A Place at the Table

I got my hair cut by a new person yesterday afternoon. I arrived at the appointed time, settled into the chair, and listened to a glimpse of his story. He’s a new dad of a child born with a surrogate mom, a child who has two dads. 

I shared how I’m the pastor of a couple whose deepest prayer was answered through surrogacy. 

His mouth dropped. 

He literally stopped. 

I wasn’t sure he would continue. 

I finally said, “You, your partner and your child would be abundantly welcome at my church. I’m a pastor - but of a fully inclusive church.” 

We then had a conversation on hypocrisy and judgement as he asked why people hate his family. I’m still not sure he believed me when I said they would be welcome at MVP.

I then met my dear friend, Alisa, for coffee at Barnes and Noble. Anyone who knows Alisa knows she is a person of prayer - a woman who I have seen get down on her knees and pray on a rooftop of a restaurant. It came time for our conversation to end - but not without praying together for each other and the responsibilities we have this week and on Easter. Alisa took my hands and held them across the table. I said, “Everyone will think we are a cute, lesbian couple.” Alisa repeated my words, and a man looked upon us with horrid disdain and fierce judgement in his eyes. 

It was another wake up moment for me about how many deeply committed couples are unable to share expressions of love in public without facing hatred or judgement.
Last night, I vowed to again do all I can to build a community where all are welcome, where love is celebrated, where the church is known for what it is for instead of who it is against, where “all” truly means “all.”

Will you build this community with me?

Palm Sunday Reflection - A Glimpse of My Heart, My Regret, and My Desire to March with Jesus

It is the festival of Passover, one of the most important holidays celebrated by the Jewish people who gather to remember how God passed over their houses instead of killing their firstborn children during their captivity in Egypt.

Jerusalem is overflowing with people as Jews gather for Seder meals and celebrations.

As the Roman governor of Samaria and Judea, Pontius Pilate would leave his seaside estate and travel to Jerusalem for the festival. He does not come because he is particularly religious. Rather, comes to display Rome’s imperial rule and power in the occupied city.

Pontius Pilate rides into the city on top of a horse as high as a Clydesdale featured in a Budweiser commercial.

He is surrounded by shiny swords and other signs of military might.

And the “who’s who” of Jerusalem surround him, including individuals who are ready to put coins in his campaign coffer in exchange for a promise to continue to support whatever resources or rights they want to protect.

Meanwhile, on the other end of Jerusalem, Jesus rides not on top of a war horse but on top of a borrowed borough.

He is riding on a colt.

I imagine his feet are dragging on the ground.

And, he too, has a large crowd following him.

The poor and the powerless are lining the streets shouting “Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.” “Hosanna” – a word that means “Save us.”

Save us, King Jesus.

It is political theatre at its best – power and humility, rich and poor, warhorses and young donkeys.

Two parades.

Two crowds.

Two purposes.

Jesus is coming face to face with the rulers of the temple and the state – rulers who will crucify him on Friday because nothing is more threatening to an institution than new life.

Nothing is more threatening to power than those considered powerless showing up and demanding change.

While Pilate’s arrival is expected, Jesus’ arrival sends the city into turmoil.

Who is this humble man whose actions proclaim he is the long-awaited messiah?

Who is this individual who is willing to come face to face with the powers and principalities?

Who is this one who can literally shake the way things are into the way things should be?

Who is this?

We know who Pilate is.

Pilate is the one with worldly power and wealth, the one who will do anything to maintain his illusion of control.

But who is Jesus?

He is a king, but not the kind of king to which the world gravitates.

He is a lord, but his lordship is not defined by wielding power over others but by serving them.

He is a leader, but his strongest assets are not his charisma or charm but rather his self-giving acts of compassion and generosity.

Who is this?

How we respond to the question has serious implications for not only our lives but countless other lives in this city and around the world.

Our response to the question dictates which parade we would have joined on this day 2000 years ago and which parade we are likely to join today –  the parade of the powerful who we believe can get us somewhere or at least protect what we have – what we believe we have earned – or the parade of the one who came to save all people with a preferential option for the poor and powerless.

Which parade would you have joined?

Where would you have found yourself that day?

Many of you marched yesterday.

You joined some 800,000 people from across the nation in support of young people who are demanding change.

I watched the rally.

I wept with an 11-year-old prophet from Alexandria and a high school student who used the power of silence better than it’s ever been used before.

But I didn’t march.

My life is often a tightrope as I balance making sure my husband knows I love him as much I love the church. But too often Craig gets the shorter end of the stick. Having been away at a monastery on silent retreat all week, I knew I needed to give Saturday to Craig, and while Craig is the better Christian in our family, he is not a marcher.

I sought to faithfully tend to the covenant of marriage yesterday, one of my calls – and still, I feel deep, deep sadness for not being there.

            Jesus says “Let the children come to me.” Keeping children safe isn’t just right. It’s a matter of faith.

            In the passion narrative, we just heard Jesus ask for swords to be put away – even as others are putting him to death. Working for an end to senseless gun violence isn’t just right. It’s what Jesus, the prince of peace, would demand.

            Seeking a transfer of power from the powerful to the powerless isn’t just the right thing to do at times. It’s why Jesus was crucified.

            There is no doubt in my mind that if Jesus were physically present in Washington this weekend, that he would have felt more at home marching yesterday than he would in many of our sanctuaries today.

            I never again want to miss a march.

            And I never again want to miss an opportunity for us to be united as a congregation while we march.

We all know how seductive Pilate’s power can be.

We regularly put our faith, hope and trust in arrogant, angry leaders who promise a better tomorrow at the expense of those at the bottom.

We vote for who will protect our ideals even if those ideals are not the ones taught and embodied by Jesus.

We can get behind someone who promises to solve today’s problems, especially if their solution benefits us.

