagining her reaching out and shaking the hand of everyone she passed. Her presence would bring quite the contrast to a busy city filled with people consumed by their smart phones or hesitant to say "hello" to whoever they pass on the street. Washington is a place where saying "Good morning" to a stranger can be as startling as a horn being honked from a car nearby.

Most of us have a Mary or two in our churches. We need to seize them for the gift they are and unleash them into the movement of the sweet Spirit that longs to breathe new life into dry bones. Mary and her friends may be the most valuable asset within many of our congregations.

Thank you, God, for Ruth, Howard, Annie Lou, Mary Elizabeth, Mary Lou, Sally, Michael and so many others that reached out and touched the hand of new people in our midst. 

Words of Grace from a Hermit

I've read about hermits. It was sometime in seminary, probably in Early and Medieval Christianity when we were learning about the Early Church Fathers and mystic saints who fled to the desert to be with God. I must have read enough to pass the academic exams and move onto the next course. But I don't remember anything specific about a hermit other than they pray a lot in tiny, cell-like dwellings.

It was not until last December that I learned more about hermits. This time not from a textbook or classroom lecture but from a handshake and conversation in a monastery bookstore.

Timing is everything, and our timing to pay the bill at Christ in the Desert and purchase final monastery products led us to the store at the same time Father John, the local hermit, was inside. I'm not sure how the conversation started but I'll never forget the lessons learned.

"Tell me, Father John," how is one called to be a hermit?

Father John, a man close to my age wearing regular jeans and a black smock started to respond, sharing how he is a Franciscan monk who was living in an urban center where he regularly fed the hungry, clothed the naked, and ate with prostitutes. He was being the hands and feet of Jesus, an integral part of the body that reaches out and loves like Christ, when Jesus came with a different message.

"Father John, I want you to go to this place, and if you stay connected to me then I promise you that you can serve these people just the same." Father John then continued to share how Jesus led him to the desert of New Mexico and showed him how he could still be with the prostitute who needed a different life and the homeless man who needed clothes. It's just that instead of being in the person's midst, Father John would be connected - deeply connected - through prayer.

"I pray six hours a day and then do physical work around the monastery in the afternoon," Father John said when I asked him what a hermit does.

Father John serves those most in need through prayer - through interceding on their behalf - through bringing the needs of the world to God in prayer.

Father John prays.

He prays six hours every day. Six. Hours.

Whoa.

As a pastor, I'm regularly overcome with feelings of guilt. These feelings often come when I realize how long it's been since I have visited all of our STARS (Seniors with Transportation and Accessibility Restrictions). The feelings come when I have a note on my calendar reminding me to call someone and failing to do so. I feel guilty regularly for not showing up as often as I could - or should - or as often as some people think I should.

But what if I prayed every time I started to feel guilty? What if I sought to daily bring before God each person on my pastoral care list or all of our unhoused neighbors who I see for a few minutes on Sunday morning while others open the doors at 5:30 am twice a week to welcome them inside for a shower? What would it look like for me to lay aside a fraction of Father John's time, trusting that God can keep me just as connected to those who need to experience food, healing, transformation, housing, community - through prayer - through my interceding on their behalf?

Paul invites the Thessalonians to rejoice always and pray without ceasing. I've got the rejoicing down. I'm a rather happy, grateful person who is regularly filled with joy. But praying....well....

God, thank you for the words of grace from Father John. Quiet my spirit. Clear my calendar. Help me to be more deeply connected to the people you have called me to serve by staying more deeply connected to you. Amen.

Could the Cold be Your Call to Action?

Yes! It's cold outside. I know this fact to be true after hearing my car sputter a little when I turned it on this morning. I could tell you it was cold outside from a one block walk to Starbucks this morning. But I would not have had to venture anywhere in order to know the temperature outside. Plenty of Facebook friends have snapped photos of the temperature gage in their car and posted the photos for the world to see. We are almost bragging about who has the lowest number posted in their Facebook feed. We clearly do not like it when the temperature falls into the single digits.

But I've noticed something else on Facebook. In addition to all the photos of temperatures near zero, I've read plenty of concern about individuals who are homeless. Several moms have mentioned how they put their children to bed last night after praying with them for anyone outside. Lots of friends shared the hypothermia hotline number. There was a concern expressed last night about those who are homeless that I have not witnessed before.

And I wonder.

I wonder what it would look like if we had this concern every day of the year.

