An Unlikely Disciple

A member of our church handed the book to me recently and suggested that I read it. I opened it on my flight home from Colorado last week and continued to read it through the next day until I was finished. The book is "The Unlikely Disciple: A Sinner's Semester at America's Holiest University." The author, Kevin Roose, is a Brown University student who takes a leave of absence from Brown in order to attend Jerry Falwell's Liberty University.

Roose goes to Liberty thinking that he's collecting data for his book, seeking to gain a rich experience in a foreign land. Roose travels to Lynchburg with the idea that he'll be turned off completely by what happens at Liberty, that Jerry Falwell has few good qualities about him, and that the students in his classes will have little in common with him. After a semester at Liberty, however, he leaves a changed person. When he returns to Brown University, he finds himself praying on his knees. His mind often reverts back to the ways of life he encountered at Liberty.

He writes, "A few days after I left Liberty for the last time, I tried to peel the silver Jesus fish emblem off the bumper sticker of my Honda. The metal part came off easily, but a brown fish-shaped residue remained on the bumper, and no amount of scrubbing or scraping could get it off. I appreciated this on two levels. First, it meant that when I gave the car back to my dad - I had borrowed it from him for the semester - he was forced to drive around our ultra-liberal college town with the outline of a Jesus fish on his car, drawing worried stares from our friends and neighbors.

Second, the indelible Jesus fish provided me with the world's easiest metaphor to describe my transition from Liberty back to the secular world. Namely, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't quite scrape it away. Even when I was back at Brown full-time, caught up once again in the flood of papers and seminars and parties on the weekend, something about Liberty kept nagging at me. I kept having flashbacks of my time there..." (page 310).

There is something about the power of community. Roose discovered that the people at Liberty started to rub off on him. Their way of life became seeped into his mind and his spirit. While he wanted to be conducting an experiment only, he found himself caught up in the middle of it all - living a life like the Liberty students.

I've been thinking a lot about the indelible marks left on us. I learned again last week that when I am with someone who orders a salad for lunch, choosing a healthier option, I am more likely to make the same choice. Weight Watchers has tons of data that show you how their members lose more weight when they come to weekly meetings because they need to be held accountable and encourage one another together. Part of the power of Alcoholics Anonymous is that one is never alone - the community of individuals who also struggle with addiction is part of the healing power that is discovered. And, as Christians, we cannot learn and grow as disciples alone.

At the beginning of the summer, I traveled to Atlanta for a conference with colleagues. I noticed how disciplined they were. They were regularly praying and reading scripture. I had my Bible with me; but it did not get opened nearly as much as my colleagues' Bibles. I got up early - but not always to pray. But, after spending four nights with these women, they rubbed off on me - they left an indelible mark on me.

At Mount Vernon Place, we fell upon the power of community groups almost by accident. A former intern and woman who used to worship here became part of a conversation about what could happen if we had a couple of small groups. We bought three individuals a commentary on 1 Corinthians and sent them out to gather with others. We did no training. We hardly had a foundation in place. But, we knew there was power in being together.

A couple of years later, about one-third of our worshipping congregation is involved in a small group that gathers weekly for prayer, Bible study, accountability, sharing, food, and at least one monthly service commitment in the community. Through these groups, individuals are growing as disciples. Indelible Jesus marks are being placed on them. They are being encouraged to pray more, study more, give more, and grow more. They are rubbing off on one another. Many people are joining our church long after they have been a member of one of these groups.

There is power in community.

We exercise more often when someone is waiting to walk with us. We lose more weight when a classroom erupts in joy over the .8 pound we lost last week. We eat more vegetables when the people with us are eating more vegetables. And, we grow into more faithful disciples when the people around us are practicing faithful discipleship.

There is power in community.

I, too, have become an unlikely disciple.

Statement of Welcome

We have a new statement of welcome for Mount Vernon Place. The statement is the result of hours of work by our Reconciling Ministries Task Force and then many people from our congregation who spent an afternoon at the church brainstorming on how we can convey to individuals outside the church that all people are welcome here. It was passed unanimously by our Church Council last Sunday.

As part of the conversation, some people in our congregation have asked why we would need such a statement since "we are and have always been welcoming of all people." The people who have asked this question are right, in part. We have been very welcoming of all people for some time. However, not all churches are welcoming.

There are many places where one is not welcome unless they are dressed a certain way. There are many places where one is not welcome unless they believe a certain thing. There are countless churches where one is not welcome if they are gay, lesbian, transgendered or bisexual. There are plenty of barriers created by the church - by people who follow Jesus whose arms were wide open to almost all people (he did have a few things to say to the rich).

We want to be truly welcoming of all people. We want people who are outside to know that they will not hear a message of hate or judgment here. We want all people to know that we are seeking to be a grace-filled people who truly want to embody the love of Christ which knows no boundaries.

So, here is our statement of welcome. What does it say to you? Would you feel welcomed here?

Mount Vernon Place United Methodist Church
Statement of Welcome

Just as Jesus Christ invited everyone, so we seek to faithfully extend Christ’s life-giving welcome to all people.

Mount Vernon Place United Methodist Church recognizes that diversity is one of the greatest expressions of God’s creativity, presence and grace. As a congregation, we are grateful for the many differences apparent in our community and in our experiences of God.

We welcome all people into the life of this church, and celebrate and give thanks for our diversity of race, ethnicity, citizenship, gender, sexual orientation, age, physical and mental ability, faith background, economic status, appearance, marital condition, political persuasion, education, and life experience. We hope you will join us as we continue to discover how we can most faithfully include, learn from, and grow with all people in our community.

Gracious God, help us to see what you are doing in your kingdom, and enable us to be part of it. Amen.

A Dangling Carrot

I'm away from the office this week, spending time with my mother in Colorado. I labeled the time away "Sabbath rest." When I left the office on Sunday, I was exhausted. I have been working too many weeks without real Sabbath, and too many days where breakfast, lunch and dinner are all consumed at the church. I left with weariness that had invaded my body, mind and spirit. I left, needing desperately to sleep long nights, to put my feet up in my mother's recliner, to do much of nothing.

But, before I could start to rest, I had an assignment to finish. The invitation to write liturgies for a new worship book arrived in my inbox months ago. It came from an editor I have written for before - turning in several different sermons for $100 a sermon. I stopped writing the sermons because I found that I, myself, could not really preach them. It is hard to preach something that is not really personal, that is not written with a particular community in mind.

But, when he emailed with an invitation to participate in a book, I was immediately drawn to the invitation. It was a lot more money and more responsibility. When I looked at the list of people being invited to write, I was impressed. At least one of the names was a very well respected author, Wesleyan scholar, and seminary professor. This person has written so many books, so many articles, and his name would be next to mine (rather, my name next to his). "Oh, think of the possibilities!" I thought to myself.

The assignment came in blocks. We could accept as many blocks as we wanted to accept. One block consisted of 6 calls to worship, 6 invocations, 6 offertory prayers, 6 prayers of confession and words of assurance, 4 litanies, 6 pastoral prayers and 6 benedictions. It seemed rather straightforward. I could do this. I accepted 4 blocks.

Weeks passed without my touching the assignment. Then months started to pass. I started it here and there, I wrote a few pieces every now and again, but I never made much progress. I realized, again, that I have a hard enough time getting my job done in less than 55 hours each week, let alone adding other responsibilities.

But the carrot was still dangling. The money and the success were intriguing.

The assignment was due on August 1. I begged for a few days of extension and was granted them. I had to turn them in by yesterday morning.

And so, my vacation started with 12 hours at my mother's table. For 12 hours on Tuesday, I wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote. I prayed and prayed and prayed and prayed. I got the assignment done, and I was exhausted.

We had a speaker last week at Mount Vernon Place who shared with us a presentation on "John Wesley and Money." Wesley taught that we should earn all we can, save all we can and share all we can. He was, however, very clear about how we should earn. We should not earn any money that causes us to hurt our family or our health.

I was completely seduced by this invitation. I saw the money involved and the impressive list of authors whose name I could stand alongside of. I was impressed, and I said, "yes." But, I am not sure that any of this really benefits me. Sure, the money will pay for our airfare to Italy and at least one night of lodging. But, I had to spend an entire day of vacation earning it. I had to ignore my family for one day in order to get the assignment done. Is this really worth it?

How many things do we do because a carrot is dangling? How seductive are the carrots in your life? How many pockets of change do we go chasing after at the expense of our own health and family? Is our desire to earn money hurting our health and impacting our family?

