The Politics of Jesus: Why it Matters

Psalm 146 and Luke 14:1, 7-14

August 28, 2016

Mount Vernon Place UMC

            It might surprise some of you to hear what I’m about to say, but I need to tell you anyway. I’m a rather opinionated person. I have strong opinions on the church and the kind of leadership it needs for the future. I have strong opinions on politics and policy making. And, I have all kinds of opinions about other peoples’ opinions! 

            I suspect that if we were to all share our opinions with each other on the church and politics that many of you would leave the room and never return – as you should. I believe strongly in the separation of church and state. I do not believe the church should endorse any candidate for political office. And I have worked hard to keep patriotism whether sung, spoken or symbolized outside the sanctuary. What we do here is to worship God, learn more about God’s ways, and discover what it means to become more faithful disciples of Jesus Christ. And that is my hope and prayer for this new worship series called "The Politics of Jesus."

            I was taught in my introduction to political science class that politics is “the ability to produce intended or foreseen effects upon others.” It’s a definition that resonates with me as I think about what candidates, elected officials and lobbyists say and do to get people to vote for them or to move a piece of legislation forward. We are in a city that is overflowing with people who want to produce intended or foreseen effects upon others.

            But Parker Palmer, whose work Healing the Heart of Democracy will be used throughout this series, defines politics with these words: “the essential and eternal human effort to craft the common life on which we all depend.”[1] While I was taught that politics is about me getting you to do whatever I want, Palmer reminds us that politics requires that we take account of everyone around us, and seek to weave “a fabric of compassion and justice on which everyone can depend.”[2]

            Palmer says we cannot enter into politics without making sure our hearts are front and center. He reminds us of the original meaning of the word “heart” which “comes from the Latin cor and points not merely to our emotions but to the core of the self, that center place where all of our ways of knowing converge.” But cor is “also the Latin root from which we get the word courage.” He writes, “When all that we understand of self and world comes together in the center place called the heart, we are more likely to find the courage to act humanely on what we know.”[3]

            How often do you hear people start with the heart when talking about politics?

How often are political decisions dictated first by the heart and second by deeply held convictions that we have refused to allow anyone to challenge or even question ourselves because it’s the way we have been taught to believe?

            Only when the heart is front and center can we imagine politics as what Palmer describes as “the ancient and honorable human endeavor of creating a community in which the weak as well as the strong can flourish, love and power can collaborate, and justice and mercy can have their day.”[4]

            What would it take for such a vision to become a reality in every place where people are making decisions that impact others?

            Perhaps it starts with the posture we take when approaching “the other” whoever the other might be.

            Jesus often uses the table as a key place of learning and especially in Luke’s gospel. In fact, former professor of preaching Fred Craddock explains how “Nothing can be for Luke more serious than a dining table.” [5] The dining table is where Jesus is most revealed. It’s where we celebrate the Eucharist. And, it’s where Jesus gathered all kinds of people to teach and reprove.

            It’s at the table where today’s lesson occurs, and not just any table, but a wedding feast. In ancient Palestine, male banquet guests would have gathered around the table in reclined seats with a particular order to the seating. The center table at a wedding banquet in Palestine was reserved for whoever the most prominent guests were in attendance. The people in the center were people who had the most wealth or power. They got the center seats because of the office they held. In our day, you can imagine the President, Members of Congress or CEOs sitting in the center, something that does, in fact, regularly happen.

            But Jesus challenges the seating arrangement. He watches people choose the seats of honor, and he admonishes them to instead take a lower seat. Don’t go for the place of honor. Rather, assume your place is somewhere else in the room. Sit down, and wait until you’re invited to a different table. “All who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.”[6]

            If you receive the weekly email, then you may know that I invited you to try to imagine our two presidential candidates seeking the lower seat, and not just the lower seat, but I took it a step further. Imagine for a moment Donald Trump sitting below Hillary Clinton and asking her for wisdom or even for an explanation of why she has the views she has. And then imagine Hillary Clinton doing the same thing – assuming a posture that demonstrates how she doesn’t know everything but rather might learn something from Mr. Trump. And then imagine what might happen if these two individuals actually shared a meal together where they could look one another in the eye and be vulnerable enough to share their hearts, asking each other questions about what makes it beat, what robs its joy, what breaks it in two. Would they be able to leave that meal and proceed to demonize each other on the nightly news? 

            And what about us?

I’ve heard more people say this year that they are voting for “the lesser of two evils” for president than any other year.  How regularly do you call someone evil? Some of us may not be able to remember the last time we referred to someone as evil other than Mrs. Clinton or Mr. Trump. But do we really believe they are evil, that the devil is actively working within them? And what does our saying they are evil or our constantly putting them down say about us – myself included?

I cannot begin to count how many times I have cursed at the television when a story comes on about this year’s presidential election. I’ve taken my disappointment to social media. I’ve allowed these two people to get to me, one more than the other, and bring out words that are not exactly words I’d like Jesus to hear me saying. I’ve shouted at the television more during this presidential election season than I have shouted at the screen when Duke was playing in the Final Four.

And I thought it was all perfectly acceptable.

But this week I’ve been challenged to behave differently.

            I believe God cares deeply about nearly every issue we refer to as "political" - and not just the issues the church regularly gets involved with like abortion or marriage -  whether it’s the environment, the economy, war, peace, guns, immigration, and so many others. But what I realized as I read, studied and prayed this week is that God cares even more about the status of our hearts!

            Jesus constantly used the ordinary, everyday life activities as examples in his teaching. He used the “home and marketplace, farm and fishing boat” to reveal what life looks like in the kingdom of God – the place where God’s presence is tangibly seen through the ways people live.  The Greek historian “Plutarch once observed that it is in the small, apparently trivial act that character is most accurately reflected.”[7] What, then does our political life – the stances we have taken, the words we have spoken, the judgments we have made, the demonization we have contributed to – say about our character? What do our words and actions say about our love of God and neighbor?