Even more, I wonder what would happen if we allowed this cold to not only be a call to prayer - but a call to action. Could we allow the arctic blast to blast us into actually doing something in addition to praying? You see, I regularly tell people I'm praying for them. And often I actually am. But I also know that saying the words, "I'm praying for you," can get me off the hook. I can say these words and then cover up my fingers and toes, turn on the national championship football game, and enjoy hot tea before turning into a warm bed.


I stopped by our church's shower ministry this morning before walking to my coffee appointment. I was hoping and praying that no one would be there - that everyone would be in a warm shelter or hotel instead of coming in from off the streets. But I found a crowded room instead as people were coming in to get coffee and wait for a hot shower. In the midst of my greeting folks, I met someone new to me.

James was all dressed up with a tie. He asked me first about double x underwear before asking if he could visit with me for a few minutes. I walked with him near the door where there was more space to talk, and he reached into his pocked and pulled out a stack of bills. I said, "James, that's not real money." But he kept unrolling the money until he had a crisp bill to give to me. It's a million dollar bill - a bill unlike anything I've ever seen before. James gave it to me with clear instructions. "Don't forget about the homeless. Take this money and buy us food to eat."

Don't forget about the homeless.

Many of us thought a lot about those who are homeless when we went to bed last night. But we will be tempted to soon forget about them when the temperatures climb into the 50s later this week. Many of us taught our children lessons about those who are on the streets last night. But we'll revert back to taking care of our own kids and getting them whatever they need and often want but don't really need later today.

What are we doing for those who are homeless?

I'm grateful to be the pastor of a church that opens our doors to provide showers for our unhoused neighbors three days a week. I've been touched in profound ways by time with people who come inside and receive our hospitality with smiles on their faces and positive outlooks on life that cause me to quickly repent of whatever it is I've been complaining about. What we do is important and life-giving for those who give and those who receive. It's an incredible ministry. But I still ponder regularly about what more we can be doing.

Our church is located in a community where there is a church on every other block. There are 1261 houses of worship in the online Yellow Pages for the District of Columbia. Imagine what these 1261 houses of worship could do if each one of us made a commitment to care completely for one person who is currently unhoused until that person is back on their feet. What if each one of us saw the redistribution of wealth as part of our call and made a commitment to ask our parishioners to not only pray for those who are homeless or show up to serve those who are homeless, but to commit to give generously of their financial resources so that one person's rent, utilities, food, insurance, clothing, and additional expenses could be cared for? The statistics on homelessness in Washington are staggering. But the number of houses of worship in Washington is equally staggering, especially compared to the number of people who want nothing to do with the church.

You see, we regularly judge those who are homeless. We wonder how a person who is working a job full time does not yet have enough money for an apartment. But we often forget what's required for an apartment: a credit check, a deposit equal to one month's rent and then the first month's rent not to mention utilities. We question why those who are homeless splurge on movies in the theatre instead of saving their money while forgetting that the people who have much always have more options when it comes to entertainment - not to mention choices about what we will watch. We call some people lazy bums and are convinced that their laziness is why they are homeless without realizing that some people are applying for a dozen jobs each day praying that one person will let go of the fact that they committed a felony seven years ago with nothing on their record since. We regularly convince ourselves that we know what we would do if we were walking in their shoes while failing to admit that we have no idea what it's like to be without keys to a place of our own.

We know from scripture that all of God's teaching boils down to two commandments. We are to love the Lord our God with all our heart, soul, strength and mind. And we are to love our neighbors as we love ourselves. Praying for our neighbors is one part of loving our neighbors. Making sure our neighbors have something to eat and a place to sleep is an entirely different story.

Church World Service shared this photo on their Facebook feed earlier this week. It got my attention in a way the photos of temperature gages have not. The words are rather haunting. They are my call to prayer - but also my call to action.

I'm willing to redistribute part of my wealth to care for a neighbor. In addition to tithing 10% of my income to the ministries of our church, I'll put in $100 a month to adopt one of our neighbors.

Anyone willing to join me?

Perhaps the million dollar bill is not too good to be true.

2013 - A Year in Review

It's been a rather remarkable year.

I've learned the power of prayer as my father was quickly scheduled for open heart surgery, and I became the one begging for prayer instead of showing up to pray as a pastor often does.

I've been on the receiving end of extraordinary generosity through the Lilly Endowment's National Clergy Renewal program. The grant enabled me to have an extended time away from the church in which I traveled to the tiny island of Iona in Scotland, revisited the city of London where I had not been since college, and smooched my husband in a park in Paris. I had time to go to the gym regularly and work out with my trainer. I took a bus to New York City by myself and saw three Broadway shows in three days. I went to Missouri to be with Dad following his surgery. I took my niece to South Africa where we encountered people who opened our hearts in powerful ways before beholding the beauty of the land at a game reserve. I've learned the importance of time away and am profoundly grateful to have had a summer with funding to do what makes my heart sing. The summer changed my life in real and tangible ways.