What are the carrots in your life?

The Lifeboat Station

We started a new Bible study at Mount Vernon Place on last Wednesday morning. To begin our discussion, we read a story that was given to me for discussion in a class I took at Duke Divinity School with Peter Storey. Here it is, "The Lifeboat Station," by Theodore Wedel.

On a dangerous seacoast where shipwrecks often occur there was once a crude little lifesaving station. The building was just a hut, and there was only one boat, but the few devoted members kept a constant watch over the sea, and with no thought for themselves went out day and night tirelessly searching for the lost. Many lives were saved by this wonderful little station, so that it became famous. Some of those who were saved, and various others in the surrounding area, wanted to become associated with the station and give their time and money and effort to support its work. New boats were brought and new crews trained. The little lifesaving station grew.

Some of the members of the lifesaving station were unhappy that the building was crude and poorly equipped. They felt that a more comfortable place should be provided as the first refuge of those saved from the sea. So they replaced the emergency cots with beds and put better furniture in the enlarged building. Now the lifesaving station became a popular gathering place for its members, and they decorated it beautifully and furnished it exquisitely, because they used it as a sort of club. Fewer members were now interested in going to sea on lifesaving missions, so they hired lifeboat crews to do this work. The lifesaving motif still prevailed in the club's decoration, and there was a liturgical lifeboat in the room where the club initiations were held.

About this time, a large ship was wrecked off the coast, and the hired crews brought in boatloads of cold, wet, and half-drowned people. They were dirty and sick, and some of them had black skin and some had yellow skin. The beautiful new club was in chaos, so the property committee immediately had a shower house built outside the club where victims of shipwreck could be cleaned up before coming inside.

At the next meeting there was a split in the club membership. Most of the members wanted to stop the club's lifesaving activities as being unpleasant and a hindrance to their normal social life of the club. Some members insisted upon lifesaving as their primary purpose and pointed out that they were still called a "lifesaving station." But they were finally voted down and told that if they wanted to save the lives of all various kinds of people who were shipwrecked in those waters, they could begin their own lifesaving station down the cost. This they did.

As the years went by, the new station experienced the same changes that had occurred in the old. It evolved into a club, and yet another lifesaving station was founded. History continued to repeat itself, and if you visit the sea coast today, you will find a number of exclusive clubs along the shore. Shipwrecks are frequent in those waters, but most of the people drown.

You're Invited

I don't fully understand what it happening at Mount Vernon Place. What I can tell you is that I have experienced the presence of the Holy Spirit in profound ways in recent weeks. It is so abundantly clear to me that God is at work in bold, powerful, somewhat scary and somewhat exciting ways. I have found myself preaching in a different way - putting a bold vision before the congregation of where God might be calling us. I have found myself turning down invitations to be part of something that might bring people and money into our congregation but that does not, necessarily, line up with where I feel God at work. And, I have found myself being available for tasks that I was never ready to be present for in the past. Clearly, the Spirit is working. A faithful conversation is percolating. New ministries are on the horizon.

To continue to get a sense of where and how God is working, we're starting a new Bible study on Wednesday morning. I'm calling it a pilgrimage of pain and hope through scripture. Unlike the Pilgrimage of Pain and Hope I was a part of in South Africa, we will not travel far geographically. But, we will travel into the depths of our church's community and into the depths of scripture. We will travel to the place where it might seem scary because God is inviting us to do such unfamiliar things. We will travel to the place where we open our hearts and minds wide to see how God might be asking to use us.

You are invited. You are invited to come downtown every Wednesday morning. I invite you to arrive downtown by 6:50. Walk around the church, peaking inside the nooks and crannies of the building, the porches and windowsills where people might still be sleeping. Walk around the area of 11th and K Street and seek to have your heart opened and then broken by the prostitutes who are waiting for their pimps to pick them up from a night of work. And then, come inside. Ring the bell and come up to the community room. Let's together open wide our hearts, the pages of scripture and our minds. Let's journey through the stories of pain where Jesus was fully present in the scriptures. Let's talk about what our eyes see when we arrive downtown early in the morning. Let's pray for God's guidance, wisdom and direction. Let's ask God for the courage to respond faithfully - to be a hopeful sign of God's kingdom on the corner of 9th and Massachusetts.

You're invited. The journey will likely not be easy. It will perhaps be painful or even lonely at times. But, after seeing the way that God is working, I am convinced that we cannot ignore this call, this movement, that is so abundantly real.

Come join us. Send me an email if you are interested. And, if you do not live in Washington, then journey with us through prayer or by reading the same scriptures.

You're invited. Will you come? Wednesday mornings from 7:00 to 8:00 a.m. in the community room at Mount Vernon Place. A pot of coffee will be waiting for you.

Our New Tenants

My husband, Craig, and I both bought one-bedroom condos in 2005.  We both purchased condos, not aware of the fact that we would earn the honor of having purchased them at the height of the market.  When we got married last June, we had more mortgages than we knew what to do with and more stuff than we could ever fit in a one-bedroom apartment.  We have downsized again, and we have found ourselves comfortable in his one-bedroom condo in Alexandria.  It has become our home over the last year.

In the meantime, we have been renting my old condo in Columbia Heights.  We were fortunate to have an amazing tenant this past year, a military officer who spends more time on the road than he does in DC.  Nothing has broken.  The rent has been paid early each month.  I only saw him twice - when he signed the lease and when he returned the keys last week.

During the last several weeks, Craig and I have been looking for a new tenant.  It was so easy to find our last tenant.  One advertisement in Cragslist led to two applications almost immediately.  Things have been a little more difficult this time around.  Just when we were putting the condo on Craigslist, several random acts of violence took place in the neighborhood.  Columbia Heights became a regular headline.  This particular article caught the attention of a young couple who wanted to move into my old home.

The young woman sent me an email, letting me know how much she and her boyfriend love the condo but how they were now uncertain about the neighborhood.  They asked for another week to consider.

Five days later, the phone rang.  It was her.  She shared with me how they had done their homework and were ready to sign a lease.  I met with her later that afternoon to learn that they had emailed our local Councilman to ask him what he is doing about crime in the neighborhood.  They had walked the streets of the neighborhood from 9:00 - 11:00 one night.  They had talked with individuals coming out of our building.  And, they had stopped a local police officer to learn his views on what was happening.  After all of this work, they discerned that they wanted to live in Columbia Heights.

As she was signing the lease she said to me, "There seems to be so much work to be done - so much need.  How do you suggest we get involved?"

I was blown away by her question.  I was humbled almost to my knees.  I suggested that she try a few of the churches in the neighborhood, letting her know that the Unitarians down the street, along with the Baptists, were trying to work hard.  I shared with her how many of the Church of the Saviour ministries are right down the street - less than four blocks from where she will be living.  

And, I keep thinking about her question.

What would it look like for every church to be asking this question, asking how we are called to get involved in our communities - how we are called to be part of the solution to crime, violence, decay, poverty, homelessness, etc.?  What if every business in the community started to ask the same questions?  And, then, what if the residents did the same thing?

I have this vision for our church's neighborhood - for the Mount Vernon Place neighborhood in Washington, DC.  I visualize a community of people working together - the Washington Convention Center, the people who occupy the old Carnegie Library, the Renaissance Hotel, the business people who work in 901 New York Avenue, the Embassy Suites, the people who will soon occupy 901 K Street, the residents of 1010 Mass, the people who live in the CityVista complex, Mount Vernon Place United Methodist Church, and the unhoused population all around us.  I have this vision for what might happen if we all started asking the question, "There seems to be so much need around here.  How do you suggest that we get involved in the neighborhood?"

Imagine!  Imagine with me the possibilities.  There are so many resources, so much wealth, so many gifts, so many people, so many possibilities.  Imagine what might happen if we really took an interest in the place where we spend our work days, the place where we go to church, the place where our bodies sleep at night, the place that provides our paycheck.  Imagine what might happen if we saw all of the needs of the city as not someone else's problem but as part of our calling - part of our responsibility.

God, help us to ask the right questions.  And then, please, please give us courage to not only hear you but to obey you when you respond.  You're scaring the hell out of me by what you are doing - by the questions you are forcing me to ask and the questions our congregation is asking.  But, I cannot wait to see what is going to happen in this place.  It is so clear to me that you are at work - in abundant ways.  Help me - help us - not to be afraid of what might happen but to fully and faithfully trust you and then follow you, laying down our needs in order to pick up your cross again.  Amen.