On the other hand, putting our faith, hope and trust in one who was crucified for what he stood for can have serious consequences.

It might cost us our pride as we embrace a humility that empties itself.

It might cost us our swords and semi-automatic weapons as we embrace his way of peace.

It might cost us some of our anger as we seek to embody his love.

It might cost us bent up resentment as we seek forgiveness and reconciliation.

In the movie The Shack, Mack asks Jesus, “Do all roads lead to you?” Jesus responds, “No, not at all – most roads don’t lead anywhere.”[1]

But when people march with Jesus, when they follow this crucified and risen savior, then the road might just lead to mercy and justice for all.

---

[1] http://jameshowellsweeklypreachingnotions.blogspot.com/2017/11/preaching-palm-sunday-march-25.html

In the Presence of Saints

Truth be told, I've never pondered the power of being surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses. I know many people who pray for the saints, including my Catholic husband. I have participated in liturgies where we name how the communion of saints intercede on our behalf. But I often struggle with what this intercession looks like as I wrestle with the Hallmark images of heaven versus a seminary professor who called it heresy to sing "I'll Fly Away." 

My prayer life is grounded in traditional practices - a bit of scripture, an app to guide my way, countless books on my shelf from which to choose, and solid time in my comfy chair first thing in the morning. I also pray in my car or while walking down the street. And, Craig never lets me take a bite to eat without him giving thanks for our food. 

I've never considered myself anything close to a mystic. But something mystical happened to me yesterday while on retreat at a nearby monastery. 

When packing 26 books on Sunday afternoon, I added a study Bible I have not used in a while. It's one I used to turn to often before gravitating to a different one for use at home and another one at the office. I'm not sure why I selected this one. But, in some mystical way, it now makes sense.

When I opened it yesterday, I found a prayer tucked inside. Its words have been typed and copied often. There are a few typos. "Amen" is spelled "A-Men." It's a prayer that was placed before me not long after I arrived in 2005, when I used to gather with a group of longtime members of our church and a few others for Bible study each week. I don't know who first suggested we pray the prayer. But we never started our reading without it. The words mean more to me today than they did at the time. As I read them again yesterday, I realize how I was, indeed, praying with the saints - people who longed to become the people God called and created them to be - even in their 80s, 90s or 100. Nearly all of them are gone. But yesterday I paused and gave thanks for Jean, Lois, Gilbert, Howard, and Ruth who are all with the saints of light - and Mary Elizabeth and Annie Lou who are still on their journey of discipleship. I recall how much time we spent together - praying these words, studying scripture, and then praying for each other. We were shaped and formed together every single week.

After pondering the prayer and each one of them, I returned to my work. I always come to the abbey with a clear set of expectations for my week: to read as much as I can, to have a sense of where I'm headed in my preaching on Easter morning, to pray, and to plan sermon series - sometimes for the whole year and other times for a season.

With a half a dozen books already read, I turned to the work of finishing a short reflection for Palm Sunday and then study for Easter. And it is then when I experienced a profound sense of being surrounded by the saints. Words from John 20 nearly leapt off the page of my Bible, words I've not noticed before found in an explanation in this particular study Bible. It was clear that these words were to form the foundation of my Easter sermon. My reflections for Palm Sunday then came through in a matter of minutes. It rarely happens this way. So often sermon writing can entail sitting in a chair for hours as I wait for something to surface. But yesterday, I was given clear direction. It was almost as if the Wednesday Bible study was reading scripture with me, saying out loud, "But isn't this interesting? What do you think of this?"

Perhaps the saints are all around us - praying for us, seeking God's very best for our lives, interceding on our behalf. Lois, Howard, and Ruth I miss you terribly. I often wish you could see all God is doing in your church today. But perhaps you can. It seems clear that you want to be part of Easter.

Perhaps you've made me a mystic after all.

For all the saints who from their labors rest,

who Thee by faith before the world confessed;

Thy name, O Jesus, be forever blest.

Alleluia, Alleluia!

Thou wast their Rock, their Fortress, and their Might;

Thou, Lord, their Captain in the well-fought fight;

Thou, in the darkness drear, their one true Light.

Alleluia, Alleluia!

O blest communion, fellowship divine!

We feebly struggle, they in glory shine;

yet all are one in Thee, for all are Thine.

Alleluia, Alleluia!

Step Right Up

The temperatures were in their 60s when I arrived at the abbey on Monday afternoon. I pondered whether to leave my coat in the car or carry it inside, choosing the latter. I knew there was a possibility of snow when I left the house, but I still chose to pack tennis shoes and dress boots, nothing with traction. The view from my room was perfect with the cattle grazing on a springlike day.

Things started to change yesterday afternoon as the snow started to fall. "This might not be the retreat you had in mind," one of the monks shared at dinner. "But perhaps it is the retreat God wants you to have." He then continued to share how he would likely be serving the meals again the next day since the woman who is hired to plan and prepare them would not be able to make it in the snow. "I'm not sure what we will have, but it will work out."

The snow has continued to fall, and the view from my room has drastically changed. Meanwhile, the monk who served us last night has continued to show up for us - not in a robe or cassock, but in faded Levi's and a white t-shirt. This member of the community is the one with the beautiful voice that leads the chanting during worship. He's also the one who often hears the confession of guests and provides spiritual direction. He's a spiritual leader. But this week he is the one offering hospitality, the chef who is making sure guests are fed. It's not the week he had in mind, but he's aware that God is always wanting to use his gifts.

And while I wasn't signed up to receive spiritual direction from him in the morning, his witness has already touched my heart and directed my prayer life. His making meatloaf instead of offering absolutions has served as a powerful reminder of what it means to always be ready to serve, ready to adapt, ready to step outside our zones of comfort or standard role, in order to meet a need in front of us. I'm pondering again how God might do some of God's best work when we are embodying Brian Andreas StoryPeople artwork called "Step Right Up" which reads, "One day, I decided to help wherever I could & it was almost like magic, because I was exactly what the world needed everywhere I went."