            Palmer offers two words that most summarize the habits of the heart American citizens need today in response to our current conditions: chutzpah and humility. Chutzpah is the recognition that we have a voice to share, one that needs to be heard as well as the right to use this voice. Humility is “accepting the fact that my truth is always partial and may not be true at all – so I need to listen with openness and respect, especially to ‘the other.’”[8] While we may think there is plenty of chutzpah to go around, there are many of us who have forgotten that we are all called to speak up and participate. Politics is not meant to be a spectator sport, and we are not called to be complacent. 

But humility – that capacity to always say something with the recognition that I might not be right – goodness that’s a hard one to find and embody. And it was certainly lacking over a recent family vacation when I was stunned to learn that my father is not just supporting a candidate but actually giving him money. Imagine if all of us had an equal amount of humility to match our chutzpah!

So where do we go from here?

One theologian recently suggested that we use the next 70 or so days separating us from the election to only post positive things on Facebook instead of participating in the demonization of Mr. Trump and Mrs. Clinton. I’m trying to follow her advice.

Perhaps we seek out someone whose views are different than are own and share a meal together in hopes of seeing a glimpse of their heart, making sure we give them the seat of honor in the process.

Maybe we try to daily pray for both Donald and Hillary by name, asking God to bless them and give them wisdom, guidance and grace while remembering how both of these individuals are created in the image of God.

And all of us need to remember who really is in charge. I recall when President Obama was running for office how many campaign posters had his image on it as well as the word “Hope.” It was as if we had never heard the word hope before and were ready to usher in a new savior of the world. But President Obama did not bring hope to this world. Jesus did, and Jesus still is.

Just as no political candidate is Satan, neither is any political candidate our savior. None of them can fix every obstacle facing our nation and our world.  The Psalmist teaches that our praise should never be aimed for princes or presidents who are here today and gone tomorrow. We should not believe that our help is in policies no matter how just-filled they might be.

Rather, there is one who came so that we might have life and life abundant.

This one is alpha and omega, the beginning and the end.

This one executes justice for the oppressed, gives food to the hungry, sets the prisoner free, opens the eyes of the blind, lifts up those who are bowed down, loves the righteous, watches over the strangers, upholds the orphan and the widow.

And this one does not do it alone but rather calls and equips the church, ordinary people like you and me, to join in extraordinary work that can change and transform our city and God’s world.

May our lives be filled with praise and be worthy of praise – our church lives and our political lives. May our lives be overflowing with chutzpah and humility. May we embody a politics that is not only worthy of the human spirit, but one that is worthy of God who created us, called us and invites us to join God in the redemption of the world.

Thanks be to God.

Amen.

---

[1] Parker Palmer, Healing the Heart of Democracy (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 2011) 6.

[2] Palmer, xii.

[3] Palmer, 6.

[4] Palmer, 8.

[5] Fred Craddock, Interpretation: Luke (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2009), 175.

[6] Luke 14:11.

[7] Craddock, 176.

[8] Palmer, 43.

Who Do You Influence?

My summer started with my heart being shocked back into place. I wasn't sick. I wasn't being monitored. But I had placed aside some of what matters to me and keeps me going. I went on retreat with my clergywomen's group where I quickly realized how much I needed the daily rhythm of prayer and Bible study. As we gathered together for morning and evening prayer, my heart was quenched, saturated with grace. I returned home and ordered one of the books used daily by a woman in our group, and Celtic Prayer has been speaking to me each morning ever since. It's quickly become my favorite devotional book, and I highly recommend it to you if you're looking for light on your path.

Today's reading has captured me. Words from Iona are the assigned reading for this week in August. We read briefly about Columba's journey to the isle of Iona yesterday. Today, these words opened this part of the devotional: "Columba and his brothers lived in simple huts, praying for each other, and for all those far and wide whose lives they were to influence."

Columba prayed for all those whose lives they were to influence.

Whose are you called to influence?

Who am I called to influence? In what lives do I seek to make a difference? These questions stirred the depth of my soul this morning. Who am I to influence today? And next week? And next year? And in my lifetime?

I long to influence the people who gather at Mount Vernon Place UMC, a surprising and beautiful congregation in the heart of Washington. I want to influence this congregation to make a profound difference through their love, their generosity, their ability to see people no one else sees, their service, their faith and their thoughtfulness. I want to influence them to love our children, our unhoused neighbors, our people who allow themselves to be defined by their business card, and anyone who has 1000 friends on Facebook and no one to call on Friday night. I want to influence them to think about the power of their light and how this light shines all the time wherever we are. I want to influence them to think faithfully and theologically about how they use their time, their money and their talents. This morning I pray for Mount Vernon Place.

As we near the completion of our book manuscript currently titled, "A New Day in the City" to be published by Abingdon in the Spring of 2017, I long to influence pastors and congregations who are in places where words like "decline" or "tired" are spoken more often than "growing" or "vibrant." I long for the stories and wisdom that Roger and I are seeking to share to touch people, to cause them to think, to motivate them to take risks, to step out more often in faith, to embody excellence, to be true to themselves instead of stepping into someone else's clothes to reach new people. I long for us to influence a conversation about how God can and still is putting new flesh on dry bones. This morning I pray for every person who might feel led to read this book and the conversations that will prayerfully be inspired by it.

I long to influence people who love the sun more than sunscreen.

I want to influence individuals to think faithfully and theologically about what it means to love God and neighbor in this election season when the stakes seem so high.

I want to influence men and women who are discerning a call to ministry or those who have already answered this call, prayerfully showing them how incredible pastoral ministry can be.

The invitation to influence is everywhere! And it's daunting and life-giving at the same time to respond to such an invitation. 

Who are you called to influence? 

How are you praying for them? 

God, will you please show me how to use what has been entrusted to me to faithfully inspire, open, guide and influence individuals in my midst? Will you help the congregation I know and love best to see the power and possibility of their influence? Remind us again of how our lives are always speaking. May all I say and do be an offering to you as I seek to humbly follow you and make a difference in the world around me. Amen. 