The Journey Continues

I was brought on a journey last week - one that only God is capable of planning and executing. When I last wrote, I had reached my limit. My compassion was rapidly diminishing. My desire to escape was escalating. My sense of desperation was at a peak. Thankfully, God has gracefully brought me back around, reminding me of what it means to be a citizen of God's Kingdom.

So many people reached out last week, offering helpful feedback, encouragement, and ideas. A former colleague reminded me of how public bathrooms are hard to find in any urban area - even Starbucks requires a key. She proposed that we somehow figure out how to provide bathrooms for our unhoused neighbors around us.

A former parishioner reminded me of who I am and more importantly, whose I am. Kristin wrote, I have NO idea what you are going through my dear and the turmoil inside regarding the unhoused. I feel your torment with the safety of the church, the liability, the nuisance...but I also feel your heart aching for those that are bound by addiction and poverty. A question comes to mind. How do we as Christians treat the unhoused when they enter the church? Is it any different than we treat them on the outside of the church. They need to be hearing your "perky" sermons, they need to know a Jesus that is a greater high than any drug, they need to know a love that is pure and steadfast. Why do they come to the steps---is it merely convenience, or is it something else? Is it safe, warm, inviting...in Jesus? and how do you transcend what happens inside to the outside?It seems to me your options would be to keep the people, but give them responsibility or get rid of the people. You have modern day leapers--health hazard, liability, nuisance. Questions---has anyone from the church spoken to the unhoused? Are they the same folks every night? In your new facility, could you offer restroom facilities at a certain time (for them to clean up), could you have a "lawn event" for the church "pot luck" style? This is a chance for a new ministry that perhaps the downtown could unite in---they need to hear your message---you are a vessel of Jesus that overflows---someone on that porch is there to know Jesus. I think of your blog about the open door---people are touched by the grace of MVP.

Still another acquaintance wrote, Having outreach to individuals has to be the first step. Adding lights and fences may work, but at a cost to the aesthetics of the building and to your sense of openness. On the other hand, reaching out to your neighbors is not only good scriptural sense, it is also good survival sense. If there are options for housing, then it would be appropriate to have social workers assist them in achieving housing. All actions are answers to questions: how do I protect myself tonight, where can I meet the needs of my addiction, etc. Understand the needs that are being met by each individual using the church property and focus attention there. Addressing people as individuals with needs will help them to respect you and your property more. Having boundaries about what is unacceptable is very appropriate: no drug use on the property, no defecating on the church steps, etc. These are the big concerns. At the same time, it is important to recognize that people are using the church as a shelter because it is the best option that they perceive themselves as having. Official overnight shelters work for some people, but don't work for many others for various legitimate reasons. Peer outreach by previously homeless or currently homeless is often a good strategy. Many successful programs use the strength of champion community members. Those homeless who use the property can stand up for the firm boundaries listed above. I do not buy in to the degree of danger that was listed in the report. Staying on church properties puts individuals at little more risk, if any, than where they would be staying otherwise. Assault on the homeless occurs anywhere else that they might be staying. Pushing homeless away without reaching out to them just means that they will be victimized where you can't see, which is of no benefit to them, only to you.

We have so much to consider. I have been powerfully reminded of how little outreach we have done for the individuals who sleep here at night. We have been blessed with the privilege of serving at so many places that serve the homeless. We have many people volunteering on a regular basis at many ministry sites in DC. But, we have done little to get to know the people who sleep here at night. We have done no more than to say "hello," or bring them leftovers, or invite them to church occasionally.

We started a new series on the Lord's Prayer yesterday. The entire sermon will be readable later today on our website. But, here is a portion of what was preached:

Our church staff has been wrestling mightily with how best to interact with our unhoused neighbors who are sleeping around the church. A man named Charles has been sleeping on one of the window ledges for the past several weeks. Two brothers have been on the porch for several weeks. Robert, a man who recently lost his job, has also made a temporary home for himself on the porch. These are the people we know. According to these individuals, there are many other people who are making the mess that is causing us so much concern – leaving piles of feces and puddles of urine on the porch and steps and in ever nook and cranny around the building.
In the middle of last week, after picking up trash and hosing down this mess once more, I was ready to throw my hands in the air and say, “to hell with these people.” Let’s bring back the gates. Let’s post signs all over telling people they are not welcome. Let’s do whatever we can to keep the poor off our property.
But, God has reminded me that it is not my property and nor is it our property. You and I are people who pray, “Our Father” each time we gather. If we are faithfully following this revolutionary Jesus then you and I must respond like this Jesus. No where in the gospels does Jesus put up gates, especially to keep people from coming to him. No where in the gospels does Jesus put up with religious folks who are trying to keep the hurt and the pain of the world from him. Instead, Jesus leaves the religious people in order to go embrace and heal the pain of the world that is brought to him. Time and again, Jesus upsets the religious authorities because of the company he keeps. The nature of following Jesus is that we deny ourselves and take up the cross – that we let go of our needs in order to embrace the needs with which Jesus was concerned. If we are living this prayer, then the gates and the bars designed to keep the poor away are no longer an option – at least for any building that is seeking to be a sign of the Kingdom of God. The options, instead, are the ones that take a little more time, a little more effort, and a little more compassionate contact as we seek to do justice, to love mercy and to walk humbly with our God.
Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be your name.

Following the sermon, one of our members came up and said, "Why are we hiring a Director of Music when we should be hiring a social worker to work with the homeless?"

I am not sure where our journey will lead. I do know, however, that God is not finished with me, our congregation, or the children of God who sleep on the porch at night. We're on a journey. I hope you will journey with us through your prayers or your presence. We serve a mighty God, and I cannot wait to see where God will lead us.

No Easy Answers

We have been struggling at Mount Vernon Place - struggling to discern how best to interact with our unhoused neighbors who dwell around the church.  I have been wrestling with what is hospitable and what is inhospitable, what is just and what is unjust.

Mount Vernon Place is a huge, monumental church.  There are large steps that lead to the sanctuary level, and there is a large, stone porch on two sides of the church.  This porch provides a good sleeping place for many of our unhoused neighbors.  It is protected from the wind or rain, high enough to keep one away from most of the rats, and above the street.  Many people have been coming to this place regularly.  Every morning we have to pick up cardboard boxes and debris.  And lately, we have had to clean up poop and pee almost every morning.  It has become a health hazard.  In addition to this mess being left, we now have many homeless people hanging out on the lawn of the church every day.  While there are many lawns all around us, a half a dozen people can be found taking a nap on the church lawn each afternoon.  Another person is asleep on the windowsill each morning.  And another person has been climbing a cooling tower to place their belongings.

I'm tired.  I'm at my wit's end.  My sense of hospitality is robbed each time I gag at the smell of poop while hosing down the steps.

We consulted someone else today, the head of the Downtown Cluster of Congregations.  Terry has suggested that we bring back the large gates that keep people off of the porch on both the Massachusetts Avenue side of the church and the 9th Street side.  He has suggested that we install a very short fence around the church's lawn - one that comes up to the shin.

These gates were present when I first got to Mount Vernon Place.  I found them to be an eyesore.  I found them to have a clear message, "Keep away."  I hated them.  I worked hard to have them removed.

But...Terry has told us we are asking for trouble.  We are creating a health hazard.  We are allowing illegal activity to take place on the porch as crack is being smoked.  We are allowing others to get too intoxicated at the top of the steps.  And, people are sleeping on and around human feces.  He event went so far to say that we are basically running an unsupervised homeless shelter with so many people around us - even when he visited this morning at 9:00 a.m.

There are no easy answers to urban ministry.  Situations like this one break my heart.  Again, I despise the gates.  But, I am learning that putting up boundaries might be the most just response - it might be the response that protects people from getting very sick or indulging in illegal drugs because they are out of sight from the people below.

And, as much as I want the church to be welcoming of all people, the church is also a place where a tremendous amount of work must be done.  Other businesses do not allow people to sleep all over the front lawn or door during the day.  Even homeless shelters do not allow this. So, why are we allowing this?

All of this sounds so harsh.  But perhaps in this case the harsh response is what is needed. Perhaps the harsh response is the just response.

What do you think?  I welcome your thoughts.  

And, if any of you want a lesson in humility, we are happy to loan you our hose and sign you up for morning duty.  You'll quickly discover how difficult things are.

The Beginning of the Fifth

I remember the day as clear as can be.  I pulled up to a building in disrepair - a yellow brick building with an air conditioning unit hanging out of every window.  The parking lot was small, but my spot, "PASTOR'S PARKING," was clearly marked.  I got out of my car, made my way to the door with large bars covering the glass, rang the bell, walked inside, and started the adventure.