One of my colleagues reminds our team often that we are called to be church workers first and then whatever role we have been hired to fill. She wants us to constantly be aware that there are times when we need to drop everything to answer the door, or help with a flooding basement, or take out the trash.

In "A New Day in the City," I write about an owner of a steakhouse who puts a can on the front steps of the restaurant when she's interviewing a prospective employee. If the person coming for her interview notices the can and stops to pick it up, then Van knows the person will pay attention to the detail patrons at the restaurant are accustomed to receiving. We all know what it's like to be in a restaurant with an empty glass and see three servers pass us with a full pitcher of water while failing to fill our glass because we are not in their assigned section. There are times when teamwork means everything.

But what if we always walked through life not with earbuds playing our selected songs but with ears tuned to listen to the needs around us?

What if we sought to never walk into our office buildings without thinking about what might need to be done to contribute to the success of the entire team versus minding our own business?

And what might happen if we never walked into a church building without being ready to serve - as an extra greeter, the one who makes the coffee or cleans up following the act of hospitality designed to provide real community to all who come, the person who empties the overflowing trash bin in the women's bathroom instead of assuming it can wait until Monday or that someone else will do it, or the one who checks in and asks, "Do you need anything today? Is there any way I can be of service to all God will do today?"

The busiest week of the church year is upon us. I have a list of things to do, sermons to write, details to manage. But I also pray that I'll be attune to what is needed, where God wants me to step right up.

What about you?

Preparing to Preach...

Last month, I had the privilege of serving as one of the keynote speakers for the Holston Conference Minister's Convocation.  It was an extraordinary gift that could still inspire dozens of blog posts about all I learned from speaking alongside Matt Miofsky and Andy Crouch. But as Easter approaches, there is one conversation shared over coffee with Andy that continues to inspire me.

Andy didn't learn the lesson in seminary. Rather, it was offered to him by a business leader, one who accepted the role of CEO of a then-failing company. As such, the lesson could be used for any speaker about to address an audience.

1) Do your homework.
2) Love your audience/people/congregation.
3) Be yourself.

Andy offered the three steps before describing how much relief they offer when he travels to speak to audiences across the nation. He named how much he pours into his preparation, making sure he has done the homework needed to offer his very best. He next shared how he had been awake in the middle of many nights praying for the pastors who would gather for our event in Tennessee, as well as praying for Matt and me. He sought to gain a sense of how much God loves these pastors and convey a sense of that love through his words. He then named the third step of effective preaching - be your fullest, most authentic self.

I've shared this wisdom with several people who are preparing for their first appointment. I've described the steps to other people who are intimidated by speaking in public. The words are a means of grace, and I'm seeking to fully embody the teaching.

It's my tenth year spending the days leading up to Holy Week at Holy Cross Abbey. I arrive at this place with more books than articles of clothing - an array of fiction, non-fiction, theology, church leadership, and memoir. I also have materials for exegeting John's account of the resurrection. I'm reading as much as I can for two days before sitting down to formulate words on Thursday that I'll continue to return to over the next ten days. But I'm also praying for each person who will come to our church on Easter morning as I long for them to experience the deep, wondrous, grace-filled, never-ending, never gives up on anyone, love of God that is revealed through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus. I'm seeking to imagine their faces as they enter the sanctuary.  I am praying for our members to arrive early and be filled with warmth, hospitality and an eagerness that understands the precious gift we are offered to welcome dozens of first-time guests on Easter. I am longing for God to show me how to love all who come - whether it's their first time in church or people who are with us every Sunday - throughout my preparations. And, I'm promising to be my full, authentic self - the one called to offer the unique set of gifts God has given to me.

Thank you, Andy, for the lesson and the many ways you are a means of grace.

Intangible Religious Benefits

I signed dozens of letters last week to accompany financial statements that reflect how much a person gave to our church in 2017. Once the letters were in the mail, I started to focus on my own statement, and especially the words printed at the bottom. They are a disclaimer that is likely required by law, "Unless otherwise noted, the only goods or services provided are intangible religious benefits." It sounds simple enough. And yet, these words have been provoking countless questions within me.

What are the intangible religious benefits our church provided last year?

In what did people invest their resources?

How did people benefit from the ministries of MVP?

New York Times bestselling author Brene Brown preached at Washington National Cathedral on Sunday. Her remarks resonate deeply with me. I see organized religion (the negative word for "church") providing people with numerous reasons to give up on it all together. But I also deeply need the gifts she speaks of. I desperately need the church - and especially the church at its best.

Each week I gather with people I might not choose to spend time with if given the choice. There are people who see things very differently than me, and some of them are not afraid to tell me about it. But I have yet to grow, let alone be transformed, if I am only spending time with people who think like me. Like Brene, I want to pass the peace with people who disagree with me, to receive their deepest desire for peace in my life while I wish the same for them. I believe this happens every Sunday at MVP.

Our church last year embarked upon a powerful journey of learning about racial justice. Throughout the year I gathered with people to read books I likely would have never read on my own, and many of these books transformed me. But the conversation about them transformed me even more. Paul wrote to the Romans, "Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the will of God - what is good and acceptable and perfect." It is in reading, discussing and praying with others that my mind as been transformed, and also that I have been able to more faithfully discern what is the will of God, particularly when it comes to racial justice in our nation. I would never take this journey on my own, but I am more committed than ever to be an agent of change when it comes to racial justice because of the people who journey with me.