I walked on to the floor of the United States House of Representatives, journeying into space where I had not been since I left the Hill to go to seminary in 1997. This time, rather than giving a tour to constituents, I stood behind the same podium where the President gives the State of the Union in order to open the House in prayer. The prayer was composed of the most carefully crafted 150 words ever, and while there were hardly any people there with Congress away, it was a great gift to have my former Washington life collide with my current Washington life. I loved it!

I've watched Emmanuel, God with us, show up time and again in the church where I have been privileged to serve for the last 8.5 years. When our congregation made the decision to become a member of the Reconciling Ministries Network four years ago, we knew it was important to do everything possible to welcome people who are often turned away from the church and specifically LGBT people. What we did not know then is the fuller picture of the difference a wider welcome would have on our church. This wide welcome has created a beautiful picture of the kingdom of God as we grow more diverse in every possible way - housed and unhoused, liberal and conservative, gay and straight, white and black, US born and immigrant. God has done and is doing a mighty thing in this place. I would not trade it for anything and am humbled and thankful to be the pastor at this place where people are regularly struggling with what it means to be faithful in downtown Washington.

I've fallen in love with Craig all over again. My father regularly says he could not live with either one of us but he's glad we've found each other. In Craig, I see what God meant when God first called us to live in community in the book of Genesis. Craig is my biggest source of support, my loudest cheerleader, and my partner in life who brings pure joy through sharing the ordinary tasks of life. Our family is not as big as we imagined it would be when preparing for marriage, but we are so grateful to have each other.

There is a bit of sadness as this year comes to a close as so many hopes and dreams have come to fruition in the last twelve months. And yet, I also eagerly anticipate 2014 because I know God is with us and working powerfully in my life. There is a clear sense of being on a journey, and I cannot wait to see where the journey leads.

It's a rather wonderful life, I do believe.

What If....

What if we woke up every morning and said "thank you?"

What if we regularly expressed gratitude to friends and family for the gifts of their love, generosity, acceptance, or for simply showing up when we need them?

What if we thanked God for warm beds, ample food, hands, feet, minds, health insurance or any of the things we so often take for granted?

What if we wrote at least one thank you note a week?

What if we started each meal with a blessing, never taking a bite without saying "thanks?"

What if we looked every employee of the coffee shop, dry cleaner, grocery store or gas station in the eye and offered heart-felt gratitude for their labor?

What if we climbed in bed each night and sought to recall all the blessings of the day?

What if we thanked God each day for passionately pursuing us, loving us and forgiving us?

What if we treated every single day as though it were Thanksgiving?

Psalm 100 

Shout joyfully to the LORD, all the earth. Serve the LORD with gladness; Come before God with joyful singing. Know that the LORD is God; It is God who has made us, and not we ourselves; We are God's people and the sheep of God's pasture. Enter God's gates with thanksgiving, And God's courts with praise. Give thanks to God; bless God's name. For the LORD is good; God's lovingkindness is everlasting, And His faithfulness to all generations.

What Did Not Change This Week

Dear Beloved Mount Vernon Place Congregation:

The United Methodist Church has been making the news a lot this week. Our beloved church has garnered space just inside the front page of the Washington Post and countless other newspapers. We have been mentioned on the television news far and wide. We've made quite the splash, garnering attention that we have not received for a while. But the attention is not because of the good we are doing. None of the stories mention how much we donated for relief efforts in the Philippines last week. I've not seen anything on what we are doing to end hunger or homelessness. Rather, I, along with many of you, have read stories and accounts of a trial in Pennsylvania.

On Tuesday, my colleague, the Rev. Frank Schaefer, pastor of the Zion United Methodist Church in Lebanon, Pennsylvania, was found guilty of performing a same sex wedding and not upholding the discipline of the United Methodist Church. The trial was the result of complaints that were filed several years after Rev. Schaefer presided at the marriage of his son in Massachusetts (by the son of a former disgruntled employee of the church). On Wednesday, a thirteen person jury punished Rev. Schaefer with a 30-day suspension during which he must decide if he can fully embrace the entire Book of Discipline or surrender his credentials - giving up his ordination. I don't know of any parent of three gay children who could possibly say "yes" to what the church is asking of Rev. Schaefer. When many of us will be welcoming guests and members to our Christmas Eve services, there is a chance that Rev. Frank Schaefer will be Frank with no "Reverend" in front of his name.