I made my way up the stairs next to a make-shift handicap ramp that seemed much too steep to be safe, followed the signs that said, "Church Office This Way," and entered through the door with a little bell alerting all in the hallway that someone had arrived.  The moment I got inside the office, I quickly realized that it was lunchtime for the staff.  The smell of Wendy's chili and burgers was permeating the hallway.  No one got up from their seats to greet me.  Rather, they pointed me toward the door leading to the pastor's study and told me that someone would be on their way to help me with my boxes.  It was a "welcome" I'll always remember.

That was Thursday, three days before my first Sunday.  When Sunday came, many people did welcome me.  Many others looked skeptical, clearly wondering why a young woman had been sent to be their pastor.  One of the first questions I received on that Sunday was, "Pastor, we always sing patriotic songs on the first Sunday of July.  You have not chosen anything patriotic to sing, however.  We don't even get to say the Pledge of Allegiance today."  Following the sermon, the question my mother received is, "Is she always going to be this perky?"

On that day, there were about 130 people in the pews.  About 90 of the people were members of the Chinese Community Church, a church with whom we had been sharing a building, budget and the 11:00 worship service for over a decade.  The other 40 or so people were members of Mount Vernon Place - most of whom had been members of the church for at least 40 years with an average age of 82.  There was one person from MVP in their twenties.  I seemed to be the only person in my 30s.  I was so excited - I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that God had called me to this place.  And, I quickly realized how much work there was to do.  I followed a long line of pastors and people who had been telling the church that they were within ten years of closing - but I had not been called to close them.  I knew, with all of my heart, that God was about to do something real, remarkable, and holy.

We have come a long way since that day.  God has done something real, remarkable and holy.

As I begin my fifth year as the pastor of Mount Vernon Place United Methodist Church, my heart is filled with thanksgiving, awe and wonder.  I give thanks for the many people who have been coming to Mount Vernon Place since the 1940s and who continue to come - who continue to support this church faithfully with their prayers, their presence, their gifts, their service and their witness.

I give thanks for Mel, Heidi, Beth and Allyson - some of the first young adults to come to Mount Vernon Place - some of the first people to come to a church where there were few people their age - some of the first people to take a risk that more people their age would come.  These individuals were so faithful - so giving - so patient.  I'll always be grateful for them.  They prepared the foundation for the countless young adults who now come.

I give thanks for the extraordinary people who I have been privileged to be with - to journey with - at their end of life.  I thank God for people like Gilbert, Dorine, Louie, Marion, Carl, Frances, Harry and countless others who have allowed me to be part of their living and part of their dying and for their families who allowed me to be part of their celebration of life.

I give thanks for the new ministries that have emerged - the opportunities for service in our community, knitting prayer shawls, community small groups, an early morning prayer time, and many others.  I am also grateful for the individuals behind these ministries - the ways in which people have given so much of themselves to get something new started.

I give thanks for the ways in which worship has evolved.  We no longer stop right at noon.  We are no longer bound by a clock.  Rather, we see what God might have us to share, to do and to experience on any given Sunday.  I am so grateful for the ways in which people share on Sunday mornings - share in the passing of the peace, share what's on their hearts and minds, share in the joy of coming together to celebrate God's presence in our lives.

I give thanks for the building project that will be completed in two months.  That old building I first walked into has been demolished.  A new building, an extraordinarily beautiful building, is nearing completion, and we will soon occupy space in that building.  At the same time, a building that was finished in 1919 has been completely refinished.  I love our facility.  God has blessed us with so much.

I give thanks for the privilege of being the pastor at Mount Vernon Place.  There is nowhere else I would rather be than this place.  I cannot tell you how much I love this congregation,  these people, this city and this part of the city.

God, thank you for these past four years.  It's now the beginning of the fifth, and I cannot wait to see what you are going to do in and thru this place.  I am so thankful that you called me to be a pastor and that you allowed me to come here - to Mount Vernon Place.

Peter Storey

My former professor, hero, mentor, and spiritual giant is coming to speak at Mount Vernon Place on this Thursday, June 25 before continuing the conversation at Capitol Hill United Methodist Church on Friday, June 26. He'll be speaking at both churches from 7:00 - 9:00 p.m. on "Being the Body of Christ in a Place of Power and Poverty." The event is open to all; we would love to have you be with us for this two-part conversation.

In preparation for the event, I asked one of our members, Kevin, to share his thoughts on Dr. Storey. This is what Kevin wrote:

How Peter Storey changed my life by Kevin G. Feltz (short version)

Recently, at Mount Vernon Place UMC, I have joyously heard some individuals proclaim that they are interested in having a Christian life that is “authentic.” I surmise that what folks are referring to is the desire to live a life that is truly based upon the transforming work of the Holy Spirit and teachings of Christ; particularly concern for the poor, charity and community. I admire this because in our church lives, it can be easy to get busy and preoccupied with church attendance, committee membership, fitting in, etc. Not that there is inherently anything wrong with those things. But sometimes we can get so busy with playing church that we forget that as servants of the Most High God, we are called to be transformative agents in the world.

In my own personal evolution in these matters, the teachings of Peter Storey, in classes at Duke Divinity School, have been extremely influential. While he would never use this language, I think he might have been the first person to help me see the “BS” in my so-called Christian life, filled with “churchmanship.” A short survey of issues he felt were important for Christians to address reads like a laundry list of social justice topics: racism, homophobia, concern for the poor, changing unjust economic systems, the legitimate and illegitimate uses of power, etc. These are topics I did not encounter in Introduction to Biblical Hebrew or Early Church History. It was largely through these teachings that I decided I wanted the authentic Christian experience more than anything else.

I could write a lot about the specific lessons and topics, but for the sake of brevity, I will elaborate on just one example. One of the most consequential comments of Peter Storey that has stayed with me was the emphasis that in an authentic Christian life, we should strive to serve in a way that involves taking “vulnerable risk.” I can easily think of several situations in my life where I faced decisions and uncertainty with the words “vulnerable risk” echoing in my decision making process. Those words gave me courage to take the riskier route in big ways and small ways, at times putting myself in economic risk and others in physical risk. In the process, I was able to love and serve others and become transformed myself at least as much as they were.

For example, while I was employed as the Administrative Director at Christ House, it was my role to keep the peace among the dozens of homeless persons who came into our building each day. In was in my desire to love and serve, and with the words “vulnerable risk” a conscious part of my thinking, that I was able to place myself physically in between two angry, arguing, broken individuals, not knowing if they would both decide to attack me instead of each other. I did this somewhat regularly and there was one moment when I thought a man was going to slit my throat and that surely I would die, right there on the sidewalk in front of the place. Sure, I might have had these experiences without Peter Storey, but I would not have had the deep understanding of them and the passion for service to vulnerable populations.

So, if you truly desire to have an authentic Christian life, I encourage you to do everything you can to be in attendance the evenings of June 25 and 26. My life has been changed by the teachings of Peter Storey and I think yours will be too.

“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.” Romans 12:2

A Series of Interruptions

Earlier today, my colleagues and I were in a staff meeting when we heard a door open. As a downtown church, we try to make sure we are always fully aware of who is in the church. Since we are in the heart of Washington, we do not normally keep our doors unlocked but rather have people ring a doorbell whenever they are at the door.

After hearing the door open, my colleague, Chris, went into the lobby and found an older woman sitting there. She was overwhelmed and frustrated, having just realized that her cab dropped her off at 900 Massachusetts Ave. NW instead of 914 Massachusetts Ave. NE. She had paid her money and did not have enough money to get to the other side of town where she was supposed to be at a meeting.

I peaked out into the lobby, trying to discern what to do. I motioned to Chris, asking if he needed my help. My colleague, Carol, then went and started to pat the woman on the shoulder. The woman soon burst into tears, telling us more about what had happened and how she had just lost her nephew. Carol rubbed her arm up and down, offering her comfort. Chris got out his cell phone and called the cab company, asking that they come and rectify the situation. I stood and watched it, not knowing what to do.

Chris and Carol seized the opportunity to be like Christ. I froze in my tracks.

My colleagues offered extraordinary grace and assistance. I asked the woman how she got in.

When the staff meeting resumed, I was wondering who left the door open while my colleague said, "Thank God is was opened because no telling what would have happened to her."

My colleagues are motivating me to be a better disciple - a better participant in the Kingdom of God.