If I have just one sermon to preach, it is "you are beloved." I seek to speak these words as often as I can - not only because I believe others need to hear them, but also because I need to hear them. We are battered and bruised throughout the week, constantly given invitations to question our worth and sometimes our humanity. I need to gather with people who remind me that I am beloved. And I long to be part of raising children who know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they are deeply beloved by me, by our church, and especially by God. I hear this message at church more than anywhere else.

I also need a visual aid of what it looks like for all to be welcome and no one turned away. Our American culture preaches the myth of scarcity - that there will never be enough - tempting people to cling tightly to what they have, to build walls, to protect the resources of the rich at the expense of the poor. But the table of our Lord is one place where all are given the exact same amount of bread and all are satisfied. I need to come to this table and see how there is always more than enough. I long to see replicas of the eucharistic feast throughout our city, and I pray our church encourages such places and patterns of behavior through how we serve and care for others.

Like Brene, I also need to sing with others. I don't sing much throughout the week, let alone with dozens of other people. Last night, a very small group of individuals gathered for a Monday worship experience. There were five of us standing around the piano as worship began, belting our words of praise through song. In many eyes, the gathered crowd might be perceived as a failure because they were so easy to count. But in singing together, we learned that wherever two or more are gathered, God is with us. I need to be reminded I am not alone - never alone. The church has a powerful way of walking with people - through casseroles delivered in sickness, through emails or notes that simply say "I'm praying for you," and through voices lifted in harmony and song. Where else do you sing together in a way that lifts your spirits and reminds you that you're not alone?

But I most need the church because I've learned it's impossible to follow Jesus on my own. From the beginning, Jesus has surrounded himself with ordinary people who he has given authority to do extraordinary things. We cannot become the fullness of who we are called to be on our own. We need people who show us how to selflessly serve others, how to increase our faith, how to keep on showing up even when we are struggling, and countless other things.

What are the intangible religious benefits you receive from church? I pray a few are able to roll immediately from your tongue. And if not, will you come sing with me on Sunday?

Will You Choose Thanksgiving?

A lively, gifted woman, someone who is in Washington with her family for just this year, sat down on the floor and gathered the children around her on Sunday. She lost her mother just two weeks ago and is grieving. She had a valid reason to cancel or postpone her time with the children. But instead she fully showed up and offered a children's sermon that is still speaking to me. 

She recalled with the children the Thanksgiving after the Colorado Rockies lost the World Series. Her family was not only disappointed, her uncle was angry. Instead of going around the table to share what they were most thankful for prior to carving the turkey, this angry uncle invited everyone to articular their anger. "What are you angry about this year?"

The family all took turns, and anger soon consumed the room, enough anger that someone suggested a do-over. "Let's now share what we're thankful for this year." Each person again took their turn, and the mood of the room brightened as the anger dissipated. 

I suspect that if we were offered an opportunity to respond to the question, "What are you angry about?" tomorrow, we might have plenty to say. I can offer my list of top ten reasons to be angry in a matter of minutes. But I'm not sure such an exercise leads me to a place of life, let alone joy.

I was reminded last week with the children that thanksgiving is a choice. Every single day we can choose to dwell on all that is wrong, on all we do not have, on all that is not living up to our expectations. We can choose to allow anger and disappointment to be our most powerful emotions.

Or we can choose to be thankful - to see how in the midst of our disappointment or sadness or anger, there are countless reasons to be thankful.

I choose thanksgiving - not just the feast and the excuse to indulge - but the spirit of saying "thank you" and embodying gratitude.

What about you? 

A Day to Remember and Repent

It was 100 years ago today, on October 8, 1917, when the cornerstone was laid for our glorious, historic church building designed to be the "representative church" for the Methodist Episcopal Church, South. Today we remembered this historic occasion by telling our unvarnished truth, repenting of our sin, and then hanging a new banner, signed by many people in worship, next to the original cornerstone. You can learn more about our journey on our website. What follows is the litany we shared in worship.

Litany of Remembrance and Repentance

One:   Jesus said, “You will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.”

All:    We confess that it is sometimes easier to hide the truth, especially when the truth binds and suffocates instead of setting people free.

One:   But the only way to be free is to tell the truth – the unvarnished truth.

All:    What is this truth?

One:   Our church was founded as the “representative church” for the Methodist Episcopal Church, South, the denomination formed in 1844 to support its members who wanted to hold slaves.

All:    Lord, forgive us and those who came before us.

One:   Our church was part of a denomination in which every bishop was a slaveholder.

All:    Lord, forgive us and those who came before us.

One:   Our church once bowed to cotton and Caesar more than to Jesus as Lord.

All:    Lord, forgive us and those who came before us.

 One:   We gather in a building constructed as a monument to America’s original sin.

All:    We lament a history in which people valued property over people.

We lament the ways in which this church contributed to the wounds of an entire nation.

We lament the proclamation of white supremacy and the belief that such a proclamation is consistent with the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

One:   “Do you renounce the spiritual forces of wickedness, reject the evil powers of this world, and repent of your sin?”

All:    We repent of every way in which we have failed to reject racism that denies the dignity of anyone, choosing to instead participate in, gain privilege from, or remain silent in the face of injustice in our judicial system, our educational system and our economic system.

One:   “Do you accept the freedom and power God gives you to resist evil, injustice, and oppression in whatever forms they present themselves?”

All:    We do. Forgive us for denying our power and choosing to instead be silent or apathetic in the face of racial injustice and intolerance. Give us wisdom and courage to disrupt, dismantle and destroy racism of every form, public and private, spoken and silent.

One:   “Do you confess Jesus Christ as your Savior, put your whole trust in his grace, and promise to serve him as your Lord, in union with the Church which Christ has opened to people of all ages, nations, and races?”

All:    We do. Forgive us for failing to remember how you made one body from Jew and Greek, male and female, slave and free. Help us to always find our most authentic selves in this community as we work to faithfully and fully embody our oneness in Christ Jesus.