The First Day

Eleven years ago today I pulled my Jeep into a small parking lot off K Street, rang a doorbell, and was greeted by a chain locked door that would not open. The building engineer soon came down, helped me unload some boxes of books, and showed me to the church office. I opened the door to the sound of window air conditioning units blowing and the smell of Wendy's french fries. Two women sat at the two desks eating their lunches. They kindly looked up and said "hello" while the engineer led me into a large office. These memories of my arrival are etched in my mind. A first impression quickly enabled me to see what was waiting for me.

It was in the middle of my first week when I gathered with our Staff Parish Relations Committee. The chair was a 97-year-old, incredibly classy and kind, nearly lifelong Washingtonian named Mabel. She led the meeting with a table of older adults who seemed to be filled with suspicion around who I was, what led me to their church, and how I was going to change them. But at the end of the meeting, Mabel looked me in the eye and said, "Donna, Mount Vernon Place is in the center of the city. Washington needs Mount Vernon Place, and Mount Vernon Place needs you. Don't you ever forget that you have the best job in Washington." 

I listened to her words that night and quickly concluded that I had just left the best job available when I emptied my office at Duke where I had served as Director of Admissions for the Divinity School for four years. Did Mabel have any idea how I felt after only five days as her pastor? Did she understand how big the task was before us?

It's been 11 years, and I can now easily say I have the best job in Washington. There was little about the first two years that was easy, however. We sometimes went six weeks without a single first time guest in worship. It took more than a year to attract a new member. There were no baptisms in the first couple of years but many, many funerals. It was tempting to quit at times. There were several weeks when I could not wait for the Christian Century to arrive so I could read the job postings, praying there would be something there for me. But God's grace and faithfulness prevailed, and the Spirit showed me how she was at work often. 

In the last couple of weeks, several people have reached out for advice for what to do first in their new church as the appointment year begins in the United Methodist Church. There are a million things I could say and a few things I would have done differently. But the most important thing is to follow the example of Jesus.

Luke tells us that twelve-year-old Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem while his parents returned home. They assumed he was with them only to later find that he was in the temple where he sat among the teachers, listened to them, and asked questions (Luke 2:46). Our learning is never over. When I first arrived at MVP, two Baptist pastors generously invited me to join their weekly conversation at Starbucks. They had both led change in their downtown congregations and were willing to instill wisdom within me while also offering constant encouragement. Please try to find teachers who you can sit with and ask questions. Imagine yourself a constant student who has learned much with even more left to learn. 

Jesus then begins his ministry. He is baptized and hears the words, "You are my Son, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased" (Luke 3:22). Try to never forget either part of this statement. You are God's child, God's beloved. God adores you. God is also well pleased with you. Your congregation will not always be pleased with you. Not everyone will like you. In the times when you are told who is against you, seek to remember the one who is for you...no matter what.

Jesus is then tempted in the wilderness but is able to escape without giving into the devil's desires. There will be numerous temptations on your way - to sin boldly, to make more money, to have more success or power, to believe it's about you. Spend time in prayer every day. Seek to be filled with the knowledge of scripture that keeps your feet on a steady path.

We then find Jesus returning to Nazareth where he enters the synagogue and stands up to read. He proclaims a word from the prophet Isaiah about how the Spirit of the Lord is upon him to bring good news to the poor, release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, and to let the oppressed go free (Luke 4:18-19). Jesus then announces that the scripture is fulfilled in their hearing on that day. Jesus quickly makes it clear what he is there to do. He has an agenda, a calling to fulfill, work to be done. 

On the first day of an introduction to political science class while in college, I learned that politics is "the ability to produce intended or foreseen effects upon others." Preaching should have the same goal. Every time we proclaim God's word, we want people to be changed - to be filled with hope, to know they are beloved, to know who Jesus is and was, to understand God's call on their life, to be moved into action, to be given the courage to work to set the oppressed free, to understand how they have a light to shine, to be called to embody generosity, to practice and receive forgiveness, to love God and neighbor, and so much more. Please never forget how God uses your words to shape and form people. Take time to create a plan for your preaching. Go away for a week each year to sketch out where you seek to lead your people in the coming year. God is ready to speak through you.

Jesus then quickly surrounds himself with a group of disciples who will share in his ministry. He calls ordinary people to join him on the journey. You, too, need to call out the gifts of others in your midst. You need to invite people into ministry with you and allow people to see how they can make a difference in serving others both inside and outside the walls of the church building. But you also need to surround yourself with a group of people who can fully understand what you're going through.

Nearly five years ago, six clergywomen were granted money from the College of Pastoral Leaders at Austin Seminary to learn how to love God and neighbor together. The funds lasted two years but five of us are still gathering. We seek to meet monthly, and the space is always made safe to share whatever is bringing us down, causing us joy, or challenging the depth of our being. We seek to help each other become more faithful disciples, better pastors, better wives, and better mothers (for three in the group). These women provide accountability, encouragement and bread for my journey. Please do not look to your church members to be your support or your friends. Find people outside your church to journey with you and to know you fully. 

Finally, learn how to shake the dust of your feet and move on. People will leave your church, and their leaving can cause significant pain no matter who they are or why they leave. But remember that it's not all about you. Your role is to help people grow in their faith and experience God. People may realize that your congregation is not the best community in which this growth can happen. They may get frustrated with you and see your shortcomings more than your gifts. Listen to their concerns and do everything you can to find common ground. Apologize often if you have made a mistake. Make room for conversations in which you seek to learn as much about your shortcomings as possible. But do not believe you are there to please everyone, and do not hold the criticism for long. When the criticism comes, pull out your email folder and the folder in the filing cabinet that is labeled "HAPPY" - the files you have filled with notes of gratitude affirming your gifts. Remember who you are. Beloved. Precious. Child of God.

Oh, and one more thing - perhaps the most important thing. Love your people - the ones who love you and the ones who don't yet like you. Show up in their lives when they are hurting and when they are rejoicing. Write notes to them filled with gratitude for who they are and how they are offering their gifts or allowing God to shine through them. Pray for them often. Tell them regularly how much you love being their pastor. Don't let them forget that you believe you have the best job in Washington - or wherever you might be.