I have commended Carol twice just this week for how she has the uncanny ability to stop everything when someone wants a tour of the church. She rarely seems annoyed when someone stops and knocks on the door of the church - for a tour, financial help, or something else. In the meantime, I almost always see these people as interruptions - distractions - something that takes away from my job instead of something that is part of my job - part of my call, for God's sake!

Carol told me yesterday about a sign she used to hang on her desk at the company where she worked. It said, "I was always bothered by interruptions until I realized interruptions are my work."

I was always bothered by interruptions until I realized interruptions are my work.

Ministry is a series of interruptions. Ministry is a response to a God who loves to interrupt - a God who interrupted me when I thought I was on my way to law school - a God who interrupted me when I was loving my role as an associate pastor - a God who interrupted me when I was extraordinarily successful as a director of admissions - a God who, after all of these interruptions, led me to Mount Vernon Place where I have what I consider to be the best job ever. And this job is a job where I am called to respond to interruptions - where I am to pray that God will interrupt me, pulling me away from what is occupying my time and attention so that I might be used by God.

My work is a series of interruptions. My task now is to continue to take a few cues from my colleagues. Thank you, Chris and Carol, for your example.

God, help me to do better next time.

The Best Job in Washington

This afternoon afforded some of those moments when my only response is to think, "I cannot believe I get paid to do this work."  

I went to visit some of our older members.  Nancy is someone I affectionately call, "Spitfire, Junior."  The first Spitfire is a feisty 95-year-old named Lois.  Nancy comes in right behind her, however.  She has a dynamic personality.  She is funny, witty, and so unique.  I love visiting her. To give you the full understanding of who she is, I should confess that I once took a 20 ounce can of beer from a member who I knew was struggling with alcohol but who showed up at the church with a tall can of unopened beer, and I knew immediately what to do with it.  I brought it to Nancy.

I then stopped by the home of 100-year-old Mabel.  Mabel was the chair of the Staff Parish Relations Committee just 4 years ago when I arrived at Mount Vernon Place.  She is this extraordinary woman who always looks on the bright side.  She always offers words of support.  Without fail, a visit will include the words, "Donna, Washington needs Mount Vernon Place and Mount Vernon Place needs you."  She'll then say, "Do you know that you have the best job in Washington?"  If I were smart, I would probably visit Mabel at least once a week - she is food for the soul, bread for the journey.

As I think about these two extraordinary women who blessed my life on this day, I am also mourning the loss of a beloved church member who blessed my life on many other days.  Dorine died last Saturday, just five minutes after my husband, Craig, and I prayed with her.  I had no idea just how holy the ground was when we were there last week.  I wish now I would have stayed later.

I have grown incredibly close to Dorine over these last four years.  Her husband was sick soon after I arrived, and I would see the two of them almost weekly.  I was with Dorine when her husband died - with her when she held onto his body and did not want to let go.  I have since been with her in her home as she grieved the loss of her beloved.  And, I have seen her several times each month since last fall when she became ill.  Dorine was an amazing woman.  She had extraordinary beauty that radiated from the inside and the outside.  She had the ability to see the best in everyone.  She was an artist who was able to see creativity all around her.  And, she was an amazingly faithful church member.  She loved her church so much.  With the exception of when she was very, very weak, not a visit would pass when she would not pray for her church and her pastor.

This prayer time is what I will miss the most.  So often, I am always the one who prays - and this is an incredible privilege.  Yet, Dorine would always continue to hold my hand after I had said, "Amen."  She would then thank God for our church and then she would thank God for her pastor before specifically praying for God to grant me strength and wisdom and guidance.  Almost always, I would leave her with tears in my eyes because her prayer was just what I needed.  I'd give anything to hold her hand again today - to pray for her and then to be touched at the core by her prayers for me.

Thank you Nancy, Mabel and Dorine for all of the ways you have reminded me that I do, indeed, have the best job in Washington.

The H Corridor

A statement in the newest issue of Time Magazine, the June 1 issue, caught my attention today. The article is about the large wall that is being constructed on the edge of Jerusalem, separating Palestinians from Israelis. The wall is offensive and cruel to many people, separating families and businesses and livelihood. Still, the people who find the wall offensive are finding a way to change the wall. Many people are writing their own message on the wall, covering the wall with graffiti. One of the graffiti artists is quoted in the article. Faris Arouri says, "'To resist something, sometimes you have to interact with it'" (June 1, Time, page 6).

To resist something, sometimes you have to interact with it.

I read this statement over and over and over again this morning, trying to discern its full meaning. My mind then turned to a lecture I heard last week at the Festival of Homiletics.

On Tuesday, Tom Long, professor of preaching at the Candler School of Theology at Emory University, spoke. Dr. Long used Grady Memorial Hospital as one of the illustrations for his lecture. Grady Hospital was founded in 1890. It moved locations three times before reaching its current location. When the current facility was built in 1945, it was built as a segregated facility. Wings A and B, which faced the city, were built to serve white patients. Wings C and D, which faced the opposite direction, were built for black patients. The four wings were joined together by Wing E, a hallway connecting all four wings, forming a structure in the design of a large H. As a result of the two very separate sides, many people still refer to the hospital as "The Gradys." There were two distinct areas joined together by one hallway - a hallway that spoke volumes.

While many people have probably not thought much about that hallway, Tom Long explained how that hallway spoke of a vision - a dream for a different day. That hallway brought together that which had been separated as blacks and whites had to travel the hallway together. Wing E was shared by all people. The people who drew the plans for Grady Hospital knew that a collision was coming - a new day would dawn. The middle hallway, Wing E, demonstrated what was possible - it was a powerful interaction with walls of separation.

I talked about the Grady Hospital illustration often last week with my two roommates for the week, especially my dear colleague, Laurie who is the pastor of St. Luke's UMC in Columbus, Ohio. Laurie challenged me to apply my appreciation of Wing E, the H Corridor, to a current area of criticism I have for our church.

You see, I have long felt that our United Methodist Church's communication slogan, "Open Hearts, Open Minds and Open Doors" was filled with hypocrisy - a bunch of baloney. Too often, it has seemed as though the people who have this slogan printed on their business cards are the people who are fighting to keep our doors closed instead of opened to all people. Too often it seems as though the churches that are hanging banners broadcasting an "open" message are not all that open, at least in my eyes. I told Laurie last week how this slogan is a "bunch of B.S." But Laurie pushed me to think differently.

She explained how when the "Open Hearts" media campaign was first introduced that many people fought against it. Many people worked tirelessly to defeat it. The slogan was too open for many people in our denomination, and many people were not willing to open the doors that far. Still, the media campaign won approval. For many years now, the United Methodist Church has been proudly proclaiming that we are a church with "Open Hearts, Open Minds and Open Doors." It is a prophetic statement. It is a beautiful reality to live into - being a people whose hearts and minds and doors are open to all.

And while we are not there yet in all churches - perhaps the people behind this media campaign know a thing or two. Perhaps they are right. Perhaps if enough churches start proudly using and proclaiming this slogan then our hearts, minds and doors will be opened - further, wider, more gracefully and lovingly.

In the meantime, perhaps I need to open my mind a little - to what this slogan really means and the story behind it. Perhaps I need to interact more with that which I have been resisting for too long.

Thank you, Laurie, for your wisdom.

A Faithful Dialogue About Homosexuality, the Bible and Faith

I'm in Atlanta this week, soaking in several sermons a day at the Festival of Homiletics.  So far, I have heard preaching giants like Desmond Tutu, Barbara Brown Taylor and Thomas Long.  It has been rich and wonderful.  I already have pages of notes and a few books to haul back to Washington on Friday evening.  I am grateful for the privilege of being here.

Barbara Brown Taylor has long been my favorite preacher.  I love to read her sermons.  She is masterful with words.  Hearing her teach for an hour last night and preach in worship this morning was a pure gift.  She said several things last night that are still making me think.   

Her lecture was called, "Red Letters in Red Clay."  She spoke of how the South is hardly Christ centered but more Christ haunted.  She then went on to share the different signs she has seen on her journeys along dirt roads and how so often she wants to stop and rearrange the letters to make God sound less stupid and mean.  She spoke of how there are a whole lot more people who love the Bible more than know what is in it.  She also shared how we cannot read the Bible unless we read our lives - how the Bible speaks in a different way after 9/11 than it did before 9/11, for example.

