Tell Me, Why Are You Here?

 "I read your blog last night," he said as I stepped onto the front porch with my book. "And I just cannot figure out why a United Methodist pastor like you would want to spend a week at a Trappist Monastery. Don't you have United Methodist retreat facilities?"

I paused for a moment before responding. I could not tell from the tone of his voice if he was offended by something in my blog. Did he think I was too progressive in my thinking to be spending the week at the monastery? Or was he just curious?

"I really appreciated what you wrote," he continued as I breathed a sigh of relief. "And you'll have to forgive me, as I noted your name on the board and looked you up."

I then started to respond to his question.

Something happens to me every time I turn right onto Cool Spring Lane, the monastery's driveway. I started coming to this place several years ago, not long after I had first been appointed to my church. The monks start most of their services in the chapel with the words, "O God, come to my assistance. O Lord, make haste to help me." These words have held many meanings for me.

In the early years of my appointment, I was longing for any kind of help. I was seemingly wandering in the wilderness with a task so great that I was desperate for all the help I could get. I had been appointed to turn around a church that was close to closure and had no idea where to start. I came to Holy Cross to pray, to find a sense of normalcy in the pattern of the days, to hear God's voice.

It then became my practice to travel to Berryville every Lent. I would come the week before Holy Week. The same prayer would be spoken, "O God, come to my assistance. O Lord, make haste to help me." During these times, I was desperate for a rockin' Easter sermon that would mesmerize the Easter crowds. I would devour books by NT Wright and carefully craft sermons for Holy Week and Easter.

There have been other times when I've read six books while here (I read four this week) and then planned an entire year's worth of sermons (I also planned sermons through July 19 of next year!). The prayer is still the same when the object of my time is such a task, "O God, come to my assistance. O Lord, make haste to help me."

My time at Holy Cross became such an important rhythm of my year that our Staff Parish Relations Committee held me accountable to coming. They even made me come just before marriage - making sure I was led beside still waters as a way of preparing me for such an important covenant.

This week is a little different. I came here this week to actually write a book. I used to describe myself as  "Writer Wanna Be," and I'm ready to write. I'm ready to make the dream a reality. I have stories to tell about the journey I've been on with my congregation during the last nine years. The book will read like fiction - sad, funny, honest and heart-filled - but it will all be true. My prayer is that it can be both a companion and a resource for pastors and congregations who are being led to dream a new dream for God's church. I thought I had a clearly marked path for my time at the monastery this week. I've written three chapters, something I now realize is like birthing a child - it's hard and painful. And yet, God had different plans for my week.

God knew we needed to fall in love with each other all over again.

My heart and soul have been the stage on which an intense battle has been unfolding between my ego and God. My ego has done everything possible to put God in God's place, to lead me off into the sunset where life is more about me than anything else - where my dreams of becoming a respected writer and speaker are fulfilled. I still believe God is going to use me in this capacity. I believe writing is part of my vocation - that it needs to accompany my first vocation of pastor. But what God has showed me this week is how God has been longing to hear the very same cry coming from my lips, "O God, come to my assistance. O Lord, make haste to help me." God has been longing to take over the battle - to show me that it's not one in which I need to be involved but rather one I need to let go of completely. God has been doing everything possible to show me in a million possible ways of how God is at work in my life and in the life of our congregation. And so I'm preparing to leave - but only after rededicating my heart and life to Christ. I'm ready to journey again knowing that my soul desire is to be used - an empty vessel ready to be filled and then poured out for others - that they might know the joy I've found in Christ.

I've never been to the monastery at any time in the year other than Lent. The scenery is fully alive. Every living thing seems to be proclaiming the glory of the Lord - from the sunset to the bunny in the yard to the little white skunk found along the fence last night. It's a rather gorgeous thing to proclaim the glory of the Lord - don't you think?

I'm ready to go and do the same.

One thing I know for sure - God always keeps God's promises. Thank you, God.

Thank You for Feeding People

Last Sunday was an incredible day at Mount Vernon Place as we welcomed a large youth choir from Glenn Memorial United Methodist Church in Atlanta as well as surprise guests from Saint John's United Methodist Church in Albuquerque. It was one of those sweet days when you know the Spirit showed up - not only in worship when the youth choir sang so beautifully - but also at lunch as the congregation did everything they could to feed people. Sunday was the tip of the iceberg in a weekend that involved a lot of bread - manna from heaven.

I sent the following email to several people in our church on Monday morning. I'm still thinking about their ability to feed people several days later. It's an extraordinary gift to feed people. I pray we'll continue to do more of it.

Dear Friends:

In the Gospels, Jesus is made known often through the breaking of the bread. He’s regularly gathering around the table with people. He eats with folks others ignore. God shows up at meal time – in rich and powerful ways.