There is nothing good coming out of this trial. I'm not sure there is ever anything good that comes from a church trial. When the church is so broken that we "try" ministry in the same format that criminals are tried in our communities, there is no chance of anyone winning. While the Good News movement may claim victory in this trial, everyone lost. Our denomination is losing - losing faithful pastors, deeply committed members, and the chance of being in ministry with and to hundreds of thousands of people around us who cannot fathom being part of such a judgmental, broken body.

Some of you have spoken out on Facebook, questioning your involvement in the United Methodist Church. Others of you have sent me emails making sure that I am okay in the midst of all that is happening in our church. I want to assure you that I am okay. I also want to assure you that we are okay. Mount Vernon Place has not changed.

If I have one message to proclaim - one sermon to preach - it is the sermon that we are all deeply beloved by God. The God I know and seek to follow is one who is foolishly in love with all of God's creation - one who goes to great lengths to capture our attention and woo us until we finally give in to God's relentless desire to be in relationship with us. This God longs for us to live lives that are different as a result of God's presence in our lives - lives of generosity, service and sacrifice - lives in which we seek to fully love God and neighbor. The trial in Pennsylvania did not change this message.

A specific prayer led me out of my role as Director of Admissions at Duke Divinity School and back to the local church: "God, take me out of my place of comfort and success. Give me a heart for hurting and broken people. Make me more prophetic." In my 13 years of professional ministry, I've had more conversations with gay and lesbian brothers and sisters who have been hurt by the church than any other group. I've never seen the church work so hard to keep a person or people away as we do individuals who are gay or lesbian. My heart hurts for the message conveyed to my LGBT brothers and sisters and now re-conveyed by our Council of Bishops and the jury in Pennsylvania. The trial in Pennsylvania did not change my heart for hurting and broken people.

We are part of a church with a wedding policy that states that any active member can be married in our church by our pastor. We wrestled as a congregation over how unfair it was for a couple with no connection to our church to be able to pay to get married in our sanctuary while saying "no" to same sex couples who faithfully live out their discipleship through the ministries of our church. I have wrestled with how many couples I have married who had no business getting married while being told by my denomination that I cannot marry couples with relationships that have stood the test of time - couples who adore each other and have Christ at the center. The trial in Pennsylvania has not changed our policy as a congregation or my call to be a pastor who offers the same blessing and pastoral care to all of our members.

We begin every Sunday morning with the words, "No matter where you have been or where you have failed to be, what you have said or what you have failed to say, what you have done or what you have failed to do, or who you love or who you have failed to love, you are welcome here." The trial in Pennsylvania has not changed this welcome. In fact, it's made me want to fling open our doors even wider. All are welcome at Mount Vernon Place. Nothing about this welcome has changed.

We have an important role to play as a Reconciling Congregation. We are called to actively seek change in our denomination. We are also called to be the most faithful expression of Christ's body in downtown Washington that we can be. There is much hurt and pain around us. God can use us to heal this pain. I believe with my whole heart that we can play a role in ending child hunger, homelessness and sex-trafficking in our city. I believe with my whole heart that we can be a real, authentic community for people who have 1000 friends of Facebook but no one to call on Friday night. I believe we can make a difference. May we be this church - as faithfully and as fully as we can - with as many beloved children of God in our midst.

See you tonight for Charge Conference and on Sunday for worship.

Thank you for the precious privilege of being your pastor,
Donna

P.S. If you're reading this blog and not part of a church, you're abundantly welcome to #MeetMeAtMVP on Sunday @ 11. I love our church - a lot.

Luggage and Simple Roots

 

There were many times when I complained about going to their house. I was and am a city kid, and they live on a farm. They did not love me in tangible ways like my other grandma who always tucked me in at night. They gave me an antique bed once, and a few quilts at other times, but they never spoiled me with surprises. I never heard the words, "I love you," until just a few years ago. When my parents went through a divorce I wrongly concluded that I did not need them in my life, and I kept distance between us for ten years - creating a gulf that was wide enough to promote the sale of the bed and prevent even a phone call.

 

I then preached my first sermon, "I Never Knew How Heavy It Was Until I Stopped Carrying My Luggage" - a sermon on forgiveness. I was going off to seminary, getting my life in order, and the sermon was inspired by them. I had carried around all kinds of hurt and resentment for years, and I knew I needed to be reconciled with them. I knew I needed to stop turning away from them and somehow turn back towards them. And like a prodigal child, they welcomed me. No questions were asked. No fingers were pointed. They simply welcomed me, and then they started loving me - even telling me that they loved me.