I preached a sermon on Sunday about the Bible and Homosexuality.  You can read the sermon on our website by downloading it here.  It's the second time I have devoted an entire sermon to this subject, though I have mentioned it numerous times in my preaching.  The sermon preached on Sunday is quite different from the sermon I preached two years ago.  My life is different now.  More and more individuals have shared their testimony with me, and I read the Bible differently now that I read it with their lives and my life.

Following worship on Sunday, we had a "Talk Back with the Preacher" session.  About 40% of the people in worship on Sunday stayed for the session.  It was a holy conference - a time in which we could introduce ourselves alongside our partner.  It was a place where we could share how we are the parents of a lesbian daughter or a gay son.  It was a room that seemed thin as authenticity took over and people shared their joy and their sorrow, their dreams for the future of the church and the hurts from the past.  No one spoke a word of hatred.  No one spoke a word of judgment.  Everyone seemed to offer a mind that was open.  The ages of the participants ranged from 24 to 92.  It was really quite remarkable, and I am grateful for it - so thankful for it.

And, I wonder.  I wonder what might happen if we had more conversations like this in church.  What might happen if instead of telling one another that we are right and others are wrong - if we came together, to try to always see the other person's side or viewpoint or life.

I cannot read my Bible without also reading my life.  And, I cannot read my life without reading my Bible.  Thank you, Barbara Brown Taylor, for your words.  Thank you, Holy Spirit, for offering words to me on Sunday.  Thank you, my church family, for struggling together and seeking to be faithful disciples.

Make us one, Lord.  Make us strong, Lord.  Make us courageous.  Make us faithful.  Amen.

Proper Identification Required

Several weeks ago, prior to wedding season, when I was blogging regularly, I clipped an article from the Washington Post. The article appeared on the front page of the March 16, 2009, Metro section and is titled, "Here, Even Icons Needs IDs." Writer Michael Ruane explains how many people in Washington take for granted the familiarity of the many monuments and tourist attractions in our city. We believe that everyone knows that the tall cement tower extending high in the air is the Washington Monument. However, Ruane interviews tourists from Belgium who, when asked about the Monument, said, "We think it is the Ellipse."

Apparently, the Park Service is now in the process of fully identifying each monument in Washington, taking nothing for granted. In the meantime, I keep thinking about everything we take for granted at the church. There are so many places in our buildings that are not properly marked. And, there are so many parts of our liturgies that are not fully explained.

Right now, we are assuming that everyone knows where the handicap entrance is at Mount Vernon Place; there is no door to properly mark it. We assume that visiting families can find the nursery even though the sign on the temporary nursery door says "library." These things will be changed as soon as phase two of our building is completed, but I wonder how much confusion we have caused so far.

Once a person is on the inside, we do different things. We stand at some times, sit at other times, and offer the invitation to kneel at other times. We pray prayers, listen to scripture readings, hear a sermon, sing songs, pass an offering plate, exchange signs of peace and reconciliation with one another, and hear a closing benediction. It all (well, most of it) makes sense to me. But, I wonder how confusing it is to others.

We are trying to do a better job of explaining to our gathered congregation why we do what we do instead of taking it for granted. I am always trying to think of ways to make the church more user friendly, especially to those on the outside.

What about you? What makes sense in terms of what we do as a gathered community on Sunday mornings? What could use more explanation?

The Miss Markhams of Life

I started a new book this week, "How Starbucks Saved My Life." It is an extraordinary story, written by Michael Gates Gill, that speaks of one person's remarkable success, downward spiral, and then rediscovery as he becomes an employee (Partner is what Starbucks calls it) at Starbucks. I am not even halfway through the book, and I have already caught glimpses of my life and the life of the church in Gill's writing.

On page 63, Gill tells the story of Miss Markham, an elementary school teacher who told Gill who he really was.

"'I have made a decision, she said. 'You, Michael,' she continued, as though making a formal, public statement, 'are destined for greatness. I don't care what you do, or what you don't do. I don't care if you go to some prestigious college, or don't go. I just know: You are great.'

She sat back, dropping my hands, smiling at me.

I did not know what to say. I really didn't understand her point.

She leaned forward and spoke again. 'I almost never do this,' she sad, 'but once every few years I see some young person I feel has exceptional qualities. I want you to know that you are worthy. You. Not just what you do.'"

At church on Sunday, we started a new study in the 9:45 Sunday School class about spiritual gifts. As a result, I have been thinking about my gifts more this week. And, I have been especially thinking about the people who have named my gifts for me, giving me the courage to claim my gifts. I have thought about the Miss Markhams in my life - the people who have told me I am great - not for what I do but for who I am.

This morning, I give thanks for these individuals. I give thanks for Harold Bossaller, the person who told me I was a great public speaker as my FFA advisor in High School. I give thanks for Kathy Krafka Harkema, my first real boss who told me I was dynamic and capable as my work supervisor at the National Suffolk Sheep Association. I give thanks for my mother who always told me I was beautiful even when I was horribly overweight with acne all over my face. I give thanks for Hugh Cameron, my first field education supervisor at Benson Memorial UMC in Raleigh who told me I was a gifted pastoral leader. I give thanks for David Argo who told me I could be a lay leader for a church even though I was not yet 25 and some 10 years later told me that I had what it took to bring a declining church to life again. I give thanks for my Grandma Ivy who always told me how special I am. I give thanks for Wannie Hardin who told me I was one of the most gifted young pastors he had ever worked with. I give thanks for the members of First UMC in Hendersonville, NC who continued to name my gifts for me, entrusting me with so much, as their pastor in 2000-01. I give thanks for the students at Duke Divinity School who told me what a difference I had made in their admission process.

These people - all of these people - are the great cloud of witnesses that surround me each day. These people are the reason I had even ten percent of the courage needed to return to Washington and be a pastor. These voices are the ones I listen for when the voices around me seem to be filled with critique instead of encouragement. These faces are the ones I see smiling at me when others disagree with me. These people are the reason I am Reverend Donna Claycomb Sokol - a child of God trying hard to be faithful as the pastor of Mount Vernon Place.

Thanks be to God for the Miss Markhams of life. Who are your Miss Markhams?

My Easter Sermon - A Whole New World

A Whole New World!
John 20:1-18
April 12, 2009 Easter Sunday
Donna Claycomb Sokol
Mount Vernon Place UMC, Washington

There have been a few times in my life when something appeared to be so solid, so unbreakable, so much a part of life that I never dreamed it would change – only to later find myself living in what seemed to be a whole new world.

I remember well the first time I experienced the loss of a friend. Randy Gross is the person who stepped in when my father stepped out. He was a gifted businessman in our community and active in our local church. My sister and I regularly babysat for his children, and Randy would often drive us home filling the car with a listening ear and a voice of encouragement. In many ways, it was Randy who had tucked the pillow of God under my head when I was prepared to give up on God. Randy was fit and trim. He played basketball almost every day. And still, Randy’s life was stripped short, stopped in the middle of an ordinary game on the basketball court when he suffered a heart attack and died at the age of 42. At that time, the world as I knew it seemed to be turned upside down. I learned that life is not always fair – that bad things happen to good people – that some questions arise that will never be answered.

For many of us, the times we are experiencing in our nation are unlike anything we have experienced before. Each week I learn of someone else whose economic security blanket has been pulled from beneath them. Individuals who have worked for the same company for 15-20 years are being asked to leave. People who thought there was no doubt that they would be retiring from this same company have been given pink slips. Women and men with master’s degrees and extensive experience in a myriad of fields are working for minimum wage. Countless others are pounding the pavement, resumes in hand, eager to see what door might open. And while all of this is happening, those who have retired are wondering if their hard-earned investments will ever rise to the level where they were before the economy started to weaken. Our nation’s economy that once seemed to strong – so indestructible – has been spun around with us all holding on tight, praying that we have seen the worst of it and that recovery is on the way.

It does not take much for the world to be changed.
One senseless death.
One lost job.
One parent leaving.
One diagnosis at the doctor’s office.
One closed company.
One plane hitting a tower.
One broken heart.
One accident.
One empty tomb.

It is early, on the first day of the week, John tells us, when Mary Magdalene first arrives at the tomb. As she approaches the tomb, she notices that the stone has been rolled away. This moved stone is enough to fill Mary’s head with questions and conclusions. Instead of looking inside, we are told that Mary Magdalene takes off running. She runs to Simon Peter and the other disciple who Jesus loves, telling them how “they” have taken Jesus out of the tomb. With this announcement, we are told that Simon Peter and the other disciple also take off running, with the disciple whom Jesus loved reaching the tomb first. He looks in, notices the wrappings, but does not go in. Simon Peter, however, runs right in when he arrives at the tomb. Seeing the courage of Simon Peter and recognizing that nothing has happened to him so far, the other disciple also walks in. They are in a tomb that contains only the linens that once covered Jesus’ body. One disciple sees and believes, we are told, while Simon Peter does not seem to react. Neither of them, however seems to comprehend how the things that Jesus has told them are true – how he would die and then rise again. The two men do not jump with joy when they see the empty tomb. Instead, John tells us that they returned to their homes.