You fed a lot of people this weekend, and I am beyond grateful.

It started Thursday night with one of the largest groups we’ve had for dinner and a movie night. I counted right at 50 people before I left. There was so much joy in the air, and the Renaissance staff prepared a feast with so many people filling up on burgers, hot dogs and all the fixings. It’s an incredible partnership being built with the hotel, and I am grateful. Thank you for welcoming people with beautiful hospitality and for your extraordinary generosity of food and time.

On Friday, we had the most successful Jazz on the Steps to date. The yard signs helped draw people in as several people told me they passed earlier in the week and made a note of it. Susan then made sure no one walked by without being invited in. Many of our neighbors came – housed and unhoused. You helped feed over 100 people, and it was incredible. There were also glimpses of community, and I believe we are now called to continue to strengthen the communal aspects of an evening like this one so that everyone not only feels welcome but also that they met someone and got a truer taste of MVP.

On Sunday, you were prepared to feed those in our congregation plus 50 youth and their chaperones who came from Atlanta. Another youth group of 40 people from New Mexico then showed up unannounced, and you made sure all were welcome at the feast. And it was a feast!! There was more than enough food and lots of leftovers which were then shared with people on the porch last night through JR. Thank you for your quick thinking after the other group arrived, your ordering pizza, lending your credit card and enlarging the banquet. I cannot imagine many churches being able to do what you did so quickly. The fried chicken and other things from Giant were fantastic, and your staying to clean up is a gift.

You then sent me with dishes for a family that is deeply grieving. My prayer for this family is that they feel the love of God in powerful ways as they mourn the loss of a son they lost five months into the pregnancy. It was a gift to show up with meals for a couple of nights and dessert on top of it all. Thank you. Please continue to pray for them, too.

We were blessed with 213 people in worship yesterday – something that always makes my heart sing. But I think Jesus is taking delight not in the numbers but in the fact that we fed people – hungry people, hurting people, visiting people, gifted people, old people, young people – all kinds of people.

Thank you for the precious privilege of being your pastor.

Grace and peace,

Donna

Standing at a Crossroads

"Stand at the crossroads and look; ask for the ancient paths, ask where the good way is, and walk in it, and you will find rest for your souls." Jeremiah 6:16 (NIV)

I've been standing at a crossroads since Easter. There are two paths in front of me. One path is marked with the sign, "It is enough." The other path is marked with the sign, "It is never enough." Each morning I set out at the dawn of a new day, and I know which path I should take - which path God longs for me to take. But I've too often settled for the path, "It's never enough."

It started Easter Sunday when we believed we would have the biggest crowd to gather in our sanctuary in the last ten years. We printed enough bulletins and newsletters to make the ink run dry in the copier. We positioned extra greeters at each door. We were ready to welcome the multitudes. Dozens of people came. It was a joyful celebration that included dancing to "Happy." But it was not enough - at least not in my mind because there were less than 300 people in the pews.

I've continued down a path of brutal comparison since Easter afternoon. I've looked at where we are in comparison to other congregations. I've watched dear colleagues advance to large churches where their gifts are breaking glass ceilings. I've received extraordinary notes and emails about how God has used our church to touch and transform people. I've felt the Spirit work in real, tangible ways. I've taken risks in the name of Jesus and heard stories about lives being changed as a result. I've baptized several children and welcomed many new members. A rich complexity of emotions and experiences have filled my head and my heart, making the decision more difficult on some mornings when I'm deciding which route to take. And still, somehow, I keep being led down the path marked, "It's not enough."

I understand how Vital Congregations may be necessary for some pastors and some churches - how a system of accountability that requires churches to enter the number of people who were in worship, the number of people who participated in small groups, and the number of people who served in mission each week can be helpful for some congregations. But Vital Congregations has robbed my joy more often than not. I can set out on the path marked, "It is enough" and sometimes the one marked, "It is more than enough" at the start of a Sunday only to change course after seeing a number recorded in a tiny notebook in the back of the sanctuary that holds the data for each Sunday worship service. Somehow this little number regularly leads me to walk down the path marked, "It's not enough."

I'm tired of the scenery on this path. I don't like the darkness that fills the gaps on this journey. I much prefer the joy and light along the path marked, "It is enough" and "You are enough." And so I'm seeking to learn a few new holy habits. I'm standing at a crossroads this morning and eliminating the sign marker that reads, "It's not enough."

Spiritual direction with Father James this morning gave me new language for my crossroad. Father James reminded me of the choice I have each day to learn new holy habits. On the edge of turning 42-years-old, it's time to uncover new emotions buried within me - emotions that say you are more than enough. You are good. You are bright. You are funny. You are faithfully successful. You should be at peace. And it's time to purge the emotions that lead me to compare myself to others, to believe that success is related to numbers, and to evaluate myself by worldly standards instead of Gospel standards. Father James reminded me of the heart of the Gospel - a story of our savior who had just one of his disciples make it all the way to the cross with him - just one!