 

We celebrated their 70th wedding anniversary two years ago, and they sat on a swing holding hands as if they were newlyweds. And as I look at these pictures I realize again how simple they are as they are each wearing the same shirts in different photos taken on different days. I wonder if they ever owned more than five shirts at a time, come to think of it.

 

Grandpa Archie died on Monday after a battle with Alzheimer's and the pain of shingles. I shall miss his one-of-a-kind voice and remarkable sense of humor. But I am at peace. I know that what was once separated was brought together. I know that what was broken was healed. And I am thankful.

Thank you, Grandpa Archie, for the million memories you gave to me. You told me the world was going to hell in a hand basket before telling me to always vote Democratic. You made me love the FDR Memorial more than any other memorial in Washington because he was your favorite President. You have made me smile when I see cigars because you often had half-chewed cigars all over the house. You instilled within me a love of the newspaper and a hot cup of coffee with a cookie on the side. You helped me to appreciate the land and know the gift of just enough rain mixed with an appropriate amount of sunshine. You gave me permission to splurge every once in a while because only God knows how much you spent on collecting antiques and baseball cards. And you taught me the gift of holding on to your partner for life, even making sure that she was still sitting right by your bed 72 years later holding your hand through the night because you did not want to be alone in the end.

I did not always understand you, and I certainly did not always appreciate you. But I now appreciate you more than you'll ever know. You've taught me a lot about the good life.

Well done, thy good and faithful servant. May you rest in peace and rise in glory. I promise to try to call Grandma more often until you're together again.

A New Level of Awareness

We are told all the time to "be aware." Be aware of who is walking down the sidewalk with you. Be aware of who might be around you when you unlock the door to your car or home. Be aware of how people are driving around you. Be aware.

There are other times we are told to be aware of our actions, words or behavior. Be aware of how you externally process things before you process them first internally. Be aware of how your dress projects an image you may not want to project. Be aware of how your inability to keep your mouth shut can hurt you. Be aware.

I consider myself a rather sympathetic person who does a good job of being aware of who or what is around me. I like to think of myself as one who walks softly when there is fear or sadness in a room. But I've recently come to realize how totally unaware I can be.

Having reached the age of 40, I now know I am to schedule an annual mammogram. I showed up at the appointed time earlier this month and walked into a waiting room filled with nearly two dozen women. Almost everyone in the room was quiet.  Many women had their faces half covered by a magazine. Others were watching the Cosby Show on the television set. I walked into the room without a care in the world, taking a seat until my name was called, at which point I went to another waiting area where a half a dozen women were seated with a hospital gown replacing whatever shirt or clothing they were wearing. I thought nothing about it. It was a routine appointment for me, and surely for everyone around me as well.

But I went back into that waiting room on Tuesday morning with a different level of awareness. I had been called back after being told the first results were inconclusive. There was something on my left breast, something I found for myself in a matter of moments last Thursday evening. I had spent the weekend planning for the worst, pondering how on earth I would fit in radiation or chemotherapy treatments in an already full schedule, deciding that I'd give up my breasts over my hair in a heartbeat, wondering if my early premonitions of being one who would die young were actually coming true. And, I became totally aware of who was in the room with me on Tuesday morning. I sought to observe every cue around me, taking note of the woman who told the receptionist that nothing had changed with her insurance since she was there last week. I prayed for the woman sitting next to the only man in the room, assuming she needed a partner or a friend to be there for her in the event of receiving challenging news. I looked to see who had eyes that were puffy like mine because we could not contain our tears as we made our way to 21st block of K Street. The room was a completely different place than it was just 13 days before. There was nothing routine about it.

I left the office last Tuesday with a lightness in my step upon hearing the news that I have what the doctor called a "beautiful cyst." But I cannot stop thinking about the other women in that room - or similar rooms where my journey takes me each week.

I've thought a lot about who comes into the room known as the sanctuary on Sunday mornings. Who is here today because they have run out of options or places to turn? Who is here because they are desperate to find shelter for the storms of life? Who is here because the adversity of life is piling too high? Who is here because their spouse left them, their partner cheated on them, their job was eliminated, they've been told they are non-essential, they have recently come out to their parents, the bill collectors keep calling, the house is being foreclosed, the job they really wanted is going to someone else, the promotion did not come through, no one seems to care, a scary diagnosis has just been received, the medical tests are inconclusive, the knot in the breast seems to be growing, the pregnancy test turned out negative again, the third miscarriage has been endured, the child cannot stay out of trouble, and the list goes on. We often assume we know what's happening in the people who are close to us, but rarely do we really know. And we are often surrounded by people who are going through something so challenging that we would quickly change our demeanor towards them if we knew. But we are unaware.