While the two disciples have returned home, Mary Magdalene remains outside the tomb weeping. And, her remaining there allows her to be the first to not only see Jesus standing in her midst.

The man originally thought to be a gardener calls Mary by name. When Mary hears her name being spoken, Mary believes. And then Mary rushes off to tell others what she has seen. I have seen the Lord!

Three people were there that day. One disciple did not seem to be touched by the empty tomb. Another disciple saw the empty tomb and believed but still went home as though nothing had happened. Mary remained, filled with doubt and concluding that the worst had happened. But when Mary hears her name, she believes, and she runs off to tell others what has happened, how she has seen the Lord.

We can catch a glimpse of ourselves in each of these characters. There are some of us who will linger outside the tomb all day. Along with Mary, we will not believe until we have a personal, upfront encounter with Jesus.

Some of us accept the story at face value.

Some of us will rush out and tell others how we have seen the Lord while others will remain silent.

And yet, no matter which character we identify with in this particular account, there is power in the message of Easter that gives us hope unlike anything else. When the world as we know it seems to be turning around or falling apart, it is this message that offers us a whole new world.
Like every church’s resurrection window, Jesus is the focal point of our church’s window. But something else stood out to me as I looked at this window earlier this week. What stood out to me are the knife and the piercing sword. The knife is laid down, and the sword seems to have lost its power. The sword is still pointing towards Jesus, but it is not piercing Jesus. These weapons and those who hold them have lost its power. At the same time, the cross lost its original power and was given a whole new meaning.

Long before Jesus came into the world, the cross had a symbolic meaning in the Roman world. The cross was used to kill many individuals long before Jesus was killed. People were crucified, one after another, for doing something wrong. For many people in Rome, the cross meant, “we Romans run this place, and if you get in our way we’ll obliterate you – and do it pretty nastily too,” N.T. Wright explains. He continues, “Crucifixion meant that the kingdom hadn’t come, not that it had.”[1] The cross meant that some greater power was in control. There was authority, and it rested with the Roman leadership. If you crossed paths, deviated from their plans for society, or went the wrong way, then you were crucified. Wright explains, “Death is the last weapon of the tyrant, and the point of the resurrection despite much misunderstanding, is that death has been defeated. Resurrection is not the redescription of death; it is its overthrow and, with that, the overthrow of those whose power depends on it.”[2]

Every time we gather in this place, we pray the words, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” On Easter morning, this prayer was answered. The kingdom did come as the tyrant’s weapon was destroyed. And, the kingdom is still breaking in all around us as God’s ways continue to triumph over the ways of those who seek to rule in ways contrary to the spirit of God.

As Christians, we tend to put so much emphasis on what happens when we die. We tend to believe that the only message of Easter is life after death. And while this message is so central and so mysterious and so beautiful, if we only believe this message then we, too, can go right on home today without doing anything else just as the two disciples did. We can get busy dying, praying that death will come sooner rather than later. But the message of Easter is that we had better get busy living!

A whole new world made possible thru the resurrection of Jesus has arrived. On this day, heaven came to earth. God’s perfect plan of salvation triumphed over the Roman authority’s last weapon. Christ has won. Violence, war and death do not have dominion. Economic powers no longer have their hold. Political principalities no longer have the final say. The doctor’s diagnosis is not the reason we have or do not have hope. The love of another person is not what provides our security. The presence of a job or lack thereof is not what gives us our identity. And whatever it is that we have been enslaved to, we have been released. What we have, on Easter day, is fresh grass, bright red tulips, and yellow daffodils breaking through the concrete of corruption. We have a whole new world!

We have just finished one of the more intensive times in the Christian year. For many people, Lent can be the only time in the year when we truly try to live a disciplined life. Like training for a marathon, many of us do things or give up things in the six weeks of Lent that we would never do at any other time. We are more focused during Lent and then Easter comes. On this day, some of the discipline goes out the window. We return to life as normal, resuming our usual way of life. Many of my colleagues think, “Thank God, I made it through Easter,” and go away on vacation tomorrow. We say to ourselves, “Lent is over. Easter has come. We can now go home.” But if we let Easter last only one day – if the celebration is a mere few hours long – then we have also missed the point.

N.T. Wright shares how Easter “ought to be an eight-day festival, with champagne served after morning prayer or even before, with lots of alleluias and extra hymns and spectacular anthems.” He goes on to ask, “Is it any wonder people find it hard to believe in the resurrection of Jesus if we don’t throw our hats in the air? Is it any wonder we find it hard to live the resurrection if we don’t do it exuberantly in our liturgies? Is it any wonder the world doesn’t take much notice if Easter is celebrated as simply the one-day happy ending tacked on to forty days of fasting and gloom? It’s long overdue that we took a hard look at how we keep Easter in church, at home, in our personal lives, right through the system.”[3]

As many of you know, I spent last week at what has become one of my favorite places on earth. Holy Cross Abbey is nestled in the valley of the Shenandoah Mountains in a place called Berryville, Virginia. It is a place where I can enjoy both the most relaxing and the most productive week of the year – a rare combination, what some would even call an oxymoron. It is the only place where I can consistently put God before everything else in my life and come close to reading six books in one week. One of the books I read last week left me speechless.

The book shares the same title of a popular song sung by REM several years ago, “Losing My Religion.” The author of the book William Lobdell, was the religion reporter for the Los Angeles Times. He shares his journey in this powerful book that stirs at your heart in the beginning, middle and end. Lobdell writes of how he found God – he found God in a powerful way. God answered many of his prayers, including his prayer to become the religious writer for the paper. And then, the paper commissioned him out to cover one scandal after another in the church.

Lobdell is sent all over the country to interview victims of sexual abuse – abuse by priests – many of whom had a long record of child sexual abuse but were never removed from the priesthood. Lobdell writes story after story of the church he longed to be a part of and the church he found – Catholic and Protestant. And after a while, Lobdell throws his hands up, concluding that if God were real, then surely the people who follow God would act differently. Throughout his reporting, Lobdell has a hard time distinguishing between those who are Christian and those who are atheists. There just is not much difference in their behavior – at all.

Lobdell writes, “It was discouragingly easy – though incredibly surprising – to find out that Christians, as a group, acted no differently than anyone else, including atheists. Sometimes they performed a little better; other times a little worse. But the Body of Christ didn’t stand out as morally superior.”[4] He then goes on to quote research from the Barna Group, a much respected Christian research organization about the behavior of Christians versus non-Christians when it comes to divorce, racism, generosity, and a myriad of other issues. Lobdell then says, “If the Lord is real, it would make sense for the people of God, on average to be superior morally and ethically to the rest of society. Statistically, they aren’t. I also believe that God’s institutions, on average, should function on a higher moral plain than governments or corporations. I don’t see any evidence of this. It’s hard to believe in God when it’s impossible to tell the difference between His people and atheists.”[5]

If Christ has been raised from the dead, triumphing over the tyrant and death itself, then we are given every possible reason to embrace a whole new world – to live a whole new life. My life and the lives around me have not been turned upside down only by the bad things that happen. I’ve also seen lives being turned upside down when God gets involved. I’ve seen it happen when people allow the story of Easter to take control of their lives.

I heard about a whole new world last week when John was sharing his testimony, telling us about dark days and pain-filled nights that even all the alcohol in the world could not diminish. The only thing that could truly bring him from the depths of despair was a God who knew pain, who took on more pain than any of us can imagine, promising that nothing in our lives can have its grip forever.

I have heard about it from one of you who could have gone to law school this year. Instead, you accepted a job in Washington that has taken you to the edge of violence and the trenches of poverty. You have taken breakfast to hundreds of people in this city, recognizing that part of our task as Christians is to make sure that all people are fed – on earth as it is in heaven.

I have heard about it by one of you who shared how your heart has been broken time and again by messages proclaimed in pulpits about how some people are condemned to eternal judgment. You have sense fought tirelessly and passionately about how to bring about a different kind of love, compassion and welcome in the United Methodist Church – to make our churches known for having doors wide open to all people instead of shut to some people because of their sexual orientation – a church that shares the love of God with all people – on earth as it is in heaven.