I'm praying for you and with you as your time begins. Being a pastor is a joy for which none of us is worthy. Don't take it for granted.

I Want to Live Like This

It's my birthday! Today I celebrate 44 years of life. And since the entire weekend has been a celebration as Craig and I spent time with his family in New Jersey, today has been a day to rest, reflect and do a few things I love. I've gone to the gym and allowed my body to be pushed by my personal trainer. I've journeyed to the grocery store to select several of our favorite foods including ones for a special meal tonight since it's also our 8th wedding anniversary. And, I've watched my Facebook Timeline be filled with greetings from individuals representing every chapter of my life. 

Facebook is an extraordinary means of grace on one's birthday as people take time to share birthday wishes. While many posts include the traditional words, "Happy Birthday," there are a few posts that have named my gifts or shared a particular memory. There is another post that suggests I party like a rock star - something I've certainly done before or perhaps even this weekend when I tasted Hendrick's Gin for the first time and decided one time was not enough. And there are other posts that invite me to enjoy the "best year ever." 

It's quite an invitation to ponder what the "best year ever" would entail. What would I do if I was to live the best year ever? How would I pattern my days? Would my budget or schedule change? Who would I seek to spend time with or call out of the blue? What would I stop doing because it no longer mattered? I've been pondering these questions all day as if it's New Year's Eve, and I'm ready to make some changes.

I want to take better care of myself. While I treat my two weekly sessions with a personal trainer as though they are bread from heaven, something I would not dare miss, I've yet to master the art of getting to the gym five days a week or even eating five fruits and vegetables for seven days a week. I want to grow old with knees that can hold my weight and legs that want to wander all over the place. I want to be able to feel good in whatever I select that's hanging in my closet.

I want to be a better friend. There are so many individuals who I say mean the world to me but who I rarely call. I have a box of birthday cards that don't get mailed on a regular basis. There are several people who see me and say, "I know you're really busy, but...." But I don't want to be too busy for friends. I want to spend more time cultivating longtime friendships and making new ones.

I want to be the most faithful pastor I can be. I want to be filled with gratitude and thanksgiving. I want to make a difference in the lives of whoever God puts in my path. I want to know that what we are doing in downtown DC matters to people inside and outside our doors. I want to do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with God.

And I want to seize opportunities to experience new things that lead to wonder, surprise, joy and delight. We spent yesterday at the Jersey shore. We delighted in Manco & Manco's pizza, stopped for a custard from Kohr's, went in and out of different shops, allowed the sea breeze to kiss our skin, and listened to the sound of the ocean roaring. We took delight in watching our cousins, niece and nephew ride different rides at a small amusement park at the end of the boardwalk. And an hour later, with ride tickets remaining, I accepted an opportunity to enjoy a ride with my husband, brother-in-law and cousin. I hiked up my dress, climbed inside a log, and waited for the Canyon Falls Log Flume to take off. I knew we would get wet. I even hesitated to sit down on the wet bench. But I did it, and I cannot begin to tell you how much joy I get when I see the photos of the experience!

I want to live like that!

I don't want the potential of getting wet or hurt or bruised or exhausted to stop me. I don't want to worry what other people are thinking. I want to seize the moment and take advantage of whatever new experience awaits me. I want to relish in the adventure instead of clinging to the routine. I want to take faithful risks. I want to try new things. I want to experience pure joy every single day.

A friend who lives in Germany shared with me today that I have "a wonderful Herrenhut Watchword" for my birthday. It is Isaiah 55:12 which reads, "For ye shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace." It then continues to describe mountains and hills bursting into song while trees clap their hands. The tradition in Germany is for families to read the watchword every morning and then reflect on how it has come to fruition throughout the day when evening comes.

I'm more than okay with a year of going out in joy before being led forth in peace. I find it rather delightful to imagine how I might beckon the trees to clap their hands before joining in.

So who wants to go on a ride with me next?  Disney, anyone? I cannot promise that we will stay dry, but I can promise you loads of laughter and joy.

To life! For life is extraordinary and such an incredible gift. 

I'm Going to Church Tomorrow

It's Saturday night, just before 9:00pm. I suppose many of you are sliding into a cute pair of heels and applying a bit of lip gloss, ready to see what might be waiting for you at a bar downtown. Others of you may be halfway through a Redbox movie, still waiting to see if you're going to be glad you spent $1.50 to rent the film. Or maybe you've just poured yourself a glass of wine because the kids are finally all in bed. It's now time to start thinking about what tomorrow will hold. Will you set the alarm or sleep in? Will you go to brunch or the farmer's market? Will you brew coffee at home or take the Washington Post to the nearest Starbuck's?

These decisions are not ones we have to make in our house. In fact, I've had my pajamas on for over an hour. Saturday night is an early night at our house because we always go to church. It's the highlight of my week professionally, and my husband is a devout Catholic who never misses mass. And yet, on this night, my heart can hardly wait to to go to church tomorrow. My spirit longs to be in a sanctuary filled with a community of people whose stories I know, whose lives intersect with mine. But I also desperately need to be reminded that there is something more to this life, that God is with us in the pain, that the light shines in the darkness.

I've cried twice today while reading the words of two friends, two mothers whose hearts are hurting. One is the mother of an 11-year-old daughter who was believed to have beat leukemia. Their lives were returning to normal when strange symptoms appeared early this week. Tests revealed the worst possible news. The leukemia is back. Rather than starting summer at the pool with friends, this child will spend 28 days in the hospital with needles pouring chemo into her body. Another friend is facing Father's Day for the first time without her husband who died five months ago. She and her three young children have made plans to skip church, eat donuts and watch television because there are no Hallmark cards with instructions for what to do on the first Father's Day since Daddy died.

And then there is Orlando, and all these incredibly sad stories about lives being celebrated much too soon. It was this time last week when outfits would have been selected, plans would have been made, drinks would have been poured. "Let's go dancing." "I want to go to Pulse." "Our community will be there." But lives - so many lives have been shattered.