Father James listened intently as I described the fruits of the last nine years. He heard me share how I was able to incorporate the fullness of my heart on Sunday when I compared myself to Sarah - one who got everything she asked from God and then bitterly said it was not enough until Ishmael and Hagar were gone. Father James looked me in the eye and said, "It's not a bad price to pay to remain in such a place filled with so many signs of God at work and a congregation that you can be so transparent with." He's so right. What a gift I have! Morning my morning new mercies I see!

I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God is using me. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that God is at work in real and powerful ways at a church called Mount Vernon Place. I know what God's call sounds like, and I know what my ego and the world's standards sound like. I've heard both loudly this season. But I'm choosing to listen to God - to one who has said nothing about leaving and countless words about why I'm called to continue to serve this remarkable, diverse, beautiful, risk-taking, healthy congregation. And all of this, my friends, is more than enough.

Dear God, thank you for this complex journey we have taken together. Thank you for the ways you have used a painful season to enable me to learn more about myself and about you. Thank you for reminding me that I am always enough in your eyes. Give me the strength and courage needed to resist comparing myself to others. Help me to smooth the edge of my competitive nature. Show me, God, what a life entails with the Gospel at its heart. I want to be faithful. I want to see that I am enough - and that what we are doing together is more than enough. Thanks be to God. Amen. 

Why Mother's Day Matters

My mother is a remarkable woman who has shaped and formed me into the person I am today. I will never know the extent of the sacrifices she made for my sister and me to have the experiences we have had today - college, sorority dues, a semester abroad, a beautiful wedding, dance lessons, piano lessons and a million other costly things. What I do know is what Mom taught me.

Mom never allowed me to forget four things: I am beautiful, I am loved, I have gifts the world needs, and I can do whatever I set my heart on doing. Mom has spent her life teaching me these four core lessons - even when the community around me may have been saying something different.

While Mom cannot tell you where my baptism certificate is or what day it actually occurred, I realize today that Mom intentionally or unintentionally never allowed me to forget my baptism. She never allowed me to forget what it feels like to be cherished, adored, and called to illuminate the light of Christ within me.

It's been more than 20 years since I've lived in the same house as Mom. Since that time, there have been countless other women who have offered similar gifts to me. Many of them are women who have been part of the two churches I have served - women who reminded me that I am cherished and loved, women who called forth my gifts and continued to give me the courage to claim them. Other women are dear friends, especially clergy sisters who have journeyed this road that is filled with both blessing and challenge, never allowing me to forget God's presence in my life and God's call upon my life. Some of these women are my mother's peers. Others are my peers.

I've never given birth to a child. While Craig and I started talking about "Grace Ivy" and "Joseph Donald," the two children we believed would come into our lives, before we were even married, we have yet to behold Grace or Joseph. They never entered the world - something that causes me to wonder if we have made the right decisions on some days while giving thanks on other days. And still, I've been wished a "Happy Mother's Day" several times already this week - from the woman behind the seafood counter at the grocery store, the woman at the Hallmark store, and the woman at the shoe repair store. Rather than saying, "I'm not a mother," I've learned to say "thank you" with a smile on my face as I continue walking.

As a pastor, I know Mother's Day can be painful for women who are struggling with infertility or waiting for their life partner to come along. I know some women will intentionally choose to stay away from church tomorrow, not ready to face the ache that comes with visions of mothers being recognized or celebrated in worship. I long to be as sensitive as possible to these women. I pray every  single day for women in our church who are longing to be moms. And yet, I'm learning more each day why we are are called to be moms - no matter what our wombs have held or not held. We are all called to help children of all ages to remember their baptisms: to remember that they are beautiful, to remember they are loved, to remember they have gifts the world needs, and to remember they can do whatever they set their heart on doing (okay, maybe not always on that final one).

Our church is located in the middle of pain and possibility. Each night, there are boys and girls right outside our walls who are victims of sex trafficking - individuals who have been lured into this business by people who have often noticed a vulnerability, a lack of self-esteem, a lack of claiming their belovedness. We are seeking to fully discern our role in ending sex trafficking on the streets of our city. A police officer suggested that one of the things our church can do to help the most is to pray. We will pray - and we will keep on praying. But I also cannot help but wonder what would happen if faithful communities everywhere did their very best to show up in the lives of young people - to mentor young people - to stand alongside young people in an effort to remind them that they are beloved, cherished, adored, and instilled with incredible gifts the world needs. What would happen if we all sought to show up and remind children of who they really are - especially if they are hearing something else at home, at school, or on the streets?