The Cleveland Clinic posted a powerful video about all the scenarios that can be present as one walks through a hospital. The video starts with a Thoreau quote, "Could a greater miracle take place than for us to look through each other's eyes for an instant?"

I pray each day to be the kind of pastor who not only sees pain but shows up in the pain. I pray our congregation is one that can take note of who is around us, sometimes moving closer to sit next to one who seems alone, is softly crying, or one we know to be going through a challenging time. I pray we will be people who silently pray for the people in the pews with us, understanding that many people return to church or come for the first time because something is missing, or life is just downright hard, or they need real community.

What would it mean for us to look through each other's eyes? What does it look like for us to seek to be aware - not out of a place of fear or self-improvement - but out of a real desire to be fully present in the pain around us?

God, continue to raise my level of awareness.

Where Are You in the Pain, Church?

 I've spent most of August as a pilgrim in South Africa. It was on a Pilgrimage of Pain and Hope to South Africa in 2004 when I experienced a new call upon my life. I was in what some would say the height of my career as the Director of Admissions at Duke Divinity School at the time when I journeyed around the world to allow my eyes to see more pain, racism and poverty than they had ever seen before. I returned home from that journey with a very specific prayer on my lips - one I would never have had the courage to form on my own. "God, take me out of my place of comfort and success. Give me a heart for hurting and broken people. Make me more prophetic."

After praying this prayer for a few days, I found myself making an appointment with the Dean of the school and letting him know that I knew God was leading me back into the local church. God then answered my prayer with a call to come to Washington in 2005 and enter a new wilderness that was pregnant with possibility.

I've now returned home from South Africa with a different prayer on my lips and a myriad of thoughts to ponder. I realize more than ever that my relationship with the church is a mixed bag. I adore the church for who she can be when she really is living, loving and speaking like Jesus. I can hardly stand the church when she is failing to show up where needed or pushing people outside by condemning some, particularly for who they love. There's little about me that is lukewarm when it comes to the church. I'm either hot or cold.

Once again, a portion of our time in South Africa was spent in the margins with people who have so little that I'm not sure I can even begin to understand or relate to their lives. We passed dozens of informal settlements like the one pictured here. We stopped to journey and spend time with people in two of them, opening conversations that provided two of the most meaningful days in the country. And one question kept emerging. It's a question we asked. It's a question the person we were journeying with asked. It's a question we both asked of a current bishop in the Methodist Church of Southern Africa.

Tell me, where is the church in the midst of informal settlements?

What kinds of ministries are emerging through the church in the midst of so much dire poverty?

Where is the church when it comes to communities that are emerging because they have nowhere else to go?

We never got a satisfactory answer from anyone though it was a courageous pastor who led us into an informal settlement with a church member who lives on the edge one day and a courageous woman whose ministry is part of a Methodist Church who took us on another day to see a school that ministry is leading in another settlement. (Yes, the picture above of the one building with the door open is a preschool where kids are learning from a remarkably gifted teacher who is funded by the UMC).

But I wonder what kind of a response my own church would offer today if people came from far off lands to ask similar questions in Washington or North Carolina, Texas or California?

Tell me, where is the church when it comes to pain, poverty and brokenness?

Why can we not see more of the church at work in these places?

When I arrived downtown to worship last Sunday morning at a nearby church, I arrived early enough that I did not want to go in quite yet so I sat in my car and looked around. I was next to a park where some eight people were still covered in grey blankets distributed by the city. I had already passed dozens of additional people sleeping outside including a child lined up on a sidewalk.

Two days later I heard a news story with interviews of teachers and principals sharing how many of their students are coming to school hungry. The majority of our teachers in this city have at least one student who is hungry when she or he arrives to learn. Many children have lost a significant amount of weight during the summer because they have not had access to school provided meals.

Where is the church in these places?

What are we doing to end homelessness in Washington?

What are we doing to feed hungry kids?

The congregation of which I am privileged to be a part has done some amazing work this summer. I've just received a final report from a task force that was established to think and discern what our response should be when we have so many people sleeping on our porches at night, using the corners of the buildings for bathrooms, and storing loads of stuff on the edge of the property during the day. There are no easy answers. The group has dreamed big about adding lockers and portable potties to the property while also thinking about what it would take for us to start providing some shelter and hiring a staff person to help people get out of homelessness. The report even includes a statement about how our Stewardship of Resources Committee is committed to funding these things.

But I wonder if we as individuals are committed to making these things happen.