I need to go to church tomorrow. I need to go because I'll be reminded of a light that shines in the darkness. I need to go because there are times when just sitting in the sanctuary and looking at stained glass windows is enough. I need to go because there will be people there who know my name and glimpses of my story. I need to go because the sermon is one I need to hear even as it will flow through my lips - the importance of cultivating self-compassion and letting go of perfectionism since perfectionism is almost always tied to impressing others, bringing about a sense that you're better than you really are. I need to go to church tomorrow because I believe God is still speaking and there will be a word for me. It might come from a child who embraces me or brings me a note. It might come from a first-time guest who tells me how welcome they felt. It might come from the scripture being read even though I've read it dozens of times this week. Or it might come when I bow my head and intercede on behalf of so many people who are hurting - those I know and those I don't know - people who know how complicated Father's Day can be, people who have lost a loved one and know the sting of grief, people who are experiencing an overwhelming medical diagnosis, people who are wondering what the future will hold, people who are longing to not feel so alone. It's only an hour or so, but it's an hour filled with moments, words, stories, songs, rituals and people I need.

Plus, the Washington Post will be waiting for me when I get home.

Yes....But Will We Be Safe There?

I was running on the treadmill this morning when my gym friend, John, starting using the machine next to mine. "I have not seen you in a while," I said, while asking him about his summer plans. "There are a few trips here and there, including one to North Carolina which I'm dreading," John responded. "Oh, where are you going in North Carolina?" I asked, before hearing, "My niece is getting married in Highlands."

My face immediately lit up, "I love Highlands!" I then described my first summer field education placement while in seminary. "It has the highest elevation in the state. The population swells in the summer as wealthy people from Atlanta and Florida come up to escape the summer heat. There are beautiful hiking trails. There is an incredible candy store on the main street." I kept talking while John looked at me with a blank stare before responding. "I have looked it up. We are going for three nights. It looks beautiful. But will we be safe there?"

I honestly cannot remember if the cottage where I stayed that summer had a lock on the door. While a sense of fear has crept in often since moving back to Washington, I cannot recall a single time when I felt afraid or unsafe in Highlands. I don't even recall seeing a police car on the streets of Highlands. "Of course, it's safe!" I could have easily responded.

And yet, I'm not a gay man traveling with my husband.

John's question made my heart sink.

But will we be safe there?

How often have you stopped to think about how hard it would be to not be able to hold the hand of your spouse wherever you are? Have you ever wondered whether it would be safe to check into a hotel in a small resort town in North Carolina? Have you ever looked at the map to see if you'd be able to make it from one place to the next without stopping for gas because you're not sure how much hatred might fill the communities in between? Have you told your spouse not to call you "honey" out loud while attending your niece's wedding?

I am willing to bet the answer is "yes" if you're gay. And I suppose that if you're straight, you may have never stopped to think about how a night club in Orlando could have ever been a sanctuary for countless individuals - until this week.

How is it that a bar has become a safer place for LGBT people to gather than countless other places? How could a dance club be a sanctuary - a place of refuge or safety - more than a church building?

One doesn't need to ponder long before answering the questions, and I'm tired of it. I'm so incredibly sad that the church of Jesus Christ too often fails to embody the love, mercy and grace of Jesus. I'm so incredibly sad that my own denomination, the United Methodist Church, has a Book of Discipline that states that homosexuality is incompatible with Christian teaching. I'm angry that my church's official teaching will allow me to marry any couple who comes in off the street - even if they have only known each other for a couple of days - while having the power to take away my ordination for marrying a faithful, devoted couple of the same gender. I'm furious that clergy in my own annual conference voted against one of our candidates for ministry in which Christ is so alive for no reason other than the fact that she is married to a woman. And I grieve that not every LGBT person will feel safe in many of our churches. In fact, the church may be the place where my LGBT brothers and sisters feel the most unsafe.

The last few weeks have been overflowing with pain and disappointment. While our General Conference did not vote on several pieces of legislation that could have done even more harm to LGBT people and pastors who are seeking to embody the fullness of love, blessing and hospitality, I don't have a lot of hope for significant change to come as long as the same Book of Discipline is being used for every congregation in our global church. Two weeks ago, after we came up 19 votes shy of the number needed to approve T.C. Morrow for commissioning, I wondered if I would even come back the next day. My eyes were swollen, my mascara was smudged, and my heart hurt.

But I came back. I came back and found manna not from my straight colleagues but from T.C. herself. I watched as she simply changed her name tag from one that could have said "clergy" to one that said, "lay delegate." I listened as she stood and spoke at a dinner of reconciling clergy and laity, sharing how when people kept asking her why she didn't just leave, she responded by saying, "This church is my family, and you don't just leave family even when it's dysfunctional." I marveled when T.C. went around a large circle of people who showed up to witness on her behalf and hugged and thanked each person. While I didn't see it myself, I'm told she stood up in support of every single person in her commissioning class - a class she should have been able to join. I have then been so incredibly struck by many of the comments she has shared about why she stays in our denomination. Just today she wrote these words in an op-ed, "I remain because I am always thinking about some young 14-year-old in a rural community who could use a role model - something very similar to the young person I once was, I think about what they are hearing, from our churches and indeed from our society more broadly. I think about the need to echo voices of hope and community in diversity, not fear and bigotry."

If anything has come from the heartache and pain of walking with T.C. and then reading stories from people who were at Pulse last Saturday night, it is a commitment to not just stay in my church but to become even more passionate about working to change the religious institution. I want people to know that my church is a sanctuary for all people - that all are abundantly welcome at Mount Vernon Place, that all people can receive the same blessings at our church, that I will do everything I can to support people who are experiencing a call to ministry whether they are gay or straight, that all people can call each other "honey" and hold hands in our building, that we are seeking to simply live and love like Jesus - recognizing that such love can have consequences.