One:   God, help us be the church.

All:    Jesus, enable us to be the most faithful church we can be as we seek to be a sign and symbol of your kingdom in this city, nation and world. Amen.

Are You Ready to Welcome My Mom in the Morning?

If you follow me on Facebook, then you're likely aware that I post a PSA about every 90 days. Immediately after I visit the Melanoma and Skin Cancer Clinic, I share how many biopsies were needed or seek to capture my joy for not needing any at all before encouraging all who will read to please have their skin checked by a dermatologist. I've heard the words "skin cancer" multiple times and the dreaded word "melanoma" on four occasions - enough to have a Vitamin D deficiency at this point in my journey.

But my mother just heard the word "melanoma" spoken on the phone for the first time last week. Her primary care physician discovered an odd looking mole on her shin and insisted that it be removed. When the call came from the lab, she heard a sentence that includes "stage 3," "new skin cancer center," "appointment with specialist and plastic surgeon on Monday." She's since done her share of research with the aid of Google, and the results have been enough to keep her body awake at night as her mind ponders the worse case scenario.

I may not have helped today when I shared how she should prepare to spend at least two weeks in a recliner if a complex wound closure is needed. I've then reassured her that her diagnosis is worse than any of the four I've had - reassurance that's not exactly helpful in hindsight. And then I said once this morning and again this afternoon, "Mom, you really need a church."

My mom has always had a church. The child of a Methodist pastor, she was raised to never miss Sunday morning worship. She drug our sorry behinds out of bed every Sunday morning, regardless of where we had been the night before. My family was always at church. Faith was and is central to our lives.

But something has changed in the last few years. My mother moved back to Missouri to be near family, and going to church has become something she dreads. She's now in her 70s and single. An hour in a sanctuary has turned out to be one of the loneliest hours of the week. She reports how she sometimes only sees couples or families or groups of people who clearly know each other. Often, no one speaks to her even though it's clear she's a visitor. There is no other venue in the community where she feels more alone than in the church.

But she needs a church.

She needs a pastor who will pray for her. She needs a community where someone might feel called to accompany her to her doctor's appointment and where others might show up with a meal - even people she has never met before. She needs to be reminded that she is not alone - that we are never alone - no matter what we're going through.

She's visiting another church tomorrow.

If she comes to your church, are you ready to welcome her? Are there people in your congregation who are more eager to welcome a guest than they are to sit in their familiar spot? Is there someone in your pew who might reach up and simply acknowledge a visitor sitting nearby who they notice is crying? Is there a compassionate team of people who feel called to show up because God shows up and the only way we know God shows up is through us? Are there people in your church who feel called to care for people - and not just those whose names or stories they know? Will someone be with her - really be with her - in the weeks to come?

I hope so.

In fact, I'm counting on you to be this kind of church.

Because my mom really needs a church right now.

And as I ponder who might come into our sanctuary tomorrow, I pray no one goes unnoticed. If there is someone going through a crisis that has kept them up through the night, I pray they feel like they are seen. I pray someone notices their tears or their anxiety. I pray they know they do not have to be alone. And I pray I'll always be the kind of pastor who is eager to show up in the suffering and pain of life - when the darkness is far more visible than the light.

God, will you please help your churches be the fullest expression of your love and light that we can be? And, will you please help my mom find a church family who can journey with her during this season - and every other season of life? God, she's going to church again tomorrow. She's counting on your people showing up for her. Please help that congregation welcome her in the morning. Amen.

Tracking Faithfulness

"My obedience would be the only thing I would track."

The words echoed through my ears last Sunday afternoon when I sat around one of seven round tables hosting people who had come to learn how we can more faithfully be in ministry with people who are experiencing homelessness. The woman speaking was sharing her own story of being in community with people who are experiencing homelessness, a testimony that included admonitions to cherish dignity, kinship and mutuality. She had learned years ago that it's almost impossible to track success when it comes to ministry with people who sometimes face more obstacles than a turtle turned upside down until it rests on its shell. But her words opened an invitation for me to examine nearly every other aspect of my life.

What are the numbers you track?

What statistics have the power to define you?

I often track the number that appears on the scale while failing to track my obedience to counting calories on My Fitness Pal. Is it any wonder that one number doesn't budge much without the dedication to the other?

But what has the capacity to rob my joy even more are numbers related to my role as a pastor. And I know I'm not alone as I heard an extraordinarily gifted colleague share this week about all the good things happening in her church - the signs and wonders produced by people who are taking their discipleship seriously - before adding, "But our average worship attendance still gets me down."

Last week, while at Duke Divinity School, I heard a powerful testimony about the excellence being sought within the faculty. The professor of New Testament shared how the school is seeking to have "elite scholars who exemplify something of the subject matter they teach." The scholar knows that wisdom is about habits. "We have to become the person who thinks like the sort of person who lives as Christians when it comes to our loves, our passions and our habits." He then spoke of the hours of scholarship that are required for him to do his work. He cannot be faithful if he simply produces another book or offers a profound lecture that wows his students. His faithfulness comes through his obedience - his spiritual disposition, his deep and wise engagement with the text, his embodying the core practices of the church that transform us.

Too often we are tempted to believe that our objective is to have at least five people pat us on the back and say "great job," or worse yet, give us a standing ovation at least once a year. We have been seduced into believing that our faithfulness is measured by a number that the denomination most wants to know if you're a pastor. But what if, instead, we sought to track our faithfulness through these questions?

How much time did I spend searching the scriptures this week?

When did I put my own priorities aside to serve a neighbor in need?

Am I setting aside one day each week to find wonder, joy and delight in God and the gifts God has given to me? What are my practices of Sabbath keeping?

How much time do I devote to reading books that reveal a deeper understanding of who God is or how God is at work in the world?