If the church is merely a body composed of many members, what role are we as individual members willing to play? Are we willing to give up more of our wealth and allow it to be redistributed through the church? Are we willing to mentor someone in resume writing, interview skills or basic life skills? Are we willing to open a spare bedroom in our home for a week or a month or a year at a time to allow someone to have a good night's rest and a warm shower every day of the week? Are we as individuals willing to let go of some of our abundance in hopes that others will finally be able to live more abundantly?

It's easy to critique the church while ignoring our own commitment or lack of commitment. It's easy to point fingers while failing to show up ourselves. It's easy to say we believe in something while failing to really get behind something with those things we prize most - our money and/or our time. But it takes  all that we have been given to make a difference. And every single one of us can make a difference - a big and needed difference.

As I prepare to come back a week from today, one thing is for certain. The church does not exist in order to get as many people as possible to worship on Sunday. The church does not exist in order to maintain beautiful buildings where space sits empty most of the week. The church does not exist for the world to constantly have a voice of judgment. The church exists because we are God's best, last chance at healing a broken world - at providing food for those who are hungry, a place to live for those who are homeless, freedom for those who are held captive, justice for those who are oppressed, peace in the midst of war and violence, and love for those who have been led to believe that they are unlovable.

Perhaps I have a dream, too.

Courageous Women

The four women pictured here have left a mark on my spirit and heart. I don't remember hearing their names before. While their story may have been on the curriculum of a seminary class on South Africa, I don't recall it. But now I can't forget them - their witness, their courage, their ability to help a nation lean in with pressure on an oppressive government.

These four women - Rahima Moosa, Lillian Ngoyi, Helen Joseph and Sophie Williams - organized a movement of some 20,000 women who came to Pretoria from every corner of South Africa on August 9, 1956. These four women with different backgrounds and skin colors knew that the government's efforts to require passes for people to move through certain areas was a policy that put people into prisons of oppression instead of allowing people to move free. These four women brought the signatures of 100,000 women to the doors of South Africa's Prime Minister, begging for change. And then, at the suggestion of Lillian Ngoyi, the entire crowd of 20,000 women went silent for a full half an hour. Women showed their nation that they would not be confined to the home or seen as people without any political power. Rather, they showed their country that "when you strike a woman, you strike a rock."

There is now a national holiday called "Women's Day" in South Africa every August 9. The holiday remembers the courage of these women who made a difference. I had the privilege of preaching for Women's Day twice while recently in South Africa, immersing myself in their story. I'm convinced that these women could even teach Sheryl Sandberg a thing or two about "leaning in."

But there is another group of women that is having a similar impact on me.

We met these women outside the city of Durban. They are grannies who have raised their own children and are now raising anywhere from one to six children whose parents have died of HIV/AIDS. They live in what most of us would consider a shack on less than $130 a month (that's less than $20 a month per person for some of these homes). They come together every other week to participate in a Self Help group. Each week they bring 2 Rand which is the equivalent of 20 cents and put it into a group account. The treasurer of the account changes each week in order to build trust in the group. When there is enough money in the account, they invest the money in seeds. The seeds will soon produce vegetables that will be taken to a local market. The proceeds will then be distributed amongst the women and shared with other poor people in their community. While these women are all very poor, part of their responsibility is to always help others while they learn life skills through an employee of a church organization who comes to strengthen their skills on a regular basis. These women provided a tangible embodiment of Acts 2 where we are told that the early disciples come together with glad and generous hearts and make sure there is not a needy person amongst them.

What do we believe in so strongly that we are willing to put everything on the line - including our lives - like Rahima, Lillian, Sophie and Helen did on August 9, 1956?

Are those of us with privilege and freedom willing to march today on behalf of those who are oppressed?

Why is it that we who have so much are often reluctant to share with others, believing instead that we deserve what we have been given or earned through God-given skills and talents?

What would it take for all of us to share an equal portion of what God has entrusted to us with those who have less than we do?

Where is Acts 2 being embodied in our nation?

Do You Love the Place?

​I finally saw “The Book of Mormon,” the musical filled with religious satire that has garnered sold-out audiences since its March 2011 opening on Broadway. It’s a show I’ve heard much about. I know some of the music, and I’ve seen video clips. I was prepared to be offended, and there were certainly times when I was not sure if it was appropriate to laugh or remain silent. It is not a work for children, and I would not organize a church group outing to the Kennedy Center to see the musical. However, there is a lesson inside that we need to hear.

​How much do you love the place?