I don't believe everything happens for a reason, and I beg you to stop saying these words if they are prone to come from your lips. We are not puppets on a string. The greatest gift God gave us is the gift of free will which means we have the power to do good and the ability to do harm. God is not behind anyone who takes a gun into their hands and kills 49 innocent people. God is, however, present. God is with us always. And I vow to do all I can to make sure that some goodness comes from this senseless tragedy. The vow starts with me and my willingness to love, bless and pastor as fully and faithfully as I can. I want my church to be a sanctuary for all people - a place where the fullness of whoever walks in our doors is welcome.

What about you? What will you do with your pain, your disappointment, your anger?

And if you're looking for a community of faith that is truly seeking to figure out what it means to follow Jesus, then please come #MeetMeAtMVP on Sunday at 11am. We don't always get it right, but we are trying hard to live and love like Jesus.

To Be Remembered

Growing up, my sister and I loathed Memorial Day weekend more than any of the remaining 51 weekends of the year. It almost always occurred on the tail of the last day of school. While other kids were getting together for celebratory parties, we were piling into the brown station wagon to make the three-hour schlep to my grandparents' farm in northern Missouri. 

The routine was almost always the same. Our aunt, uncle and several cousins would join us around the large table for a farmer's feast of at least two meats and twelve vegetables. These selections would be followed by a half a dozen desserts with plenty of iced tea or coffee to wash it all down. And then we would pile back into the car and head to what felt like every cemetery in a twenty mile radius of the farm. 

A careful routine would continue when we got to the family burial plot in each place. Grandma Great would take a bucket of fern and carefully lay sprays across the ground covering the buried body of a beloved family member. Then Grandma and Grandpa would lay carnations, roses and other flowers on top of the fern. When the burial site was sufficiently decorated, we would make our way to the next relative's gravesite. 

These actions are how we remembered the dead. There were more traditions accompanying Memorial Day than there were Christmas. While we rarely appreciated what was taught to us while standing in the hot summer sun, we could not escape learning a bit more about our relatives and their lives each May. 

I now rarely make it to the family farm on Memorial Day weekend. While I respect these traditions, I've come to imagine different ways of remembering the dead. Or, more importantly, I've sought to imagine more fully how I want to be remembered. 

Just yesterday I saw a picture of three young children whose father died earlier this year. I've never met these children, but I saw their father's face so clearly in each child. Many people continue to live through their children, leaving their mark through facial features, large bone structures or even stubborn habits. But we have chosen not to have children of our own, making me want to plan even more passionately about what legacy I'll leave. And in the last decade of serving Mount Vernon Place, I've seen lives making a difference long after they took their last breath.

At the turn of this century, our congregation was dwindling to a few dozen incredibly faithful senior citizens who had first come to the church as government workers in the 40s, watched it grow to more than 4000 members in the 60s, and then take a nose dive into decline. But a couple of members loved their church enough to want it to continue to make a difference long after their death. They established a $1 million endowment, and without this money on which to draw during very lean times, the church would have likely closed many years ago.

Another church member worked with his three sons to establish a scholarship at a nearby seminary. He gave a large enough gift to permanently endow an internship at our church. Every three years, the seminary gets to use the scholarship as a recruitment tool, the church gets to select an extraordinary incoming student, and the student and congregation get to learn together for three years. I love telling people about Howard's gift and seeing how Howard continues to live through the impact these students make on our community. He would be so incredibly delighted!

According to LexisNexis research, approximately 55 percent of all adults in our nation do not have a will or any plans for their estate. Less than half of us have made intentional plans for how our lives can continue to live after our death. And yet, none of us get to live forever. 

I learned early that one of the greatest gifts older adults can give their children is to make plans for their long term care. I now know that one of the greatest gifts we can give to institutions we love is to make plans for our generosity to be embodied long after we live.

What are the organizations or institutions that have made a difference in your life?

Where do you regularly give money each year because you believe in what they do and want to support it? 

What if one person could have their dream realized every year because of your intentional planning and generosity? 

What if lives could be touched and transformed through you on a regular basis, even after your death? 

It's all possible with careful, thoughtful and generous estate planning.

I'm more than okay if no one ever visits my grave. But I want my light to continue to shine in powerful and profound ways. I want to be as generous in my death as I have sought to be in my life. I want to be remembered by making a difference. 

What about you?

Another Gospel

I'm spending the week at a worship retreat on the edge of Lake Tahoe. It's an extraordinary place where you can find your breath being taken away at every twist and turn - in part because of the thinness of the air in the higher elevation - but mainly because the scenery is so incredibly beautiful. God's handiwork is on full display in this extraordinary place. I've found myself called to prayer often.

This morning's walk led me to an amphitheater near the side of the Lake where the names of the four Gospel writers are powerfully on display: Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. But there's another pillar there. There is no name attached to it. The bench at the base of it is a little broken while still offering an invitation to come and rest for a while. And yet, the invitation for me was far greater than a place to sit and rest. What I experienced was a call to imagine again how my life is proclaiming the good news. What are the stories my life is telling, the fruit of the Spirit I'm embodying, the images of Jesus I'm reflecting? If God is still speaking, which I believe God is, then how is God speaking through me and my life?

And what about you? How is God speaking through you? If you were to write the stories of Jesus at work in your life, what stories would you record?

It's that question that has challenged me a bit as I realize how closed I've been to some of the movement of the Spirit around me. It's been an incredible start to the year in terms of growth and "success." I'm about to finish my 11th year at Mount Vernon Place where we have seen total transformation of our neighborhood, building and congregation in addition to dozens of lives. I would not trade this time for anything. I regularly say I have the "best job in Washington."

But my prayer for this season is not more people in the pews or anything that can be captured on a statistical report. Rather, my prayer is to see Jesus - to not just open my ears to hear him or my eyes to see him - but to unlock my full life to follow him, to let go of whatever might be holding me back, and to partner with him in such a way that there are more beautiful stories worth telling.

What about you? What stories would you want to include in your account of the good news?

Twenty Years!