I think the church fails when it asks women to stand who are mothers while allowing those who have not given birth to sit silently in the pews. I think the church fails when it promotes fertility as a blessing God has given to some while withholding it from others. I think the church fails when the focus becomes the fruit of our womb instead of giving thanks for all the women who have been like mothers to us. But what if we took it one more step.

What if Mother's Day became a time for us to all hear the call placed upon our lives to show up in the lives of children - especially vulnerable children? What if Mother's Day was the day we invited the congregation to remember the vows we make every time a child is baptized?  What if Mother's Day became the time when opportunities to mentor young people were presented? What if Mother's Day became the day when we all sought to do everything we can to help our children - all of God's children - remember the things my mother taught me:

• You are beautiful - yes beautiful! no matter what others might be saying.
• You are loved - and there is nothing you can do to make us love you any more or any less.
• You have gifts given to you by God - gifts the world needs and gifts you are called to share.
• You are called to become the fullest expression of Donna that you can be - which will sometimes mean doing whatever you set out to do - and other times mean continuously being true to who you really are.

Thank you, Mom, for all you have done to make me who I am. Thank you, women in the United Methodist Church, who have continued to make more of me than I could ever be on my own. 

God, help me be the most faithful mother I can be to all the children you have placed in my life. And help me seek out opportunities around me to instill within young people the lessons my mother instilled within me. Thank you. Amen. 

When It's All Over

Holy Week is my favorite week of the entire year. I love immersing myself in the story, selecting liturgy for each worship experience and planning for Easter. The celebration of Easter is the kind of stuff pastors live for. Most pastors I know, including myself, go to great lengths to craft the perfect Easter message, using creative illustrations to tell a story with a well-known plot. We spend extra time and energy on Easter because we know we have the capacity to welcome more people on Easter than any Sunday in the church year.

And that's the problem. At least it's my problem.

Every year I set myself up for failure. Every year I ask several people how many bulletins we should print, receiving a wide range of responses to the question. Every year I convince myself that we'll have more people than the year before. And every year I get depressed when it's all over.

Rather than being grateful for our Easter crowd, counting each first-time or return guest as a blessing (not to mention the regular attendees), I focus on who was not in worship. I listen to colleagues boast about how they ran out of bulletins while forgetting that we printed 25% more bulletins than the crowd we had last year. I hear stories about standing room only crowds, and I compare myself to these colleagues even when their sanctuaries hold 200 people and ours holds 499. I got tangled last week in a web of self-expectations that were not met, and I sunk to a new low.

Why do we allow the value of our ministries to be reduced to a number?

Why do we ask "How many people were here" before asking "What did God do today to change hearts or lives?"

Why do we have one of the best Easters ever and still allow ourselves to believe it was not good enough?

My devotional reading took me to the side of the Sea of Galilee today. A large crowd is following Jesus. He does not ask how to make it bigger. Rather, he goes up a mountain and sits down with his disciples. It does not take long for the crowds to find him, however, and with the festival of the Passover near, Jesus wants to feed the crowds. He asks Philip where they can buy food. Philip quickly concludes that there is not enough money to purchase food for the crowds. But Andrew, Simon Peter's brother, accesses the situation and sees a boy with five barley loaves and two fish.

We don't know if there was a struggle to get the food out of the boys' hands. We're not sure if money was exchanged. What we know is that Jesus takes the loaves and fishes, blesses them, and shares them with the crowds, enabling everyone to take as much as they want.

It's not the disciples who multiply the boy's offering. It is Jesus.

People simply have to follow Jesus - even to the top of the highest mountain, a climb that could be more treacherous or exhausting than what some of us are prepared for or expecting. And once on top of the mountain, people have to offer what they have, trusting that Jesus will take it, bless it and multiply it.

I wonder how often I choose to follow Jesus, even when it involves hiking boots, versus waiting for Jesus to come to me.

I wonder if I have offered Jesus all I have.

I wonder if I trust Jesus enough to believe that it is Jesus who does the multiplication and not me.

I wonder how next Easter might be different if I do everything I can to give Jesus the food we have prepared - the liturgy, the sermon, the invitations, the music, the lilies, and every other aspect of Superbowl Sunday (which has nothing to do with a football game, by the way) - and trust that Jesus is at work in real and abundant ways, using what we have to reach people right where they are so that no one goes away hungry.

We have more than a few loaves and two fish in our midst. We actually have an embarrassment of riches.

Jesus, will you come and take what we have, including anything we are trying hard to hold on to instead of relinquishing it to you? Will you bless it, multiply it, and then keep reminding us that it is you who does the multiplication and not us? I'd be really grateful. Amen.

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?