Am I seeking to faithfully love God with my prayers, my presence, my gifts, my service and my witness?

Can people see what it means to be a Christian through my character?

If the life of another human being is what most motivates someone to follow Jesus, then how is my life motivating people to want to follow Jesus?

Am I fully seeking to love the Lord my God with my heart, soul, strength and mind?

I don't know about you, but I have some work to do.

And, I suspect that the more I track my own obedience to faithfulness, the more I'll see and sense God powerfully at work in my life and the world around me.

What will you track today?

Allowing One's Light to Shine

"Wow! Look at my picture," Eddie said with a huge smile on his face. "It's really good!" he continued to exclaim as his feet shifted five steps back in order for his eyes to have a better view.

Eddie, a member of our church, was beholding his own work. He's been given a rather remarkable gift when it comes to drawing and painting, and he has often shared this gift with our community. 

I'll always cherish one Lenten season when our congregation was worshipping in a rented theatre across the street. Void of windows, especially the colorful stained glass kind, I invited Eddie to create a picture to accompany the sermon each week. For each of those six Monday mornings, Eddie would come to my office. I would read him the Gospel lesson to be proclaimed. Eddie would ask a few questions, "What does the devil look like?" or "How do I draw temptation?" He then would go home and return the next day with a colorful creation to be placed on our makeshift altar. He returned during that first week of Lent with a drawing that showed Jesus being tempted in the wilderness with such perfection that my words struggled to match it or elaborate upon it. 

I'm not sure when Eddie created the picture that is now in my office waiting to be hung. It seems to have been a request by one of our members who then took it and had it custom framed. I've held it in my space for a bit because I love looking at it. But I also want to find the perfect place for it in our church building - a place where many people can appreciate it. 

It's Eddie's work. He spent hours creating the scene of the boats, water and fishermen. He knows the piece of art well as he poured life and love into it. But Eddie had not seen someone else pour love into his work or really appreciate it. Eddie saw his own gifts in a whole new way when someone else took the time to recognize his gifts by taking his work to a frame shop. 

I cannot help but to wonder if the task of helping one's gifts shine in new ways is one of the greatest privileges and responsibilities of the church. One of our roles is to help people of all ages discover their gifts, encourage them to use their gifts in such a way that others are able to see their light, affirm them, and then watch as they discover a fuller sense of who they are and what they are capable of doing. In the words of Greg Jones, the former Dean of Duke Divinity School, we all need what he calls "holy friends." The church can cultivate such friendships as people point out the sins we have grown to love, name the gifts we have been afraid or unwilling to claim, and help people dream dreams they would never dream on their own.

Eddie's gifts have been showcased in a particular way for others to see when one of his pieces was framed for display. I saw other gifts showcased in a similar way on Sunday morning. Our congregation doesn't have a ministry intern this summer, something we have had in the previous few summers. As a result, a myriad of people have been helping with worship leadership. On this past Sunday morning, one person passionately led the call to worship and different prayers before inviting people to give, another person gathered with the children for a message designed just for them as he shared about his recent visit to Wesley's Chapel in London, another person described his first experience as a delegate to Annual Conference, and one person read the scripture lesson with power. Four individuals were given an opportunity to shine, and they brought their full selves for God and all in attendance to see. It was beautiful, and I have now seen gifts in some of them that I had never seen before. Even more, I now have the incredible joy of naming these gifts and extending additional invitations for them to use these gifts in a way that blesses our entire community.

Who first allowed you to use your gifts?

When did you first discover your particular talents?

What happened when other people started to affirm your gifts?

I pray our church will always be a place where people can step back and say, "Wow. I really do have something to offer this community and the wider world. Thank you, God, for this gift."

Who in your community has gifts that are ready to be placed on a lamp stand for all to see and behold?

A More Permanent Response

"How are you responding?"

A dear friend called with this question yesterday morning. It's a question pastors are called to grapple with on a regular basis since senseless gun violence is part of American culture, almost as common as patriotic songs and apple pie on Flag Day.

"I'm angry," I said with fire in my mouth.

"But I don't know how to respond to tragedy in my backyard faithfully as I'm not sure I can also faithfully name every other precious child of God who has been gunned down on the streets of America."

I realize this one hit close to home, and it's a Member of Congress along with Congressional staff, the first badge I wore in Washington. But what about others? Can we get as incensed with their murders or gunshot wounds as we do when those with power are the latest victims of America's addiction to guns and the handcuffs placed on countless Members of Congress by the NRA?

How will I respond?

I'll pray. I'll pray fervently for all who were on that ball field yesterday morning. I'll pray for those who knew and loved the shooter. I'll pray for those who were shot and in recovery. I'll pray for every ear who heard the pops coming from guns.

I'll promise to pray not only when guns are shot in a community I know well but when tragedy strikes all around our city and nation - which is exhausting to even think about.

But I'll also pray for wisdom and courage to know my role in speaking out against, marching for, and playing my part in helping our country grapple with its gun addiction and remove assault rifles from ordinary citizens in our country.

Why is it that it takes one of their own being shot for Congress to come together as one body? What would it take for this same body to come together and wrestle with a more complicated question, "What is my role, my responsibility, in making sure this never happens again?"

Come, Prince of Peace, and help me be an instrument of your peace.

The Sight and Sound of Gratitude

I have a new favorite thing. I love pushing the new "thankful" button on Facebook or opening a post to which someone has reacted with "thankful." I used the button so many times over the weeekend while responding to a friend's new family portraits that I even apologized for causing so much noise in her life!
I 
And while my husband is a bit annoyed at the new sound filling our home on a regular basis, I smile every time I hear the noise and see the flowers dancing across my screen. The sight and sound literally fills me with joy!

And I wonder. Does gratitude always offer the gift of joy?