I started mapping my life at the age of 11. Surrounded by a community of people who regularly took time to name my gifts, I knew I had strong leadership abilities at an early age. Raised by a mother who took me to hear Zig Ziglar as a teenager, regularly told me I could do whatever my heart set out to do, and never let me forget I was beautiful, I was gifted early with a healthy self-esteem and the desire to keep a list of goals on my bulletin board at all times. Educated at an all-women's college, I learned the power of feminism at its best and met Hillary Clinton on the Saturday before the general election day in 1992.

I knew I wanted to run for office. I would finish college, move to Washington for a few years - first to intern at the White House and then to work on Capitol Hill. I would then return home to Missouri, enroll in law school, and eventually run for office. The original plan would have me in the United States Senate at this age of life.

The first parts of the plan came to fruition. I spent my last semester of college in the White House Office of Scheduling and Advance. I was quickly hired as the scheduler for a Congressman from Ohio who lost his election later that year. After a few months of unemployment, I was given an opportunity to write letters for a Senator from Iowa. And I loved it. I loved the work, my coworkers, cocktails at Congressional receptions, and the exposure to Washington's political power and process.

But there was another side of my life that was equally fulfilling - a place that utilized my gifts more abundantly than my role on Capitol Hill. It was a place that called forth the best from me, giving me more opportunities to flourish than I had experienced since college. The place was the church, a United Methodist Church I could walk to from my apartment on Capitol Hill.

I'm still not sure what the pastor saw in me, but he gave me every possible opportunity to serve. He allowed me to preach without first hearing me speak in front of a wider audience. He suggested I be chair of the Church Council at the ripe age of 24. And he invited me to chaperone a youth trip to New York City in April of 1996.

I'd never been to New York City. I said "yes" in large part because it was an opportunity to go for free. I had no idea that the journey would completely change my life, and I sometimes wonder if I would have gone if I knew at the time that transformation was part of the package.

The young people on the trip captivated me with their honesty, their vulnerability, their willingness to share whatever was on their hearts. The energy of the city seduced me into believing I might be called to move to Manhattan or go to business school instead of law school. By Saturday evening, I was using a Wal-Mart calling card to phone my mother from a pay phone at the Staten Island Ferry departure gate. With no one answering, I left a voice mail. "Mom. It's me. Everything is great. We're having a wonderful time. I just want to let you know I'm not going to law school next year. I'm not sure what I'm doing. But I'll call you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow" held the opportunity to worship at Riverside Church where Dr. James Forbes was the preacher. I had never heard such an extraordinary preacher whose voice seemed to penetrate every inch of that magnificent structure.

We then boarded a bus, and my pastor took the microphone normally used by a tour guide to offer a closing prayer. "Thank you, God, for this journey. Thank you for the safety you have provided. Thank you for what we have learned. Thank you, too, for the ways in which you can use experiences like this weekend to call people. Please be with all whom you have called during this time together as they discern how you are working in their lives."

I had not articulated any of my changing thoughts to my pastor. The Spirit, however, was interceding - not with sighs too deep for words - but with words that named why I wouldn't be going to law school the next year.

That was twenty years ago yesterday. It was Sunday, April 14, 1996 when I first heard that voice, when I first started to learn as much as I could about seminary and the process that leads to ordination. It was twenty years ago when I was placed on a different path and given one joy after another for which no one is truly worthy.

How might God be calling you? What are the places that most name and claim your gifts? Who are the voices that speak most powerfully to you?

Thank you, God, for this odd and wondrous calling. Thank you for the precious gift of serving you through this messy, beautiful, life-giving thing called the church. Thank you for a pastor who saw you at work in me and cultivated your call on my life. Please help me to never take your call for granted but to instead seek to continue to serve you as faithfully as I possibly can. Amen. 

A Journey to Belief

One of the deep gifts offered on Easter morning was a testimony shared by a woman who also joined our church on Sunday. I have known Julie for years as someone who used to visit our church a couple of times a year. I have then been given the holy privilege of walking with her through her grief over the last ten months. Her words were powerful, and they touched many people. She gave me permission to share them here. May they also bless you, cause you to think, and perhaps help you to look for signs of God's presence in unexpected places this day.

           Good morning.  My name is Julie.  For those of you that attend Mt. Vernon Place on a regular basis, you may have noticed I am a somewhat newer face here over the past year.  For those of you that I have gotten to know, you might also know that I lost my husband almost a year ago.  Doug and I attended Mt. Vernon Place on an infrequent basis – we weren’t even Christmas and Easter people, we were Easter and Mother’s Day people, because if mother was in town, we had to go to church.  (My mom is here with me today, and mom you’ll be happy to know I am attending church a little more frequently these days.)

            Doug was diagnosed with a very rare form of lymphoma in June 2014. His diagnosis and thus his potential treatment plan was difficult because he didn’t even exhibit the typical symptoms of this type of lymphoma.  In fact, if you knew Doug, there were some days when you would not have known he was sick at all.

Ultimately, it was decided that Doug needed a bone marrow transplant.  The plan was to give him two rounds of chemo to knock out any sign of the lymphoma, and then go to transplant.  He had his first round of chemo mid-March of last year, and for a couple of weeks, everything was fine—he started to loose some hair, but his attitude was “let’s get this over with so we can start living our lives again.”  We had even planned a trip in September of last year to go to Scotland, a celebratory trip of getting through the transplant.  “Lindsay,” as you might guess, is Scottish, and Doug had always wanted “to go back to the homeland,” as he would say. 

            Unfortunately, it was Easter weekend of last year when things took a turn for the worse, and it never got better. We checked into Johns Hopkins on a Friday, as they were going to try another type of chemo. On the following Sunday morning, the doctors came in and told Doug and I that the lymphoma had taken control and there was nothing more they could do, and we just needed to focus on keeping Doug comfortable.  I asked how long we had, and they said a week to 3 weeks.  When they left the room, of course I was sobbing, and I said “Doug, you can’t leave me.  What am I going to do without you?”  He said “Julie, I will never leave you.  I will always be with you, and I am going to come back and thump those kitties between the ears.”