And, I saw it all the time in the life of Harry McLean in whose memory we created the Easter Fund. Though the church does not have a food bank, Harry often showed up with a bag of food to be given to the poor. Though many of us gave up on helping make meals to be given to people living with AIDS and other life-threatening illnesses, Harry took three buses to get to Food and Friends. Though I still have no idea what to do with the prostitutes who work in our community, Harry said it could be as easy as my inviting them to church. Harry brought heaven down to earth all the time, making sure that others could experience God’s kingdom, God’s ways, on earth as it is in heaven.

Yesterday afternoon, my husband Craig walked into the house. He started talking at the bottom of the stairs that lead to our condo, saying how we were going to be so excited about who he had run into. He continued to share, “You’re never going to believe the person I just saw. It was so exciting to see him. I cannot believe I ran into him.” He then got to the top of the stairs with my excitement peaked, and he handed over a generous bag of very nice chocolates saying, “I ran into the Easter Bunny.”

Today, we run into someone else. We run into an empty tomb. We run into a risen savior. We run into a whole new world. What if our lives told the same story, “You’re never going to believe what just happened to me. You’re never going to believe who I have met. I have seen the Lord! And this is what he brought – promises of how the poor will receive good news, the lame will walk, the blind will see, the sinners will be forgiven, the first will be last, the last will be first, the captives will be released, heaven will come to earth. It’s a whole new world! A whole new world!”
[1] N.T. Wright, Surprised By Hope, New York: HarperOne, 2008, 40.
[2] N.T. Wright, 50.
[3] N.T. Wright, 256.
[4] William Lobdell, Losing My Religion, New York: HarperCollins, 2009, 204-05.
[5] Lobdell, 271.

S-T-R-E-T-C-H-E-D

I set my alarm for 6:30 this morning but could hardly get out of bed - even when the clock said 8:15 a.m.  My body, mind, and spirit seem to be running on empty - exhausted, stretched to the limit.  I have spent the better part of the day in my pajamas, catching up on things that should have been done weeks ago and putting away things that have been in boxes for almost 10 months now.  In between all of this, I have been listening to music, lighting candles and reading a new book.  

I am exhausted.  I am feeling rather burned-out.  I have been stretched to the limit, and much of my exhaustion is because of decisions I have made - not decisions others have made for me.

I have accepted too many invitations.  I have said "yes" to the request to officiate at weddings for people I have never even met before, thinking that people might come to the church as a result and that the extra money can be really helpful.  I have said "yes" to participating in a book project containing different liturgies for Sunday morning, thinking that the list of coauthors was rather impressive and that the extra money would again be helpful.  I have said "yes" to being the last one to leave the church yesterday, making sure every door was locked, thinking that I could save the church a few extra dollars on security.  I have said "yes" to too many things instead of focusing on the main things.  

This issue is not new - my attention often seems to be consumed by things that are not that important, taking away from things that are really important.  While preaching on Sunday mornings is quite possibly the most important thing I do all week, there are times when writing the sermon gets pushed all the way back to Fridays.  While taking care of my body through eating and exercising is the thing that can help me enjoy life the most, I too often have gym reports that say I was only there once or twice a week in any given month.  While my attention needs to be focused on shepherding the flock whom I am called to serve, my energy can be zapped by committee meetings and administrative details that could easily be taken care of by other people.

I am discerning again today what are the main things in my life.  Cultivating my marriage is at the top of this list.  Taking better care of myself through diet and exercise is moving to a higher position.  Spending time with friends is important.  Making sure I have quiet time to study, pray and listen for God is important.

When it comes to the church, visiting our sick, our elderly and our members is important.  Making time to get to know newcomers in the church and following up on all visitors is important.  Carving out time for reading, sermon writing, and sermon practicing is important.   Planning good worship is important.  Making sure I am casting a vision for the congregation and also working with our leaders is important.  And yet, too often these things are pushed to the back burner.  

Why is it that we do not keep the main thing the main thing?  Why is it that we allow ourselves to be stretched so thin?

My focus is shifting again this week - to the main thing.  

It's Raining Again

It's cold and rainy in Washington, DC today.  It is not the kind of day when you rush to step outside, go for a long walk, marveling at the Cherry Blossoms.  Rather, it's the kind of day when you want to stay inside, clear your schedule, put on a teapot, and curl up with a book.  It's a dreary day, a gloomy day, a somewhat sad day.

On days like this, my heart aches a little.  There is something about the melancholy of the weather that makes me think about those who are sick, hurting, broken.  My mind is consumed with thoughts of Dorine who struggles in intensive care.  I think of my mother's first Easter without her husband, Red.  I am praying for those who have lost jobs and for our nation as our debt reaches record levels.  I am thinking of those who are huddled on the porch of our church, unsure of when they will find a home next or even their next meal.

All is not well.  There is sadness, brokenness, sin, loss.

I can imagine how Mary and the other women must have felt on this day.  On Good Friday, they would have watched as their beloved son, friend, teacher, and guide was crucified.  They would have watched as he carried his cross and then died a violent death.  They would have heard the seven last words from the cross - coming from the mouth of Jesus himself.  And, I can imagine that when Saturday came, they had a hard time getting out of bed.  I can imagine that their outlook on life wanted to keep them inside the house instead of outside in the marketplace.  I can imagine that their thoughts were filled more with despair than with hope.

Thankfully, we know the rest of the story.  The sun is supposed to rise tomorrow.  The rain is forecasted to end.  Along with this change in the weather, we will gather to celebrate the only reason any of us can have hope for today, tomorrow and all eternity.  While the tomb is now consumed and the cross is empty, the tomb will be emptied in the morning.  Jesus will rise again.  We will shout, "Hallelujah!  He is Risen!" and then sing together, "Christ the Lord is Risen Today."

In the meantime, I am wrestling with what it must have felt like to be in Jerusalem some 2000 years ago on this day.  Hope would have been hard to find.  I'm so thankful that the tomb was not filled for long.  I am so thankful that on the third day, the tomb was emptied.

Our hope has been found.  I'd love to tell you about it in the morning.  Please come join us at 11:00 at Mount Vernon Place.

Joy!

"But is this not what we covered last year?" Father Mark asked, after a period of silence in which he appeared to be looking deep within his soul.

"Yes, Father.  This is what we covered last year.  But I am still having a hard time.  I am still searching for, longing for balance.  The busy-ness of the church so often invades my space - the space that should be saved and protected for God.  The church so often comes first - long before prayer, reading, rest, confession, solitude," I shared.

"Humm," Father Mark replied.  "A priest was just here last week with the exact same problem.  I told him he needed to get help - to get an associate.  But, let me share something else with you."

Father Mark continued, "When I was about to graduate from medical school (Father Mark was a doctor for 5 years before becoming a monk) and start my practice as an obstetrician, I knew the hard, long hours that were about to invade my life.  The one thing I asked my family for graduation was season tickets to the Boston Symphony.  I knew that the week would be long, hard, and beautiful.  And, I wanted something to look forward to every week.  Every Saturday night, I knew that my soul would find rest and renewal.  I knew that I would find joy in that space."

"What is it that gives you joy?" Father Mark asked.  "If you are making space for joy, then I believe you will also be naturally more inclined to turn to God - to give God thanks and to be in a more intentional relationship with God."

These morsels of wisdom arrived on day three of my retreat at Holy Cross Abbey in Berryville, Virginia last week.  It was my second visit to Holy Cross - the second time I would spend the week before Holy Week in solitude, silence, prayer, praise, and contemplation.  My nights last week were filled with long hours of sleep - going to bed early and rising early.  My days were spent taking long walks along the sides of pastures where cattle graze, eating simple meals, reading some six different books, going to any of the five services that happen in the daily life of the abbey, listening to the monks chant back and forth, hearing the voice of birds and crickets, praying, writing, and discovering more about myself and my relationship with God.

When I got back to my room, I made a list of the things that give me joy.  This is what I wrote, unedited, "Manicures, Bill's exercise classes at the gym, Craig, a good sermon, a good book, a good movie, coffee with newcomers, people from Hendersonville, Mary Elizabeth, the Thursday Bible study, good food, tulips or fresh flowers, grocery shopping, buying cards, family, long walks, blogging."

I then added in my journal, "When I am making time for these things, then I will be more likely to also make time for God."

What gives you joy?  What's on your list?

May we find - discover - make time for joy and for God this week.