We are midway through a series on vocation, call and work, one of my favorite topics to wrestle with. Yesterday we talked about work's challenges, using Moses as our guide. Can you imagine how many times Moses must have been tempted to toss his hands in the air and walk away? He is simply trying to be faithful to God's call on his life but is constantly surrounded by people who quarrel, grumble and bicker. The Israelites are being led from bondage to freedom. They receive one miracle after another whether it is bread from heaven or a walk on dry ground. But all they can see is what's missing - what they don't have. Meanwhile Moses remains faithful as he cries out to God, uses the tools God has given to him, and continues on the journey.

But how many of us walk through life like the Israelites? How many of us wake up thinking about what we want instead of what we have in our midst, under our noses, in our possession? We may have an abundance but can only see what's missing, reducing our lens to the myth of scarcity.

On the contrary, what if living a life of gratitude literally adds joy to our days like the purple flowers dancing across our iPhones? What if seeking to always first behold what we have and giving thanks for these things before ever pondering what we want but don't yet have is the key, the secret, to a more abundant life?

I'm looking for more purple flowers in my life. I want to be thankful at all times and in all seasons.

What about you?

Look What's Here!!!!

I'm long overdue for writing and have a dozen ideas for different blog entries I want to share with you. But for now, I am celebrating the arrival of "A New Day in the City." Roger and I started working on it nearly three years ago, and my first copies arrived on Friday. The book offers seven conversations for congregations who long to experience revival: pruning, strategy, vision, mission/evangelism, excellence, and working together. It's the book I wish I had when I first arrived at Mount Vernon Place nearly twelve years ago, and I pray it inspires new life in congregations near and far. It's been a privilege to work with both Roger and the folks at Abingdon. I am over the moon excited about this book!

Nancy

I don't have a single picture of her, but I'm not sure I'll ever forget her.

She grew up in our church, her parents having met in the choir in the late 1800s. She lived just off Connecticut Avenue for her entire life, first in the family home she sold some ten years ago and then in a retirement community. She's the only older member I've ever brought a can of Heineken to, sneaking it into the home like a high school student with a fake ID. More often than not, I would find her with the Wall Street Journal and a stack of lottery tickets she had recently scratched. She loved taking a cab over to a nearby hospital where she would listen to music playing in the lobby. She was proud of the outdoor furniture she had bought for the home and furious when all the chairs were taken, leaving her with the option of finding a place to sit inside. She loved her church, though she hadn't been there in more than ten years.

And, I loved her. I always knew she would make me laugh. I always knew I'd be greeted with a generous smile. I always knew she would encourage me by letting me know how she was aware of everything happening at the church since she read the bulletin each week. And, I always knew she would ask me to pray for a sound mind. She was so afraid of losing her mind before her body failed.

Two weeks ago, Nancy's health started to change in different ways. Part of her dignity was removed when her body no longer allowed her to do everything she needed to do. She was so frustrated, but still making her aide and I laugh through it all. It was nearly two weeks ago when she told me she wanted to just go to sleep. "I'm ready to go," she repeated often on each of my last three visits.

She said it again yesterday, waking up for just a minute or two at a time. And even though she didn't speak much yesterday, her sense of humor came shining through once more in her facial expressions.

At the end of my visit, we took hands, her aide holding one hand and me holding the other. We asked God to linger close, to remind Nancy that it was okay to let go and that she was not and would not be alone. When the prayer was over, Nancy said, "Amen." She was with us the entire time.

She took her last breath this morning. Her prayer was answered. My heart both aches and gives thanks at the same time.

And now we plan her celebration of life. There will be party favors - a scratch ticket will be given to each person who attends, with a quarter to make the scratching easy. Perhaps someone will win. But I feel like I already won so much through my relationship with this precious child of God.

Thank you, Nancy, for the privilege of being your pastor. You were truly one of a kind. May you rest in peace and rise in glory.

Thanks be to God.

I Now Know

"180 over 120," she said, before asking if my blood pressure normally runs high.

"I've never seen it that high," I responded. And I wasn't that concerned. After all, the nurse had just weighed me in a very public area, and I knew what came next. I was about to be asked to undress for a full body exam, something I endure every 90 days with the doctor looking carefully at every inch of my skin while an assistant blows up images of my bare body on a screen. The process has worked. Their discoveries have led to my hearing the words, "It's melanoma," four different times.

With all these things in mind, I sought to put her mind at ease, "My blood pressure always rises in this office." The words worked. She showed me to my exam room and didn't ask to take it again.

But I now know that my blood pressure was high enough for me to experience dangerous consequences. I now know she should have sent me straight to the emergency room or at least mentioned her finding to the doctor about to examine me. He's not trained in matters of the heart, as he specializes in skin, but he would have likely experienced a sense of her alarm. Nevertheless, they went on with their routine.

An hour later, I left the office with a sense of relief that no biopsies were ordered. My concern had been transferred to the status of my heart, motivating me to order a blood pressure monitor that night. While the numbers have decreased substantially, they are still more elevated than they have ever been. And just as I can sometimes name each knot the massage therapist finds in my shoulders, I can also name each additional millimeter of mercury.

I'm religious about meeting my personal trainer for strength training twice a week. But, my time for aerobic exercise has been swallowed too often by work. My diet has been enlivened by Girl Scout Cookies and extra treats (have you tried Aldi's version of Girl Scout cookies!!?). We've been hiring a new staff member, and I long to get it right. I'm the medical power of attorney for one of our oldest members who is facing significant health challenges that lead to numerous calls and difficult decisions. Most workweeks have been six days with the seventh claimed by errands and endless to-do lists before seeking to be fully present to my husband since I haven't been all week. And, while I adore nearly every ounce of my work, believing that I really do have the best job in Washington, there is a lot on my plate right now.