            Now, before you think there was animal cruelty involved here, Doug and I didn’t have children—but we have two cats who were our children.  Doug was in sales, so he traveled a lot, and he would often call me on his way home on a Friday and say “I’m comin’ home, and I am going to thump those kitties between the ears!”  He played with them all the time, or “terrorized” them as he would say.  So, that was on Sunday morning and by Monday afternoon, May 4^th, Doug was gone.

            Billl Hilligeist is an active member of MVP and lives in our building.  When he found out Doug had passed, he let Donna know, since Doug and I had come here a few times.  Donna reached out to me, and we got together shortly thereafter.  My first questions to Donna—and my first questions generally—were “Is there really eternal life?  How do I know Doug is ok, and he is not just dead?”  Donna said that there were many things that she had questioned about her faith, but she had never questioned eternal life—God is so incredibly good and loves us so much, and life can be so incredibly hard, that this can’t be all that there is.  There has to be more.  I was like “ok”—I was raised in the Methodist church and this was all consistent with what I had learned, but I will be honest – I had always questioned it, and particularly when it was the love of my life that was no longer with me.

            A week or so later, a work colleague was going to take me out for lunch.  I was getting ready in the bathroom, drying my hair.  One of our cats, Max, came into the bathroom and just sat there watching me.  I looked at him and said “Max, do you miss daddy?”  (Yes, we called each other mommy and daddy.) I said “I miss daddy, I miss daddy very much. But daddy said he was never going to leave us, that he would always be with us.”  And just then, Max’s little ear goes {twitch, twitch}.  I turned off the hair dryer, and point blank looked him and said “Max, is that daddy?”  And his little ear goes {twitch}.  Tears welled up in my eyes, but the biggest smile came over my face and I can’t tell you the sense of comfort I felt.  I saw Donna again shortly after that, and she said “You know, I was thinking more about your questions about eternal life,” and I said “Nope, I got it.  All good.”

I ended up taking that trip to Scotland last fall, and I took some of Doug’s ashes with me.  I had identified a place where I wanted to spread his ashes—in Loch Coruisk which is in the Black Cuillin Hills on the Isle of Skye.  The morning my tour group was supposed to go there, the weather was not good, and our guides were told the ferries would not be going that day.  About an hour before we were supposed to leave, the sun came out, and we were able to make the trip.  It was a beautiful day and I was able to spread his ashes in the Loch.  After I spread the ashes, as I was sitting there, a little fish came swimming up—it was the only fish I saw in the Loch the entire time I was there.  I thought “Oh great, I am literally going to watch Doug become fish food.”  But it didn’t do anything—it just hovered there for about an hour, and as I got up to leave, it swam away.

I tell you all this as I firmly believe that Doug, through the Holy Spirit, is letting me know he is ok, and that I am going to be ok, as he really is still with me.  One thing I have learned is that, as much as we might like, there aren’t burning bushes, or clouds parting with voices thundering from above, as evidence of God or eternal life.  For me, it’s been as simple as a cat’s ear flip, an unexpected beautiful day or a little fish.

MVP has been incredibly supportive of my journey, and I am so thankful to be part of this community.  I joined the Tuesday night small group and we recently completed a study on the Gospel of John, including Christ’s death, resurrection and eternal life.  Two passages from our study materials really struck me, and I wanted to share them with you today. The first is “Easter transforms our sorrow into joy and hope, our fear into peace and courage.”  The second is “…the Resurrection declares that the worst thing is never the last thing.”  Before I watched my husband take his last breath, I was scared to die.  Now I realize that death is by no means the last thing.  On this Easter Sunday, while I still miss Doug terribly, I can honestly say I know he is still with me, and I will get to see him again. 

Easter Shame

There were times when I would literally sit and count the number of people in the photos friends were posting of their church on Easter.

There were times when I completely forgot all that did happen on Easter morning because all I could think about is how I felt on Easter evening.

There were times when I dreaded having to hear colleagues talk about how many people came to church on Easter.

There were other times when I was fully aware of how many more people we had in our pews this year than we did the year before. But I would still see emptiness when I looked at the pictures of our space.

There was never enough. No matter how many people were in our pews, it was not enough.

But something changed yesterday. There was enough. There was more than enough people, more than enough food, more than enough passion, more than enough joy. When I looked out from my seat up front, I saw more people gathered in our sanctuary for worship than I had ever seen before. There were even people in the balcony, something that typically only happens when someone is wearing strong perfume below. 

Brene' Brown has powerfully named my standard Easter emotion. She calls it the shame-based fear of being ordinary, a fear that may be more powerful in my life than any other fear I know. It's what she describes as the "fear of never feeling extraordinary enough to be noticed, to be lovable, to belong, or to cultivate a sense of purpose" (Daring Greatly, page 22).

While I have always known that I am a beloved person with a powerful sense of purpose, I've regularly feared that I am not extraordinary enough. This fear pushes me to often compare myself to others which regularly only helps me see my own sense of inadequacy. And there is nothing faithful about such feelings.

Brene' has helped me see that scarcity is a great lie. It is even more so for people of faith who believe we worship a God of abundance - a God who says there is always more than enough, and that we are more than enough just as we are.

I'm trying hard to live wholeheartedly. Wholehearted living, according to Brene', includes ten things. I offer my five favorites below:

1. Cultivating Authenticity: Letting Go of What People Think
2. Cultivating Self-Compassion: Letting Go of Perfectionism
4. Cultivating Gratitude and Joy: Letting Go of Scarcity and Fear of the Dark
6. Cultivating Creativity: Letting Go of Comparison
9. Cultivating Meaningful Work: Letting Go of Self-Doubt and "Supposed To"

Imagine how different the week after Easter would be if we sought to do the hard work of cultivating these gifts within us. Imagine how different we would feel about the gifts God brought on Easter if we refused to compare our church with any other church, our sermon with any other sermon, our music with any other music, our size with any other size.

I've come a long way.

I still have a way to go.

I'm going to try again.

What about you?