​Elder Price, one of the main characters, is the substance from which bishops are made. He’s articulate, he’s attractive and he believes he is the one who will change the world. He longs to be assigned to Orlando for his two-year mission but finds himself partnered with Elder Cunningham in Uganda. What Elder Price is, Elder Cunningham is not. Elder Price plays by the rules, knows the Book of Mormon well, and longs to convert people. Elder Cunningham admits that he has not even read the Book of Mormon and comes with countless personal issues. Within days, Elder Price is ready to go home because Uganda is dangerous and no conversions are taking place while Elder Cunningham starts to adapt the Book of Mormon to fit the needs and desires of the Ugandans to whom he is preaching. Elder Price loves the idea of being a successful missionary who is known for the number of people who join the church and are baptized. Elder Cunningham starts to love the place – the place Ugandans have told him everyone simply leaves after two years.

​How much do you love the place?

​Are you serving where you are because you love the idea of conversions and baptisms and evangelism awards or are you serving where you are because you love the place? Do you love your place as much as you love your people? And what comforts or possessions are you willing to let go of to prove your love of the place?

​It is these very questions that I have been wrestling with as one who has taken a few steps away from the local church in order to savor a summer of clergy renewal. I’ve learned that God speaks to me most clearly when I am most removed from my familiar surroundings. I know there are risks involved in going away this summer – that the end result could be a call from God to go somewhere new. And I returned home from the first leg of the journey with tears in my eyes as a wise mentor pushed me to reflect aloud about how I was experiencing God’s call on my life.

​“Are you prepared to return to this place?”

​“Is God still calling you here?”

​I responded by letting my mentor know how much I love the people – how much I adore the congregation that calls me pastor.

​“But do you love the place?”

​A place is so much bigger than the people. A place extends beyond the familiarity of what is inside to include all that is on the outside. In the place called “city” there are deep factors to consider when pondering passion for a place – people who are housed and people who are unhoused, the rich and the poor, traffic and busyness, powerful and powerless – all right outside the church door.

​Do you love the place?

​Elder Price was quick to love the church and the accolades that could come to him if he grew the church. Loving the place where he was sent proved to be a much greater challenge. The Ugandans had great needs they were not afraid to name including people dying from HIV/AIDS and children being raped and abused. A simple telling of stories was not enough for these people who had watched too many young Mormon missionaries come and gowithout making a difference. They wanted real change in their community.

​If we are going to make a real difference in our communities, we must first love the place where we are privileged to serve. We cannot possibly love the place if we believe our ministry is centered on what happens inside the walls of the church. Loving the place means developing deep relationships all over the place. It means expanding our love of our people to include all the people around us – and especially the people and problems beyond the church doors.

​In his new book, “Center Church,” Timothy Keller writes, “All churches must understand, love and identify with their local community and social setting, and yet at the same time be able and willing to critique and challenge it.”We must love and identify with the city rather than be hostile or indifferent to it. Keller tells countless stories of how many church leaders come to him asking for insights and recipes on how to duplicate what has happened with his church, New York City’s Redeemer Presbyterian, in places across the country. Keller’s book is an attempt to answer this question – not with proven church growth strategies but with lessons on how to know, love and contextualize your own context.

​Do you love the place?

​Throughout the gospels, Jesus enters cities and towns. When he enters, he does not go directly to the house of worship to see how many people are inside. He does not attempt to convert those who appear to be easy targets.Rather, he encounters the people on the outside. He seeks to meet the needs of whoever is in his midst – healing some, forgiving others, providing water from a well that never runs dry. Jesus’ ministry is never limited to one location in the city but rather extends throughout whatever community he is in.

​It’s easier to love my people than it is to love my place for it is a place where more than a dozen people sleep on the church porch at night while people whose offices are a few floors above the church office can bill for $500 an hour in their law firms. It is a place where senseless violence occurs. It is a place where visitors crowd the sidewalks on their way to a convention and where cars line up three lanes deep while waiting for a light to turn green. It is a place where flowers grow alongside the smell of urine because there are few public restrooms for people to go who have nowhere else to go at night. It is a place of power and poverty. It is a place where I see victims of sex-traffickingwaiting for pimps to pick them up just before 7:00 in the morning. It is a place where it is easy to be defined by what your business card says about you. It is a complex place with more questions than answers. And yet, there is no where else I’d rather serve than the city – this place that regularly calls me to respond to the questions Jesus asks about meeting basic needs, offering hospitality to strangers, and seeking to be part of God’s efforts to bring about signs of God’s kingdom on earth – in the city – as it is in heaven.

​Yes! I really do love this place. And that means we have a whole lot of work to do – work that cannot possibly be finished in just one hour on Sunday mornings.

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.