I can more than relate to Shauna Niequist's words, "But it's like I was pulling a little red wagon, and as I pulled it along, I filled it so full that I could hardly keep pulling" (Present Over Perfect). You should see my wagon! Do you have any idea how much I'm getting done? I kept convincing myself it was okay because I love what I do so much.

But I now know how heavy the wagon has become. I know now I not only can but must empty the wagon a bit. I now know I need to monitor what's going into my body and stop sacrificing my health for seeking to be the most faithful pastor I can be. I now know I'm on the edge of needing medication for this body that used to have low blood pressure.

I've spent the last four days at a monastery, a place I journey to every Lent in order to read, plan sermons, and pray. I've never regretted coming to the abbey. I love this place. But I almost cancelled last week. How could I go away with one member in the hospital and another member entering Hospice care? Was it really faithful to leave my husband with a snow storm on the horizon? God didn't let me second guess myself for long. And I'm now praying God doesn't allow me to second guess my renewed commitment to taking better care of myself upon my return.

And while this post feels so incredibly vulnerable, I know I'm not alone. I live and serve in a city where we often speak of how busy we are as if our busyness is a badge of honor. I am part of one of the least healthy professions. We clergy love to tell other people how to care for themselves while doing a miserable job of taking care of our own selves. And I suspect I'm in good company when it comes to seducing myself to believe that extra hours in the office or meeting the needs of others are more important than just one hour at the gym.

I don't want the sun to set prematurely on me. I now know I was in serious danger, and I do not want to allow myself to go there again.

I love my red wagon. I adore nearly every single thing that I've placed inside it. But, it's time to take a few things out of my wagon.

What about you?

Pray for a Pastor

It was a day or two before Thanksgiving in my second year of seminary. My father had picked me up at the St. Louis airport, and we were midway into our drive to his home in mid-Missouri. The conversation had turned to what I was learning in seminary, and I started to share a host of new insights gained from my professor of Christian ethics, Stanley Hauerwas. If you know anything about Hauerwas who was named "America's Best Theologian" by Time, then you know he has the capacity to turn your head inside out and upside down as he presents new ways of thinking about what it means to be a Christian. I was five minutes into sharing my new knowledge with Dad, explaining what I had learned about capitalism, when Dad nearly drove off the road as he asked, "What in the hell are they teaching you?"

I can almost picture everything about that conversation. I might not ever forget it as it's the first time I realized how controversial following Jesus can be. Most of us prefer a watered-down version of the Gospel when we realize how hard it is to fully take on the name of Christ in all we say, all we do, and all we are. There is a reason Jesus was a threat to both the religious and political establishment of his day. We often forget some of why he was crucified.

And, while I'm not a betting woman, I'm willing to bet your pastor has heard a thing or two in recent weeks that echo the sentiment of, "What in the hell are you thinking? Or teaching us? Or preaching to us?" There is a good chance your pastor has heard a word or two about what she is to say and not say, what she is to do or not do, how she is to offer a more limited view of who Jesus really was and is, at such a time as this.

No matter what your pastor proclaimed or prayed yesterday, someone in the congregation was likely disappointed. Some people stepped inside sanctuaries yesterday longing to hear a word about how to think theologically about immigration and refugees. Their hearts were breaking, and they prayed their pastor would have something to say about how our nation is called to be more compassionate, to follow the instructions to welcome the stranger found throughout the Old and New Testaments. Countless other parishioners hesitated as to whether to actually come to worship. They held their breath during the pastoral prayer and the sermon, praying the pastor would not say anything "political" before rolling their eyes the moment the word "immigration" was mentioned. Your pastor was damned before she ever said a word yesterday.

Meanwhile, your pastor may be second-guessing everything today because she has never before pastored a congregation in a time when the nation feels as deeply divided as it does now. She's longing to please everyone, a trait at the core of her personality, while knowing that this goal is not achievable right now. She is carefully receiving every word and waiting for additional criticisms to come. But more than anything, she is longing to be as faithful as she can to Jesus, the one who called her and claimed her, the one who gave her a vision of what God's kingdom can look like on earth, a vision so compelling that she was willing to let go of other dreams and go to seminary.

If you're not currently praying for your pastor, I invite you to start doing so today and allow these prayers to continue to rise up like incense filling a room. If you're not sure what to pray, it can go something like this:

Gracious God, thank you for the ways in which you call and equip people to serve as priests, pastors, shepherds, and teachers. I thank you, especially, for my pastor - for his willingness to drop everything in order to go to the hospital when a person is sick or extend the workday an extra hour when one is in a challenging situation and needs to talk. Thank you for how he seems to love my children, getting down on his knees to share another story about Jesus. Thank you for his spouse and children, people who know plans cannot be made on Saturday night and that weekends together are one day maximum. Thank you for his love of scripture and the ways he seeks to bring it to life. Thank you for all he does to help me be a more faithful disciple of your Son, Jesus.

Will you hold my pastor tightly during this time? It must be impossible for everyone to hear and appreciate his preaching on a subject like immigration when your scripture has so much to say but opinions and convictions are tightly held. It must be impossible to say the words "justice" or "mercy" without being told you're being too political. It must be impossible to please everyone, especially when a congregation is diverse in every possible way. Will you please help him to be faithful? Will you give him the capacity to glean the words he needs to say from you and you alone? When criticism comes, will you grant him a wise spirit that can discern what he needs to hear and explore further and what he needs to let go of? And will you show me how I can support him, even if I might not always agree with him? I want our church to be a faithful representation of your light, your love, your mercy, your grace and your justice. And while I might disagree with him on certain things, I believe my pastor wants this, too. So please strengthen him once more. Watch over him. Bless his family, and bless him - especially at such a time as this.

Thank you, God, for our pastor.

Amen.